“What’s a deadmind?” Siris asked Kuuth. Even stooped with age, the beast towered a good ten feet tall. Kuuth wore a strange robe that had the right shoulder cut out, exposing a wicked scar on his shoulder and neck.
“It is a soul without life, great master,” the troll said. “The God King instilled these souls into objects. They are knowledgeable about some things, but cannot make choices for themselves. They are like children, and must be instructed.”
“Brilliant children,” Siris said. He shivered. Had the God King used the souls of children themselves to create these things? The legends said that he feasted upon the souls of those who fell to him. Siris scooted a little farther away from the mirror. “Well, perhaps I won’t need its help. I summoned you because I hoped you’d be able to answer questions for me.”
“Unlikely, great master,” the ancient troll said, then coughed into his hand. “I know more than most here, but a cup with two drops instead of one still will not quench a thirst.”
“I’ll start easy then,” Siris said, walking down the steps to the throne. “The God King spoke of greater evils. And then, after that, I met a man in the dungeon who claimed to be my ancestor. He said that someone-or something-would come hunting me. Am I to assume that they referred to other members of the Pantheon?”
“Perhaps,” Kuuth said. “Ashimar, the Sorrowmaker. Lilendre, Mistress of the End. Terrovax, Blight’s Son. Others whose names I do not know. Each will be angered by what you have done.”
“As I feared,” Siris said, speaking loudly, so the other daerils could hear. “I will need allies, troll. Do you know where I should search for them?”
“Master,” Kuuth said, sounding confused. “These are not questions I can answer for you.”
“Surely the Deathless have enemies,” Siris said.
“Well . . . I suppose . . . there is the Worker of Secrets.”
That was a myth even Siris had heard of. He doubted the Worker was real, but hunting him was a perfect way to start laying down a false trail. “Where can I find this Worker?”
“He is imprisoned,” Kuuth said. “But, master, I do not know where. It is said that nobody knows.”
“Surely there are rumors.”
“I’m sorry, master,” Kuuth said. “I know of none.”
“Fine, then. I wish to attack one of the other Deathless. One who is very powerful, and also very cruel. Whom would you suggest?”
“Master? This is an odd request.”
“It is the one I make nonetheless.”
Kuuth frowned. “A Deathless who is close but powerful . . . Perhaps the Killer of Dreams? You travel to the north, across the ocean, to find him. He is not part of the Pantheon, and has of late been very antagonistic to our former master.”
Siris frowned, sitting down. There were Deathless who weren’t in the Pantheon?
Well, perhaps that’s what I killed, in the dungeon, he thought. But then, there had also been Siris’s ancestor. He wasn’t certain what he believed of what that man had said. When Siris had taken off the man’s helm, he had found a youthful face beneath it. Perhaps serving the Deathless granted men immortality? Was that why one who had come to kill the God King would instead choose to serve him?
Siris knew so little. “Do you know how the God King made the magic of his sword and shield work, Kuuth?” He asked it in a softer voice, no longer for the show of the watching daerils.
“I may be able to guess, great master,” Kuuth said. “I believe it had something to do with his ring.”
Siris fished in his pocket, taking out a silvery ring. He’d pried it from the finger of the God King. “This? It’s a healing ring. I have others, taken from the bodies of Aegis I slew.” He slipped it on; he could feel its healing magic tingling on his finger.
“That one is more useful than the others you found,” Kuuth said. “It somehow let him summon his sword to him.”
“How?” Siris asked.
“I do not know. Before I lost my eyes, I saw the God King use it to sling fire as well.”
Siris frowned, then extended his hand to the side and attempted to summon fire. It didn’t work. Once he’d defeated the God King, all of his rings save the healing rings had stopped functioning. “It can’t do that anymore. Why?”
“I do not know.”
“All right, then. What were those creatures in the dungeon? They seemed . . . different from other Aegis I fought.”
“I never saw them, master.”
“Why did the sword flash when I slew them, and why did the God King have them imprisoned?” He still worried that he’d killed what could have become his allies. Yet, each one had fallen into the Aegis stance and then attacked him.
“I do not know that either,” Kuuth said.
A sudden flare of annoyance rose in Siris. “Bah. Do you know anything, fool creature?”
Siris froze. Where had that outburst come from? It had been many years since he’d lost his temper; his mother had trained him to deal with that as a child. He immediately took a grip on his frustration and shoved it down.
The ancient troll stood quietly, then sniffed the air a few times. He’s blind, Siris reminded himself, looking at the bandaged eyes.
“Do you mind if I sit, great master?” Kuuth asked.
“I don’t.”
The great beast tested with his large staff until reaching the steps to the throne, then settled down quietly. “Thank you, great master. It is growing difficult to stand in my age.”
“What happened to your eyes, Kuuth?” Siris asked, sitting on the lip of the throne dais, hands clasped before him.
“I put them out.”
“What? Why would you do that?”
“Among the kavre-that is what we call ourselves, great master, though many just call us ‘trolls.’ Among the kavre, the most powerful lead. I was wounded many years ago, when . . . well, it would have been when your father entered the palace. I fought him, and I lost.
“My wound was great, and I should have been slain by my kin in mercy. That would stop a younger troll from killing me and taking my honor, you see. However, the blind and the mute are not to be killed-they are left alone in the wilderness to die, as they are marked by the gods.”
“So you . . .”
“Blinded myself,” Kuuth said. “So that my kin would exile me rather than killing me. It also made the younger trolls see me as lame and blemished, to be left to rot, rather than to be slain as a rival.”
“That’s horrible,” Siris said.
Kuuth chuckled. “Yes. Horrible. And our way. At times, I wonder at what I did. A troll is not meant to reach ages such as I have. Still, now that I am of this great age, the others have begun to respect me.”
“The other daeril . . . he said you were forty years old?”
“In another two years,” the troll said, shaking a long-snouted head. “Ancient. But, great master, my concerns are not yours. I wished to speak more softly with you. Most of the denizens of this castle do not think about the future, and I do not wish to make them question.”
“Very well.”
“Over the years,” Kuuth said, his voice quiet, “I have seen many things. I have thought many things. Perhaps these thoughts will be of use to you. You see, this castle has no servants. No maids, no groundskeepers, none of the things that are kept by the lesser lords beneath the God King.”
“I’ve noticed that,” Siris said. “I would have assumed that the God King would want comforts for the place where he lived.”
“You see,” Kuuth said, “he did not live here. He only came to the castle on occasion, usually when there was news of a warrior of note fighting his way through the wilds.”
Siris fell silent. “So this place was a trap.”
“Trap? I do not know that I’d say that, great master. But a destination . . . yes, that is what it was. Like a metal pole set up high to draw the lightning when it comes, this castle was placed here to draw the warriors who sought to kill the God King.”
“He dueled them,” Siris said. “He could have just used his magic to kill them, or overwhelmed them with his forces. Instead, he faced them in person. Why?”
“What do you know of the Deathless?”