The sun was high in the sky by the time Rotwood and Quickstrider had finished reaming him out.
They had already been up by the time Teren had gotten Baltry back to the palace. Quick hadn't been thrilled to find Baltry's cot empty and Ronic's bed full. She sent the scalp massager on her way and dragged him out of bed to help locate the young apprentice. And of course she had woken Rotwood to let him know his own apprentice wasn't in the Palace. After having spent all morning trying to figure out where in the three hells their apprentices and the Prince had gotten off to, the masters were furious to find a hungover Teren carrying a blacked-out Baltry over his shoulder.
Well, Quickstrider was furious. Rotwood on the other hand had found his explanation quite amusing, right up until Teren had explained the promise he had made to Dirjir.
"I don't care what you promised him," said Rotwood firmly. He was sitting across from Teren in Quickstrider's room, while Quickstrider paced back and forth angrily. "You can't even deathcraft on the scale he's asking for."
"I did," sighed Teren. "Just now. You should have seen it! Nearly forty spirits under my control. And five corpses, but I think I could have made more if I had the bodies for it."
"Not on your own. You drew power from the land."
"And I'll do it again during the celebration. Maybe I could get Ronic to boost me with some lifebreathing?" He was with Baltry in their room, using lifebreathing to get the alcohol out of his system and improve his sleep. Quickstrider hadn't offered the same to Teren, and he sat on her bed with a throbbing skull and dry mouth.
Quickstrider glared at him. "Ronic isn't stupid enough to help you put a crown on the head of a man you met yesterday."
"I didn't say I'd help put him on a throne. I just promised to bring out the dead. We do that all the time in the Sainted Lands, right?"
"Don't get smart with me. You know exactly why you promised what you did."
"A promise that you made while drunk," added Rotwood. "I think after this we need to have a little discussion about your drinking problem."
Teren scowled. "Ah. So now I have a drinking problem."
"Yes," the masters said in unison.
Teren jumped up off the bed. "Fine, maybe I do like a drink every now and then! But that doesn't mean I was wrong to offer to help Dirjir. I messed up, he helped me out, and now I'm going to help him out."
Rotwood shot a look at Quickstrider. She nodded and walked out of the room, closing the door behind her.
Rotwood stood up, meeting Teren face to face. As tall as Teren was, Rotwood was still taller. The last few years had added creases to his clean-shaven head. "Teren, I like to think I've been lenient with you. I know your upbringing wasn't great, growing up on the streets."
"Uh, no. I suppose it wasn't. And you have been great to me, Master. I can't ever thank you enough for that.
"And you've been a good apprentice. We've had our ups and downs, but at the end of the day you're a damn good deathcrafter."
"…But?"
"But I'm not sure you'd be a good Gravecaller."
Teren's leg trembled faintly. He fought to keep his expression neutral. "Because of this? Because I want to be a man of my word?"
"Because you have no concept of right and wrong. Because yesterday I sensed it when you summoned up a spirit to chase down some street vendor. You use deathcraft because you want to use it, without pausing to think of the morality behind your actions."
The trembling grew worse. He fought to keep his expression neutral and failed. "So what!" Teren spat. "Who cares if I kill someone? Their soul just moves on to a different world, one that we're all going to one way or another! And that man threatened me!"
"So you tried to kill that vendor because he, a man you would never see again in your entire life, threatened you. You, a deathcrafter, felt threatened by a nobody. And you felt the best way to handle it wasn't to just walk away but to send a dead man to do the job for you."
Teren gritted his teeth. "Dead or alive, a soul is a soul. What does it matter?"
That remark got Rotwood angry. "It matters because it's not normal to try and kill someone anytime you have a… a minor disagreement, Teren! Can't you see that?"
The living were dangerous and unpredictable. Teren had a hard time with them. And the simplest way to deal with something dangerous and unpredictable was always the same to him– kill them and take control. But that wasn't something his Master would want to hear. "An argument is to the death. That's just how it was when I was growing up."
"Well that sounds like an excuse, seeing as Ronic doesn't act like this. And I didn't have an easy childhood either. You aren't on the streets anymore, Teren. And this isn't the first time you've unnecessarily used lethal force to get your way. You want to be a Gravecaller? To have your name written in stone in the Cemetery of Amun Uldas?"
At that moment he felt like he couldn't care less about a title. Also not something Rotwood would want to hear. "More than anything."
"So act like it." He walked away, pausing with one hand on the door to look back at Teren. "I don't want to have to make your choices for you. You're practically an adult, and you're a step away from being a Gravecaller yourself. But this is bigger than you and me. If this bites Merdz in the ass, you can kiss any hopes of getting your title goodbye."
Teren sat back down on Quickstrider's bed and clenched fists, waiting for his leg to stop shaking.
