Fearsome Journeys (The New Solaris Book of Fantasy)

AMETHYST, SHADOW, AND LIGHT

SALADIN AHMED

“I JUST THINK it’s a bad idea,” Zok Ironeyes said as he sat down to a hilltop meal of oatcakes and pigeon eggs with Hai Hai. Below them, across a vast expanse of the greygrass that gave Greygrass Barrows its name, stood the small manor house under discussion. Zok popped a pickled egg into his mouth and turned his gaze from the bright green house to his partner’s beady black eyes.

Hai Hai waved a dismissive white paw. Her long, pink-tipped ears drooped slightly, as they did when she was annoyed. “‘A bad idea.’ That’s what you always say. That’s what you said about the Mad Monk’s Meadery.”

Zok chewed and swallowed. “And we were nearly killed by the shade of a baby-eating cleric there.”

“You were happy enough with the spoils, though —that case of rubywine and the two whores with the rhyming names.” The rabbitwoman smiled wickedly and took a bite of her oatcake.

Zok also smiled in spite of himself. “Anyway, abandoned house, unattended loot that somehow hasn’t been claimed yet—this all sounds too good. A beautiful beer-bottle with poison inside.” But even as he said it, he was plotting out their approach in his mind.

The greygrass was tall enough that even Zok could approach unseen. The sweet-smelling blades swayed in the breeze, enough so that the duo’s movement might be masked. It was either a perfect score or a trap.

Zok knew how that usually ended. Still, the Thousand Gods damn him, he’d never been able to resist a ripe peach dangling from a low branch.

He ate his last pigeon egg. Perhaps Hai Hai’s mewling stooge had told the truth. Perhaps the place had been left unattended all season. The Legion kept a relative peace on the roads, even this far out, but bandits were hardly unheard of. Not to mention wolves and grasscats. The owners would have to be away to have left the ground uncleared so close to the front door.

Unless they had... other ways of keeping watch.

Zok took a long pull from his wineskin and turned it all over in his mind again. But there was little point. Either they went in, as quiet as they could, or they didn’t. “This source of yours... you trust him?”

Hai Hai drained her own wineskin, and a thin red rivulet trickled down her chin, staining her white fur. “Foxshit and fire, Zok, no, I don’t trust him! It’s a fucking gamble, same as anything we do in this road-life of ours. How many Thousand-Gods-damned fool errands have I followed you on? Hunting that toad-headed demon you’re always going on about? Peace and honor to your dead wife, man, but—”

Zok nearly growled at the blithe mention of Fraja’s name. Out of habit, his fingers went into his purse and touched the earring that was his only memento of his wife.

Hai Hai saw the fire in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Zok. I know she was a fine woman, but she was nothing to me. I’ve helped you try to avenge her because you’re my partner. That means something. So if I say ‘here’s a score,’ you should...”

As Hai Hai spoke, Zok stood and strapped his bespelled broadsword Menace to his hip. By the time she finished her little speech, he was already moving quietly down the hill toward the manor house.

ZOK KNEELED AT the edge of the greygrass with Hai Hai, only thirty yards from the house.

The two-storey house was made of green-glazed brick, and had a flat, crenelated roof. Stables, a small barn, and a shed stood off to the side. Not a sound came from any of the buildings. No light from lamps, no smoke from fires. No animals about, either, other than the odd sparrow or squirrel.

The front door of the green house was a slab of etchwood covered in images of animals. Zok knew right away that it was genuine, and his pulse raced at the size and complexity of the nature-wrought scenes. Etchwood was prized for the naturally occurring images it held, but usually one found a single flower or a sun. A slab this size, with this many little pictures... Zok smiled, despite his unease. One part of the story was true, at least—there was great wealth here.

Beside him, Hai Hai sniffed once, and her ears stiffened. She gave him the someone’s here hand gesture. Zok’s muscles tensed. He looked before him, behind him. Nothing.

Something struck him hard from above. The quiet afternoon exploded with shouts.

A man had dropped onto him from the rooftop. Even as he crumpled to the ground, Zok shoved his attacker away. The man—no more than a blur of colorful robes to Zok’s eyes—was on top of him again in an instant. Where is Hai Hai? Zok couldn’t see his partner. Worse, he couldn’t reach his sword.

