“Then let’s run away very promptly,” Hrym said.

  “What if it keeps coming after us, to get the scepter?” Rodrick said.

  “Golems are not famed for their investigative skills,” Hrym said. “I doubt it’ll be able to track us down.”

  “There could be, I don’t know, some magical link between the golem and the scepter…”

  “Were you planning to keep the thing?” Hrym said.

  “Of course not!” The scepter was a means to an end. One animated magical weapon was more than enough for Rodrick.

  “Then even if the golem does pursue, which it will do at a typically slow golem’s pace, it won’t be our problem when it arrives, will it?”

  Rodrick relaxed. “You make a good point.” He looked toward the secret room, and Lais was there, bending to pick up the scepter before it could roll down the stairs. “We fought for this,” she said, sounding tired. “We may as well keep it.” Rodrick nodded, and looked toward Dhyana, who was sitting up, clearly shaken but alive.

  He turned to spray Nagesh with ice, to at least slow him down, too—but the rakshasa was gone. Rodrick groaned. Defeating both his enemies, Grimschaw and the rakshasa, was clearly too much to hope for. Maybe the wicked advisor would be eaten by an immense lizard in the jungle. There was always hope.

  “We should get away,” Rodrick said. “Even if the golem doesn’t get loose, there might still be Knife in the Dark nearby. Or even more of Grimschaw’s crew.” He didn’t look too long at her corpse. She’d hated him, and to be fair, he’d given her reason. The fact that she was an objectively terrible person didn’t change the fact that he’d tried to cheat her, and that deception had led her on a winding path to the moment of her death. He didn’t usually feel bad about cheating people, especially when they were terrible people, but Lais and Dhyana’s upright company, and the bad example of the Knife in the Dark, made him more than usually sensitive to his own moral failings.

  “Where do we go now?” Lais said, sounding immensely weary. “My master is dead. I have no home anymore.”

  “I think,” Rodrick said, “that we should go to Niswan, and as fast as we possibly can.”

  “To get the Scepter of the Arclords to safety?” Dhyana said.

  “Partly that,” Rodrick said. “And partly so I can face justice.”

  “Wait a minute,” Hrym said. “So you can do what?”

  24

  The Audacity of Truth

  The escape from the temple was uneventful, with no further attacks from Nagesh. Maybe he’d fled. A lizard-thing much bigger than a horse crouched in the Knife in the Dark’s plaza, feasting on corpses with such devotion that it paid the living no mind at all as they crept past in the dark. They tore a cloak from the body of a fallen servant of the Arclords on the far side of the temple and wrapped the scepter inside it, mostly to stop the sense that the rolling eyes were gazing at them.

  None of them wanted to travel far in the jungle at night, but they wanted to get away from the temple in case Nagesh or any of the other Knife in the Dark cultists returned. At first, Lais and Rodrick had to support Dhyana as they walked, and he was shocked at how light she was, though he recalled reading somewhere that birds had hollow bones, and perhaps garudas were similar. After a while she shook them off, though, seeming to recover more fully from the effects of Nagesh’s attack.

  They camped in the first reasonable clearing they found, where a great tree had fallen and smashed down many of its smaller neighbors. After seeing the immense lizard eat the dead, Rodrick was too nervous about being in the jungle to sleep, and so Lais assigned him first watch, leaving him seated on a log peering into the darkness. Nothing made him sleepier than guard duty, and Hrym frequently hissed at him to keep awake. When Lais took over, he nodded off immediately.

  They rose at first light, woken by a chorus of shrieking birds. “Such a racket,” Rodrick said. “How do you stand it?”

  “I love the sound of birds,” Lais said. “If they were quiet, I’d be worried, because it would mean they were frightened of a nearby predator.”

  After that, Rodrick went tense whenever the cacophony of birdsong lessened. They made their way out of the jungle to the hills and reached Jayin’s house, finally taking the time to bury the man and burn the monsters who’d killed him, along with the bloodstained cushions and rugs. Once that was done, and Lais’s tears dried, they ate and discussed their plans.

