Alaeron frowned. "How are we getting back?"

  "Coat full of jewels," Skiver reminded him. "And I took a fat purse off Kormak, too—he came well-provisioned for hunting you. We'll travel back to Almas in great style. The derhii say they can carry us north into Thuvia, and we can get a riverboat to the ocean and a ship to Absalom from there. And from Absalom, it's easy. We'll give Vadim his treasures and ..." He shrugged. "See what happens. I bet you and Jaya might get a bit closer, eh?"

  "One can hope," Alaeron said, and grinned almost as widely as his friend usually did.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  They spent three days in the village. Jaya wanted to make sure there would be no retribution from Kho, and to spend time with her family. But finally, following a last night of feasting and celebration, the villagers played their drums and called down the derhii, who told them there was fresh war in the ruins. Sensing the weakness of the rat-people and the daemons, the strange crystalline creatures and the debased humanoids from beneath the earth were attacking, and the other denizens of the valley were lending their support to one side or another, or attempting to profit from the disarray.

  "Look at you," Skiver said, punching Alaeron in the shoulder. "Increasing chaos wherever you go."

  The flying apes carried them north to the river city of Lamasara. Once they hit the coast, they found a ship heading northwest and Skiver paid the captain enough to convince him to head northeast instead. Alaeron had hoped Jaya would want to share a cabin with him, but she took her own quarters, saying she knew he needed space to work on disabling the artifacts stolen from Kormak, and she didn't want to get in his way. Whenever he tried to kiss her, she would just talk about how eager she was to see her brother again. Once we're home, Alaeron thought, and she knows he's all right, when she sees everything is fine, then ...

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  "Well," Vadim said, holding up a golden statue of a derhii to the light. "I must say. I expected you all to die. Maybe not Skiver," he amended. "But the alchemist, definitely, and I thought the girl-thief would be killed trying to escape at some point. And instead, you bring me ...this. A statue of an ape with wings. I had expected rather less, I admit. But I'd been hoping for rather more."

  "My brother," Jaya said. "Free him." She was gripping Alaeron's hand so tightly it made his fingers cramp.

  Vadim leaned back in his chair, drumming his fingertips on the desk and gazing at the two sitting in hard wooden chairs across from him. Shelves behind him held relics from all over Golarion ...but nothing from Kho. Or from the Silver Mount, for that matter.

  "One statue," Vadim said flatly. "Gold, yes, lovely gold, but do you know what I invested to send you on this trip? What it cost me, arranging for your travel, supplying Skiver with coin? And you bring me one statue? I will kill your brother, Jaya, I—"

  "You don't want to do that, boss," Skiver said, scraping delicately at his nails with the blade of a thin silver knife. He was still wearing Kormak's coat, and looked quite menacing in it. "Why, kill her brother, and these two might not deliver the rest of the things they found in Kho. A cask of jewels. A little carving of a tower on a cloud. Some other statues. Oh, and lots of strange relics made of ...what's it called, alchemist?"

  "Skymetal," Alaeron said levelly. "It's not surprising the Shory had such things—they were masters of the sky."

  "And where are these treasures?" Vadim said softly.

  "They thought it would be better to put them in a safe place," Skiver said, "until Jaya got her brother back, and Alaeron got your word you wouldn't trouble him any further."

  "If they trusted my word," Vadim said, "they wouldn't need to resort to such measures."

  "I never said it was logical," Skiver said. "But they said they wanted to take measures, and these are the measures they took."

  "And you just allowed this?" Vadim's voice was disturbingly calm.

  Skiver shrugged. "They saved my life. More than once. Rescued me when a lunatic who lived in the tunnels under Kho wanted to feed me to a daemon."

  "So you feel you owe them a debt of honor," Vadim said.

  "It's more about wanting to make sure you honor all your debts," Skiver said.

  Vadim stared, eyes hard, and the two guards behind him shifted. For a moment, Alaeron thought it would turn to violence, but then Vadim snorted. "You're a shifty shit, Skiver, but it's not like I didn't know that going in. Guess you'll want proof I paid off your debts, too, won't you?"

  "It would set my mind at ease," Skiver said.