Zok wrestled with his attacker. The man smelled of cloves, and his mustache was long and braided. An Eastlander? What in the Three Hells is he doing here, besides trying to kill me? Somewhere behind him he heard a woman shouting and Hai Hai cursing.

Menace’s hilt dug into his ribs.Zok tried to gouge the man’s eyes, tried to get space for a good head-butt. But despite being much smaller, the Eastlander was nearly as strong as Zok. Few enough men could say that.

Zok felt the battle-madness rise in him. Enough of this. He twisted and bit the Eastlander, tasting blood.

It worked. The man screamed and looked at Zok as if he had just become a giant viper. Zok seized on the Eastlander’s surprise. He managed to flip the man onto his back, then sat astride him, pinning his wrists. A dozen yards away, Hai Hai was facing off against a small, dark-haired woman also wearing vibrant robes. The rabbitwoman had lost one of her sabers. The Eastlander woman wasn’t armed, but a strange glow surrounded her hands, and they danced like weapons.

Zok looked back to his attacker. Now that he’d been pinned, the man didn’t struggle. He just lay there, staring at Zok as if at a mad dog.

Only then did Zok notice the man’s necklace. Around his neck was an incredibly thin band of what looked like... amethyst. The stone of the Empire.

Zok could still hear Hai Hai and the Eastlander woman, but he could no longer see them.

Do they work for the Amethyst Empress? Why in the Three Hells would Easterners be working for the Empire? Who are these people? They were good, whoever they were. That rooftop blow would have knocked most men cold.

But Zok was not most men.

“Stand down, woman, or I’ll kill your friend here!” he shouted. It was a bluff—as soon as Zok released the man’s hands he’d have a fighting opponent again—but it was worth a try.

“Zok, don’t—” Hai Hai’s shout came from somewhere behind him before it was cut short. Zok turned, trying to keep hold of his captive. He saw Hai Hai sprawled at the robed woman’s feet.

Then the Eastlander twisted away hard, breaking free of Zok’s grip. Something—some sort of pink light—blazed forth from the man’s hand, catching Zok full in the face. It burned his eyes, and he had trouble breathing. In an instant, he felt the magical light clouding his mind as well.

“Bind them,” he heard the Eastlander say from far away. Only then did he realize he was lying on the ground. It was all Zok could do to keep his eyes open. After another moment, he couldn’t even do that.

ZOK AWOKE IN chains. It had happened to him enough times that he did not panic. He was indoors, in a drafty building with a high ceiling. It was dark—the dark just before sunrise, his body told him, which meant he’d been out for hours—and his nose picked up the faded scents of horse and riding-beast nearby. He guessed he was in the stables of the house he’d just tried to rob.

He tested his bonds once, twice, thrice. But it was no use—whoever had chained him had known just how strong he was.

Just as his eyes were adjusting to the dark, a weasel of a man entered the stables. He carried a torch in one hand, and what looked like a jewellery box in the other.

“Who do you work for? Those Easterners?” Zok asked, his voice cracking. “And where is my partner? Best tell me now, little man. You know these chains won’t hold me long. And as soon as I’m free, I’ll snap that skinny neck of yours with my bare hands.”

The little man didn’t respond. He set the torch into a sconce and opened the small box.

Displayed within was a ring—impossibly delicate, and made of amethyst. It glittered with more than mere torchlight. Sorcery.

The man stepped close enough that Zok could smell his breath. Close enough that even a chained man could give him a good headbutt.

Zok lunged as best he could.

There was a pleasing crunch as Zok’s skull connected with nose-bone. The man let out a howl and a sob as he snapped back, his ruined nose bleeding badly. He dropped the jewellery box, clutched his face, and ran screaming from the room.

An hour passed as Zok watched the torch burn.

Just as the chains were really beginning to hurt, another man entered the stables. He was bigger than the last, with cold eyes. He held a broken broomstick in his right hand. Without saying a word, he walked over and shoved it hard into Zok’s guts. Then he jammed it into Zok’s balls. It hurt. Bad.

“You ready to wear the ring now? You get one chance before I fuck you with this.” He could have been talking about the weather.

Zok’s eyes still burned with tears of pain. “You win, tough man. Just get me some water, eh?”

