The Dawn of a Desperate War (The Godlanders War) (4 page)

But when he reached the cabinet, he could find no lock to pick. The thing glowed here and there with the wicked, artificial light of druid artifacts, and one small panel near the middle of an edge shone in the runes of their language. None of that told Corin how to slip the lock, though.

He stood for a moment, staring in frustration, inches from the thing he wanted most in all the world and stymied by a lock that wasn’t there. He tried the door, hoping foolishly that the druids trusted each other insofar as not to lock it, but of course it wouldn’t budge. He cast a glance over his shoulder, just to make sure the others were still engrossed in their ceremony.

They were. All but one of them, anyway. A stranger in unaccustomed clothes stood barely three paces from Corin, watching him intently. When he saw Corin glance his way, he answered with a little nod toward the weapons case.

“You could try to break the glass,” he said, “but it won’t work. You’re going to need the combination.”

Corin’s mouth was suddenly completely dry. He swallowed hard, trying to work moisture into it, then stammered, “W-would you . . . give it to me?”

The other pretended to consider that a moment, then shrugged. “Sure. But only if you promise me you’ll kill off Ephitel for good.”

S
omething in that shrug, in the other man’s expression and his voice, tugged at Corin’s memory. He considered the druid for a long moment and then his jaw dropped.

“Jeff?”

The druid’s eyebrows raised, but the corner of his mouth turned down as he nodded in reluctant admission. “In the flesh. You know me?”

“Better than you might believe,” Corin said. “Have you not heard my story?”

“I’ve heard some drivel about time travel, but that’s not what interests me. The main thing I keep hearing is that you’re anxious to run off and deal with Ephitel instead of waiting for the Council’s carefully considered approval.”

Corin flashed his teeth. “You’ve caught me in the act.”

“Then get on with it,” Jeff said. He leaned past Corin and punched four of the clustered symbols on the glowing panel. Each press elicited a tiny, tortured beep, and on the fourth, the door fell softly open.

The druid’s eyebrows rose again when Corin reached past the outlandish weapons and grabbed the longsword’s scabbard. Drawing it out, he clipped it on the belt around his waist. Then he jerked his head toward a distant spot along the circle’s outer edge, where a pair of standing chalkboards made a little nook that might offer them a bit of privacy.

As they walked, Jeff asked him, “How’d you know?”

“Know what?”

“That the sword was hidden in the rifle case?”

Corin frowned, uncomprehending for a moment, then he glanced down at the sword hanging from his belt. The thin, almost imperceptible mists of a druid’s glamour hung close around it. Corin chuckled to himself and waved a hand, dismissing the disguise with a thought. Jeff choked on his surprise.

“I see through the dream,” Corin said. “A gift from Oberon.”

“You aren’t one of us, then.” It was almost a question, if a ludicrous one.

“I am a manling, born in Aepoli. But I did travel into a dream within a dream. I saw the fall of Gesoelig through Oberon’s eyes. I met you there. I was in the plaza when you and Delaen rescued Aemilia from Ephitel’s prison coach.”

Corin watched the doubt in Jeff’s eyes die away with every word. By the end of Corin’s explanation, he was nodding along.

“Then it’s all true?” he asked.

Corin grinned. “Every word of it. I’m a force of nature.”

“That would explain how Ephitel found Aemilia.”

Corin’s grin dissolved. Something sharp and hungry burrowed into his belly. He took a slow breath to fight away the
feeling
and asked quietly, “What do you mean?”

“It’s the puzzle that dragged me here. I’m supposed to be dead, you know.”

“Aemilia had hinted at it, but she never said as much outright.”

“She never liked to lie. Not where you could catch her at it, anyway. She was a good woman. Is it true you two were an item?”

Corin sighed. “Would they have let me come here otherwise?”

Jeff shrugged. “I haven’t understood them for more than a century. But I suppose I see your point. They wouldn’t let you do what needs doing, but they would break a dozen strictures for the sake of a forbidden love. That sounds like their style.”

Corin blinked at the bitterness in Jeff’s tone. He looked the druid up and down, considering his options. A man with such animosity toward the Council might prove useful.

While Corin was still thinking, Jeff picked up the trail of his earlier comments. “I’ve . . . I guess I’ve been in hiding for a while. But I keep an eye on things. When I saw the news about Aemilia, I had to check it out. And one question kept nagging at me: How’d he find her? After all this time, what brought Ephitel to one of ours
now
?”