  Dhyana wanted to just walk up to the doors of the palace, but Rodrick convinced her that a bit more subtlety was in order, given the circumstances. He came clean with her, too, about how he was wanted by the thakur’s men, partly because he felt he owed her the truth, partly because he was sure Lais would tell her if he didn’t, and partly because it was necessary for the success of his plan. It wasn’t the best plan he’d ever had, but he felt it was the one he had to follow.

  The garuda touched her bow thoughtfully after listening to Rodrick’s revelations. “I will not drop you into the sea, but only because you helped avenge Jayin’s death. The lies will stop now. I will have only honesty between us.”

  “I can agree with that,” Rodrick said. He’d been thinking a lot about truth. Lies were a valuable tool, but he could admit there were some times when truth worked better. “I’ll set out for Niswan in the morning.”

  The next day, Lais took him to the fishing village where she was born, and convinced a man she knew to sell Rodrick his horse, a placid old mare that would at least be faster than walking, especially since he didn’t intend to cut across the jungle again, and would have to go the long way around. He kissed Lais’s cheek, which she tolerated, and then set off riding. Traveling without Hrym on his back or on his hip was quite strange, but he didn’t dare proceed with this plan armed with such a weapon. Besides, if everything went horribly wrong, and he was murdered on his journey or soon after his arrival, Lais would take care of the sword.

  Rodrick traveled for days in fear of being stopped by the thakur’s men, or survivors of the Knife in the Dark, or Nagesh himself, or even simple bandits, since he was armed only with a knife he’d borrowed from Lais. Well, and the cloak of the devilfish, though he’d hate to have to use that. Transforming into a monstrous sea creature would almost certainly scare off his horse.

  As if to make up for the horrors of recent days, his journey was largely uneventful. He rode north along country lanes, past fields and small villages and the odd temple. He didn’t push the horse too hard, because he had no idea how he’d find another, and he slept in hedges and beneath trees not far from the road, subsisting on the dried fish and bread Lais had put in his saddlebags. He had entirely too much time to think, and no one to talk to, and he was beset by doubts in a way he never was when he had a pitcher of wine and a warm bed and someone to share both with.

  But what other course could he take that wouldn’t have him pursued for the rest of his days by a murderous cult and a hostile government? The former was a lost cause, but he could perhaps mitigate the latter. It just meant risking execution. How did the Vudrani even execute people? Burned alive? Stepped on by an elephant? Maybe a life being hunted would be better than risking that, but he’d committed to his course of action now.

  On the afternoon of the fourth day, he trotted across one of the many bridges spanning the River Sald, wondering if it was the same one the late unlamented Grimschaw had smuggled him across in her cart.

  He kept his hood up as he rode into Niswan, but no one paid him any mind. He wasn’t surprised. Oh, if they knew who he was, or had reason to suspect he’d returned to the city, he’d be surrounded by guards and genies and possibly even good citizens with wrath in their hearts, but he’d fled the city over a week ago, and no one would expect him to return here. He was probably unrecognizable with four days’ growth of beard anyway.

  He wondered if he could stroll down to the docks and get passage on a ship, or if the captains were still under orders to look out for him. He wondered if Saraswati was there on her ship. Wondered if she, in turn, was wondering where Tapasi was, and who would call up favorable winds for the ship when the treacherous priest never showed up for work.

  Ah well. Fantasies of escape were all well and good, but he had the realities of captivity to deal with. He rode his horse up the red stone walkways, through the High-Holy District, marveling again at the beauty of the architecture, the colorful garb of the people, the scents and sounds. Maybe all for the last time.

  He did pause for food from one of the booths, spiced fish served in a huge leaf, because hot food was a pleasure after his long and lonesome journey, and if things went badly he’d likely be forced to subsist on bread and water until his demise. He didn’t think that outcome was likely, or he wouldn’t be here, but it was a poor gambler who didn’t know the consequences of a bad toss.

  Eventually there was no reasonable cause for further delay. He offered the reins of his horse to a startled priest at a temple to She Who Guides the Winds and the Waves and murmured, “Please accept this donation.”

