setting guild against guild, encouraging open war between them and doing absolutely nothing to regulate brutality within the guilds. Khalidorans did such things in the belief that the best would naturally rise. But the Sa’kagé wanted members, not monsters.
Worse, they now had some indication that Corbin actually had been working for Khalidor. That was inexcusable. Not taking the work, but taking it without reporting it to the rest of the Nine. Loyalties had to be to the Sa’kagé first.
The kill had been sanctioned, and it had been just. That didn’t mean that Corbin’s friends would accept it. Durzo had killed members of the Nine before, but he always took extra care to conceal whose work it was. Now Azoth had tromped around his killing grounds for hours, a little before the job was done and a lot after. Enough people knew or guessed Durzo had taken Azoth as his apprentice that they couldn’t fail to link the two. It was sloppy wet work, they’d say. Maybe Durzo Blint is slipping.
Being the best made him a target. The appearance of weakness gave every second-rate wetboy hope that they could move up. Azoth couldn’t have known, of course. Still didn’t know so many things. But in that flash of blue light from Retribution’s blade, Durzo had seen his own death. If he let the boy live, Durzo would die. Sooner or later.
And there it was. The divine economy. For someone to live, someone had to die.
Durzo Blint made his decision, and started drinking.
“Master Blint hasn’t come to see me.”
“No,” Momma K said.
“It’s been four days. You said he wasn’t mad anymore,” Azoth said, making fists with his hands. He thought he had cut them, but they were fine. Lots of other places on his body hurt, so he hadn’t just imagined being beaten, but his hands were fine.
“Three days. And he’s not mad. Drink this.”
“No. I don’t want any more of that stuff. It makes me feel worse.” He regretted the words as soon as he said them. Momma K’s eyebrows went up and her eyes went cold. Even huddled in warm blankets in a spare bedroom here in her house, when her eyes turned frosty, nothing could make you feel warm.
“Child, let me tell you a story. Have you ever heard of the Snake of Haran?”
Azoth shook his head.
“The snake has seven heads, but each time you cut one head off, two more grow in its place.”
“Really? There’s really such a thing?”
“No. In Haran they call it the Snake of Ladesh. It’s imaginary.”
“Then why did you tell me about it?” Azoth asked.
“Are you being deliberately obtuse?” When he didn’t answer, she said, “If you’ll let me finish, you’ll see the story is an analogy. Analogies are lies grown-ups tell.”
“Why?” Being stuck in bed was making Azoth petulant.
“Why does anyone tell lies? Because they’re useful. Now drink your medicine and then shut your mouth,” Momma K said.
Azoth knew he was pushing it, so he didn’t ask any more. He drank the thick mint-and-anise-flavored brew.
“Right now the Sa’kagé has its own Snake of Haran, Azoth . . . Kylar. Do you know Corbin Fishill?”
Azoth nodded. Corbin was the handsome, impressive young man who had sometimes come and talked to Ja’laliel.
“Corbin was one of the Nine. He ran the children’s guilds.”
“Was?” Azoth almost squeaked. He wasn’t supposed to know Corbin was even important, much less how important.
“Durzo killed him three days ago. When the baby farms were shut down, the Sa’kagé was given a chance to literally raise its own army. But Corbin was allowing or encouraging guild war that was wiping out the slaveborn. And he was a spy. The Sa’kagé thought he was a Ceuran spy, but now they think he was taking money from Khalidor. The Khalidorans paid him in Ceuran gold, probably in case he was found, and also so he wouldn’t start spending the money immediately and bring attention to himself.
“Now that Corbin is dead, his things have been searched, and unfortunately, there hasn’t been any clear answer. If he was Khalidoran, he was far more dangerous than we had thought, and the Sa’kagé should have brought him in and had him tortured until they knew for sure, but at the time, they thought it was more important to set a graphic example of what happens to those who mismanage Sa’kagé endeavors. The problem now is bigger.
“We don’t think Corbin was in place long enough to cultivate any loyalty to Khalidor among the guilds—street rats don’t care much where