Jeff might as well have punched him in the gut. Corin grunted and dropped his head. “I did. I killed a Vestossi—”

“That’s not enough. He didn’t need a
motive
, man. He needed a
means
. Ephitel’s been gunning for our people ever since he murdered Oberon. We have the resources to evade him.”

“And?” Corin asked. “You seemed to think you’d found an answer.”

“It never really occurred to me that the time travel stories could be true. But if you’ve been out of time, then Jessamine could probably track you. You’d be an anomaly of sizable proportions.”

“Gods’ blood,” Corin spat. “What’s a Jessamine?”

“A woman,” Jeff said, showing the ghost of a smile. It vanished before he continued. “One of ours, actually, until she went over to the other side.”

“One of yours? A druid cast her lot with Ephitel?”

“Yep. The only one across more than a thousand years.”

“And she can track me?” Corin swallowed hard. Before he had befriended her, Aemilia had certainly shown up a time or two in inconvenient places. She’d had no trouble tracking him across Hurope, thanks to the disturbances created by his use of Oberon’s power. It had been bad enough when the druids’ Council were the ones keeping track of him. Now he learned Ephitel could do it too? He clenched his fists and asked through gritted teeth, “Why has no one mentioned this before?”

“They don’t like to think about her,” Jeff said. “Same as me. They like to pretend the world still works according to their strictures. Like Oberon is still running the show.” He shook his head in disgust. “Probably never crossed their minds. She’s been out of sight for decades now, so they’ve forgotten all about her.”

Corin whipped his head left and right. “Aren’t we in danger here, then? If she can track me, I could lead her straight to th
e circle.”

“Not a chance. The megaliths themselves warp reality far beyond anything you can do. You’re a needle in a haystack here, but step outside the circle, and you’ll be more like a pin on a map. You’ll have to watch your back.”

The hairs on the back of Corin’s neck stood up, but he didn’t answer right away. He considered it. He’d been a hunted man all his life, after all. Nimble Fingers learned to keep their wits about them on the run, and pirates thrived on it. He took a deep breath, thinking, then shook his head.

“It’s not so bad as that,” he said. “I was here three months before she found me. If I keep moving—”

“Do it careful,” Jeff said. “Hide in crowds. Mix with other outlanders if you can.”

Corin barked a sarcastic little laugh. “You mean like elves?”

“That would be perfect. Know any?”

“I’d hoped the Council would put me in contact with them, but apparently the two sides aren’t speaking anymore.”

“Then keep on the move. That’s all you’ll have. And don’t tarry. Get to Ephitel as fast as possible and end this. The longer you wait, the worse a threat she’ll be.”

Corin stared a moment.

Jeff’s brows were pinched in a frown. “What?”

“I’ve discussed these plans with half a dozen others, mostly druids, and you’re the first who seems to believe I’ll do it.”

“I’m the last of us who still believes it can be done. No matter what the others say, they’ve all given up.”

“Not I,” Corin said. “I’ll die first. He should not have taken Aemilia from me.”

“Good,” Jeff said, nodding in satisfaction. “But don’t die. Kill Ephitel. Your dying wouldn’t serve me at all.”

Corin chuckled. “I’ll remember that.”

“Good,” Jeff said again, then he stepped closer. “How?”

“I have the sword—”

“No, I understand how you mean to kill him. But how will you find him?”

Corin had considered the matter carefully. He’d spent most of his time working on ways to flush out Ephitel, to draw the monster out where he could take him down, but he thought there might be a better way. He’d never hung much hope on it, but he’d seen more than one myth made real in the last year.

“Will I have to find him?” he asked. “Everyone knows that Ephitel and all the gods live like kings on the highest peak of Mount Attos.”

He held his breath, half expecting Jeff to laugh away the notion. Instead, the druid frowned in thought and bobbed his head uncertainly. “In a sense they do,” he said at last. “But not . . . not really.”

Corin raised an eyebrow. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that if a manling climbs that mountain, all he’ll find at the top are bare rocks and an icy death.”

“I’m no mere manling.”

“You’re not. I’m convinced of that. But there’s strong fairy magic at work there. I’m not convinced New Soelig is even in this dream. It might be back in Faerie proper, with the mountain serving as a crossing point. Can you cross into Faerie?”

“I . . . I don’t know.”

“Most of the elves cannot. Not at Mount Attos, anyway. Even the ones who’ve sworn allegiance to Ephitel need an appointed guide to cross over into the high city. Nor can any among the druids. We tried back in the dark days after Gesoelig’s fall. We tried, but Ephitel has made New Soelig safe so that only his followers may enter there, and only the most trusted of them may go unescorted.”

Corin closed his eyes. “That cannot be the end of it. I will find a way in.”