  "Ha. I did it before you left town—what, did you think I'd just sit around watching the interest build up? I didn't doubt you'd return. I'll get you a receipt. But you, Skiver—you, personally, on pain of the kind of pain you know I can bring down on you—you will give me your guarantee that the relics they brought back are worth canceling their debts?"

  Skiver just nodded. "You'll have the only absolutely guaranteed relics from the ruins of Kho. That should be worth more than all three of us combined."

  Vadim stroked his beard, then shrugged. "I hate a square deal, but sometimes that's the only deal in town. You, archer, had better piss off out of my city, though, and if I ever hear of you dealing in relics again—fake or real—it'll be the end of you. Understood?"

  "Yes, sir," Jaya said, lowering her eyelids demurely. "I understand, and once again, I am sorry my desperate circumstances led me to deceive you." As always, Alaeron was amazed at her acting ability: as if she hadn't been cursing Vadim's name just the day before, as if she were genuinely contrite. She should give up being a thief and hunter and take up life on stage.

  "Take her to her brother, Skiver," Vadim said. "And then see them both to the edge of the city. You, alchemist, are welcome to stay in Almas. And I trust you'll stay out of my affairs in future?"

  "I will, of course," Alaeron said, squeezing Jaya's hand. "But I think I'll go where Jaya does."

  Vadim rolled his eyes. "Young love," he said. "Doesn't it sicken you, Skiver?"

  "More than anything, sir," Skiver said.

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  They'd taken her brother out of the cage in the basement and put him in a small ground-floor room that held nothing but a bed, a table, a washbasin, and a chamber pot. When Skiver opened the door, the prisoner was doing push-ups with his shirt off, his dark skin glistening with sweat. "Doesn't he look delicious," Skiver said, and the man looked up, then sprang to his feet with the sort of natural athleticism Alaeron had always felt he, himself, was unfortunate in lacking.

  "Do you know, I don't even know his name," Alaeron began, but then Jaya shouted "Letsego!" and flung herself at him.

  Letsego swept her up, embracing her, and she wrapped her legs around his waist and kissed him, fiercely, tangling her fingers in his hair.

  "Ah," Alaeron said, blinking. "You two must be ...very close."

  Letsego lowered Jaya to the ground, then frowned. "Well, yes, of course we're close, we're—"

  Jaya cleared her throat. "He thinks we're brother and sister, Letso."

  The man widened his eyes. "You kept up that charade all this time?"

  Alaeron swallowed, but it still felt like he had a stone in this throat.

  Jaya shrugged, looking embarrassed—but what did it matter how she looked? She gave away nothing she didn't mean to, Alaeron realized now. "It just never seemed like the right time to tell them," she said, and then put her arm around the man. "Skiver. Alaeron. I'd like you to meet Letsego. My husband."

  Alaeron didn't answer. Skiver let out a long, low whistle. "Well, well," he said, and bent at the waist. "As far as liars go, let me bow to the master."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  On the ride to the outskirts of Almas, Jaya sat beside Alaeron in the back of the cart, speaking insistently into his ear. "I'm sorry, it's just, Letso and I have often found that it's better for me to be seen as ...available, potentially. It's nothing personal, I wasn't lying to you specifically, it's just one of the things we do, we pose as brother and sister. It's not nice, I know, but it's hard to make a living, and when no one knows I'm married, it gives me certain ...options, do you understand? I admit, at first, I wanted to string you along, too, to make sure you'd come help me, but I did grow fond of you, truly, and I would have told you the truth, but I didn't want you to be angry with me, and on the way home, there was never the right time—"

  She's much more talkative when she isn't lying, Alaeron thought numbly. "What about Ernst? Were you...fond ...of him, too?"

  "We needed a wizard," she said, drawing away from him. "I wanted to ensure his loyalty. I didn't think that sort of ...encouragement ...was necessary with you."

  "Oh, no," Alaeron said numbly. "I'm loyal even in the absence of encouragement. Devoted, even. To a fault."

  "I never lied to you," she said. "Well, apart from the big lie, about Letso being my brother, but I never promised you anything else, you know, about us, about what we might be."