  Then he strolled to the palace, bowed to the guards standing with their pikes by the arches that led to the inner garden, cleared his throat, and shouted, “I come with dire news!” The guards frowned at him and stepped forward, and a few of the young people from the inner garden drifted forward to see what the foreign madman was ranting about.

  “I have discovered a plot by the Knife in the Dark that extends into the very palace, as high as the advisor Nagesh! I must speak to the thakur immediately!”

  The guards growled. “Move along, or we’ll move you along.”

  He shouted more loudly, and with all the certainty he could muster. “I am Rodrick of Andoran! Falsely accused of violence against the thakur! Threatened by the Knife in the Dark! I have come to make the truth known, and to await the thakur’s justice!”

  The guards looked at one another—one muttered something about a sword, probably noting Rodrick’s lack of a magical one—and the other nodded slowly. “I think that’s him. He didn’t have that fuzz on his face before, is all.” The guard took Rodrick’s arm in an iron grip. “Go and fetch Nagesh,” he said to his partner. “He wanted to be notified right away if this man was seen.”

  “Nagesh is a member of the Knife in the Dark, a high priest of Vasaghati, and a rakshasa!” Rodrick shouted. “I have proof!” That last bit wasn’t strictly true, but it was a very small lie, in service of the greater truth. The whole point of turning himself in with all this public shouting was to make sure Nagesh couldn’t just make him quietly disappear. “Take me to the thakur! If I die before he speaks to me, it means the Knife in the Dark killed me so I couldn’t tell your ruler what I know!”

  The young courtiers murmured, and one stepped forward, a familiar-looking woman with eyes that managed to be both large and piercing, and dark hair framing a foxlike face. (Why did Rodrick have to think of her that way? Did rakshasas ever have the heads of foxes?) He’d spoken to her at the feast the night of his arrival, which seemed so long ago. Kalika, that was her name. Nagesh hadn’t liked her much, and Rodrick hoped her appearance now meant the feeling was reciprocated.

  “Guardsman,” Kalika said. “I will take custody of this man, and escort him to a secure room until the thakur can decide what to do with him.” She pointed to the other guard. “And you, tell Nagesh nothing.” She sighed. “I’m sure word of this commotion will reach him anyway, but not from your lips, please.”

  “I … I don’t think…” the guard holding Rodrick said.

  “Do you know who my father is?” Kalika said.

  The guard lowered his eyes and nodded, then dragged Rodrick along after her as she walked purposefully through the inner courtyard, surrounded by murmuring courtiers, and on into the palace. She caught a passing servant’s eye and whispered into his ear. The eunuch widened his eyes and rushed away so quickly he was very nearly running.

  Rodrick walked down the corridor with as much dignity as he could muster. He supposed he should have been terrified, but as usual once he’d committed to a course of action, he was relatively calm. He’d made his gamble, more or less. Now it was just a question of seeing how the dice fell. He said, “I appreciate you not turning me over to a rakshasa, Kalika. Though I confess, unlike the guard, I don’t know who your father is. Care to enlighten me?”

  “Just a humble member of the Maurya-Rahm,” she said. “He serves our country by acting as chief minister of justice.” Ah. That explained her interest in foreign legal systems at dinner. It must be a family hobby. “If you are to be executed,” she said conversationally, “it will be my father’s voice that pronounces sentence and his hand that signs the death warrant. I have been interested in your case, perhaps only because we spent time conversing after your arrival, and I was angry at myself for not perceiving your true intentions. You’re a truly incompetent assassin, but I’m curious about how you came to be an assassin at all. Did someone hire you in the city after you arrived, or was there a deeper, older plot that led to your name coming to the thakur’s attention, and your summons to the island? Well, the truth will out, and these outrageous lies about Nagesh cannot save you from the fate you deserve.”

  The guard chuckled, and Rodrick glared at him, then looked back at the woman. Outrageous lies. That wasn’t promising. “If you think I’m guilty, why did you keep them from handing me over to Nagesh?”

  “Accusations as dire as the ones you made must be investigated, no matter how absurd. My father taught me that extraordinary claims are not to be dismissed out of hand—they merely require extraordinary evidence. We’ll soon have the truth.”

