Liar's Island: A Novel

 

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For Heather and River. There's a circle around us.

1

Cornered

Kresley was head of the little lord's household guard, a position that seldom required more than standing around looking good in a polished breastplate at interminable balls and occasionally kicking priests, beggars, or solicitors who somehow made it past the lord's gates back out into the streets of Absalom. Today, unfortunately, he'd been sent on an errand that was really more the province of the city guards … but the little lord wanted it handled personally, because the city guards were interested more in the law than in allowing the lord to exact a terrible revenge.

Kresley cleared his throat and tried once more to do it the easy way. “Rodrick! Come out! None of us want to see blood spilled.” This gray street in a rough part of the city had probably seen plenty of blood spilled, though the predominant scent was actually urine.

“Especially our blood,” muttered Haverford, a grizzled veteran with a long scar down one cheek who'd been hired onto the household guard because he'd once saved the little lord's cousin from getting a crossbow bolt in the face on one battlefield or another. Haverford was fond of wine and didn't respect Kresley's authority at all, even though Kresley's breastplate always
far
outshone Haverford's own.

Kresley, Haverford, and three other men—and the wizard, but Kresley didn't want to think about the wizard; they weren't the sort of people you wanted standing
behind
you, because what if one of their spells went off by accident?—were arrayed in a loose semicircle before an abandoned storehouse in the Coins. The wizard had tracked their quarry this far, through the winding streets of Absalom, and there was no doubt they'd found their prey, and that he was trapped. Kresley had scouted for other exits, and this door was the only way out, since the storehouse was built right up against the similarly dilapidated buildings around it on all sides.

But the thief, Rodrick, wasn't acting like he was trapped, and showed no interest at all in giving himself up. Kresley wasn't keen to bash his way into a building full of who knew what, through a door only large enough to admit one man at a time, against an enemy who'd had time to set traps or an ambush.

Especially
this
enemy. Kresley had seen the damage done by Rodrick's sword, the holes blasted in the little lord's wall, ragged gaps still rimed with frost. He knew the wizard was here to take that icy advantage away, but what if the man's magic
missed
?

The front door of the storehouse was even hanging askew, practically an invitation to enter, which surely meant some terrible preparations had been made beyond. Kresley had never served in any organized military force, but he knew attacking an enemy on prepared ground was harder than kicking a beggar down the little lord's front steps.

“Why don't you come in?” Rodrick called, voice muffled. “It's nice in here. Plenty of room. We can sit and chat.”

“If we have to come in after you, there will be violence!” Kresley said. “Give yourself up, and it will go easier on you!”

“I see,” Rodrick called, but his voice seemed to come from farther away. What was he
doing
in there? “So, if I come out, you won't harm me?”

“That's right!”

“But you'll take me back to the little lord, who will harm me?”

“He … hasn't told me his plans for you…”

“Oh?” Rodrick's voice was bright, and now sounded closer. “He could want me for anything, then. Perhaps I'm to be guest of honor at a feast, or he wants to play a game of towers. Sit with me and sip brandy by the fire and discuss the peculiarities of Osirian funeral rites or the philosophies of the Mammoth Lords, just us, two men of the world. I suppose that's the sort of hospitality he offers thieves? Though to be
accurate
I'm not a thief at all, because I was discovered before I had a chance to steal anything. The indignity of fleeing the palace—of running from
you
—isn't that punishment enough, especially considering I made no profit off this endeavor at all?”

“You did get your wages for serving as security at the ball,” Kresley said. “Those are ill-gotten gains.” Why was he arguing with the man? Oh, yes: Because it was better than rushing someone who had a magical sword. Or indeed any kind of sword.

“Are you claiming I didn't provide adequate security?” Rodrick sounded outraged. “Was the dance floor attacked by hordes of ravening demons? Did ogres overturn the punch bowls? Did a bugbear eat the goose liver off a rich man's plate? Were the musicians torn apart by werewolves? They were not, and I'm sure my presence made all the difference. I gave good value for those meager coins.”

Haverford spat and, to Kresley's surprise, spoke up loudly enough for Rodrick to hear: “The little lord paid you for your loyalty, thief. Just for one night, but you took the coin, and you made the deal, and so were bound by it. You betrayed him, and a man who'd betray another is no man at all. Treachery's a worse crime than theft.”

“Oh, in
that
case, I'll be right out,” Rodrick said. Something clattered, and someone else inside the warehouse swore.

Kresley frowned and leaned over to Haverford. “Is that … is there someone else in there? Does he have an accomplice?”

“It's the
sword
.” The wizard rolled his eyes. He was fat and robed, but he wasn't old, and didn't look like a proper wizard at all, being entirely beardless. “You know, the whole reason I'm here? The reason this Rodrick was hired to provide security at the ball in the first place? He's just a man, but that Hrym is a wonder. A talking sword of living ice.”

“I knew about the ice,” Kresley muttered. There'd been something about the sword talking, too, but he'd dismissed it as exaggeration. The sword certainly hadn't said anything back at the little lord's manor house.

“I can also sing!” the second voice called. He—it?—sounded jovial and curmudgeonly all at once, like a drunken grandfather at the wedding of a relative he didn't like much.

“No, Hrym, don't sing!” Rodrick cried. “We want them to
leave
, not die!”

Kresley pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger. He was getting a headache, and this street really did smell like every cat, dog, and vagrant in the Coins used it as a latrine. “All right. This is nonsense. We're going in. Rodrick, this is your last chance—”

“Oh, well, if you really want to die, I can't be blamed,” Rodrick interrupted. “But I have to wonder if you've thought this through. Say one of your men manages to get a sword into my neck before Hrym freezes him solid. What have you accomplished, really? You can kill me, but you can't kill
Hrym
. He's a sword. And a magical one, at that—you can't even melt him down. Believe me, many have tried.”

“I daresay the lord would be pleased to have a … a talking sword … to add to his collection.”

“Ha! You don't want
this
sword.” Rodrick's laugh was booming and hearty. “He's cursed, you know.”

Kresley blinked. “I … what?”

“My sword. Ooh, look, a magical sentient sword of living ice, everyone's always so impressed. But, yes: he's cursed. Cursedly cursed.”

“You have, by all accounts, traveled with this blade for many years,” Kresley said. “In what way is it
cursed
?”

“What? Look where I am
now
,” Rodrick said. “I'm about to be murdered by a bunch of household guards, of all things! Hrym's
obviously
cursed. It's just a slow-acting curse.”

The wizard sighed. “The sword isn't cursed. Are we going to stand around here much longer? It's only, I've got plans.”