The man said not a word. He picked up the jewellery box and drew the amethyst ring from it. Then he took hold of Zok’s left hand and placed the ring on his little finger.

As soon as he did so, the ring shimmered and disappeared, though Zok could still feel the cool stone against his skin. There was a flash of light, and suddenly Zok felt something cool and smooth around his neck.

A ring of amethyst, Zok guessed. Just like those the Eastlanders had worn.

The man with the broomstick left. What is going on here? Zok tested his chains again, but of course he was still held fast.

A moment later, Zok heard the slapping feet and wet huffing sounds of a riding beast outside. The stable door opened again, and someone lit torches, but when Zok’s eyes adjusted to the darkness, it was a man, not a beast that he saw entering.

He was a head shorter than Zok, and thin, but he carried himself with the confidence of a big man. And no wonder, given the shining tabard he wore over his armor.

Ah, shit in my stew! Not a Fatherpriest. Zok didn’t mind the road-priests who, nominally at least, followed every one of the Thousand Gods. But he had never met a man who wore the shining tabard who wasn’t a pompous sack of scum. And they had the power of the Empress behind them, which made them dangerous scum. A man with a sword at his hip followed the priest in, then closed the door and stood silently beside it.

The Fatherpriest studied Zok again for a long moment, as if he were considering buying a horse. Let him come check my teeth, then, and I’ll bite off his fucking fingers.

But he stayed a good ten feet back from Zok. “My son. You are called Zok Ironeyes, yes?” he said at last. “I am Father Gabrien, servant of the Fathergod. I have...”

Zok hawked up what wretchedness he could from the back of his throat and spit it at the man, besmirching his pristine tabard and cutting off his speech. “What have you done with my partner?” Zok shouted. “She had better be alive, shit-for-breath!”

Zok had hoped to goad the man close enough to bite him. But the priest showed no rage. He smiled mirthlessly, ignoring Zok’s question.

Gabrien ignored the question. “I am about to unchain you, my son. Do not think to attack me. For at my command, that necklace you wear—my little gift to you—will return to the size of a finger-ring. Depending on which command word I use, it can either behead you as it does so, or reappear on your hand as a harmless but valuable piece of jewellery. Do you understand?”

Zok nodded once. Gabrien’s men opened the locks on his chains. Zok suppressed his rage as best he could, keeping his hands from their throats. The Fatherpriest wouldn’t have had the nerve to unchain Zok unless he were telling the truth about the amethyst necklace.

“Tell me what you know of the Shadow Weavers, Zok Ironeyes.”

The Shadow Weavers? What is this madman about? Zok wondered. He spoke slowly. “The demon-men of the Old Far North, or so the stories go. Ages ago, led by the Dark King, The Man-Shadow, they swept over all of the lands of the Empire That Was. Shadow, shadow, black as night / Grew until it murdered light.” Zok spoke the words of the boyhood rhyme without quite meaning to. “Why are you asking me about children’s tales? And WHERE IS MY PARTNER?”

“The children’s tales tell more truth than you know, my son. Three thousand years ago, the Shadow Weavers—the spawn of man and demon—poured forth from the Plain of Ice and Iron. Northlands, Southlands, Eastlands, Westlands—everywhere they butchered men like animals and ate their souls. Entire kingdoms were slaughtered. Mankind was very nearly destroyed.

“Only the Twelve Clans survived, led by Virgin Queen Glora, whom the Fathergod, in His wisdom, chose as a messenger and a vessel. It was she who finally destroyed the Dark King in single combat, she who sent the Shadow Weavers scurrying back to their holes of cold and metal, but in the battle she was gravely wounded.

“When she died, the Fathergod brought her to His side, to sit at His right hand and bask in the glow of His love, away from the painful world of men.”

Zok yawned, perhaps more loudly than was strictly necessary. He had not been to a Church of the Fathergod in decades, but he remembered the stories well enough. They were no less dull to him now than they’d been as a child, but Gabrien surely had some point to all this blathering.

The Fatherpriest showed no sign that he’d heard Zok’s yawn. “Queen Glora rejoiced to finally be in her Celestial Father’s presence. But she knew that the Weavers would return one day, and that mankind would need a great power to defeat them. Thus she selflessly asked the Fathergod to...”

