Telos towelled off, Xheng beside him. He felt like a new man. How long had it been since he enjoyed a bath so luxurious? Even before prison, such delights had been rare. Occasionally, some nobleborn lover would accommodate him with their private suite. There were bathhouses in Gorgosa, but they were nothing compared to the majestic feat of engineering that was The Mermaid Palace.

  Say what you will about the Aurelians, but they put their technology to good use, he thought.

  Jubal was still drying off. He had more hair on his body than Xheng and Telos combined, and a good deal more surface area to cover. Xheng leaned in to Telos.

  “I shall never forget what we saw between that man’s legs so long as I live.”

  Telos grimaced. The sight had certainly been a shock—and caused him a great deal of envy.

  “Let us agree never to speak of it again.”

  “Indeed. But the sheer—”

  “Never again, Xheng, are we clear?”

  The sailor nodded, shaking himself as though throwing off a bad dream. He donned his shirt and britches, which were slack about his midriff for lack of a belt. Apparently, Ylia had removed it to fashion a rope.

  Telos’s underclothes and armour fitted him far better. The only problem was that they drew attention. The hostess had regarded it with a curious frown. The scales were not so much the issue, as scalemail was common and a cheap alternative to platemail. It was more the contraption on the back that could provide breathable air, and the helm that could be raised or lowered, sealing him airtight. These stood out as being highly technologically advanced, and the Aurelians did so love to tinker. It was only a matter of time before they bumped into an engineer and they asked one too many questions.

  Speaking of which, they were due to meet with the engineer repairing their Engine soon. Telos dreaded the meeting, but there was no avoiding it.

  At least we will be bathed, he thought. Evils are more easily faced when one has had a wash and trim. He stroked his beard. He could do with a cutting that, too. It was beginning to look unruly.

  Jubal at last emerged, dry-ish. He began to don his cloak. When the three of them were ready, they stepped outside and found the women waiting for them. Telos almost made a remark about how surprised he was to find the women had beaten them to it, but restrained himself. Both Qala and Ylia glowed, but it was Ylia who held his eye. She was like a yellow rose, just fresh and gorgeous. Even with her dirty britches and taverner’s blouse, she still looked the picture of beauty. I will buy you a thousand dresses when all this is done, he thought. Or failing that: steal them. He should have gotten something for her as well, but he had been distracted by the strange girl, and her talk of the Dark Veil Lady…

  He shivered.

  “Well, we are all looking refreshed,” Qala said. “Ylia and I were thinking we should get something to eat.”

  The men all agreed with one voice, causing the girls to laugh. Urgal raised his head off his paws. He had enjoyed a solid catnap while they bathed.

  They left The Mermaid Palace, thanking the hostess as they did so. Her curious eyes followed them for a little while, but thankfully, more customers were incoming, drawing her attention. Human instincts are a funny, unchanging thing. The city burns so people seek water.

  They followed the street back the way they had come. They even passed the same merchant stall. Telos saw Ylia’s eyes hungering after some of the blouses on display. There was also a pair of leather britches, form-fitting, that Telos knew Ylia would look beautiful in. Xheng still struggled with his loose trousers. Jubal looked, well, ridiculous in his hunter’s cloak, which was made for camouflage in forestry, not walking around a city. True, his nature needed to remain hidden, but there were more elegant solutions.

  Telos stopped the party.

  “Let’s get out of these old clothes, too,” he said. “We’ve earned it.”

  No one objected, despite the fact their pool of resources was limited. Together, they each picked out something—Qala excepted—and eventually haggled a price of ten Demons for the whole lot. That left them with fifteen, which was still a significant sum, more than enough to get them to the other side of Aurelia if they were canny from now on.

  They bought a gorgeous, crimson blouse for Ylia that made her skin look like it was glowing, and brought out the fiery tinges in her golden hair. Telos also insisted she buy the form-fitting leather trousers. She eyed him suspiciously, but eventually concluded they would look good on her, and her old ones were so filthy they were beyond repair.

