of how vainglorious this must sound. “I have been joined by others. We are opposed by the gods themselves, or, at least, two of the three. We have been drawn into the conflict of the age, and it seems the Neherian destruction of Old Roudhos is only a part of it.”
“Do you intend to make the Neherians answer for what they did to your family?”
Just as Noetos had hoped, the venerable swordmaster had been drawn in despite himself.
“I already have,” he said. “I long to tell you how the nobles of Neherius were struck down. How this sword avenged the cruel deaths of my family. Come with me and I will explain everything.”
Cyclamere sighed, a sound of genuine regret. “Unfortunately, young Noetos, I cannot. As much as I loved your family, my loyalty is to the Canopy of Patina Padouk. I do not blame you for what has happened here today,” he swept his hand across the grisly scene, “but I can hardly leave Patina Padouk in this condition.”
“And my loyalty is to my companions, who have chosen to stand in the path of gods determined to break the world.”
“I will not stand against the gods.”
“Against Keppia, you mean.”
“That is exactly what I mean. And would you sacrifice a life hundreds, if not thousands, of years long, leaving your friends and family behind, to serve a man you believed dead?”
“If it would lead to saving Roudhos, then yes, I would,” Noetos answered fiercely. “And who said anything about serving? Or sacrificing? You’d lend your sword arm and your knowledge when and where you chose, and I doubt there would be anyone who could seriously threaten your life.”
“You’re forgetting magicians. A good sword is no proof against a magician.”
“If a good sword is no use, why are you so revered among the Padouki?”
“Because our magicians are not strong,” Cyclamere answered, rather frankly in Noetos’s opinion. “The little power at our disposal comes from the gift that Keppia gave us. We think of it as a small side-stream, only a fraction of the raging flood Keppia used to keep us alive.”
“You’re afraid to offend him.” Noetos did not ask this as a question.
“For myself, no. He is ignorant, rude and without honour or depth of spirit. Why would I bow to the likes of him? However, I am fearful of what would happen to my people if he withdraws his patronage.”
“They would die?”
“Aye. I am ready to die, though I would miss this world. Who would not want to wake up for one more morning and breathe in the forest scent? Or listen to his grandchildren at play? But my children and grandchildren are not ready for death. You fight for your family and your country, Lord of Roudhos. Would you not give me leave to fight for mine?”
Another explosion shook the trees, sending leaves quaking and branches rattling. Over Cyclamere’s shoulder black smoke began to billow. The warrior did not turn his head at the sound, not even a fraction.
“We can’t stay here,” Noetos said. “We must fight each other, or combine to rescue those in trouble, or agree to separate. If we fight, you will die, as I have a source of magic you cannot counter. If we separate, I believe the best we can hope for is that one of us will successfully protect his family. One, or probably both, of us will lose everything. But if we combine our efforts against the gods, we can prevent them breaking the world.”
The warrior frowned. “To prevent the world breaking, Padouk must pass away?”
“Perhaps not,” Noetos said, but inwardly he acknowledged the truth of Cyclamere’s words.
“Then let the world break. My people and I will watch it together.”
After Cyclamere had left him, gone to search for those who needed his help, Noetos struggled along depressingly familiar bridges and platforms towards the smoke. As he drew closer, flames became visible, their hungry tips rising above the foliage. Not even the beginnings of a light drizzle could quench them.
He had never been any good at puzzles. Didn’t have the patience for them. His father had insisted problem-solving be part of his education, and had imported all sorts of intricate devices to test his son’s abilities. He solved them, all right, with the aid of hammers and saws. He’d always been fond of the direct route. Trouble was, there was no direct route to solving this puzzle. The harder he tried to approach the fire, the further he seemed to get from it. No