“Are you quite all right, miss?” asked the voice, now up near the ceiling. “Your pulse appears to be racing in an unhealthy way, and your eyes look about to pop out.”
The voice was unquestionably the same one she’d heard talking to Varnell weeks before. “Where are you?”
“Everywhere. And nowhere.”
She sighed. “Helpful.”
“But if you would prefer something to focus on while we converse, I am over here.”
The voice guided her back over to Varnell’s study area.
“Warmer… warmer… stop!”
She found herself standing directly in front of the pedestal that held the creepy demonic bust. The statue’s eyes stared blankly. The monstrous face was completely inert, yet her skin prickled at its proximity.
She folded her arms. “You expect me to believe you’re a talking statue?”
“Am I not?”
The voice did now seem to be coming from the stone head.
Fine. Be that way.
“Gardos, was it?” She forced herself to sound casual, as though greeting an acquaintance at a dinner party rather than an unseen entity in a dungeon. Not that she’d ever been to a dinner party.
“Indeed!” The voice sounded quite delighted. “I wasn’t sure you’d remember. It’s been a while since you eavesdropped on my conversation with yon master of the guild. I must admit I was surprised to see you return—and so frequently!”
She hardly had time to be shocked and outraged that it had been watching her all this time, for it was still talking.
“I’d had you pegged as a goody-goody scholar. Wrong place, wrong time, and all that. Yet here you are, breaking all the rules and continuing to defy your so-called betters. If I had a hat, I’d take it off to you.”
“That can be arranged.” Tiri eyed the marble bust. “Would you like me to measure you?”
“And cover up these magnificent horns? ‘Twould be a veritable crime.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Mm-hmm. How did you know I was here that time? I was hidden while the two of you were talking.” A terrible thought hit her. “Does Varnell know I’ve been here, too?”
“As I said, young miss. I am everywhere.” She jumped as the voice seemed to whisper directly into her ear. “And nowhere.” Back in the statue, it said, “Fear not. The master learns of nothing I do not wish for him to find out.”
“It almost sounds as though Varnell isn’t the master here.”
“It does sound that way, doesn’t it?” the voice agreed pleasantly.
“Are you his patron?”
Her interlocutor tutted. “Come, now. You know I am not. In fact, though you may not quite realize it yet, I believe you’re beginning to formulate your own suspicions as to the identity of that particular entity.” The voice paused, then laughed. “Hah. I’m a poet, and… I didn’t even know I was rhyming those words. But it happened anyway.”
“Remarkable. What do you mean about his patron’s identity?”
“You’re the one who’s been reading Arb’ek Kitt. You tell me.”
I’m talking to a statue, she realized. What have I become?
Out loud, she said, “First, tell me who—or what—you are.”
“I am Gardos. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Tiriani Moon.”
How does he know my name?
“Stop trying to distract me.” She congratulated herself on how calm she sounded, despite this entire scenario starting to unnerve her more and more. “Even at the Academy we’re taught never to trust something if we can’t see where it keeps its brain.”
“Sound advice.” Was it her imagination, or did she detect a hint of wariness in the voice? She pushed on.
“Isn’t it? Tell me, Gardos.” She took a step closer to the plinth. “If I were to break open those ‘magnificent horns’ of yours, would I find your brain? Or would I find something else?”
There was no reply.
“Only one way to find out, I suppose.” She reached out as if to push the statue off its pedestal.
“I assure you there’s no need to break anything,” said the voice. “Though I’m sure your friend Collson would be impressed by your barbaric threats.”
“Does this mean you’re going to give me a straight answer?” she asked, hands still poised just inches away from the stone bust.
“Why tell you when I can show you?”
She frowned.
“Lift me up. Go on.”
Gardos’s sudden willingness was a little suspicious, but picking up the statue wouldn’t do her any more harm than smashing it. She shrugged, placed a hand beneath each of the protruding stone horns, and lifted.
It was much lighter than she’d anticipated. She almost overbalanced, stumbling back a few steps with the statue in her hands before she registered the thing still sitting on the plinth.
The demonic bust was light because it was hollow. It was hollow because it had been hiding… this.
“Well? What do you think of me, miss? Am I pretty?”
Gardos was no more than six inches high. Smoky gray in color and roughly oval in shape, his multifaceted surface glinted dimly in the light from Tiri’s chemsphere, revealing hints of swirling shadows deep within.
Gardos wasn’t a ghost or a demon.
He was a God Core.
Forty-Two
Mr. Stiff's Sword Sharpener
Benin
The haunting cries of loons were already beginning to rise from nests in the surrounding reeds.
Benin was drained, sweating with exertion, but it felt good to be using his abilities. Every day he felt himself becoming stronger.
He ran his fingers through his hair; it crackled slightly with static.
Maybe I overdid it with the lightning.
He ducked inside his tent, seeking a change of socks. Before they’d begun on Lightning Ball, Bekkit had drilled him yet again on Air Displacement, once more confirming that marshland did not provide the best terrain for magical training. He was pretty sure Bekkit had positioned him near that flooded sinkhole on purpose. Git.
Coll was sitting on his bedroll. Hammer in his lap, he was rummaging through one of his packs, frowning. Without looking up, he waved at a corner of the tent behind Benin. “Can you pass me that bag?”
As he handed over the satchel, Benin’s fingers momentarily brushed against Coll’s, and the other man leapt back with a yelp.
“Calm down, I wasn’t trying to hold your hand or anything,”