  “I look forward to it.”

  She frowned at him. “You almost sound as if you mean that. How interesting.” She pointed to a door, and the guard opened it up and shoved him inside. It was a windowless, bare space, but not cramped, probably meant for storage. A servant was already waiting there with shackles—that eunuch had moved quickly, and spread messages as he ran, clearly—and Rodrick submitted without complaint to his captivity.

  “I will wait with you,” she said, which spared him having to ask for her company. He was quite sure Nagesh had partisans in the palace, either fellow members of the Knife in the Dark or just people personally loyal to him, who would be happy to make sure Rodrick had an “accident” while “trying to escape.” The guard shoved him to the floor, his back against the wall, and stood looming over him, spear ready to stab down at any moment. Maybe in the right light, Rodrick could read that as flattering. People usually didn’t find him all that impressive or dangerous when he didn’t have Hrym in his hand.

  Kalika looked at him coolly, and he smiled. “Thank you for not having me dragged to a dungeon.”

  “I want to see how this works out, and I don’t like sitting around in dungeons, so.” She shrugged. “This is for my comfort, not yours.”

  “What happens next?”

  “Who can say? I have sent messages. They will be answered. Whether the answers are to your liking, or even mine, I cannot say.”

  They sat in silence for a while longer. “Would you like to hear my side of things?” he said. He’d rehearsed it enough, as often as he’d rehearsed any lie, but it wouldn’t hurt to run through it again.

  “No need. You will not be summarily executed. There will be a trial, or at least a hearing. I will have the opportunity to hear your tales then.”

  “So we should stick to light conversation about the weather?”

  She snorted, and the door swung open, a eunuch bowing as he entered. “If you will accompany me? The thakur wishes to see the prisoner.”

  The guard dragged Rodrick up by the elbow, then shoved him out into the hall. Walking with ankles shackled was an awkward affair, but he didn’t have to manage long. There were four more guards, and a pair of djinn. Two of the guards grabbed his arms and dragged him along the hall, his toes scraping on the floor, at a pace faster than he could walk shackled.

  He expected the garden again, but this was apparently a more formal and serious matter, because he was taken to a round room with a high ceiling, two rows of benches, and a mosaic on the floor of a Vudrani god holding a set of scales and a sword. A huge stone chair, flanked by two smaller chairs, dominated the space beyond the benches. Rodrick was dragged along the aisle between the benches, then shoved down on his knees just before the large chairs, inside a red circle four paces across, which reminded him uncomfortably of a target for archery practice. The djinn stood on either side of him, swirling lower bodies ruffling his hair.

  A moment later, the thakur came in through another door, trailed by an old man in robes that Rodrick took for a priest, probably of whatever god of justice adorned the floor he knelt on. The thakur took the central seat, and the priest the seat on his left. Kalika lounged by the wall, off to one side, apparently of high enough status to remain but not high enough to sit in the other empty chair.

  “I understand you have a story to tell me,” the thakur said. His face was perfectly expressionless. “Tell it.”

  Rodrick took a breath and began. He told the thakur how Nagesh had threatened him with an elemental in his room and demanded that Hrym commit an assassination, or see Rodrick killed. He explained his fear that the thakur might be part of the plot—the man’s face didn’t change at that, either—and his attempt to find a way to escape. He explained about Hrym’s demonic taint, and how his outburst had spoiled his plan, adding profuse apologies for inadvertently putting the thakur in danger. (The thakur showed no response to the explanation about how Hrym had acquired the taint, but Kalika rolled her eyes and shook her head disdainfully.) Rodrick began to warm to the story when he talked about slashing Nagesh in the face and startling or hurting him enough to make him reveal himself as a rakshasa.

  He almost glossed over the precise details of his escape, because he didn’t want to mention Grimschaw. He couldn’t talk about her without admitting the theft from the library, and that was a crime for which he had no excuse at all, apart from avarice. But he quashed his misgivings and told the truth about that, too, getting more disgusted looks from Kalika. Maybe his honestly about the theft would incline the thakur to find the rest of his story more plausible.