  They brought a fine pair of britches for Xheng, complete with a drawstring, coloured purple and embroidered with imagery of owls. For Jubal, they bought a robe not dissimilar to the one they had sold her, though of lesser workmanship. She had to adjust the size before their eyes. It took an hour, but when it was done, Jubal reverently took the fabric in his massive hands and thanked her. The robe was complete with a good, so that his identity could remain further protected.

  Telos bought himself a woollen cape. The fabric was gorgeous, smooth and soft as liquid, dyed exquisitely black with gold lace trimming. His reasoning behind the purchase was to be able to conceal the contraption on his back, and alter the silhouette of his body to enhance his stealth. He clipped it about his neck with a broach containing a red stone. Ylia raised an eyebrow.

  “Only someone as obtuse as you would by a woollen cape in Tezada—probably the second hottest place in the world.”

  “I’m honouring my Yarulian heritage,” Telos said, with a smirk. “It makes me think of all the little sheep clustered on the rolling green hills.”

  Ylia laughed. She eyed him critically.

  “You do look a little like Beltanus.”

  “Or rather a mummer in a second rate costume,” Xheng added.

  Telos would take either. One was a compliment, the other meant he no longer looked like the warrior he was becoming. Deception was the principle tool of any good thief.

  He also had in mind to purchase a sheath for Darkbite when he found one that suited the esoteric blade. Currently, the sword was tucked into the belt about his Hydra Scale armour. The weapon was naked, which would not be healthy for the steel, no matter how fine it was. And in some cities, Telos knew naked steel was considered hostile. There was nothing at the stall of that sort, however.

  “We’ll go to a House to get food, and quickly change in one of the rooms,” Telos said.

  All agreed. They continued on their way and entered the first House they encountered, The Cart Without Horses.

  The place mostly resembled a Yarulian House, but with a few Aurelian twists. It possessed a long bar, decorated with large wagon wheels. Alongside the array of drinks in glass bottles sat a curious, black machine that gurgled and hissed. Steam vented from a chimney in its top. Hot liquid poured from a spout into a cup. It was some kind of tea-making machine, although the tea that came from it smelled more blackly bitter than anything Telos had smelled before.

  The tables, in typical Aurelian style, had trays upon them for Goldleaf ash, and the place smelled faintly of the acrid narcotic.

  There were not many patrons, which suited them well. A few groups were dotted about, eating breakfast or smoking or both. They looked over at the large party—they were hard to miss with the huge Qi’shathian felidae, the cloaked giant, the man in strange armour and a cape, and the two beauties. Of their number, Xheng was probably the least notable, but even he had a whiff of strangeness about him. Probably because he was thoroughly a man of the sea and Daimonopolis was far from any ocean.

  Telos sauntered up to the bar. The others followed.

  “You finest tea, sir,” Telos said to the barman.

  The barman looked dourly at Telos, eyeing the Hydra Scale, the black woollen cloak, the curved sword, his general air of sickening overconfidence.

  “No tea here,” the barman said. “But we do have korlash.”

  Telos frowned.

  “What is korlash?”

  “I’ve heard of this,” Ylia said. “There were a few suppliers whispering of it in Yarruk, but it hasn’t fully made its way there yet.”

  The barman nodded. He even shot a smile at Ylia. It paid to be surrounded by pretty women, sometimes. They were better at disarming enemy defences than trappers.

  “It’s strong,” the barman said, eyeballing Telos once more, his expression stating more clearly than words that he did not believe Telos would be able to handle it. “It’s made from a dark bean, the lashbean, that only grows in Qi’shath. There are other spices as well, including cinnamon. But it’s not sweet. This brew is more bitter than my ex-wife.” The barman let out a bark of laughter. His glanced sideways at Ylia and Qala and then seemed to change tack. “But it fills you with energy, like. Good for the mind. Re-vit-alising.” He said the last word as though he had needed to rehearse it for some time. Still, the drink sounded like exactly what they needed after so many rough days.

