The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (47 page)

With a nod, Vriene continued, “A haelhene wraith, then.  He also has some ties to Surou the Dreamer, and ruled Lisalhan in his mother’s stead until its destruction at the end of the Great War.  Nightmare-Weaver, we call him.

“As for Rhehevrok, he was one of many warlords she devoured in trying to duplicate Daenivar’s subjugation, and the only one to succeed.  A Voryeshki ogre, I think.  He became her lieutenant.”

“
One of Breana’s great enemies,” Fiora chimed in, a hard light in her eyes.  “Crazy rapist bastard—“

“
Just so,” said Vriene, her cool tone snuffing Fiora’s incipient fire.  The younger woman sat back with a disgruntled look.

Cob eyed the two of them, curious but not really wanting to stir up an argument.  “And the last one?  The Lady…?”

“Lady Ruin,” said Vriene, then shook her head helplessly.  “She is little more than a rumor.  A goddess who seeks the end of civilization, the end of humanity—perhaps the end of life itself.  Some conflate her with Death, or with the Blood Goddess or Nemesis, and she has a certain number of nihilistic cults, but we have never felt her presence.  She may simply be an excuse.”

“
I don’t think she’s the Blood Goddess,” Fiora cut in.  “Too sneaky.  But sabotage and terror are tactics of war the same as battlefield maneuvers, so it could be her more subtle side with a fake face on it.”

“
Likewise, we doubt she could be the Nemesis because her practices fall outside of the strictures of Law,” said Vriene.  “Not that the Nemesis’s work is legal, but it is consistent, whereas the Ruin cults have been slapdash affairs that seem to form and dissolve spontaneously.  We have theorized that Ruin is a front for a coalition of the troublesome gods—perhaps with the Blood Goddess strategizing, Rhehevrok inspiring and Daenivar coordinating through dreams—but again, we have detected no deific presence at the Ruin sites.  None at all.”

Cob frowned, almost wishing he had not asked.  He much preferred the neat dichotomy of Light and Dark to this messy pantheon.  “Maybe it’s a spirit?  Angry nature spirit that doesn’t like humans or civilization?  Like Brancir, as powerful as a deity, but…not.”

Smiling softly, Vriene reached across the table to lay a slim, pale hand over his.  “My dear, that angry nature spirit would be you.”

“
What?  I—“

“
Of the twinned Great Spirits, it has always been the Guardian that disdained cities and integration.  Our histories tell us that she has spent most of her time among the skinchanger clans and in the wild places, trying to protect them from encroachment and hybridization—trying to preserve the world that once was, before the advent of gods, wraiths and humans.  The Ravager has never opposed humanity; it has always reveled in our progress, in wraith magic and goblin technology, in learning and teaching and conquering and herding us.  And no other spirit has the power to match you two.

“
If there was any spirit that wanted to see civilization wiped from the map, it would be the Guardian.”

Dry-mouthed, Cob just shook his head.  He wanted to pull away from her sympathetic hand, rise from his chair and escape this place. 
It’s not true, is it?
he thought at the spirit inside him. 
You may be the Empire’s enemy, but you’re not humanity’s.

For once, the dark entity thrummed with reassurance, and the tension in his shoulders loosened.  He did not know if he could trust it, but he had to believe that it meant no harm.

Looking up, he met Vriene’s eyes and said, “It’s not us.  ‘Guardian’ would be a crap title if it was.”

The Mother Matriarch’s face creased into smile-lines, and she released his hand and sat back, absently sweeping her long hair over her shoulder again.  “I had not thought so before, and certainly do not believe it now.  Still, you understand the logic—and our dilemma.”

“I guess.”

“
More tea?”

“
No.  Thanks.”

Slumping back in his chair, he glanced around at his companions and wondered what else they knew that he did not have the learning to ask about.  His time under the tutelage of the Light priest in the quarry had been brief and long ago, and before escaping the Crimson Army he had made a concerted effort to not hear the heretical blather of the other slaves.  Now he wished he had listened, if only to make this feel less like being slammed by constant storm-waves.