“...to pour her soul into the Diamond Diadem that our Empresses have worn for a thousand years. The Diadem proves the righteous rule of so on and so forth and so forth and so on. Get to the point, priest.”

Gabrien smiled too broadly for Zok’s liking. “The point, my son, is that the Diadem our Empress wears is a sham.”

“And? Do you want me to act surprised? What does this have to do with me?”

“This concerns all humanity,” Gabrien said quietly. His arrogance was gone. “For the Shadow Weavers are rising again. Indeed, a few of their number already live among us.”

“You’re mad.” Zok said it as soon as he realized it, but he wished he’d held his tongue. The raving priest still held Zok’s life in his hands.

“You’ll see soon enough that I speak the truth, Zok Ironeyes. But there is hope. For I know where the true Diamond Diadem is. And you are going to get it for me.”

Zok grunted.

“I have heard of your talents as a thief and a warrior, my son. And though the Fathergod frowns sternly on true thievery, I have need of your skills. As well as those of your... creature.” Gabrien gestured toward the stable doors, and his lackey opened them.

Hai Hai walked in, a broad man with a spear following her. She was not chained. She even wore her sabers, though they were bound with peace knots. But glittering at her neck was a thin band of amethyst.

Creature. Ages ago, the beastmen—including Hai Hai’s people—were born from dark sorcery. They did not have souls as men did. It was thus a doctrine of the Fatherpriests that the beastmen were no more than animals. But Zok would not let the insult stand, even if Hai Hai hadn’t heard it.

“She is my partner, priest, not a creature.”

Gabrien waved it away, his gauntlet creaking. Hai Hai was brought to Zok’s side, and he exchanged a silent nod with her. Gabrien still spoke only to Zok. “Let me, as you say, get to the point, Zok Ironeyes. I wish to hire you!”

Hai Hai made an obscene gesture with her white-furred paw “Hire? You’re not hiring us.” She touched her amethyst collar. “You’re a slaver, Father. Putting a wig on the goat you’re fucking don’t make it a lady.”

The priest snarled, finally letting his irritation show. Still, the man spoke only to Zok.

“Let me be as clear as possible, my son. You are house-breakers. The law of the Empire is unambiguous: the sentence for stealing from a manored family is death. But rare exceptions have been made for those who aid the Amethyst Empress. I offer you a simple choice: the swift, harsh justice you have brought upon yourselves, or service and fair payment for that service.”

Something—something besides the obvious—wasn’t right here. “If the Shadow Weavers are rising, if the true Diamond Diadem has been found, why doesn’t the Empress just send the Legion in?” Zok asked.

“You men of the Blackhair North have strange ways. Here in the civilized world, a criminal does not interrogate an ordained Fatherpriest,” Gabrien said, but Zok saw the answer in the man’s eyes.

“The Empress doesn’t know.” Zok knew it was true as he said it.

Gabrien smiled and shrugged. “I will not weigh down our Empress’s heart with these worries until I can report to her that I have acquired the Diadem.”

Zok suppressed an urge to break the man’s face. “You mean until we have acquired it. And you’ve taken the glory and earned yourself a Low Kingship.”

The Fatherpriest shrugged again. “As you will. In any case, you leave in an hour. Now come, it’s time you met your fellow servants of the Empire.”

ZOK STOOD OUTSIDE the stables, where Gabrien’s men prepared three riding beasts for travel. He wore a suit of scale armor that Gabrien had provided him. It was a very good fit, which was rare, given Zok’s size. He tried to find comfort in this, tried to find calm in the familiar jangle of tack and harness. Hai Hai stood beside him, and the two Eastlanders who had ambushed them—their new allies, it would seem—stood a few feet away. Zok couldn’t take his eyes off of the amethyst bands around their necks.

“You have met Ahmaddine Ahl and his wife already,” Gabrien said by way of introduction. The Eastlanders nodded silent greetings, but they only held Zok’s attention for a moment before a monster of a man stepped forth from the barn.

“This,” Gabrien said, “is the Lockcharmer. He... is not one for words.”

In all his adult life, Zok had only met three men larger than himself. Now it was four.

Zok could not tell the Lockcharmer’s age, and he could not decide whether the massive, hairless man looked more like a cruel grandfather or a monstrous baby. Around the man’s neck was another amethyst band.