  “Well, how much for it? And food, too?”

  “Ten Relics per cup for the korlash,” the barman replied.

  “Ten Relics?” Telos exclaimed, before he could recover his gambler’s veneer. “For a drink? You must be joking.”

  “The ingredients are rare, and they have to be shipped via galleon over the Emerald and Winedark Seas.” The barman shrugged. “Can’t buy that for nothing.”

  “The strait where those two seas meet is dangerous indeed,” Xheng said. “Two currents war for dominance and the waves can topple a galleon with ease. I can attest that many captains double their fees for such crossings.”

  “Very well,” Telos said. “How much for the food, then?”

  “If you buy five cups of korlash, the food is on the House.” He glanced sideways at Ylia and Qala again.

  “Sold!” Telos said. He rubbed his hands. It’s been so long since he’d had a proper meal.

  “Partly,” the barman went on. “Because I cannot offer you much. I was due a resupply this morning, and it turns out the farm from which I get my meat and vegetables was caught in the fire. The farmer survived, thank Talon, but he lost a whole season of crops and a good few animals. So, until I find another one, it’ll have to be porridge.”

  A nerve twitched in Telos’s face.

  “W-would you excuse me for a moment?”

  The barman frowned.

  “Of course.”

  Telos went to the door of the House and stepped out into the street.

  He screamed.

  He returned to the House. The others were all staring at him with great concern.

  “Sorry about that,” he said. “It’s just that porridge is my least favourite word in the Yarulian language.”

  The barman guffawed.

  “Well, you better get used to hearing it. Lots of Houses here are in the same boat.”

  Telos felt the muscle neurotically twitching in his face again. He forced a smile that felt like rigour mortis.

  “I’ll… just take a seat.”

  “You do that. I’ll get your korlash ready.”

  Ylia handed over the two Demons and two Relics that made up the cost of the drinks. She had been designated responsible for the coin-bag, and for managing their finances, given she had the most experience of such things. Telos had considered stealing the coin-bag again as a practical joke but realised he would likely end up dead, so it wasn’t worth the punchline.

  Find this and other great novels on the author's preferred platform. Support original creators!

  He sat down at the table. Oftentimes, he was able to forget Nereth’s curse. All adventures worth having necessitated hardship. He did not see them as manifestations of bad luck, just as part of life. But his memory of the curse, of her cruel face, always resurfaced in the small things. He’d rather face bigger challenges, impossible odds, but it was as if Nereth knew he would rise to such occasions, whereas the small attritions would erode his willpower over time.

  What a devious woman you are, Nereth. No wonder Beltanus and the other gods fear you. You are playing this game on many levels. But for what end? Why has humanity so aggrieved you that you must wipe us out?

  He had heard Beltanus’s explanation, that Nereth believed the course of the gods’ original plan had been perverted, but he did not believe it for one second. He had seen how powerful were the emotions of the gods, how deeply felt every slight upon them was. This was a personal vendetta. And perhaps, perhaps the way of stopping it all was figuring out what that vendetta was.

  Conversation drifted to Telos. Ylia was asking the barman if they might borrow one of his unused rooms to change. She batted her eyelids—and permission was granted.

  One by one, the party went and changed. Qala did not need to change, so sat with Telos, sympathising and cursing him in equal measure for the “curse of porridge”.

  Xheng came first, with his brightly coloured britches, walking with a swagger that might also have been sea-legs. Jubal came next, looking positively majestic, a sorcerer from a far off land, his face mysteriously concealed by the low hood. Unlike his former cloak, which distorted his silhouette, the robes accentuated Jubal’s muscular form. He looked like an emperor with pugilistic hobbies, although the huge bow slung over his shoulder was an incongruous detail.

  He had carried the bow all the way from Yarruk, knowing he could no longer use it. Telos wondered whether he would ever be able to let it go.