His attention caught on Fiora, and he remembered their brief discussion in the woods before the wraith ambush, before everything had gone bloody.  “One more question.  Gwydren Greymark.”

“
Oh no,” groaned Fiora, and hid her head in her arms.

Vriene arched a fine brow, looking from the girl to Cob.  “Yes, what about him?”

“Well, she said that’s jus’ another name for this man Jasper, who found me on the road and helped me but then gave me up to Morshoc.  So I wanna know why the pike he’d do that.”

At Cob’s curse, Sogan leaned in with a growl, but Vriene held up a hand for calm.  “Morshoc is the dreaded necromancer, correct?  The one who serves as a vessel for the Ravager?”

“I already told him this,” Fiora complained from under her arms.

Cob nodded, and Vriene went on as if Fiora had not spoken.  “After the madness of the godswars, a pact was made between the gods and spirits, in which the gods agreed to cease their direct presence in mortal affairs.  Initially this did not bind the lesser gods—Daenivar, Rhehevrok and the like—or the greater god-servants, but they could not stop misbehaving and so were eventually included.  A hierarchy of who could intervene in what type of event was developed so that there could still be some interaction, but it is strict.

“The greater gods are never permitted to manifest.  They can act only through their human servitors—their priests.  The lesser gods can manifest in times of great peril for their followers, because they are not strong enough to cause widespread destruction and mayhem, but they are required to depart the realm if confronted by a spirit.  And the spirits may manifest whenever they like.  This may seem unbalanced, but spirits rarely venture into the physical realm.  It puts them at a grave disadvantage—“

“
They can be killed,” said Arik in a low voice.

Vriene nodded.  “It does not seem possible for a god to die except at the hands of another god, but spirits have been slain by wraiths and mortal magic-users.  This is why they dwell mainly in the spirit-realm, where only spirits can reach.”

“What’s this got t’ do with Gwydren?”

“
Gwydren Greymark is…a special case.  He has been infused by the essence of Athalarr the Lion, but he also serves Brancir, and both of them are more than spirits.  When Brancir joined the Trifold, she signed on to the pact of nonintervention as a greater god, and Athalarr aspires to do the same—to become a god himself, not just a beast-spirit.  He is nearly there, I think.  Already all of Jernizan reveres him.

“
This makes Gwydren Greymark a greater servant of one goddess and one proto-god, and thus places strictures upon him.  He is permitted to act directly like a mortal priest, but he can not intervene in spirit affairs, so when a spirit tells him to leave a conflict, he must go.

“
If Morshoc carried the Ravager, then he must have told Gwydren to leave, and Gwydren would have no choice but to comply.  The gods’ pact was sealed by Law himself, and though he is dead, his rules remain in force.”

Cob nodded slowly, brows furrowed.  “But so…if a god walks up to me, I can say ‘go away’ and it has to go away?”

“Technically, yes,” said Vriene.  “But it would be wise to stay polite.  You are not the Guardian, you are merely the vessel.”

“
I’m aware.  And Jasper—  Gwydren.  What did he want from me?  What do your goddesses and this Athalarr get from me?”

Shaking her head, Vriene rose from her seat.  “Nothing but your safety, Cob.  If Gwydren sought you out, it was to protect you.  He has always been a defender of the young, the lost, the wounded.  Were he not such a loyal man, he might become a lesser god in his own right; he is older than the Lisalhan Sea, older than this Empire, older than the Rift.  The things he must have seen…”

Cob managed not to scowl, but it was harder to suppress his discomfort.  Bad enough that Morshoc had stalked him; learning the truth of Jasper was like finding the very Eye of Night focused upon him.  He did not want to be watched by gods and spirits and servitors and other hog-crap.

And he definitely did not want to be grateful to Morshoc for shooing them away.

When he said nothing more, Vriene inclined her head to him pleasantly, then turned and beckoned for her husband to assist with the cleanup.  The big man ambled over to her, and Cob saw them lean together for a kiss, so he averted his eyes.  His attention fell on Lark and her amused expression.