But it was the Lockcharmer’s hands that held Zok’s attention. They... were not his. Tied to those huge wrists with strange bands of leather and metal, they were far too small for the Lockcharmer’s body. Too small for any man’s.

They were a child’s hands, Zok realized.

“Each of you has been chosen for redemption through service,” Gabrien said, speaking to the group now. Zok tore his eyes from the Lockcharmer’s tiny fingers.

“A few hours’ ride from here, in the catacombs of a ruined castle, a coven of Shadow Weavers has discovered the true Diamond Diadem of Virgin Queen Glora. In two days’ time they will use the power of the new moon to spirit themselves, and the Diadem, away to the Far North. If that happens, mankind is doomed.”

“So why don’t you stop it, priest?” the Eastlander woman snarled.

“If I approach these creatures, they will sense the light of the Fathergod within me and know my approach from a mile away, the way a deer scents a hunter. But more impure souls—souls with dark spots upon them—the Weavers cannot smell such filth.”

Ahmaddine Ahl snorted his contempt, and his wife narrowed her eyes, but they said nothing.

“In one night, my children, you can go from being the dregs of humanity to being its saviours. Heathens, thieves, abominations—each of you has your role to play here. And each of you can find redemption. Zok Ironeyes here shall be your field leader. The Eastlanders will be your greatest defense against the Weavers themselves, who fear light-magic more than any weapon. I don’t doubt that the Weavers are keeping the Diadem in one of their legendarily impenetrable Ebon Chests. The Lockcharmer’s task is to open it if so. As soon as you have the Diadem, return here. The riding beasts will know the way. Now go.”

“A moment,” Gabrien said, pulling Zok aside and handing him a map. He spoke quickly and quietly as the others prepared to mount up. “The Lockcharmer’s crimes are greater than you can imagine, Zok Ironeyes. You will earn an additional reward if, in the name of the Empress’s justice, you kill him after you acquire the Diadem. But only after! For he is the only man living who knows the secret of opening the Ebon Chests.”

Zok glanced at Hai Hai and the others. “How do I know you haven’t said the same to each of us? Maybe you’re worried one of us will alert the Empress? Or will take the Diadem for himself? Maybe you just wish us to kill each other to save you some work. You want butchery done, you do it yourself, you soft-palmed dog-fucker. Now leave me be, so I can steal this thing you need stolen.” He shook off Gabrien’s hand and joined the others.

THE RIDING BEASTS’ feet slapped rhythmically on the hard-packed dirt of the road. They rode in pairs, Zok beside Hai Hai, the Eastlander beside his wife. The Lockcharmer, who was either unwilling or unable to speak, rode behind them. Zok felt the huge man’s stare on his back, like a beetle crawling up his spine.

“You come from the east,” Zok said to the Eastlander, gesturing at the man’s braided moustache and the pair’s bright fighting-robes. “From beyond the Sea of Sand and Bones, if I don’t miss my guess.”

The man nodded. “We are people of Mokhul. In times of peace, I am called Ahmaddine Ahl.” He touched the amethyst band around his neck, gave a bitter snort, and frowned hard. “But it would seem this is a time to use one’s war-name. So you can call me the Rose. And this is my wife.”

If anything the woman’s look was harder than her husband’s. “I am the Shrike, called Lasha Ahl in times of peace.”

“And you are Gabrien’s agents?” Hai Hai butted in.

“His agents?” Lasha Ahl spat. “Do you not see these bands around our necks? He ambushed us. We are his captives, same as you, Lady of the Hares.” Zok knew little of Eastlanders, but he had heard that they respected the beastmen more than the men of the Westlands did.

Ahmaddine Ahl wore a deep scowl. “This thing needs doing. The Shadow Weavers nearly destroyed all of humanity once. You Westlanders have forgotten—you think the great Man-Shadow was destroyed for all time, if you believe he existed at all. Things are different on the other side of the Sea of Sand and Bones. We remember. And if the Weavers are truly rising again, no Mokhuli warrior worth her robes will refuse the call to battle. But this savage Gabrien dares to try and compel us to hunt the Weavers, in order to further his glory? When we are done with what must be done, we will return and kill Father Gabrien.” He patted the curved knife that hung at his belt.