“I’m telling you, there’s no way in. For all your strange
powers
, do you really believe you know more about the ways of Faerie than I do?”

Corin leaned back against one of the standing stones. He didn’t answer. Of course he didn’t think that. He barely understood the powers he did have.

But he was not about to abandon his quest either. He shrugged and spread his hands. “In all honesty, I never really believed it would be as easy as storming Ephitel’s palace in
righteous
justice
. If I cannot go to the mountain, I’ll bring Ephitel to me.”

“How? Do you mean to pray to him?”

“No, I have a more compelling means than that.”

“You think you can provoke the Lord of War?”

“I’ve done it once before.”

Jeff considered him a moment, then he sighed. “Ephitel is arrogant and cruel, but he’s no fool. He won’t come at your summons, and if he does, he’ll come in force. You’re lucky to have survived him once.”

Corin didn’t answer that either. Lucky? Lucky enough to see Aemilia dead. Lucky enough to inherit all the miseries of this broken, worn-out world and its miserable masters.

“I won’t rest until he’s dead,” Corin said softly. “I plan to draw him out and put him down. Are you with me? I could use your skills.”

“I’m not a soldier, Corin, but I will fight for you.”

“How?”

“Here. I only came to say good-bye to Aemilia. But if you will keep your promise, if you’ll commit yourself to ending Ephitel, then I’ll abandon mine. I will return to the Council and do everything in my power to sway them in your favor.”

Corin shook his head. “I have no desire to wait for that.”

“And I wouldn’t want you to. I only hope that when you need us, the druids will be ready to stand behind you.”

Corin nodded, satisfied. He pushed himself away from the standing stone and caught the edge of his cloak against a sudden gust of wind. He closed his other hand around
Godslayer
’s hilt and nodded to the druid.

“Fortune favor you,” Corin said. “While you begin your work, I go hunting for a god.”

C
orin stepped through dream and traveled all the way from the Dividing Line in southwest Raentz to the bustling heart of Aerome with just a thought. He had not visited the city often, but he knew well the place he meant to go.

His memory and Oberon’s power brought him to a narrow hallway in a rundown apartment complex. The corridor was dark and close, and floorboards creaked even under Corin’s careful step. The pirate winced at the noise, but only out of ancient habit; he was not in Aerome for any clandestine purpose. On the contrary—he meant to get caught.

But first he had to lay some plans, and that was why he’d come to this third-story hallway in the least fashionable part of town. He strode forward through the shadows, peering closely at the numbers scratched into the crude doorposts until he found the one he wanted. He rapped on the door.

A woman answered; a pretty little slip of a thing. In itself, that was no surprise at all, but Corin felt a touch of shock when he recognized the girl.

She clearly did not recognize him. She frowned out into the hall, the door opened just a slit. She clutched a linen bedsheet around her, and in her other hand she held a narrow-bladed knife with tracery in gold and silver. Corin raised his eyebrows, admiring, until she gave a quiet growl.

He cleared his throat. “That is quite a piece of handiwork.”

“You had
better
mean the knife.”

“Oh, I do,” he answered earnestly. It was a bauble fit for a prince, but Corin had no doubt it held a perfect edge. Dwarven mastercraft.

“Well,” she said, only slightly mollified. She hid a massive yawn behind a delicate fist. By the look of her, she’d been several days without much restful sleep, and the snippy tone in her voice suggested she was most anxious to get back to it. “Do you have some business here, or have you only come to ogle?”

Corin swept a bow. “My dear Lilya, I have come a thousand miles to speak with Master Strunk. Please tell me he is taking visitors.”

She pulled the door wider to gain a better view. She frowned at him a moment, then shook her head. “How do you know
me?”

He showed her a winning smile. “I have an eye for craftsmanship, my dear, and a good memory for names. More to the point, I will not soon forget the night that Giuliano Vestossi met his end, and you played a noble part in that particular event.”

Her eyes shot wide at that. “You know? Oh, but you are him. I didn’t recognize you.”

“Perhaps the evening didn’t register so strongly for you.”

Another voice answered Corin, lower in register and lower to the ground. “Perhaps her eyes were full of better men.”

Corin grinned. “Or dwarves.”

“Or dwarves,” the other agreed. He stepped up to the girl’s side and slapped her bottom with the same care and precision he had used to make that blade. She gasped, then grinned and blushed by turns, and the rascal dwarf chuckled in reply.

“Might as well find some clothes to keep you warm, darling. I have a feeling Corin here intends to put me to less worthy tasks.”