…
Hours later Teren yawned as he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. He had passed out after his talking-to, and when he had woken none of his party could be found. A servant had informed him that they had gone out to visit a mixmaker garden. Not wanting to be around the masters right now, he found something to nosh on and sat in his window, gazing out at the city below him.
He thought long and hard about what Rotwood had said. Time slipped on by, and the sun set once again beyond the snow-tipped mountains out in the distance. The half-moon had been visible all afternoon, an early riser of the celestial domain. Shadows in his room grew long as the sun vanished. Teren silently sent out a signal. Before long, the shadows coalesced into Spellhaunt.
"I tried summoning you earlier. Didn't feel your presence."
"Guilty. Took me longer than I thought to get out of those tunnels." Spellhaunt flopped down on the bed. "Seems like that darktwisting curse permeated deep into the fading world. But I did learn some interesting things down there. Did you most of those tunnels are made from where lava used to flow?"
Teren grunted. "I'm not sure how much you've overheard. The Prince wants to raise the dead for the Nine Nights of the Lost, in order to convince his people that his mother shouldn't be on the throne."
"The Nine Nights of the Lost," she murmured. Spellhaunt walked over to the window, gazing up at the moon. "Winter's last hurrah. Tomorrow it will begin as the half-moon wanes into nothing over the course of nine nights. The dead will celebrate one last time as the year comes to an end. Then once the first sliver of the moon of Waxing Spring appears they'll go back to sleep."
"My master seems to think it's more than just a ceremony."
"Oh, he's right about that. The dead are always listening. With that many people calling out to them, they'll definitely be listening.
"But is it dangerous?"
She shrugged. "Being a Gravecaller is inherently dangerous. You mitigate what risks you can, but at the end of the day you're still playing with death itself."
"Not a helpful answer."
"Alright, it is dangerous. But that shouldn't be a factor."
Teren threw his hands up. "Then what should be a factor?"
"Whether or not it's the right thing to do."
"My master says it isn't, that we shouldn't get involved in the politics of Merdz. But I already told Dirjir that I'd help him."
"Hmmm. It sounds like you made a silly promise."
"But he saved my ass!"
"He sort of got you into it anyways, from what I saw."
"So I don't help him?"
"No, no. I like a man who keeps his word. But going forward maybe you shouldn't give it out so casually."
He hopped off the window and paced back and forth. "So I'm doing something everyone thinks is wrong just to keep my word?"
"Oh, I don't think it's wrong. I couldn't care less whether it's the kid or his mother in charge. I don't know either of them."
"Yeah," Teren nodded. "That's a good point! And it's not like I'm giving him an army or anything. I'm just helping spread superstition."
"So… sounds like you're going to do it. Now how exactly are you going to do it?
"Well, last night I summoned up a couple dozen dead with the help of you and the energy of the Maze District. If this celebration is as powerful as you say it is, what do you think it will do to my deathcrafting?
"Optimistically? It might increase your strength tenfold."
"Great! Five hundred souls, that's perfect."
Spellhaunt tilted her head to the side "It's a start. But I think we can do better."
Teren listened eagerly as she filled him in on her plan.
…
Later in the evening, Ronic and Baltry walked into the room. Teren sat on his cot meditating with Spellhaunt. Upon seeing them he sent her away and hastily stood up. "Baltry, hey. I wanted to apologize–"
Baltry held his hand up. "Stop. I'm my own man, same as you. I could have stayed here if I really wanted to. But I put myself into that situation, and don't blame anyone else one bit." He offered his hand to Teren. "I owe you big time for getting me out of there."
Teren reluctantly shook it. "I don't think I deserve any thanks, but thanks for feeling that way."
Ronic rolled his eyes. "Is this the part where you grass-chewers kiss?"
"Anyways, I was hallucinating pretty hard before I blacked out. What exactly happened last night?"
Teren filled both of them in. He told it exactly as it had happened, only exaggerating the number of ghosts he had summoned and the attractiveness of the woman who had dragged off Baltry.
Ronic slapped Baltry on the back. "Man, I didn't know you had it in you!"
Baltry frowned. "I wish I could remember her. She really looked that good?"
"A… A goddess of the underworld, if there ever was one."
"That means us lifebreathers got lucky last night." Ronic nudged Teren. "You planning on catching up?"
"Ha! I'll have my pick of the harem once I give Dirjir his show."
Ronic tilted his head. "You're actually gonna go through with that?"
"I said I would."
"Yeah, but… Didn't Rotwood say it was a bad idea?"
"He doesn't have to be right about everything."
Ronic laughed. "That's your master you're talking about, you turd! You've given years of your life to learn from him, and you can't trust him on this?"
Teren ignored him. "Was the Prince with you today?"