  Ylia came last. When she entered the room, every male head turned, and Telos felt his breath stolen. A cliché, but a true one. Beauty inspired awe, a rapturous desire to draw more of life in. The trousers hugged her supple, shapely legs. The red blouse made her skin look like opal reflecting fire.

  “I have to hand it to you, Telos,” Ylia said, taking a seat while the patrons and barman gawked. “You have quite a good dress sense. I would not have spotted this one if you had not pointed it out.”

  She was smiling at him and he felt his heart hammer.

  Oh Gods, I’m actually falling in fucking love.

  The timing was terrible. The world was ending; he was literally cursed.

  But the heart could not be denied. That was why Lileth was revered perhaps more than any other god. Eresh’s plagues could decimate populations, but Lileth was the one who broke empires, set worlds on fire. It makes more and more sense to me why she would be against us, Telos thought. She is not just the goddess of love, but the god of dark passions.

  And both light and dark passions now moved upon Telos’s soul. He could not drink enough of Ylia in. She saw his gaze, too, and did not withdraw from it. She basked in it. Her light seemed to increase and expand. The wordless communication passed between them, the joy of seeing and the joy of being seen.

  And then the moment was over as the barman came over, bearing a tray of smouldering drinks.

  “Fresh korlash!” he declared, setting it down in their middle. “Whatever you do, don’t feed it to your pet!”

  The felidae sat by Ylia’s seat, remarkably docile. Perhaps he sensed that they had all unwound a little bit and mirrored their relaxed states?

  “Well, this is not the feast I hope for,” Telos said. “But, it is a feast among friends. For that I am grateful, and to that, I shall raise a glass.” He took the delicate handle of the cup and raised it.

  Qala smiled.

  “Well spoken, Telos. Likewise.”

  “In blood we’re bound!” Ylia and Jubal said at once, then both laughed. Qala smiled all the brighter.

  “In all my years, I have never known a more unlikely troupe,” the princess said. “And that tells me that we are Fate-woven, that we tread upon the Immutable Way.”

  “Ahhhh!” Xheng screamed.

  “What is it?” Telos said, hand going instantly to his swordhandle.

  “Ka’quen! It’s bloody hot!”

  They all laughed.

  “Did the steam billowing from the liquid from it not give you a clue?” Jubal rumbled.

  “I was distracted by all the ‘fair speeches’,” Xheng said. “We sailors simply down our drinks.”

  “Now that is a lie!” Telos said. “I have known a few sailors in my time, and not a one could drink without singing a song.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, that is different. And I am not going to sing here. It feels wrong, singing on land.”

  “That depends on the manner of the song,” Qala said.

  ***

  The korlash was bitter and refreshing, but not particularly special to Telos’s way of thinking. When he said as much, however, he was met with disbelief. Everyone else, even the normally reserved Qala, declared it nectar of the gods.

  “It is better even than Respiratory Remedy!” she said, wildly.

  Telos noticed their eyes had brightened. Their moods had certainly improved. Ylia was practically bouncing around the tavern. Telos watched her nervously, wondering if she was about to develop a problematic addiction to another substance in lieu of alcohol. But Ylia seemed not delirious, merely abundantly joyful. Even Jubal was nursing the drink and sipping with pleasure, making deep mhmmm sounds in his baritone throat.

  It took Telos a few minutes to figure out why the drink was having no effect on him.

  “The Godseed...” he muttered.

  Beltanus had remade him in more ways than purely strength. He had introduced some kind of new element, one that made his body function on a different level. In Telos’s mind, it was less that he was a god now, and more than he was a human being capable of perfection. He was neither invulnerable nor magical nor able to fly, but he could do everything better. And that included processing whatever he put into his body.

  He realised now that it was highly likely he was immune to the Kiss of Eresh, and needn’t have feared the little girl’s touch. His immune system could probably quell all but the strongest diseases. At least, those found on Erethia. Presumably, the diseases on Nilldoran were different. The home of the gods was harsher, a brutal crucible in which the power of the gods had been forged. The more challenging the environment, the more adaptable the creatures that grew within it. The gods were the product of a hellscape. Humans were the product of a carefully cultivated garden.