“Alas, I do indeed,” Corin said. He tipped his head in a bow to Lilya. “A pleasure meeting you again.”

She answered with a curtsy that nearly lost her the bedsheet. “Milord.” Then she gave a giggle and scampered off to an inne
r room.

Ben stood a moment evaluating Corin, then came to himself with a shake of his head and stepped aside. “Come in! Come in. Gods’ blood, it’s good to see you, Corin!”

Corin stepped past him into the artist’s studio. It was a wide, open room divided into four quarters by its furnishings. The nearest corner on Corin’s right was lined with low tables that supported potters’ wheels and plaster molds, a goldsmith’s tools and magnifying lenses. Beyond that stood a mostly empty corner in front of a tiny brick fireplace, but Ben had assembled some strange manner of forge right there on the faded hardwood floor. Wide pipes of copper rose above the forge, then twisted down to empty into the fireplace. Spots of char marred the floor all around the forge, and soot had stained the ceiling and nearest walls in streaks of black despite the makeshift chimney.

The nearby anvil was a small one, topped with a jewelcrafter’s delicate tools rather than an armorer’s, but two huge quenching barrels stood nearby. There was also a bucket that Corin
suspected
had been needed more than once to douse a fire started by the indoor forge.

A row of narrow windows in the outer wall lit the other half of the apartment. One corner held a fainting couch, a huge bronze standlamp, and half a dozen easels. The canvases they held all showed the girl Lilya in different poses. Ben had a true talent for painting, and several of these images undermined the noble work of the bedsheet she had borrowed.

The bed and the model both now hid in the back corner, surrounded by tall folding screens. As Corin stepped into the room, he heard the soft sound of the girl snoring delicately behind the screens.

Ben gave a shrug of perfect innocence. “Gods bless her, the poor thing is all worn out.”

Corin shook his head. “I can hardly believe you’re still playing with Blake’s old serving girl.”

Ben frowned at him. “You must admit she makes a lovely model.”

“Aye. But she belongs to the Vestossis.”

A touch of ice entered Ben’s tone. “Her affections have shifted. And she never did
belong
to the Vestossis. One does what one must to survive in a city like this.”

Corin could appreciate the sentiment—he’d stained his soul at times to survive the streets of Aepoli as a child—but his
sympathy
was not enough to make him overlook her recent association with his bitterest enemies.

He opened his mouth to say as much, but Ben’s flashing eyes suggested the dwarf would not take kindly to further talk in that direction. Corin tried another tack. “Still, it’s hardly decent. She’s two hundred years too young for you!”

Ben snorted, dismissive. “I’ve had to learn to count in human years.”

“But to a dwarf—”

“She is just as much a woman as she is to you. What can it harm her that I have the perspective to appreciate her charms?”

“Surely—”

“Surely you should bite your tongue, Corin Hugh. You won’t win this fight as long as you’re still toying with the druid girl. She’d seen a thousand years before I was even born.”

Corin grunted. He had not expected Ben to bring her up, and certainly not in such a casual manner. Corin had done his best to force Aemilia to the farthest corners of his mind, but Ben’s words brought back a memory of their last adventure together. Ben, Aemilia, and Corin had infiltrated a party at the home of Ethan Blake. That was where Ben had met Lilya. And where Corin had committed the murder that eventually brought Ephitel to their little cottage in the woods.

The memory of it staggered him, and in an instant Ben was at his side, peering up in worry.

“What’s caught you, Corin? You look black as midnight. Something I said?”

“Aye,” Corin answered. He took a slow breath and shook his head. “Aye, you put your finger on it. Aemilia is dead. Ephitel came for her.”

“Gods’ blood! How did he find her?”

“I don’t quite know. The druids think he might have had the help of one of theirs—a traitor by the name of Jessamine—but all I know is that he came to punish me for killing Blake.”

“He came for you? But how—”

Corin shook his head. “He came because of me, but Aemilia was always his target. He
thanked
me for giving him a druid t
o kill.”

“By the rings, Corin, I didn’t know. You have my sympathy. Can I do aught to help you?”

Corin glanced toward the back corner of the room, still suspicious of the serving girl, but her gentle snores continued behind the folding screens. Despite them, Corin asked, “Will you take a walk with me? It . . . it would help to clear my head. And we do have much to discuss.”

“Aye. Of course.”

They left the artist’s studio and descended the narrow, creaking stairs of the tenement building. Ben Strunk liked to spend his evenings hobnobbing with the wealthy and the powerful, but he’d always said he preferred to live and work among the poor. There’d been a time when Corin thought it was a careful plan to preserve his artistic hunger, his perspective for the plight of the common man.