"Nah, the man can't hold his liquor any better than Baltry. He popped his head in the dining hall after we had all gotten back, but didn't stay long."
"You should have come with us to the garden," added Baltry. "They had all these amazing miniature butterfly-mammals. Check it out!" He rummaged through his pockets, pulling out a bracelet weaved of orange and black string with a small piece of tooth woven into it. "This has tiger in it."
"Yeah, very nice. I would have stopped by, but I think the last thing your master or mine wants is to see my face right now."
Ronic sighed. "Enough self-pity. Look, we can get drinks downstairs. It might not be as lively as getting tunnel raped, but it'll do. Let's get out of here."
"Waaait a minute," said Baltry. "I didn't get raped."
"No, of course not. That came out harsher than I thought it would. Forget I said it, alright?" Ronic headed out, followed by the other two.
"Teren said she was attractive!"
Teren put an arm around Baltry. "Don't listen to a word he says. I'm sure you would have gone home with her even if you weren't messed up."
"Yeah," fumed Baltry. "It was just a misunderstanding, that's all. I'm sure of it."
A servant directed them to the cellar, where they were given their choice of mead, cider, or wine. They let Baltry choose, who was fine with anything that didn't have a dead animal in it.
The three apprentices brought a bottle of cyser into the central courtyard that had been visible from the dining room, the one with the water reservoir. Roughly sixty spans wide and deep, the triangular hole sloped inwards with a brick staircase descending down each corner. Even half full as it was now, there was still plenty of space to keep the carp happy. They swam silently beneath a curtain of water lilies, in a world of their own. Teren peered into it, looking for whatever he thought he'd seen yesterday evening. But the moon had already set, and it left the depths of that small world a mystery to him.
"Huh," said Baltry. "Half a world away from home, yet the stars are the same."
Ronic struggled to open the cyser. "East or west doesn't make much difference when it comes to stars. You'd have to go up north to see some new ones." He triumphantly popped the cork off and took a swig, grimacing immediately. "Blargh. I can see why they gave this to us."
Teren gave it a try. "Tastes more like piss than apples and honey. At least it's strong."
Baltry laid back, looking at the night sky. "You know about stars, Ronic? I was supposed to learn for my celestial navigation training, but I barely had started it before I was sent to Fendal."
"Sure, I know a bit about stars. Good way to impress women." He pointed up at a cluster. "That there's Durny Bethem, the Pale-Shark. And over there you have the Orb Weaver. You can see her limbs pretty clearly. Ah, and there's my favorite, Harvest's Thief."
"Can't find him," said Teren.
"Come on, I've shown him to you a hundred times. There, that triangle with the stars peeling off, like two arms outstretched."
Baltry gasped. "Yeah, I think I see him!"
"That there's a useful one. His base always points south, more or less. And he's always opposite in the sky from Hunt's Coyote. When it's setting, he's rising." He turned to look at Baltry. "There's a reason behind that, you know."
Teren chuckled. "This one's good. Listen up, Balt." He laid down on the stone, hands behind his head.
"In the Age of the Half-World," began Ronic, "the Nobles reigned."
"Lords and Ladies carved out their domains, ruling as they saw fit. In the land that would become known as Guragull, there was born a man of no importance. His family name was worthless, and so he had become a thief. What this young man lacked in name, he made up for with charm and skill."
"And so one night he found himself breaking into the castle of Meino Kryft, the Lord of the Hunt. He wished to steal his staff of a hundred claws, as a sign of his prowess."
"But instead," Terem murmured. He could almost see the story playing out in the stars above.
"But instead, he found himself in the chambers of Alha Fenre, Lord Kryft's wife. The Lady of the Harvest was everything the Lord of the Hunt was not, as it so often was in those days of the Nobles. She was compassionate, giving, and above all else she was kind. She invited the thief to dine with her and tell her of the world beyond her royal gaze."
"The thief, having never met a woman such as she, was instantly smitten. His nightly visits to the castle became commonplace, yet always careful to avoid her husband. The Thief would wait until the Lord of the Hunt went looking for prey to climb the walls."
"The Lady of the Harvest delighted in his visits. She had always been a woman of the people, throwing feasts in the slums of the Half-World. Once she had been of worthless stock herself, before she had ascended."
"However! She did not share the Thief's feelings. Or maybe she did. But either way the Lady of the Harvest remained loyal to her husband."
"The Thief was not deterred. Many nights he dined with her on her bed, sharing tales of his exploits. But night after night, she did not give herself to him fully."
"Weeks passed, and the Lord of the Hunt began to wonder why his wife seemed to be so tired as of late. He had many animals under his rule, and sent them out into the world to be his eyes and ears."