Zok turned to see if the Lockcharmer had heard the Rose’s words, but the big man just sat his beast, holding the reins in those tiny hands, staring ahead, saying nothing. They rode on until late afternoon, the land rising as the miles passed.

Finally, the road crested a hill and they saw it—the small, ruined castle that Gabrien had described. A piece of wall or a rotted beam stood here and there, but Zok was only interested in the great, crumbling tower that dominated the horizon.

He reined in his beast and dismounted, gesturing for the others to do the same. “The entrance the priest mentioned is right there, inside that collapsed tower. Find a few sturdy trees, and tie the beasts to them. From here we go on foot, and we use only the silent signals that we rehearsed.”

They picked their way down the other side of the hill, the thinning foliage providing dubious cover. Zok almost felt he was reliving last night’s failed housebreaking, that he was walking into another trap. He winced at every jangle of his armor. But they each moved as quietly as possible, even the Lockcharmer who carried his bulk with a surprising grace.

The last fifty yards before the ruined tower held no trees or thickets big enough to hide them. But there was little they could do about it. Zok’s fingers went to the amethyst collar around his neck.

Best get to it, then. He sniffed twice at Hai Hai and jerked his head toward the broken tower. She shook her head. She didn’t smell anything suspicious. Zok waved his hand urgently and they all trotted toward the tower.

The rusty cellar door was just where Gabrien had said it would be, and it was open, as he’d also said it would be. No sentries met them, no alarms sounded. Room after ruined room held stagnant air, broken stone, or earth that had encroached past the shattered walls. Except for the eerie lack of vermin, it could have been any one of the dozen ruins Zok had seen over the years. Except that he didn’t need his torch. Every room they explored, every hall they walked, was lit by a cold, flickering purple light. But there were no torches, so Zok couldn’t say where the light was coming from.

Finally they found themselves facing a large, open chamber. It was hewn from dark stone and seemed too airy and open to be beneath a ruin. It had clearly been built with sorcery. The same flickering purple light that lit the halls filled the chamber and it revealed a grim scene.

A brown-skinned girl of maybe eight years—the first living thing Zok had seen in this place—stood on a dais, shackled to a post. At her feet sat a huge chest of ebon wood and black metal. Surrounding the dais were a half-dozen men who were not men.

They were tall and thin, shrouded in black rags and mail. Their strangely stretched faces were the yellow-white of moonlight, and their red eyes shone with a dull glow. Zok felt an unnatural fear seize him as he stared, and his guts twisted up until he felt like shitting blood.

Shadow Weavers. So it was true. And they were about to perform some sort of ritual. That cannot be good.

Beside him, the Rose and the Shrike sucked in simultaneous breaths. The Lockcharmer grunted and whined quietly. Only Hai Hai seemed unaffected by the unholy sight. She stood still as stone, studying the scene with those eyes of black glass.

And then, without warning, the Weavers spun as one, their red eyes searching the room. They knew that Zok and the others were there. One of them pointed with a thin, impossibly long finger, and let out a keening scream.

Then the demon-men flew forward.

Zok raised his sword, and Menace glowed in anticipation of the fight. Hai Hai shot forward, her sabers slicing out before her. Red and blue light danced in the hands of the Eastlanders. Behind Zok, the Lockcharmer whined.

The Weavers attacked. They moved like roiling clouds, but their red eyes only seemed to see the Eastlanders. Half walking, half flying, they shot around Zok before he could even swing at them.

“Get to the chest!” the Shrike shouted. Her hands danced madly, and a wall of sky blue light appeared, cutting the Eastlanders and the Weavers off from Zok, Hai Hai, and the Lockcharmer, who was wailing like a baby.

“We will hold them!” the Rose shouted. “Get the chest open! The Diadem will destroy them all!”

Zok didn’t bother to ask how he knew this. He tried to push the Lockcharmer toward the Ebon Chest, but the big man just stood there staring at the girl in chains.

She was shackled at hand and foot, but appeared not to have been harmed in any visible way. The Weavers were soul-eaters. Perhaps they didn’t care about the girl’s body?

But it seemed the Lockcharmer did care. Zok did not like the look the man gave the girl.