“
You are beyond a prude,” the Shadow girl said.  “I’m surprised you haven’t found a way to glue your breeches on.”

Cob crossed his arms stiffly, out of his depth.  “Private stuff belongs in private.”

“Right.  Nobody’s allowed to do anything that could possibly discomfit you.”  She blatantly adjusted her bodice, and Cob looked away, reddening as she snickered.

“
Oh, don’t harass him,” said Fiora.  “It’s not like he told them to stop.”

“
I’m just saying, if he can’t stand to see two people kiss, then—“

Arik’s chair scraped back.  Cob eyed him, then blinked in surprise as the skinchanger swept around to nab Lark by the shoulders and loom close, lips puckered.  Lark squealed and interposed a hand between their mouths just in time, and Arik made exaggerated smooching sounds against it.

“Let me go, you beast!” Lark said, laughing.  “Ew!  Don’t lick my hand!”

Arik waggled his brows, then withdrew with a grin.

Cob wondered if it was bad to want to strangle his friends with his mind.  Across the table, Fiora seemed to be thinking the same.  “He wasn’t nearly that…friendly while you were asleep,” she told Cob.  “He’d only let Lark get near you.  Everyone else, he’d snap at.”

Curious, Cob considered the skinchanger as he sat back down with a satisfied look.  He had always seemed cheerful to Cob.  Coarse, intrusive, aggravating, but happy enough, and the adoring way he returned Cob’s gaze was difficult to reconcile with Fiora’s words.

So he just shrugged to her.  She frowned, unappeased.

“
I guess we’re all out of business to discuss,” said Lark, wiping her hand vigorously on her dress.  “Anyone for cards?”

“
I will take my leave, if you permit,” said Ilshenrir.

Glancing over, Cob realized that the wraith was actually looking to him for permission, not just being polite.  “Uh, yeah, of course.  Y’ don’t stay in here?”

“It doesn’t agree with him,” said Lark.  The wraith smiled slightly in acknowledgment.

As he rose, Cob started to do the same, thinking he should see Ilshenrir off.  Shake his hand or say sorry again.  Something.  But Lark hopped up at the same time and pulled open one of the Damiels’ cabinets, and Cob glanced to the couple to see that they had retreated to a corner to speak quietly, his arms around her, neither fazed by Lark’s rummaging.  In a moment, the girl had pulled out a jug and was refilling the small lantern Ilshenrir had carried in with him—the one that had drawn Cob to him in the forest.

“I think that’s enough for the night,” she said as she re-lit it with a twig from the hearth.

“
Thank you,” said Ilshenrir, then looked to Cob.  “You plan to enter Haaraka tomorrow?”

Cob nodded.  “As soon as we’re all up.  I want this done.”

“I understand.  I will meet you at the barrier.”

Lantern in hand, he drifted to the door with Lark at his heels.  Cob watched him step out, saw her wave after him.  It made him feel like that much more of a bastard.

A big hairy hand patted his arm.  “Do not feel bad,” said Arik.  “I almost tore him up too.  It is the way we are.”

“
I don’t like it,” said Cob, but sat back down.

As Lark returned, the Damiels separated, and Vriene looked over the small gathering before focusing on Cob.  “Unless there is something else you would ask, I fear my husband and I must retire for the evening.”

“That’s fine.  Thanks for answerin’ my questions.”

“
You are quite welcome.  Your room is at the top of the stairs.  Dasira was using it before; hopefully she has not forgotten to move.”

He tried to keep his thoughts off his face, and just nodded.  “Sleep well.”

“And to you,” Vriene said with a smile, then glided to the stairs, drawing her husband along behind her.

“
They’re so cute,” Lark said once they had disappeared.  “I want to be like them when I get old.”

“
I thought you wanted to be independent and man-less,” said Fiora.

Lark shrugged.  “I have time for both.  Anyway, cards?”

She pulled a wrapped packet from a pocket and started unwinding it, and Cob got a weird feeling down his spine.  He glanced toward the stairs again, thinking of the room at the top, and of clasped hands around a dagger that should have been a cup.  “Can I look at those?”