The girls considered the creeping stain on the face of the fortress. They considered the bridge, then the gap beneath. They whispered. Then Vali darted across the bridge.
Hecht bit down on a potentially distracting bellow. Asgrimmur was not there to catch another falling girl.
Anna held her tongue, too.
Pella said, “I love her, but that girl is a freak.”
Hard to argue, watching her fearless dash across colorful air.
Vali whipped Geistrier off the brass post and headed back, coiling as she came. She plucked Heartsplitter out of the fabric of the bridge, then managed it and the rope both as she came on.
Anna said, “You’d almost think she was one of them.”
“Yes.” For the first time in a long time Hecht wondered about Vali Dumaine.
She came straight to him, handed him the spear. “Can you believe it’s that light?”
Hecht exchanged looks with Anna while the others watched Geistrier shorten to its original length.
Vali tied the coil to her belt. “Where did that hammer end up? I bet we could break the bridge with it.”
The creeping treacle had vanished behind the curtain wall surrounding the Great Sky Fortress.
Hecht responded, “That could be. But it’s not here. Girl, we need to talk about you taking risks.” From the corner of his eye he caught Lila pulling a face at Vali, then smirking.
Heris said, “Save the lecture, Piper. We’re going to be last down the mountain as it is.”
“Let’s get hiking.”
Anna quipped, “This should be easier than coming up.”
“Kids. No running.”
* * *
The black stain flowed into Eavijne’s garden. It possessed just enough energy to keep moving. Saturated with silver dust, it suffered abiding agony. Already diminished by its struggle to break through compromised seals, it had not been alert enough to smell the silver powder trap.
It lived, but with little power or strength, little ability to reason, and little sense of identity. Instinct took it to the orchard where it found just one overlooked, shriveled green apple that did little to restore it.
It did what no rational god would have done. It engulfed the only living tree. It understood the enormity of its action only after it finished.
That was the last tree. There might be no more golden fruit. Starved for life and restored immortality, the Trickster might have written the deaths of all the Old Ones.
Hatred and rage so possessed him that he did not care for long.
He took the shape of a slim youth of middle height, his hair a mixture of streaks and shades of ginger that made it look like his head was on fire. He had a hatchet face, flushed because of his emotional state.
He stepped through the broken orchard wall, headed for the rainbow bridge. He thought he was moving brisk and businesslike. An observer might have suspected intoxication or mental defect.
He started across.
Once again hunger trumped reason.
He swallowed some of the magic holding the bridge together. It was Aelen Kofer magic. He did not gain much from it. He would need massive draughts to benefit, like a man surviving by eating grass and river mud.
The rainbow unraveled.
He cried out once, startled, as he began his fall.
He had stolen just enough magic to change into a generic-looking gliding thing that, nevertheless, could do no more than slow its descent enough to choose a place to smack down.
The harbor extended a siren call but it was in the open. He would be seen.
He did not want his escape to be known. There was revenge to pursue.
He passed over the Aelen Kofer town, toward the scrubby wilderness beyond. One wing tip brushed a stunted treetop. He spun. He hit the ground hard. Pain became his universe.
Even gods, if incautious or inattentive, must suffer the laws of physics.
* * *
Gods, goddesses, and middle-world folk crowded the Aelen Kofer tavern. Vast quantities of ale disappeared. The dwarves had been kind enough to leave many barrels.
Ferris Renfrow and Cloven Februaren dragged themselves well under the weather. Asgrimmur tried but no longer had the knack. He was trapped in eagle form. Eavijne was not there to celebrate with or for him. The instant she set her feet on solid ground she rushed off to recover her dropped nubbins. Anna became tipsy. The children became incensed because they were allowed neither to celebrate nor to wander out of sight. Pella, especially, thought he could be helping Eavijne.
Hecht whispered to Heris, “I thought you were hot to get down here and suck up some of Iron Eyes’s finest.”
“I was. I am. But I can’t let my hair down till I have everything tied up. I don’t.”
“Uhm?”
“You saw what came off the mountain behind us.”
“The Trickster, I presume.”
“No one else. So what I’m going to do is get some sleep, then I’ll get out there and do something about him.”
Hecht had questions. He let them slide. What Heris hoped to accomplish remained an enigma. It did seem obvious that the Trickster had to be eliminated from the process.
“I’ll go with you.”
“Piper…”
“Knock it off, Heris. You know…”
“By Aaron’s Hairy Balls, Piper! Are we two of a kind, or what?”
“Or what, as Pinkus would say. You’re right. Neither of us can help thinking we know better than the whole damned rest of the world. Lucky for me, I’m right.”
“The folk of Santerin have a word for what’s coming out of your mouth. That word, rendered in my finest Church Brothen, is bullshit!”
A snicker interrupted them.
Cloven Februaren had appeared, quietly. “You kids want to do some god-hunting, you’d better round up all the allies you can. The Trickster is a first-ranker. He won’t go quietly.”
Hecht admitted, “He’s got a point.”
Heris nodded. “He does. You volunteering, Double Great?”
“After I sleep it off. Though I’d say volunteerism isn’t relevant. The Trickster has to be dealt with if the rest of us want to get out of here. So, tame him or kill him. Soon. Because we’re locked up till Iron Eyes knows that letting us out won’t be a disaster for the Nine Worlds.”
“Right,” Heris admitted. “So get your sleep. We’ll start early.”
“Where are you going?” Hecht asked.
“To the smithy. To find out what tools and options the Aelen Kofer left. Then I’ll put me away for the night, too.”
* * *
Februaren asked, “How many friends does Lucke have amongst our Old Ones?”
“Luck?” Hecht asked, looking past the old man at the Instrumentalities joining the hunt.
“The Trickster. He’s like Ordnan. His name is seldom spoken. It has a lot of regional variants. Luke. Lucke. Luche. Luck. And others.”
“Oh. Right. Where’s Heris?”
“Here,” from behind him.
Februaren said, “He’s out there. He’s badly hurt. On the surface it looks like he has no friends and no way of regaining any strength. Eavijne got her fruit back-with Pella’s devoted assistance.”
Ferris Renfrow, ragged and hung over, arrived. He grumbled, “So let’s do this. So I can go back to bed.”
Hecht exchanged glances with Heris. They had been killing gods long enough to know that the Trickster still had options, especially if he was up for a little divine cannibalism.
The myths did not define his limits or boundaries.
Heris asked, “Double Great, do you or your cronies have any idea where he is? Or how strong he is?”
“He’s weak as a baby. As gods go. Weaker than Kharoulke was. And getting weaker because there is no magic to tap. I can’t tell you where he is. I do know the right direction.”
“Thank you.” Heris exchanged looks with Hecht.
Hecht asked, “What resources do we have now that we didn’t have on top of the mountain?” He had seen the gap in the rainbow bridge.
“Lots of iron. Aelen Kofer love iron. And some silver. That surprised me. I thought for sure they’d take every grain. And there’s a partial keg of firepowder but nothing to use it in except a couple of old hand-helds.”