Hai Hai made an obscene gesture with her white-furred paw “Hire? You’re not hiring us.” She touched her amethyst collar. “You’re a slaver, Father. Putting a wig on the goat you’re fucking don’t make it a lady.”
The priest snarled, finally letting his irritation show. Still, the man spoke only to Zok.
“Let me be as clear as possible, my son. You are house-breakers. The law of the Empire is unambiguous: the sentence for stealing from a manored family is death. But rare exceptions have been made for those who aid the Amethyst Empress. I offer you a simple choice: the swift, harsh justice you have brought upon yourselves, or service and fair payment for that service.”
Something—something besides the obvious—wasn’t right here. “If the Shadow Weavers are rising, if the true Diamond Diadem has been found, why doesn’t the Empress just send the Legion in?” Zok asked.
“You men of the Blackhair North have strange ways. Here in the civilized world, a criminal does not interrogate an ordained Fatherpriest,” Gabrien said, but Zok saw the answer in the man’s eyes.
“The Empress doesn’t know.” Zok knew it was true as he said it.
Gabrien smiled and shrugged. “I will not weigh down our Empress’s heart with these worries until I can report to her that I have acquired the Diadem.”
Zok suppressed an urge to break the man’s face. “You mean until we have acquired it. And you’ve taken the glory and earned yourself a Low Kingship.”
The Fatherpriest shrugged again. “As you will. In any case, you leave in an hour. Now come, it’s time you met your fellow servants of the Empire.”
ZOK STOOD OUTSIDE the stables, where Gabrien’s men prepared three riding beasts for travel. He wore a suit of scale armor that Gabrien had provided him. It was a very good fit, which was rare, given Zok’s size. He tried to find comfort in this, tried to find calm in the familiar jangle of tack and harness. Hai Hai stood beside him, and the two Eastlanders who had ambushed them—their new allies, it would seem—stood a few feet away. Zok couldn’t take his eyes off of the amethyst bands around their necks.
“You have met Ahmaddine Ahl and his wife already,” Gabrien said by way of introduction. The Eastlanders nodded silent greetings, but they only held Zok’s attention for a moment before a monster of a man stepped forth from the barn.
“This,” Gabrien said, “is the Lockcharmer. He... is not one for words.”
In all his adult life, Zok had only met three men larger than himself. Now it was four.
Zok could not tell the Lockcharmer’s age, and he could not decide whether the massive, hairless man looked more like a cruel grandfather or a monstrous baby. Around the man’s neck was another amethyst band.
But it was the Lockcharmer’s hands that held Zok’s attention. They... were not his. Tied to those huge wrists with strange bands of leather and metal, they were far too small for the Lockcharmer’s body. Too small for any man’s.
They were a child’s hands, Zok realized.
“Each of you has been chosen for redemption through service,” Gabrien said, speaking to the group now. Zok tore his eyes from the Lockcharmer’s tiny fingers.
“A few hours’ ride from here, in the catacombs of a ruined castle, a coven of Shadow Weavers has discovered the true Diamond Diadem of Virgin Queen Glora. In two days’ time they will use the power of the new moon to spirit themselves, and the Diadem, away to the Far North. If that happens, mankind is doomed.”
“So why don’t you stop it, priest?” the Eastlander woman snarled.
“If I approach these creatures, they will sense the light of the Fathergod within me and know my approach from a mile away, the way a deer scents a hunter. But more impure souls—souls with dark spots upon them—the Weavers cannot smell such filth.”
Ahmaddine Ahl snorted his contempt, and his wife narrowed her eyes, but they said nothing.
“In one night, my children, you can go from being the dregs of humanity to being its saviours. Heathens, thieves, abominations—each of you has your role to play here. And each of you can find redemption. Zok Ironeyes here shall be your field leader. The Eastlanders will be your greatest defense against the Weavers themselves, who fear light-magic more than any weapon. I don’t doubt that the Weavers are keeping the Diadem in one of their legendarily impenetrable Ebon Chests. The Lockcharmer’s task is to open it if so. As soon as you have the Diadem, return here. The riding beasts will know the way. Now go.”
“A moment,” Gabrien said, pulling Zok aside and handing him a map. He spoke quickly and quietly as the others prepared to mount up. “The Lockcharmer’s crimes are greater than you can imagine, Zok Ironeyes. You will earn an additional reward if, in the name of the Empress’s justice, you kill him after you acquire the Diadem. But only after! For he is the only man living who knows the secret of opening the Ebon Chests.”
Zok glanced at Hai Hai and the others. “How do I know you haven’t said the same to each of us? Maybe you’re worried one of us will alert the Empress? Or will take the Diadem for himself? Maybe you just wish us to kill each other to save you some work. You want butchery done, you do it yourself, you soft-palmed dog-fucker. Now leave me be, so I can steal this thing you need stolen.” He shook off Gabrien’s hand and joined the others.
THE RIDING BEASTS’ feet slapped rhythmically on the hard-packed dirt of the road. They rode in pairs, Zok beside Hai Hai, the Eastlander beside his wife. The Lockcharmer, who was either unwilling or unable to speak, rode behind them. Zok felt the huge man’s stare on his back, like a beetle crawling up his spine.
“You come from the east,” Zok said to the Eastlander, gesturing at the man’s braided moustache and the pair’s bright fighting-robes. “From beyond the Sea of Sand and Bones, if I don’t miss my guess.”
The man nodded. “We are people of Mokhul. In times of peace, I am called Ahmaddine Ahl.” He touched the amethyst band around his neck, gave a bitter snort, and frowned hard. “But it would seem this is a time to use one’s war-name. So you can call me the Rose. And this is my wife.”
If anything the woman’s look was harder than her husband’s. “I am the Shrike, called Lasha Ahl in times of peace.”
“And you are Gabrien’s agents?” Hai Hai butted in.
“His agents?” Lasha Ahl spat. “Do you not see these bands around our necks? He ambushed us. We are his captives, same as you, Lady of the Hares.” Zok knew little of Eastlanders, but he had heard that they respected the beastmen more than the men of the Westlands did.
Ahmaddine Ahl wore a deep scowl. “This thing needs doing. The Shadow Weavers nearly destroyed all of humanity once. You Westlanders have forgotten—you think the great Man-Shadow was destroyed for all time, if you believe he existed at all. Things are different on the other side of the Sea of Sand and Bones. We remember. And if the Weavers are truly rising again, no Mokhuli warrior worth her robes will refuse the call to battle. But this savage Gabrien dares to try and compel us to hunt the Weavers, in order to further his glory? When we are done with what must be done, we will return and kill Father Gabrien.” He patted the curved knife that hung at his belt.
Zok turned to see if the Lockcharmer had heard the Rose’s words, but the big man just sat his beast, holding the reins in those tiny hands, staring ahead, saying nothing. They rode on until late afternoon, the land rising as the miles passed.
Finally, the road crested a hill and they saw it—the small, ruined castle that Gabrien had described. A piece of wall or a rotted beam stood here and there, but Zok was only interested in the great, crumbling tower that dominated the horizon.