  "But you looked at me," he said. "You touched my hand. You touched my cheek. And that kiss—"

  "I thought you were going to die, idiot," she said. "And Skiver kissed you, too, did you think that meant you had a future together?" She sighed. "I know I used you. And I'm sorry. Truly."

  The cart slowed. "Everyone out!" Skiver shouted. "Walk east and stay out of Almas, all right? I just know Vadim would send me to kill you if you ever came back, Jaya, and that would be awkward for both of us."

  Jaya reached out to touch Alaeron, but he shied away, not looking at her face. She sighed. "Be well, alchemist," she said, and jumped down. Alaeron heard her making her farewells to Skiver—the man didn't seem to hold her long deception against her, but why would he?—and then Letsego's head popped over the side of the cart.

  "I wanted to thank you," he said. "For helping my Jaya. And for bringing her back safe."

  His head is such a pretty target, Alaeron thought. And me without any bombs. "Take care of her," he said.

  "Oh, she can take care of herself," Letsego said, and winked.

  After they were gone, Skiver climbed into the back of the cart. He sat down beside Alaeron, but didn't say anything.

  Finally the alchemist sighed. "Well," he said. "I wish I knew where to go from here."

  "Oh, that's an easy one," Skiver said. "We go drinking."

  ∗ ∗ ∗

  Skiver had either held on to some of the jewels from Kho or Vadim had paid him well for his services. Either way, he took Alaeron to a rather fine tavern and paid for a curtained alcove so they could sit on cushions and drink in seclusion. Before long Alaeron was deep in his cups, lamenting Jaya's betrayal, cursing himself for a fool, and shrugging off Skiver's attempts at consolation and filthy jokes alike. He stared glumly into a small glass of brown liquid and said, "Heartbreak aside, there are practical considerations here. I was hoping to leave with her. She's cunning, and well-traveled, and knows the world. I thought she could help me disappear. I can't stay here. What if the Technic League sends someone else after me? They aren't the forgiving sort. What do I do then?"

  "I was thinking about that," Skiver said. "How about we send them a message explaining that their man Kormak was murdered by one Ralen Vadim, who now has in his hands a great lot of Technic League weaponry, which he's planning to sell?"

  Alaeron raised his head, blinking. "What?"

  "And you tell them you'll be happy to give them details of Vadim's security arrangements, and the layout of his house, and where he's probably storing their artifacts, and when he's likely to be out and about and not very well guarded, and all that, in exchange for them forgiving your misbehavior?"

  "You would betray Vadim that way?" Alaeron said.

  "Vadim? He's like a father to me, Alaeron. Wait, I didn't have a father, just my mother's boyfriend, and he used to beat me with a strap and call me a bastard and kick me up and down the street." He grinned. "The man's getting too old, anyway. I think I could do a better job running his enterprises in Almas than he can, and I've got all the right connections, both locally and overseas—or did you think all that time I spent wandering around Absalom was used making crooked bar bets? The only thing standing in my way is Vadim himself. Did you see how he let Jaya's brother go? And didn't even chop off your hands or anything? Clear sign he's getting too old and soft."

  "It's worth a try," Alaeron said slowly. "But the Technic League is treacherous. They might pretend to an agreement, and then try to kill me anyway. They're not soft."

  "Oh, if they want to do it the hard way, we can make some provisions for that, too." He reached into Kormak's coat and removed a squarish object, moon-silver, and set it on the table. Then he drew out an impossibly long rod, like a black metal spear, topped with a flower of razor-sharp petals, and laid that on the table, too. "Did you ever wonder," he said, removing a silver chain topped with a spiked golden ball, "how the Kellid bastard carried around so much artillery?" As he spoke, he continued to remove objects—orbs that flickered with rainbow colors, a coiled whip that slithered of its own accord, a teardrop-shaped crystal that pulsed with bloody red light, a multi-legged thing like a cockroach the size of a rat that waved its antenna, and more besides. "He kept a few things on his belt, close to hand, but there's much more hidden in the coat. He was a walking armory, that one. This coat's not just stab-proof. The pockets in here are deep."

  "Extradimensional space," Alaeron said, eyes widening as Skiver continued to pile up tools of the Technic League on the scarred wooden table. "A coat whose pockets are bigger on the inside than the outside!"