One day he’d commented on it, and old Ben had chortled heartily. No, he explained, he preferred to do his work among the poor because his wealthy patrons hated visiting him there. That kept them from interfering in his works in progress. That had been the day Corin and Ben became true friends.

Now they walked in icy silence, leaving the rundown building for an alley just as foul and claustrophobic. Corin set the pace and chose their path. He turned left at the first intersection, then right. Ben only walked along beside him, keeping his pace and holding his tongue. Dwarves were masters when it came to patience and ancient friends with stony silence.

Corin’s path might have seemed random at a glance, for he followed no major thoroughfare. In fact, he was aiming for the highest of the city’s seven hills, tracking like a bloodhound straight as the ancient, twisting streets would allo
w him.

They’d left the studio more than a mile behind before Corin finally drew a heavy breath and turned to his companion. “I want justice, Ben.”

“I hate to be the one to tell you, but you’re in the wrong world for that. There’s no justice here. There’s just Vestossis.”

“I’ve tried my hand at them,” Corin said, casting his voice lower. “They die easy enough. Now I want to aim a little higher.”

“I can hardly say I blame you, but it’s a fool’s errand, boy. Believe me. I’ve met the man. He won’t die easy.”

“He’d better not,” Corin said. “I want him to die hard and weeping.”

“It won’t bring her back.”

Corin clenched a fist and bit his tongue. Shouting at his friend would do no good. He was not a sentimental child chasing satisfaction. He’d seen more than his share of misery, and he
knew
just how bone-deep wicked Ephitel’s Ithale was.

But he was not willing to accept that anymore. The time had come for change. He took a calming breath and answered levelly. “It’s not revenge I’m after, Ben. It’s justice. Oberon himself gave me this task. You’ve had a glimpse of the power he gave me, and he gave it to me for this very purpose.”

Ben walked several paces in thoughtful silence. He knew the name of Oberon, knew its significance, and he’d heard some portion of Corin’s impossible tale. He chewed on Corin’s plans awhile, then asked with all the curious care of a master craftsman, “How?”

“Another gift of Oberon’s,” Corin told him, hesitating over his words. He had told no one but the druids about the sword
Godslayer
. It was his secret weapon, and he hoped to keep it tha
t way.

It was also a tricky thing to carry with him. He had some plans in that direction, but first he had to make sure that Ben was with him. Corin chewed his lip, thinking, then said haltingly, “I have a . . . a means to make Ephitel . . . vulnerable. If I can draw him out to a place and time of my choosing, and if I’m . . .
properly
prepared . . . then I can strike him down. I can kill him forever. Imagine it, Ben.”

“Oh, I’ve imagined it,” Ben said. “My people suffer more than most beneath these current gods’ regime. But this sounds like a risky proposition.”

Corin stopped walking and turned to his companion. “There’s nothing riskier in all the world. I am not blind to that. Even with Fortune and Oberon behind me, there’s a thousand ways this could go wrong and only one it could go right. But I can choose no other path.”

Ben rubbed his jaw, considering. “I suppose I understand, a
t that.”

“Understand this too,” Corin said, trying to find some kindness for his tone. But his thoughts hung too much on Ephitel and all his crimes, and his words came out sharp as
Godslayer
’s blade. “I have no other friend in all the world. There are assets and resources and safehouses I could use, but I have no other friend than you. I need you, Ben Strunk, but I cannot ask you to take up my burden. As you said, it is a risky proposition.”

Ben shook his head, and his eyes flashed with something like anger. “Ask me. Sand and stone, ask me, Corin, or we’re not friends at all!”

Corin licked his lips and looked back in the direction they had come, toward the distant studio where Lilya still slept. “I thought . . . perhaps at last your roving days were over. I thought perhaps the time had come for you to settle down and find some lasting happiness. I can’t ask you to give that up for fear and
suffering
, and almost certain death.”

The dwarf peeled back his lips and snarled. “You’re a
villain
, Corin Hugh. I found a pretty plaything for a summer, and you’re declaring that my roving days are through? I ought to gut you just for saying that. Now tell me what you have in mind, or I’ll start thinking you just want me as an excuse to give up your quest.”

Corin spread his hands in apology. And despite himself he smiled. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.” He turned northeast again, up the sloping street, and Ben fell in beside him. Corin went on, “As I said, I must draw Ephitel out to a place and time of my choosing. I have some plans for how to do that, but as
you
said, there are risks. When I set my plan in motion, I need someone I can trust who will hang back, somewhere close enough to see what happens but far enough to slip away if things go bad.”