The Broken God by Gareth Hanrahan (desktop ebook reader .TXT) 📕

of Guerdon. I traded with you, before the barbarians laid siege to my walls! Had you presented yourself to me openly, instead of fleeing and entering my temple by stealth, I would have welcomed you with all proper ceremony. Nonetheless, let our friendship be renewed. We champions of civilisation must stand against the madness of this war. We shall protect the blazing lamp of civility, you and I.”

Rhan-Gis’ eyes are finely inlaid stained glass, and there’s nothing behind them, nothing at all. The mortal man in front of her has been hollowed out. There’s nothing left of him except the mad god.

Cari gives him a weak grin and pretends to down the wine. The glass is empty while she holds it.

The rest of the people in this palatial council chamber aren’t much better. The Crawling One’s slithering around, whispering in Rhan-Gis’ ear, in Cari’s. “Trust me, Cari, I’ve got this. We’ll be home and dry in no time,” he whispers. He talks to her in Adro’s voice, but switches to an older, deeper voice when speaking to the saint-king.

On the other side of Rhan-Gis is his court wizard, who looks like he’s stepped out of a storybook – sky-blue robes, long white beard, stupid hat and all. Twelve Coins Bleeding introduces him to Cari as Xargor Bane, Master of the Star Tower, and it turns out that the chief advantage of the porcelain mask is that you can keep a straight face when introducing someone as Xargor Bane, Master of the Star Tower. He strokes his chin with a wizened hand as he pages through the grimoire, muttering to himself. The aethergraph and their supplies are next to him, too, tucked under his chair. He holds the heavy book up to the light of a lamp hanging beside the throne to see better. Unlike Myri, whose body bears the marks and scars of her sorcery, the court wizard’s body bears the marks of too many pastries and fine wines. “Very interesting, very interesting,” he mutters to himself. “Yes, yes, clearly Khebeshi.”

Cari decides that Xargor Bane, Master of the Star Tower, is dumb as a gullhead.

Rhan-Gis gestures at an empty spot next to his throne, and a chair rises from the stone floor. A servant darts over with a silken cushion, and Cari sits down, adjusting her ridiculous dress to keep the knife hidden.

Rhan-Gis leans over. “The hateful emissaries of the Sacred Empire are at my gates. My Crawler tells me they hunt you, but you are under my protection. No harm will come to you while I watch over you.”

“Uh, thank you, your honour. Your majesty.”

“He is the Cornerstone of the World,” says Xargor Bane, “and properly referred to as ‘his divine radiance’.”

“However, I have a duty, too, to my city, and the people who dwell within the holy walls of Gissa. A thousand armies have broken on those walls! And a thousand times a thousand brave souls have given unto me to bolster the city’s defences. The forces of the Sacred Realm are not as great as they once were, and my Crawler tells me I have you to thank for that—”

He reaches out and strokes Cari’s cheek. For a moment, the spell of the god is all-consuming, and she’s filled with ecstatic joy at being in the presence of Rhan-Gis, here in the heart of the holy city of Gissa, and she can see the towers and walls rising through the windows of the temple. She pulls back, fights it off, but she’s missed what he was saying to her. Plus, now she’s got a pounding headache, like the sandpaper’s scoured her brain raw and bloody. On the bright side, her wine glass is now brimming with the genuine article.

“… Assures me he can broker an arrangement.” Rhan-Gis claps. “Bring in the prisoner!”

A set of double doors open, and two guards enter, carrying Myri between them. She’s bound hand and feet, gagged – and looks furious, eyes flashing with anger. The guards hastily shuffle her over to a spot in front of Rhan-Gis’ throne, and Twelve Coins Bleeding kneels down to draw another containment circle on the ground, his worm-fingers searing sigils and arcane curves into the tiles. Xargor Bane nods approvingly. “Yes, yes. Excellent work. I would have used a dampening monad in that quadrant, but what this design lacks in subtlety it compensates with animal vigour. Good. I deem the sorceress secure, my lord.”

The Crawling One whispers to Myri, too. He’s too far away for Cari to eavesdrop, but she doesn’t get the impression it’s a threat or insult. He’s careful not to cross the line of the binding circle.

“And the grimoire?” asks Rhan-Gis, with a disinterested wave of his hand.

“Ah, yes, yes,” says Xargor Bane. “It’s Khebeshi. Doubtless one of their akashic records. Of little value, save to scholars, O radiant one.”

“Then with his divinity’s permission,” says Twelve Coins Bleeding hastily, “I shall take custody of it.” He kneels in a fluid motion, touching the brow of his porcelain face to the ground in front of the throne. Rhan-Gis, though, raises one finger, and Xargor Bane crosses his hands atop the book. The Crawling One clearly isn’t getting Ramegos’ grimoire that easily.

“Gissa shall never fall,” announces Rhan-Gis. He’s not talking to Caro, or anyone in this room; his words echo from the bricks of this broken city, spring from the lips of the guards at the doors. “Gissa’s glory is eternal.” Then he frowns, and a little drool escapes his slack lips before he gathers himself and says, “Show in the emissaries of Ishmere.”

The guards open another set of doors, and Cari has to fight her instinct to spring up and run. Artolo strides in, those metal-shod riding boots of his clacking on the tiles. He’s flanked by Eshdana guards, nervous-looking folk from Ilbarin, and a few Ishmeric soldiers, sigils of Cloud Mother on their armour. Unlikely allies. Big round of applause for Eladora and her Armistice, thinks Cari, bringing together bastards who want to