  "Now, I don't know how to use any of these things," Skiver said. "But, you know ...I bet you can figure them out. So if the League does try to betray you, we can make them regret it. What do you say? Want to join my new organization? We'll get you all set up in a new lab, get you a pretty assistant to wash your bottles for you, and so forth. Eh?"

  "These artifacts," Alaeron said breathlessly, picking up one of the rainbow-orbs. It flashed more quickly when he touched it, lights flickering in concert with his pulse. "What could they all do? What could they all be? It could take me years to unlock all their mysteries!"

  "I'll order us another round," Skiver said, clapping him on the back. "We should celebrate. After all, you look like a man in love."

  About the Author

  Tim Pratt's stories have appeared in The Best American Short Stories, The Year's Best Fantasy and Horror, and other nice places. He is the author of two story collections, most recently Hart & Boot & Other Stories, as well as a poetry collection. He has also written several novels, including the contemporary fantasies The Strange Adventures of Rangergirl and Briarpatch; the Forgotten Realms novel Venom in Her Veins; and, as T. A. Pratt, seven books in the urban fantasy series about ass-kicking sorcerer Marla Mason: Blood Engines, Poison Sleep, Dead Reign, Spell Games, Broken Mirrors, Grim Tides, and the prequel Bone Shop. He edited the anthology Sympathy for the Devil, and will co-edit the forthcoming Rags & Bones anthology with Melissa Marr.

  Tim has won a Hugo Award for best short story, a Rhysling Award for best speculative poetry, and an Emperor Norton Award for best San Francisco Bay Area-related novel. His books and stories have been nominated for Nebula, Mythopoeic, World Fantasy, and Stoker Awards, among others, and have been translated into French, Czech, Dutch, Russian, Greek, Korean, Spanish, German, and a few other languages.

  He lives in Berkeley California with his wife Heather Shaw and son River, and works as a senior editor and occasional book reviewer at Locus, the Magazine of the Science Fiction and Fantasy Field. He blogs intermittently at www.timpratt.org.

  Though no book is written without a lot of hours spent sitting alone and mumbling to oneself, I wouldn't be able to carve out those hours without help from others. My thanks first to my wife Heather Shaw, who is unfailingly supportive; to my young son River, who sometimes lets me sit on a bench and write in between games of tag and hide-and-go-seek at the park; to my agent Ginger Clark, for making the deal happen; to my editor James Sutter for being so enthusiastic about and supportive of my weird ideas; and to my co-workers at Locus, for general awesomeness and flexibility.

  Glossary

  All Pathfinder Tales novels are set in the rich and vibrant world of the Pathfinder campaign setting. Below are explanations of several key terms used in this book. For more information on the world of Golarion and the strange monsters, people, and deities that make it their home, see the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Core Rulebook, the Inner Sea World Guide, or the Pathfinder Roleplaying Game Beginner Box, or visit paizo.com.

  For further reading on the history of Kho and the strange creatures living in its ruins, as well as tips and rules for incorporating it into your roleplaying game, see Pathfinder Campaign Setting: Lost Cities of Golarion.

  Abaddon: Evil plane devoted to destruction and home to daemons.

  Absalom: Largest city in the Inner Sea region.

  Aeromantic Infandibulum: Ancient magic which powered the flying cities of the Shory Empire, and which modern spellcasters have been unable to replicate.

  Alchemist: A spellcaster whose magic takes the form of potions, explosives, and strange mutagens that modify his own physiology.

  Almas: Capital city of Andoran.

  Andoran: Democratic and freedom-loving nation north of the Inner Sea.

  Andoren: Of or pertaining to Andoran; someone from Andoran.

  Apollyon: Horseman of Pestilence. One of the four lords of all daemons.

  Arcane: Type of magic that does not come from a deity.

  Astradaemon: Extremely powerful evil fiend that consumes mortal souls.

  Azlant: The first human empire, which sank beneath the waves long ago.

  Barrier Wall: Mountain range that separates the deserts of northern Garund from the jungles of the Mwangi Expanse.

  Black Sovereign: The ruler of Numeria—once a mighty barbarian warrior, but now hopelessly addicted to alien drugs supplied by the Technic League.