that you can prevent Him from leashing you once more. To do that you need more than brute strength, you need stature - in the divine sense.’
There was a note of enjoyment in Rojak’s voice that Venn recognised all too well. The minstrel had always loved to lecture, to present truths to others and let them walk the dark paths he revealed. To do so with a God would be a pleasure worth savouring.
‘We have the means to bring this about, to secure for you a place in the Pantheon that Death himself will not wish to disrupt.’
‘How?’ The Wither Queen asked, her expression turning from suspicious to one of burning hunger.
‘A king is measured by his subjects, a God by its followers. Death must respect a position within the Pantheon because He is the epitome of rank, of authority - but spirits of the forest do not convey the worship a God needs to be called a God.’
‘My mortal followers are few and reluctant; their prayers full of bitter tears.’
‘And there you are a God most rare,’ Rojak said, as softly as if he were whispering to a lover.
The Wither Queen stared, waiting for him to continue.
Rojak chuckled, enjoying the moment. ‘Others of the Pantheon, however, are more fortunate and it pains me to see such beauty lack the majesty it deserves. My suggestion is this - permit us to help you achieve this position and ally with us in our endeavours. In return, when the time is right and our need is pressing, lend my master your power when it is requested.’
‘Your master wishes to bind me as Death would? What good is it to exchange one lord for another?’
‘It would be a loan, to last no longer than a moon - it is not domination over you my master seeks, merely assistance to ensure a similar freedom as that we offer you.’
The Wither Queen was silent for a time; even the spirits surrounding her stilled and the darkening forest itself became hushed.
Venn realised every muscle in his body had gone taut with anticipation.
‘A term of service, when asked for, to last until the moon is new,’ she said at last. Venn felt the tension drain from his body. ‘In return for providing me with the power to resist Death’s call. Prove you have the power to do such a thing and there shall be a covenant.’
‘It would be a pleasure,’ Rojak purred. ‘If you are ready to take what is deservedly yours?’
Venn heard a second voice in his head as Jackdaw started murmuring; he could not make it out at first - then he froze, recognising the form easily enough that the words did not matter. Jackdaw was praying. Once he had been a prior at a monastery to Vellern, until Jackdaw had renounced his vows and become sundered from his God. Needless to say, the Gods disapproved of such behaviour - using prayer to summon one was like poking an already-angry bear. The God of Birds might well be diminished after Zhia Vukotic killed an Aspect and high priest of his in Scree, but feeble he was not.
Venn smiled; Vellern wouldn’t even think twice before incarnating. A greasy sensation slithered down the former Harlequin’s spine as Jackdaw drew on the Crystal Skull he carried. The forest went completely silent and even the breeze drifting through the leaves vanished as the dusk birdsong faded to nothing. Venn felt a prickle of excitement and his heart began to beat faster as the Jackdaw’s incantation grew louder.
The Wither Queen was busy herself, her eyes firmly closed, her arms held outstretched as she performed her own summoning. Pinpricks of pale light began to appear all around her - five, ten, twenty - forming sickly constellations above her head. A handful sank to the ground and wriggled like diseased mice before abruptly spasming and splitting open for new rat-like wisps to emerge. More rats scampered from the undergrowth with unnatural speed to gather and fawn at the tattered hem of her skirt.
Jackdaw’s intonation broke off suddenly and Venn looked around. The forest was empty, but there was a sudden sense of weight in the air like the heaviness before a storm.
‘He comes,’ Jackdaw whispered from the recesses of Venn’s mind. He sounded terrified. The taste of magic appeared thick in his mouth, eclipsing the Wither Queen’s putrefaction. Venn gripped the Crystal Skull firmly with one hand and reached for a sword with the other. He didn’t know whether it would do