hoods. Orgos, being the most easily recognizable in these uncosmopolitan parts, rode inside the wagon with me. I sat at the tailgate, cradled my crossbow in my lap, and prayed I wouldn’t have to use it.
I didn’t. We’ll never know if some scout of the raiders watched from the distant hills and decided we weren’t worth attacking, but that suited me. We reached Hopetown shortly after sundown, rented rooms at the Bricklayer’s Arms under the name of Morgan, and unloaded crates of iron and copperware that we had hurriedly purchased in Ironwall. We dined on fat-basted potatoes and roast pork with lots of bristly crackling. Garnet and Renthrette had a salad.
“Tell us a story, Will,” said Mithos, his eyes closed and his head back.
Orgos caught my eye and nodded. I thought of something suited to my audience, took a long breath, and began:
“Unto the court of Sardis came a knight,
Whose name the scribes of legend have set down
As Helthor, mightiest soldier of the line
Whose gleaming sword full many a man has slain.
He longed to lead proud Sardis into war
And vanquish cities with its valiant host,
As if he meant to torch the universe,
Or grind its stars to powder ’neath his heel.”
And so it went on. It lasted close to an hour and they were silent throughout. At the end, when Helthor finally gets his just deserts and the stage (it was my own adaptation of an old play) is strewn with bodies, there was a long, satisfied pause. Garnet, who had listened with great attentiveness asked, “And how did Helthor’s child rule Sardis?”
I gave him a long, silent look. There was something in his voice that said he thought the story was true, like I had known this mythical psychopath personally. I knew he was neither joking nor stupid, but this was one of his curious blind spots. Renthrette tried to give me a hostile look but she looked faintly confused. I had to say something to Garnet, but the question was all wrong. The story was over and Helthor’s son ceased to exist as soon as I concluded the epilogue. The son was closure, the restoration of order and promise of better things to come, nothing more. I answered him carefully.
“He lived long and happily, ruled his country well, and was accounted a great king and a good man.”
Garnet watched me thoughtfully for a moment. Everyone was silent.
“Good,” he said simply. And I suppose it was. Hadn’t I said all tales were true once told? They form a kind of reality, even if it’s one we can’t live in.
Having said that, of course, reality—my reality—had gotten rather odd of late. Aside from the horrors of being an adventurer, whatever that was supposed to be, I was still struggling with some key details that didn’t fit my pragmatic worldview. First there was Orgos’s sword and Lisha’s spear. Then there was the raiders’ ability to appear and disappear without leaving the slightest trace.
I started with Orgos.
“Are you ready to hear the answer this time?” he said.
I nodded. It was a lie, but I didn’t actually say anything, so it was only kind of a lie, right?
“The sword is an artifact of power,” he said. “It was a gift from Arthen of Snowcrag. I believe he found it, though he never said where. You’ve heard of such things, surely?”
“In stories,” I sneered, and then stopped myself and said simply, “Yes.”
“The stories are true,” he said, equally simply. “The artifacts are rare, most of them are very old, and most people who have one either don’t recognize what it is or don’t know how to use it, but they are real.”
“And you have one,” I said.
“And know how to use it,” he replied. It wasn’t a boast, just a statement of fact.
“And Lisha’s?” I ventured.
He gave me a quick look. He didn’t know I’d seen it.
“Yes,” he said. “Lisha has one too. Its power is a little different from mine, more versatile. I don’t know all it can do.”
“Are there any others I should know about?” I asked, trying not to sound snide. “I mean, if Renthrette has a magic bottle opener or something . . .”
“We have no others,” he said.
“How do they work?” I asked. “I mean, I know . . . magic, and all,” I said, trying not to sound like an idiot, though saying that word with a straight face made you sound like an idiot all by itself, “but how, exactly?”