“I believe Lord D’Mon enjoyed your performance,” Lady Miya said as she approached. She added in a quieter voice, “But he will never admit it.” The vané woman leaned over and kissed Kihrin’s cheek, the part showing behind the mask. Then Miya looked behind Kihrin and said, “High General, I approve of your gift. She is in good hands with the skill of these fingers.”
To Kihrin’s surprise, Qoran Milligreest bowed to the woman. “I’m glad to hear it. Caerowan, what do you think?” He looked to the Voice, the strange, small man dressed like a peasant.
“Very well played,” Caerowan agreed. “The harp is particularly interesting. Do you know its history?” This last question was directed at Kihrin.
Kihrin swallowed and wondered how to make a retreat. “Ah, no. It’s a Milligreest family heirloom, is it not?” He pointed to the General. “He’s the man you should be asking.”
“And the hawk costume you wear—” Caerowan turned to Milligreest. “The hawk plays a significant role in prophecies relating to the Hellwarrior.”
“That’s a hawk?” Kihrin watched the High General make a valiant effort to keep from rolling his eyes. “I don’t put a great deal of stock in those stories.”
“What’s a Hellwarrior?” Kihrin asked, and ignored the dirty look the High General gave him.
This seemed to throw the Voice into confusion for a moment, and he frowned as if he were wondering if Kihrin might be mocking him. Then he gave a tight smile and tilted his head. “Ah, there are a set of prophecies, you see.”
“Gods, I really don’t think the young man needs to be bothered with such trivialities,” Qoran snapped.
“But I’m very interested,” Kihrin insisted, not because he was, but because it so clearly annoyed the High General.
“There are a set of prophecies,” Lady Miya whispered to Kihrin, “that foretell the end of the world, ushered in by a herald called War Child, or the Hellwarrior, or Demon King, or Godslayer. The End Bringer who will usher in the annihilation of our world.”
“Stories,” Milligreest growled. “God-king tales. The delusional fancies of superstitious, crazed men and women who hide from the reality of the world. Prophets, seers, and insane monks have been foretelling the end times since the beginning of the Empire, and always the danger is right on our doorstep. Something must be done.”
Kihrin turned to the High General. “So it’s just a way of selling something?”
The High General let out a bark of laughter. “Just a way of selling something? Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed.” He chuckled, clasped the young man on the shoulder enough to stagger the boy, and then looked forlornly into his goblet. “My drink is empty, as was foretold. Something must be done.” With that, he stalked into the crowd.
Caerowan hadn’t moved, and stared at him intently.
“May we help you, Voice?” Lady Miya asked.
“I still have questions for the young man,” Caerowan explained.
“You’re not Quuros, are you?” Kihrin asked, starting to feel peevish about the attention he was receiving.
The little man looked at him and blinked, owl-like. “I’m a Devoran priest,” he said. “Devors is part of the Empire, although not within any dominion.” He paused. “Yes, I am Quuros.”
“How can you have a priest of an area? I thought priests were the devotees of gods,” Kihrin pressed.
“We are not priests in the same sense,” Caerowan explained, his voice calm. “Do you know what a gryphon is?”
The question was unexpected enough to make Kihrin pause, and he looked back at Lady Miya to see her staring at the Voice with angry, narrowed eyes. Kihrin turned back to Caerowan. “Yes,” he said. “I’ve heard stories. It’s a monster. Half-eagle and half-lion.” He added, “They don’t really exist, you know.”*
The small man smiled. “Did you know the name Therin means lion?”?
“Do these questions have a point, Voice?” Lady Miya’s hand closed on Kihrin’s shoulder protectively.
“The High General, although I hold him with the greatest possible respect, sometimes sees only what he wishes to see—and not those truths that may hold the Empire by the throat,” Caerowan explained. “We have been watching the signs, Lady. And while it would be pleasant to believe the threat is a storyteller’s fancy, the time is upon us.”
“Kihrin D’Mon,” Miya said firmly, “has no part in any prophecies, nor any association with gryphons or a so-called Hellwarrior. Your precious Thief of Souls died when Nikali slew Gadrith D’Lorus.” She spoke with a grandeur and authority that allowed no room for dissension.
Thief of Souls …
Kihrin remembered that Xaltorath had once called him by that very title. He hid his shudder.
The Voice seemed about to say something else, but instead he put his hand to his chest and bowed. “Yes, of course, Lady. Forgive me.”
When the Voice put his hand to his chest, Kihrin noticed the ring on his finger: an intaglio-carved ruby, set in gold. It was all he could do not to give a shout of alarm, but instead he had to smile and duck his head as he watched the Devoran priest take his leave.
“Weird little man,” Kihrin said to Lady Miya. “Why would he ask me if I knew what a gryphon is?”
“I do not know,” Lady Miya said, as they both watched the man fade into the crowd.
But Kihrin could tell she was lying.
73: RETURNING TO THE RED SWORD
(Kihrin’s story)
Commander Jarith stepped through the door to the Milligreests’ estate courtyard, an angry look on his face. The courtyard looked the same as the last time I’d been there at age fifteen, down to the damn mural of Emperor Kandor dying in the Manol, but Jarith looked older. The man would never wield the sheer physical mass of his father, but he was looking like someone comfortable giving orders and having those orders followed.
“Darzin, I am a busy man and I do not have time for your—” He stopped as he realized who was waiting for him. “Kihrin?”
I stood up. “Did you miss me?”
The Citadel Commander crossed the space between us and clasped me around the chest, thumping my back. “Kihrin! You devil! Look at you … Where have you been? Do you have any idea how many people have searched for you?”
“I saw the changes in the harbor.”
Jarith sighed as he let go of me. “Yes. We turned everything upside down. My apologies for the greeting. The guards said a D’Mon was here to see me. I thought it was your father trying to cause trouble.” He motioned for me to follow him. “How did you know I was here? I’m usually at the Citadel but I’m preparing to leave for Khorvesh…”
“Ah, well aren’t I the lucky one then? Good timing.”
“Indeed! I was just finishing up some paperwork. Mind coming inside my office? Do you want anything? I only have maridon black but I can go to the kitchen for something stronger if you prefer.”
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” I said. “Tea would be fine.” Jarith showed me through hallways that were familiar even though I’d only been inside the house once. His office was a clutter of orders and scrolls, notations marked on maps pinned to walls. A chair serving as a filing cabinet for a stack of reports was cleared away, so I might have a place to sit. Evidently, he was a man who liked to bring his work home with him.