“Open the chest, gimp!” Zok shouted, placing himself between the girl and the big man. “That’s what you’re here for!” Hai Hai was hacking at the Ebon Chest and fiddling with the lock, but she surely knew as well as Zok did that it was useless.

“The chest!” Zok cried again, but the Lockcharmer didn’t move.

“You... you’re a man!” the girl shouted upon seeing Zok. “You’re not a monster. Please! Please help me!” Her voice trembled, but she did not cry. Most grown men would have. Strong, Zok noted with approval.

A quick, careful blow from Menace shattered the girl’s chains. Then Zok heard the Lockcharmer shuffling behind him.

“Prize.” It was the first word the Lockcharmer had spoken in a day. He took a step toward the girl, and her eyes went wide with fear. When she caught sight of his monstrous little hands, she screamed. The Lockcharmer took another step and began giggling. “PRIZE!” He shouted it this time, like an excited child.

Zok got in the big man’s face. Menace was still in his hand. Zok had seen this kind of lust before—had learned more about it than any child should have to. He would not let the Lockcharmer have this girl. Zok decided he would kill the man, but not until the Ebon Chest had been opened.

“You fool, open the chest! The Eastlanders won’t hold out forever!” Indeed, beyond the wall of blue light, Zok saw the Rose slumped on the ground. The Weavers—there were only four of them now—closed around the Shrike.

The Lockcharmer looked down at Zok—something few enough men could do. “PRIZE!” he bellowed again, angry this time. Gabrien had teamed Zok with a madman who couldn’t control his lusts. The Lockcharmer wouldn’t be talked out of this. He would have to die.

Don’t be a fool, Zok told himself. You need this one to get out of here alive! But even as he thought it, he was flying at the Lockcharmer. The man was huge but unarmed, and with those weird hands of his, he wasn’t much of a fighter.

It was quick work. The Lockcharmer screamed, then he died. The girl looked on in horror.

Hai Hai barely glanced at Zok before her shiny eyes went to the bleeding corpse. “Are you mad? You oaf! How in the Three Hells are we supposed to get out of here now? We...”

Zok nodded once toward the girl, then looked down at the body.

Hai Hai took his meaning. She spat and began to tap her foot. “We’ll figure out something,” she said.

Zok checked the Ebon Chest. It was worth a try. He started to set his hand on the lock but looked up when he heard the Shrike scream. He did so just in time to watch her fall. Three of the demon-men still stood.

Then the wall of light was gone. And the Shadow Weavers strode toward them.

AS SOON AS those glowing red eyes were upon him, Zok heard words in his head.

They held light in their hands. They could not hear our voice. You can hear our voice.

The Great Man-Shadow shall be reborn. Be still. The Dark King will reign again. Be still. The voice seemed to come from all of them, and from none of them. It was male and female, high-pitched and low-toned.

Be still, it said, be still. The words were like a soft, long-fingered hand taking hold of his soul. And, in spite of himself, Zok felt his body obeying. His left hand fell from the Ebon Chest, and Menace dropped from his right.

A half-dozen more Weavers swarmed silently into the room like the shadows of swift-moving clouds. They massed at the foot of the dais but did not climb it.

You are better than the girl. You will be the vessel, the voice said.

“I will be the vessel,” Zok said, unable to keep himself from speaking. Beside him, Hai Hai stood stock-still, as did the girl. Zok’s feet began shuffling forward, and he could not stop his own body.

The voice spoke again, this time to Hai Hai and the girl. You will be servants. You will leave this room and await us.

The girl repeated the words and stepped down from the dais.

Hai Hai droned in repetition: “I will leave this room.” She walked down the steps of the dais. “I will leave this room,” she repeated, “...after you cook my breakfast, eat my cunny, and die by fire!”

The Weavers were confused, their half-rotted minds unable, it seemed, to understand drollery. When Hai Hai flew at them with her sabers, though—they recognized that.

Zok felt his mind clear in an instant. The spell holding him had broken with the Weavers’ concentration. The girl screamed and ran out of the room.

And then Zok heard another voice in his head. A woman’s voice, as different from that of the Weavers as day was from night. Place your hands on the Ebon Chest! Free me! Your worthiness will open the lock! The voice was like sunlight and honey. Zok obeyed it instantly. His placed his hands on the lock.