  And Daimons? What of them?

  They are the weeds that grow in the garden. Bindweed, that tangles all the other flowers. When you uproot it, the other flowers die with it.

  The answer seemed to come from outside himself, planted there, almost as if by magic.

  He had not spent much time with his mother, but one of the few things she liked to do with him was garden. She would take him all over the estate, showing him the different trees, flowers, herbs, and vegetables. She would show him the weeds and how to deal with them. The pests and the gardeners’ friends. She loved frogs. She would dismiss any servant who ever harmed one, even accidentally. She would not keep cats in the house for fear they would harm the precious little amphibians.

  At the time, Telos had found it mind-numbingly boring. Now, he wished he could go back, could live that time again, maybe use it to level with his mother. There was no easier way into someone’s heart than talking to them about something they loved or were passionate about. He didn’t possess that knowledge at the time; he had learned it from the streets.

  Youth really is wasted on the young.

  Telos forced down a bowl of porridge when it came. He knew he could go longer without eating than most, but it was senseless to deny his body sustenance when they had many more miles ahead of them. He mollified his distress by lathering the porridge in copious amounts of honey, which the barman had set in a jug upon their table.

  Ylia sniffed at the jug. Her face morphed through an array of emotions with dazzling speed.

  “This… this is our honey!” she said.

  “What?” Then Telos’s eyes widened. “You mean…?”

  Ylia nodded, her face falling. It was as though the sun had been obscured by clouds. Her hair seemed to have lost its lustre. If gold could ever tarnish, that was what she resembled now—it near broke his heart.

  “My father…” she said shakily. Tears appeared and she wiped them away hurriedly on the sleeve of her new blouse. How quickly things are stained, Telos could not help but think. “It’s not him. The farm… the farm was sold, eventually. My mother… But this is the honey, made by that same hive. My father bragged the hive has been there since the days of the Yarulian Empire. I know its taste. It tastes… it tastes of home.”

  Qala reached out a hand and placed it gently on Ylia’s arm. Ylia surprised them all by throwing her arms about the princess, pulling her into a deep embrace.

  Xheng leaned over to Telos.

  “I wish she’d hug me like that!”

  “Is now really the time, Xheng?” Telos retorted.

  Jubal’s voice rumbled from the depths of his hood, “Ylia, I can never know the heartbreak of losing a father and mother, for I never knew my own. But I do know what it is to lose a home. The clan raised me. I became leader of the clan. And now that clan is gone. Scattered to the winds. The Warden…” Jubal cleared his throat. “But the thing that burns in my soul is this: I shall build it again. Whatever was lost, we shall regain. My kind were made to build a world. But after we did, we were abandoned. But the home that was built for us, that I grew up in, I shall build that again before I die. This is what fuels me.”

  Ylia smiled sadly.

  “That is very beautiful, Jubal.” She lowered her voice. “Theronts deserve a sanctuary.”

  “We shall build on in Qi’shath,” Qala said. “When the mantle is mine, you have my word.”

  To Telos’s surprise, Jubal waved a hand in dismissal.

  “Do not promise it yet, not when we are so far. But know my intention. And Ylia, you must find the same burning desire. If it is a home you have lost, a home you must rebuild. We are the nest-makers. And in these nests shall be the eggs that harbour the future of all things.”

  “I always said you were a natural poet, Jubal,” Telos remarked.

  Jubal’s hood turned to Telos. He could just seen beneath the lip of the hood that the theront was grinning.

  “Too much time in the woods will do that to you.”

  ***

  They finished their meal and departed, heading for the station. They had spent the day pleasantly, but now the ultimatum given to them by Beltanus weighed heavy on them all. It was time to see if the Engine had been repaired.

  They met with the stationmaster who vaguely seemed to recognise them—Telos supposed they were a more unusual group—and took the coin from them.

  “The Jensen, was it?”

  Ylia nodded.

