Voice of the Gods

start, Auraya said. Fewer of their own people will die.

:True.

:If your help brings about a quick conclusion, at least you will be saving mortal lives.

:I hope so. He hesitated. I have sent out a message to my own people subtly suggesting they use their magic in defense of whichever side they wish to support, Pentadrian or Circlian.

:How will the Voices react to this? They will suspect you ordered it!

:I will point out that while I can’t give them orders, I also can’t prevent my people emulating me. I could hardly forbid them to do something I am doing. And the advantage is still the Voices’ because I and the Dreamweavers here are stronger than those of my people defending the Circlians.

:You are too clever for your own good, she told him.

:Am I? You must tell Emer—... wait. Someone is knocking on my door. I must go.

:Good luck.

:You too.

Then he was gone. Auraya stared at the floor and felt her heart twist.

I hope he knows what he’s doing. If he dies... She swallowed hard. I think I’d actually regret it. And not just because the last of Leiard dies with him. Or that I’ll probably die, too. I think I’d actually regret knowing Mirar the Wild no longer existed.

The wide Parade outside the Sanctuary was well-suited for assembling an army. Thousands filled the space. Servants dressed in black robes stood in neat, disciplined rows on one side, soldiers in black uniforms with shining armor stood in rigid formation on the other. Highly decorated litters for the Voices and their Companions and advisers waited before the stairs. Larger four-wheeled tarns laden with supplies were lined up at the distant rear of the assembly.

It was an impressive sight. If Mirar hadn’t seen entire armies perish before handfuls of sorcerers, he would have thought the Pentadrians sure of victory.

If it weren’t for a handful of sorcerers, urged on by their gods, would these people even be here? he asked himself. It was an impossible question to answer. The world had never been free of gods, so who could guess how mortals would behave without them? He had seen wars waged for reasons as flimsy as revenge for an insult, or simple greed. Mortals did not need gods to order them to kill each other. They were quite capable of finding reasons to do so themselves.

First Voice Nekaun stepped forward to address the crowd. Mirar stopped listening after a few sentences. He had heard it all before.

“What are you thinking about?” a voice said softly at his shoulder.

He turned to find the Second Voice regarding him.

“The futility of war,” he replied.

Imenja smiled. He found her likeable, but she had lived long enough to have refined her skill at putting others at their ease so well it was undetectable.

“You think this war is futile?” she asked.

He shrugged. “Even if you kill the White and defeat the Circlians, the Circle of Gods will still exist.”

She nodded. “That is true. What comes after this confrontation will be as important as the battle itself. We hope that, in time, the people of the north will see our ways are better and kinder, and will embrace the Five. There will always be those who continue to worship the Circle, but the Circle’s power over Northern Ithania will be diminished.”

“So not entirely futile, in your view,” he finished.

She smiled again. “No. But I would understand if you wished we could kill the Circlian gods as well. It would make the world much safer for you. What are you smiling at?”

Mirar chuckled. “Just the thought of you killing the Circlian gods for me.” And that if we immortals allowed the Voices and the White to “discover” how to do it, we might only have to sit back and watch them both rid the world of our problems.

Which might not be a bad fallback plan if no opportunity to free Auraya came, or she refused to help. He had not been able to find a way to free Auraya except forcing his way into her prison himself, which would certainly spoil the goodwill between the Voices and himself, and perhaps for his people too. The best option for Dreamweavers was to hope Imenja kept her promise.

However, if the Voices won the battle there might be no White left to attack the Pentadrian gods. Still, the Voices could kill the Circlian ones, and that might be all the Wilds needed. The Pentadrians ones didn’t seem too bad so far.

Nekaun fell silent and the crowd cheered. Making an expensive gesture, he indicated that Imenja and the other Voices should follow him down to the litters. Imenja’s smile altered slightly, and Mirar was sure it was now forced.

As the Voices descended he followed a few steps behind, among the Companions and advisers. A few steps from the vehicles Genza glanced back at him, her eyes narrow and thoughtful.

“Would you mind if the Dreamweaver travelled with me, First Voice?” she asked. “You know I find long journeys tedious.”

Nekaun paused to regard her, his eyebrows high. “It’s hardly a long journey,” he said. Turning to Mirar, he smiled politely. “Dreamweaver Mirar, would you honor me with your company as we set out?”

“The honor is mine,” Mirar replied smoothly.

Genza shrugged. “Perhaps later, when all the talk of violence and strategy begins to bore him.”

They settled onto the litters, which were each lifted by several muscular slaves dressed in finery. The army could see their leaders clearly. And me, Mirar thought grimly. He had explored the dreams of Dreamweavers last night. Their reaction to his deal with the Voices was mixed. Some disliked it, some did not. All but a few believed he had been forced to make the deal, probably by circumstances, perhaps by a more direct threat.

“Don’t let Genza make you feel... obligated,” Nekaun said to him as the litter moved forward.

“I won’t,” Mirar replied, smiling. Genza had stopped flirting with him when they’d arrived at the Sanctuary; Nekaun must not know that.

“I feel I should warn you. She can be persistent. The more you resist her, the more interesting she will find you.”

“I know the type,” Mirar assured him dryly.

Nekaun chuckled. “I’m sure you do. You would also know that she would leave you alone once her curiosity was satisfied. She only wishes to see if your reputation is deserved, as I’m sure many women do.”

“I am not a slave to my reputation,” Mirar replied.

“No, you are not. I respect that.” Nekaun’s eyes glittered with satisfaction. “You are a man who knows when to be flexible, and when to be unbending.”

Mirar stopped himself from grimacing at this reference to his agreement to help the Voices. He smiled slyly. “I thought it was only women who spread such rumors about me.”

As the litter began to move between the columns of Servants and soldiers, the Parade echoed with Nekaun’s laughter.

Looking up at the prow of the boat, Tamun smiled. Her brother stood straight-shouldered, his hair whipping in the wind. The boat was speeding through the water, propelled by magic, guided by his will. Water sprayed out from either side of the prow and the hull shuddered every time it struck a wave.

She noted the muscles in his arms, earned by many hours of rowing and poling through the swamp. He had grown more masculine since they had taken up residence there. Her sister had become quite a handsome brother. Why hadn’t she noticed that before?