came rolling out. Like Mattias, she was fully armed and armored, blades bared like her teeth, casting about for an enemy. When she did not recognize Cephas, she charged, rejecting the twin’s usual flourished rolls and spins in favor of a full-on sprint, blades extended.
“No!” The cry came from two directions, Ariella at his side drawing her sword and Corvus behind Shan, holding out one hand.
“Shan, it’s me!” Cephas said. “It’s Cephas.” His tone was gentle, which sounded odd to his own ears. Ariella had told him that the changes in his body and abilities would be mirrored by changes in his mood and feelings.
Shan skidded to a stop, forgot his presence, and ran for the tent she shared with her sister the previous night. She stopped when Mattias called after her.
“She’s gone, Shan. So is Tobin.”
The kenku gestured for Cephas, Ariella, and Shan to approach. When they all stood together, he said, “I was attacked by a djinni skylord of Calimport. I know him to be the vizar to the pasha of games there, the man the WeavePasha believes is Cephas’s father. The djinni threatened to capture a halfling and a goliath from among my companions.”
“He’s done so,” said Mattias. “The firesouled Cabalists were his agents. They used magic far beyond what they should be able to wield, some combination of fire and air I have never seen. Cynda fought, but she and Tobin were taken. Where, I cannot say. The firesouled left by sorcery. El Jhotos had to have known they brought powerful items with them onto these grounds, Corvus.”
The kenku shook his head. “I don’t think so. Or if he did, I think their nature was disguised. Appearances deceive, functions change.” He looked at Cephas, taking in his silver skin and the short strings of crystal that served as hair where he was smooth-pated before.
“But it makes no difference,” he added. “The WeavePasha is no longer our ally and seeks to prevent us from mounting a rescue. Cephas, I have placed your life in danger, and I will offer explanations and apologies soon. For now, we have only enough time to attempt escape, and you must accept that as amends.”
Cephas did not know what to make of this swift change of circumstances, but something inside him welcomed it. He looked to Ariella, who gave him a curt nod.
“I can get out of the city on my own,” Corvus said. “Old man, can you and Trill win past whatever the WeavePasha sends against you?”
Mattias did not hesitate. “Yes. Shan can ride behind me. And Trill can carry Cephas and Ariella, at least for a time. That is, if the lady is accompanying us.”
“Even if I did not have other reasons,” Ariella said, “it is my duty to track down Lavacre and Flamburnt. If they acted at the direction of a Calimien djinni, as you say, then they acted for the enemies of my queen and stewards. The swordmages of Akanul are trained to deal with traitors.”
A long blast sounded from a brass horn atop one of the minarets of the palace. A hum rose in the air, and the tiny crystals in Cephas’s hair caught a vibration that churned his stomach.
“The WeavePasha comes!” said Corvus. “Mattias! The petrified delta of the Quag!” Shadows boiled around the kenku.
“He will know we flee in that direction!” shouted Mattias.
Corvus said, “But he dare not follow there,” and disappeared.
Mattias cursed and signaled Trill to lower her head. “But of course
The halfling came running from Ariella’s tent, a bundle strapped to her back.
Cephas kept a wary eye on Trill’s launch and approach after Shan leaped up behind Mattias, aiming to have some influence over where her claws closed around him this time. “I guess Shan thinks you’ll want your armor!” he called to Ariella as they were caught up again.
“I’m beginning to wonder if I should ever take it off around you!” she shouted, and then, despite the circumstances, when she saw his crestfallen expression, she laughed.
Many hours later, bells rang three times in the WeavePasha’s darkened inner chamber, indicating that his high vizar sought permission to enter.
He waved a hand and the woman, eldest of his grandchildren, materialized before him. She looked exhausted, and her boots and cloak were coated with dust. Before she spoke, he pointed at the decanter and crystal goblets on a nearby rosewood table. The vizar’s thanks were in her sigh, and she trudged across the room to pour a glass.
After she drained the wine in a single draft, she wiped her lips with the back of her hand. “Mattias Farseer,” she said, “is a devil. And Corvus Nightfeather does not exist. At least, my mages can find no trace of him on this or any other plane of existence.”
The WeavePasha chuckled. “Mattias is a human man. One of tremendous talents and extraordinary dedication, perhaps, but I have begun to wonder if it isn’t unshakable fidelity that defines humanity. Or at least its heroes.”
The woman across from him had heard the WeavePasha say such things every day of her life, and she was approaching her one hundredth winter. “Your dedication to the city is unshakable, Grandfather,” she said. “His dedication is to a wild animal and a handful of criminals. It is you who are the hero.”
The WeavePasha heard the note of fanaticism in her voice and sighed, knowing he’d planted it there. He trusted she would grow out of it. They always did-all but him.
“Did he kill anyone?” he asked, and stood, deciding that he, too, wanted a drink.
“The ranger? No.” She hesitated. “Though in truth, he could have.” A different note came into her voice, and the WeavePasha refilled her glass before pouring a half measure of ruby wine into his own. “In truth, Grandfather,” she said, “he could have killed
The WeavePasha inclined his head. “And yet,” he said, “when my magics were drained from it and its wielder faced the mightiest of my descendants, he still escaped.”
His granddaughter took a seat on a footstool, her shoulders slumping. “Yes. He and the halfling that rode behind him on the wyvern’s back. The genasi she carried dropped away in the scrubland along the coast, perhaps half a day’s ride west by horseback. I have sent out a company of the city guard, but …”
“But they will find nothing,” he said, gently finishing her sentence. “Because the windsouled will enter the Plain of Stone Spiders long before our horsemen arrive, and our commanders know they are forbidden to enter those lands.”
“Not that they would, anyway,” said his granddaughter. “Not that anyone sane would.”
“So you believe there will be deaths after all, eh?” he asked.
The woman shifted uncomfortably. “If they are fools enough to cross the old course of the River Quag, yes. But, my lord …”
“Ah,” he said. “We come to Corvus.”
“There were no deaths among those of us who flew in pursuit of the wyvern.” She saw his darkening features and rushed on. “And none of those who sought the kenku were harmed, either. But the summoners among them believed their spectral hounds had his scent near the docks and called up a chain of runespiral demons.”
“Within the city walls?” he demanded, anger in his voice. “The kin I set to guard
“In a district of empty warehouses, WeavePasha, in the Street of Stolen Stones. They judged the risk acceptable, and they never lost their grip on the leashes. The demons all converged on the same ruin, and … they all died, Grandfather. Six of them.”
The WeavePasha considered another glass of wine but decided against it. “A creditable effort,” he said dryly, “for a man you believe not to exist.”
She spread her hands. “I offer no apologies with these explanations, Grandfather. My daughter stands ready to relieve me as your high vizar.”
“Your