There was a sound like a thousand chimes, and the lid flew open in a burst of golden light. All movement in the chamber stopped.

The Diamond Diadem floated up out of the Ebon Chest. It revolved slowly in midair, suspended in a beam of golden light, sparkling with the light of a thousand sun-dappled diamonds. Zok had been in the presence of powerful sorcery a hundred times, but nothing like this. He felt waves of pure power and grace wash over his soul.

Something very different happened to the Weavers when the light hit them. There was no flame, but they burned nonetheless. There was a horrible wailing, then robes and mail, flesh and bones all dissolved into ash. And just like that, Zok stood alone in the room with Hai Hai and the true Diamond Diadem of Virgin Queen Glora, which slowly lowered itself back onto the velvet cushion that sat inside the Ebon Chest.

Hear me, Zok Ironeyes! Hear the voice of the light! As with the voices of the Shadow Weavers, the voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere. But it was unmistakably a single voice—female, powerful, and clear as a clarion breaking a silent morning. Suddenly the Ebon Chest seemed more a throne than a box.

I am Glora, the Virgin Queen, servant of the Fathergod. I am the Diamond Diadem.

I was made to fight the Shadow Weavers, but they sought to use my power for evil. But you, in your worthiness, have freed me!

But you must not take me to the one who sent you. He means to serve the Fathergod, but he is consumed with pride and ambition. I release you from his power.

Zok heard a tinkling like glass. He felt the amethyst band around his neck crumble to dust. Beside him the same happened to Hai Hai’s.

Over the centuries and millennia, granted glimpses by the Fathergod, I have watched humanity. And I have learned much. One of the things I have learned is that His servants sometimes take the most unlikely shapes. In your impurity, Zok Ironeyes, you are pure. And you have great strength. The strength that the world needs. That is why you must claim me.

Zok finally worked up the power of speech again. “You want me to wear you?”

No. The voice sounded like a pretty woman’s sad smile to his ears. Like clouded sunshine. No, you must destroy me. The power I bear is too great for men to wield. Only now do I see that. Now that I have been found again, this world is in grave danger.

But saving this world of men will mean a long journey and great sacrifice. You must cast me from the peak of Broken Sword Mountain, into the fathomless depths of the Sable Sea. There, the tainted waves will devour me—and I will finally be beyond the reach of men and demons alike.

“And if I don’t?” Zok asked.

There was a long silence. If you do not, Zok Ironeyes, then evil will triumph!

Zok stretched. It had been a hard few days, and he ached all over. “Sorry to say it, Majesty, but I really don’t give a black bear’s bushy balls about all that. Goodbye.” He turned to go.

You do not understand! If I am not destroyed, some evil man—or worse, the Weavers—will find me! Darkness will cover the land! Children will die!

Zok shrugged, listening to the sound of his armor. It was good scale, and if he was lucky he could sell it for a few months’ fancy boarding for Hai Hai and himself. That was about the best that he was going to get out of this miserable little adventure, it seemed. Ah, well. He’d had jobs that paid worse.

“Children die,” he said at last. “The girl was in front of me. That’s why I freed her. As for the rest of it, Majesty... well, the world will take care of itself. It always does.”

Zok stepped to the Ebon Chest. Slowly, carefully, he closed the lid.

As Hai Hai and he walked out of the chamber, the muffled wailing of Virgin Queen Glora’s soul sounded like a harp being played by an angry weasel.

They reached the outside, and footprints in the dust told Zok that the girl had done the same. Good.

Keeping an eye out for any more demon-men, they retrieved the riding beasts. For a long time, they rode in silence. Finally Zok said, “The Weavers’ spell didn’t work on you.”

Hai Hai shrugged. “Soul magic. And, as the fox-fucking Fatherpriests will be quick to tell you, I ain’t got a soul.”

“But the Weavers were fooled. You could have fled alone.”

Another shrug. “We are partners. That means something, right?”

“Right.”

The tips of Hai Hai’s ears drooped in annoyance. “Anyway, if you’re going to burble like a woman about it, get it over with now, huh? We’ve a long ride ahead.”

Zok smiled at his partner, spurred his riding-beast to a scurry, and said not a word.