“Ask it,” Weishu replied, all good humor.
“When you studied this realm before you began your conquest,” the God-King asked seriously, “did you wonder why so many religions begin in Gyongxe, and why so many religions have at least one temple here?”
If Briar had not turned his head to look at Rosethorn just then, he might have missed the glint of light on thin, silk-like strands behind the mages and the emperor.
Weishu chuckled. So did a number of his mages.
“Even some Yanjingyi gods have temples here,” the God-King went on. “But you don’t understand at all, do you?”
“What I understand is that all of these temples will surrender their treasures to me, and I will carry them to my palaces,” Weishu replied, still amused. “What do I care if people choose to haul themselves here to knock their heads in your dirt? Temples are places for priests to milk money from worshippers. I am the only god they need to worry about now.”
All around him Briar felt Rosethorn working on crossbows, drawing the strength from the wood until it was as dry and brittle as kindling. He quickly helped her, feeling scared. There was something in the air, a feeling like that before a thunder- or sandstorm. Power was building all around them that had nothing to do with the kind of magic he knew. He didn’t know what would happen if it got loose.
“I will explain,” the God-King was telling the emperor, “though you have said enough that I am fairly certain you will not believe me.”
Weishu yanked on the God-King’s leash. The metal cracked to pieces and fell on the floor. “People come here to be close to the gods,” the boy told the emperor. “Things happen here that happen nowhere else.” As the emperor straightened, ready to shout an order, something that looked like a metal snake with a skull for a head slid down the filament over him and dropped to his shoulders. Swiftly it wrapped itself around the emperor’s neck.
Rosethorn sighed. “Who let the cave snakes out?” She didn’t seem to expect an answer. She also didn’t seem surprised.
Guards behind the captives threw the doors open. More Yanjingyi soldiers poured into the throne room, filling the space behind the captives and joining the other soldiers along the walls.
Behind the throne a familiar deep voice boomed, “Try to kill anyone here and your emperor dies.”
Hengkai raised his hands. Immediately the filament above him captured them and bound his arms. It whipped like a spinning rope, fashioning a cocoon for him from shoulders to hips. He cursed, furious, then shrieked in terror as giant spiders lowered themselves to the dais on ropes of web, giving every mage who stood there the same treatment. Hengkai croaked something, seemingly the start of a spell, only to have a strand of web fall over his mouth. At last the spiders dropped to the floor behind the imperial mages.
Briar and Rosethorn pulled what life remained from the crossbows and the crossbow bolts of the imperial archers. Already dry and splitting, the weapons broke apart and fell from their holders’ grips.
Evvy had not been idle. In the hands of the mages beads made of jade, cinnabar, and quartz split, cutting the strings on which they were hung. The rest of the beads fell to the floor as the spiders bound the mages together in bundles.
Briar looked at the paintings on the walls. “You may as well help,” he told them. “You know you’ve been itching to.”
The paintings walked off the walls. The large ones, the gods and goddesses, grabbed those soldiers who ignored Luvo’s warning and went for their swords. The painted gods seized the weapons and threw them aside. Unnerved and undone by the sight of a painted, many-armed god or a very tall, red goddess standing over them, the soldiers fell to their knees and pressed their faces against the floor. The little creatures from the borders of the paintings swarmed the soldiers and mages who continued to fight, taking up positions on their ears or faces. Suddenly the humans went quiet, not daring to touch the alien beings perched so close to their eyes or ears. Many of the painted gods bore weapons.
Luvo came forward from the back of the throne room, mounted on the back of a giant peak spider. They climbed the dais until Luvo could step off onto the top. The spider retreated to the foot of the steps and crouched, waiting.
The God-King still sat on the steps by the throne as if this were a normal day in the palace, watching as crossbows and mage beads went to pieces and paintings came to life and battled. Now he stood and bowed to Luvo, the spiders, and the paintings. “I am honored beyond all words by this visit, Great Ones,” he said. “I am only sorry that you could not see the capital at its best.”
“Do you think you have the upper hand?” Weishu shouted. He had pried the cave snake a couple of inches from his neck so he could speak. “Have you forgotten my army? It will avenge me! Every one of Yanjing’s armies will cross your mountains. There will be no Gyongxe when they are done! Those of you who are not Gyongxin, my assassins will hunt you until the end of time! They will kill you, your children, and all you hold —”
By then the cave snake had changed its hold enough to tighten its grip on the emperor’s throat again. Briar was close enough to see that its body was in reality all backbone, made of metal and dirt like its skull. He wanted one.
“He has a point.” Parahan, Soudamini, and Sayrugo had left their guards to stand with Rosethorn. Briar and Evvy went to join them. “We have the emperor and his mages, but it will do us no good,” Parahan continued. “The army is still here. His heirs will want to finish what he began.”
Luvo walked closer to the God-King. “Your nearest army has its own problems at this time.”
The God-King sat up, eager. “Would you show me?”
The biggest spider of all slid down a flaxen rope to the floor. Everyone stepped back except Evvy, who bowed low and said, “Hello, Diban Kangmo. It’s very good to see you again.”
The great creature uttered several squeaks and touched Evvy’s cheek with the hard edge of one arm. Then she settled back and began to eject fluid from her spinneret. Evvy backed up then, too.
“Who’s your friend?” Briar asked Evvy.
“She’s Diban Kangmo. I told you about her. She’s a peak spider. She and her daughter helped heal me after Luvo brought me into his mountain,” Evvy explained. “The peak spiders are the gods of the highest parts of the mountains. I’m not going to look at that,” she added, turning away from the pool of spinneret fluid. “I know it’s perfectly natural, what they make the webs from and all, but I think that looks nasty.”
The milky pool spread over the floor until it was several feet across. Diban Kangmo straightened and stepped away from it. The peak spider that had placed Luvo on the dais now carried him down to the floor and set him at the pool’s edge.
As Luvo waited, an image grew in the milky liquid. It was a view of the plain outside the main gate. Briar did his best not to gape. There were creatures out there. Horse-like ones with eagles’ heads, thin legs, and metal hooves fought the cavalry, their golden beaks and silvery hooves cutting deadly wounds on horses and riders. Lions that looked, impossibly, as if they were made of ice fought beside snow leopards, cave bears, and nagas, fully fleshed, not painted. Cave snakes shone as they slithered through the ranks of foot soldiers. Peak spiders walked among them, casting webs over several soldiers at a time. Giant vultures attacked from overhead. Whole companies of soldiers were giving the creatures the great bow, their foreheads on the bloody ground.
And it was very bloody, Briar saw. The creatures who fought for Gyongxe could die. The Yanjingyi soldiers were dying, too. The peak spiders had a stinger; it killed. But they were vulnerable to arrows or swords. Many of them lay sprawled in the dirt, their limbs and heads hacked away. The horse-like creatures bled dark blood when they were cut down.