"It wasn't long before they had spotted the Thief climbing out the bedchamber window. Curious, the Lord of the Hunt formed an idea. The next night he dressed a guard in his cloak and had him ride off, while he turned himself into a bat and hid in the rafters of his bedchamber."
"When the Thief climbed through the window, Lady Alha greeted him as usual– with wine and a meal. They sat down together and he entertained her with his newest exploits. As the night grew long, the Thief once again asked the Alha to be his. Enraged, the Lord of the Hunt burst out of hiding, taking a form most terrible."
"Overcome with terror, the Thief scampered out the window. But before the Lord of the Hunt could pursue, Lady Alha grabbed her husband by the hand and begged him to show mercy. She had never given herself to the Thief, and this she swore on the Emperor himself."
"The Lord of the Hunt did not see it that way. Even if he was no more than a friend, she still invited him into his chambers in secret. And so Lord Kryft summoned to him his horde familiars and hybrids and set out into the night. For the first time in many years, his prey would be man."
"The strength of the Nobles could not be contested with, yet even so the Thief eluded him. The Lord of the Hunt could track and kill the greatest of beasts with ease, but his prey was a rat in a city of rats. He hid in the slums, and would not be drawn out easily."
"One of the animals in the service of Lord Kryft was Coyote. Coyote was not as strong as a wolf or as fast as a dog, but he was very, very crafty. He knew that the Lady of the Harvest always rode through the city on her prized familiar, a beautiful horse nine spans tall with blue eyes and white hair. Coyote went to the Lord of the Hunt and told him his plan; make him the horse and give him the Lady's saddle! He would ride out into the city, as a sign from Lady Alha that she wished to meet him."
"The Lord was hesitant. He was a tracker, not a trickster. But his patience had grown thin, so he grabbed his staff of a hundred claws and summoned his wife's horse. He demanded she break her bond to it, allow him to access the animal and give its form to the fox."
"Knowing what he planned to do, she refused. Lady Alha insisted the fault was hers, not the Thief's. The Thief had given no promise of union, had sworn no oaths. This matter was between husband and wife."
"Lord Kryft thought hard on that. Agreeing to an extent, he slaughtered her horse as punishment. And by the time Lady Alha had the horse's head served to her for supper, Coyote was already trotting into the city."
"Wait," interrupted Baltry. "How did he mixmake a familiar?"
"His staff was soulforged, and it had a noble art," said Ronic, annoyed. "No interrupting."
Teren shook his head. "No, the staff wasn't anything special. He was born with that art, s'why they made him a Noble." The mead may not taste great, but it sure took the edge off.
"Either way," growled Ronic. "Coyote went into the slums adorned with the form of the horse and the Lady's saddle. Word got around, and it wasn't long before the Thief showed up. His love for the Lady of the Harvest won out over his caution, so he hopped on the Coyote and went wherever it might lead him."
"Coyote took him beyond the city walls and over the river, deep into the woods. Eventually they came to a clearing. And there the Lord of the Hunt waited for him."
"Terrified, the Thief fell to his knees. He begged the Lord of the Hunt to spare him, swearing that he had never touched his wife."
"Lord Kryft laughed. 'So what if you never touched my wife? That choice was never yours to make,' he said. He tossed the thief the staff of a hundred claws. 'That was your original prize, yes? See if it will save you.' And he whistled for his horde."
"The Thief ran like he had never run before, with a score of terrible creatures nipping at his heels. He tried to defend himself with the staff, but it slowed him down and the Thief was forced to drop it. He ran long and he ran hard, but eventually Coyote caught him by his neck and threw him to the ground."
"There in the woods, the horde of Kryft tore the Thief limb from limb. And as the Thief bled out under the fading sun, the Lord of the Hunt stood over him smiling. He caved in the Thief's skull with a rock, and his body was left in the woods to rot, with the rock still embedded in his head. 'A fitting gravestone!" spat Lord Kryft."
"Later that night the Lady of the Harvest journeyed into the woods and found the Thief. She wept for the man who had loved her and cursed the man she was sworn to. Lifting up his body, she placed in the night sky so he could visit her for all nights to come."
"But the Lord of the Hunt was furious when he saw what his wife had done. He took Coyote and threw him into the sky, to chase after the Thief for all of time, never giving him a moment of peace."
"And so it came to be that Harvest's Thief and Hunt's Coyote are always directly opposite each other in the stars. One runs and the other chases, for all of eternity."
The three of them were silent for a long while, listening to the far-off howl of dogs beyond the palace walls.
"Yeah," said Ronic. "Save that one for a girl you like, when you're out with her under the stars. And make sure you act all broken up over it."
Baltry nodded. "I just might do that. Thanks."
Teren stood up, stumbling over to the pool below him. He grinned as he pissed into the reservoir.