No, he thought. They’ll still execute me for killing their king. A mortal did not slay a god.
He continued down the pathway toward the God King’s palace. It stood to reason that they’d begin looking for him here; if there were daerils still in this place, he could make a big show for them of going somewhere other than Drem’s Maw. That might work, might give his mother some protection.
The rocky path was slippery with pebbles and shale. He remembered walking this long route just over a week before, each footstep electric. He’d been marching to his death. That doom was one he’d come to grips with, however, and he had even been excited by the challenge ahead of him.
This time, he walked with a slower step. He felt . . . older now. Ancient.
At the base of the cliff, he put on his armor. He continued forward, reaching a tree hung with ropes just outside the palace walls.
He stopped and inspected the tree. A rope could be a weapon, if you really needed one. Tie a heavy bit of metal to one end, then swing it about and attack. He’d practiced that.
The children of Drem’s Maw had done something different with ropes. They’d created swings on the trees outside of the maw. Siris had once stood on one of those, then had several boys push, so he could practice keeping his balance on unsteady footing.
He’d never just sat down and swung. What is wrong with me, he thought, continuing forward with clanking steps. Why didn’t I ever try it, even once?
He reached the side gate to the castle, and a daeril stepped out. Long of limb, with red-orange skin and a skeletal cast to the arms and legs, the daeril had a horrifically twisted face.
Siris raised his sword with a sigh. He’d have to fight his way in again, it appeared.
“Great master!” the daeril exclaimed. It jumped forward, and Siris stumbled back, wary. The creature didn’t attack, but threw itself at Siris’s feet. “Great master, you have returned!”
“I . . . State your purpose, daeril!”
“We live to serve you, master. I am Strix, and I obey. The castle is yours, now! The kingdom as well.”
The kingdom . . . mine? He almost laughed. He’d never be able to stand against the forces of the other gods, even if this creature were telling the truth. Which he found suspect.
“What am I supposed to do with a kingdom?” Siris said, walking around the daeril-keeping an eye on it-and crossing the bridge to enter the palace’s outer court. The court seemed strikingly familiar to him, though he’d only passed this way that one time.
“Great master-” Strix began.
“Don’t call me that,” Siris said.
“Greatest lord of all that is powerful and-”
“That’s really not any better.”
The daeril fell silent. “My lord . . .” the daeril began again, stepping up to him. “Please. Let us serve you. Remain here and rule us. Do not leave us again.”
Siris hesitated. “How many of you are there in this place, still?”
“Perhaps two dozen, master.”
“And you will all serve me?”
“Yes, great master. Yes indeed! You have slain our ruler, and in so doing have become our leader.”
“Who led you before I returned?”
“Kuuth, master,” Strix said. “He is ancient and wise, a troll nearly forty years old.”
“Send for him,” Siris said. “And gather the other daerils. Every one of them in the castle. Bring them to the throne room.”
He didn’t trust these creatures, not for a moment. But perhaps he could use them.
Finish what you began.
Siris sat on the God King’s throne. What had his mother meant by that? Surely she hadn’t meant to imply that he should take the God King’s place. That would be suicide.
The God King’s throne wasn’t very comfortable-though Siris was wearing armor, which never made sitting particularly comfortable. He’d removed his helm and set his shield to the side, though he kept the Infinity Blade close.
Seeing his face unnerved the daerils. That seemed a good enough reason to him to keep the helmet off, for now. He inspected the Infinity Blade as he waited. The blade had some kind of magic that had let the God King summon it, making it appear as if out of nothing in a flash of light. So far, despite a week of tinkering, Siris hadn’t been able to figure out how that magic worked.
Something chirped beside him.
Siris jumped, glancing down. Only then did he remember the little mirror built into the armrest of the throne. He poked at it. The thing had done . . . something following the God King’s death. It was magical.
Poking at the thing made it speak, which chilled him. “What is your command?” it asked.
“I . . .” Siris looked up at the shuffling host of daerils-in a variety of shapes and colors-gathering at the back of the room. “I’d like to know how the God King’s sword works.”
“Answer pending. Please enter the pass phrase.”
“Pass phrase?” Siris said. “I don’t know it.”
“Would you like to retrieve it?”
“Um . . . yes?”
“Very well. Please answer this security question: In what kingdom did you first meet the Worker?”
So it was a riddle. His mother had told him stories of magic mirrors that asked riddles. “In the kingdom of night and dawn, at the break of the day,” he said. It was the answer to one of the riddles from the stories.
“Answer incorrect,” the mirror said politely. “Security question two: What was the name of your first and most trusted Aegis?”
Aegis. It was a word for a master duelist, after the classical ideal. The daerils that guarded the castle had all followed the old precepts. Horrific and terrible though they had been, they had each shown that much honor.
“Old Jake Mardin,” Siris said, saying the name of the first man who had trained him in the sword, a retired soldier.
“Answer incorrect,” the mirror said.
“Your riddles make no sense, mirror,” Siris said. “Am I supposed to answer as myself, or as the God King?”
“I’m sorry,” the mirror said. “I don’t understand that query. Security question three: How many days passed before your first reincarnation?”
“Uh . . . five?”
“Answer incorrect.”
“Damn it, mirror!” he said. “Please, just tell me how I make the sword come at my will.” He was silent for a moment. “Even better,” he whispered, “how can I find freedom? Can you answer that for me, mirror? Can you tell me how I can be free of all this and live my life?”
A rope swing from a tree, he thought. He’d write that in his book tonight, beginning a list of things he would try, once he didn’t have to worry about being hunted.
“I’m sorry,” the mirror said. “I am not authorized to speak further. The waiting period is one day before the next access attempt.”
The mirror grew black.
“Hell take me,” Siris said, leaning back in the horrid throne. Honestly, couldn’t someone who called himself the God King get a decent cushion?
“The deadminds will not speak to you, slayer of gods,” said a deep, tired-sounding voice.
Siris sat up, turning toward the back of the room. Something moved in the shadows, where a doorway led to the servants’ quarters. The shadow lumbered forward, entering the light and revealing itself as a massive troll. It leaned on a staff as thick as Siris’s leg, and wore bandages covering its eyes. White hair fell around the thing’s animal face, a face furrowed with wrinkles that were sharp and distinct-like the scars left by an axe chopping at a tree.
“Kuuth, I assume?” Siris said, standing up.
“Yes, great master,” the beast said, lumbering forward. The other daerils parted for him, and a younger troll helped the elder, looking concerned. This younger beast moved like an animal, with quick steps, testing the air with its snout, walking in a crouch. The aged one, however, had an unexpectedly civilized air.