  “It was in bad shape from what I hear. The engineer has been working on it all day. He’s one of the best in the city.”

  “That sounds good!” Telos said, hopefully.

  “Well, good for your Engine,” the stationmaster said, scratching his huge sideburns. “But not for your wallet. You’ll have to pay his Wagemaster handsomely.”

  They all exchanged worried glances. Wagemasters were notoriously unpleasant to deal with.

  “I thought engineers were a free-profession. He’s an indentured engineer?” Ylia clarified.

  “Yes. He’s a dwarf, so likely his parents feared he would not get work, otherwise. But he is one of the best in the city, as I said. You can’t deny a man’s handiwork! Now, come with me!”

  He took them across several platforms, where Engines of all shapes, sizes, and design idled, belching smog and fumes while men scurried to and fro, filling their bellies with pipes of gurgling Daimonsblood, repairing damaged carriages, wheels, and machinery. The smell of Daimonsblood was a cloud that hung over everything, saturating every stone slab and wooden support. The facades of the station were blackened. Clearly, the attempt to clean these buildings had long ago been abandoned and the city had embraced its identity as the smoke-blackened heart of industry.

  With a shriek and a groan, one Engine began to chunter out of the station, its wheels screeching on the tracks, flame blazing at the core of its snout like withheld dragonfire. Soon, it was a blur of dark metal, racing out of the city.

  They came to a smaller platform, and recognised the familiar hull of The Jensen. Two figures stood in the midst of smog, like shadowed painted onto cloud. Telos felt Ylia tense beside him. He saw the muscles in her neck constrict.

  “What’s the matter?” Telos whispered.

  Ylia shook her head. Her eyes were lambent. She was still moving forward with the rest of the crowd, but he could see her sudden hesitation, the presentiment of fear. He could smell the fear, with his enhanced senses. Could smell the bubbling cauldron of chemical action in her body, as though some experiment had gone awry.

  “Ylia, what—”

  “May I present to you,” the stationmaster boomed. “Engineer Albron and the esteemed Wagemaster Gorm.”

  The smog parted, and they saw the pair more clearly. Albron, the dwarf, was covered head to foot in mud and grime, so that his red overalls were no longer red. Despite the filth, and the unusual proportions of his body, he was an inordinately handsome man, with sandy hair, aquamarine eyes, and a sensuously full mouth. A belt of tools lay spread out on the station before him, but it seemed he was in the process of putting them away, his work done. Telos saw patches and repair-work upon the Engine’s hull. Metal had been re-soldered and forged to cover cracks and prevent leakage. No doubt many other repairs were invisible to the untrained eye.

  The second man was of middle height, though far taller than Telos and Xheng. He wore golden robes, which seemed patently ridiculous in these conditions. A red sash was slung diagonally over his torso, the emblem of the Wagemaster. A huge beer gut caused the buttons on his white waistcoat to strain. A whip hung at his belt. His face was bearded and tanned, and his eyes glimmered like two jetstones set into the hilt of a blade.

  He looked at first surprised, but then his surprise became something more hideous: smiling, smiling in a way that reminded Telos of some predatory beast. Urgal, perhaps, although Urgal bore a certain nobility about him that Wagemaster Gorm lacked.

  He was staring at Ylia, Telos realised. Was it with lascivious intent? No, something else, something deeper. Ylia’s mouth opened and closed like a fish’s, nonsensical words tumbling out.

  “What is he doing here.. Here? Why here? Tezada… What is he doing here?”

  “Ylia?” Telos said, shakily.

  “Well, well, well,” Gorm said. His voice was guttural, and Telos realised he was chewing raw Goldleaf—his teeth blackened from the habit. “I never thought I would see the day: Ylia Hart has come back to me!”

  The stationmaster frowned, looking between their party and Gorm.

  “What is—”

  Gorm interrupted the stationmaster, pointing at Ylia with a chubby finger.

  “This woman is my property, stationmaster. She reneged on her contract ten years ago. And now I invoke my right to reclaim what is mine!”