The 13th God (The Cycle of Galand Book 8), page 18
They exited into another long hall, but the thick green rug on the ground, pretty blue torchstones glowing from the ceiling, and the elegant portraits painted directly onto the walls told Dante exactly where they were. He was proven right by the pair of arched silver doors at the end of the hall, as well as by the silent sentries standing in front of them with their backs held as straight as the spears in their hands.
Canthana didn't break stride. As she approached, the sentries pulled apart the doors without being ordered. The hall beyond was smaller than the first one, but the curved ceiling was much higher, cathedral-like, with an ornate staircase rising from the back of the room. Several round tables stood in the center, one larger than the others; a silver throne sat on the side across from them. The walls practically sagged with the amount of paintings, weavings, and decorative weapons hanging from them; many of these were so exotic they could only have been harvested from other realms, as the animals in Canthana's office had been.
There were dalaxa in the room, too, but they were standing so motionless in the shadows Dante almost jolted when he finally noticed them.
"Take your seats," Canthana said.
Dante moved to one of the chairs across from the silver throne. Their escort of sorcerers and soldiers filed into the chamber, forming a half circle behind them. Once Dante was seated, he reached under the table, drew his little knife, and cut a nick in the back of his left hand. He didn't yet reach for the nether.
They sat like that for five minutes, then ten, doing very little speaking. Dante passed the time thinking about the best way to ask to be given a tour of the palace grounds without sounding like a villainous spy.
Soundlessly, the silver door atop the staircase swung open. A man stepped forth. Even without the extremely long robe with its tail dragging behind him, or the crown of fine silver wires perched atop his hair, Dante would have taken him for royalty just by the cock of his shoulders and the almost formally leisurely way he walked down each step.
He was short, even by the standards of Olastarians, with a pointed nose that looked to be trying to attract attention to some hazard on the ground in front of him. He looked to be half a decade or more younger than Dante. He wore a casual smile and a shirt woven of silver threads.
"Stand in the presence of King Xanalos!" a man barked behind them.
Dante had stood at once, of course, as had the others, and he silently wondered if the command was a simple formality or an act of hostility toward them as outsiders. Maybe these people didn't even understand how they sounded. Then again, they looked like they could be human, but they weren't. They were something else. Their minds likely were as well.
His Majesty took his time getting down the steps, watching them idly as he descended. He reached the floor, crossed to his big silver chair, and nodded at them. Dante bowed and sat. Nobody yelled at him or started whispering gossip to each other, so he seemed to have successfully understood protocol.
"They said that you look strange," Xanalos said, "but nothing really prepares you to look on a man from another world, does it? You're so big and ungainly! And your skin, it hasn't got any light to it at all!"
"Worst of all, we're considered rather handsome where we're from," Blays said.
The king quirked one half of his mouth and uttered a short laugh. "Then I pity your women. Still, they can't miss what they haven't seen. You have traveled far?"
"In some ways," Dante said, abruptly aware that Hara Canthana was still there, and likely measuring their every word for lies. "You must know our peoples haven't seen each other in an eternity."
"Not quite, not quite. Your kind knows much less of us than we do you. It's of no doubt that many of your legends are based on us, and our visits to you, while none of your kind have found a way to our world in many of your centuries. But that's to be expected, given how unsophisticated your means of travel are, the limits of your scholars, and so forth. Still, I am happy that, despite the grave troubles that I have been told are unfolding in your world, you are well."
"Thank you," Dante said.
"In any event, you are our guests! Taradam. Their arms."
The man behind the king snapped his fingers. One of the escorts scurried forward, carrying the Odo Sein swords and Blays' lesser daggers, and relayed them to Blays and Dante. Dante had to stand up to fit his on his belt, while Blays was somehow able to reattach all of his armaments while staying slouched in his seat.
"You speak our tongue." The king leaned back in his silver chair. "But you are men of few words?"
"Certainly not the case with my vizier here." Dante tilted his head toward Blays. "It's just hard to know quite where to start. You say you've been told of our troubles?"
"Oh, yes. Things sound quite dire."
"Is this the first you've heard of it?"
"Oh no, not at all. But I never expected to have to make it any of our business. Yet here you are."
"As I told Hara Canthana, I think I can make it very worthy of your time."
"I would hope you can. First, though, I should like to get to know you better. To understand the plight of Rale, and Narashtovik, and you, who have come to my hall. And since sharing your food with him is the best way to bond a stranger to you, I would prefer to do so over our meal."
With no more direction than this, the daxala flew into action, streaming away from their shadowed posts and through some well-concealed doors at the rear of the chamber. The king was still the only one seated with them and now and then Dante would look about the room as if taking in some new piece of art and then steal a glance at the soldiers and sorcerers behind them, who were watching King Xanalos raptly.
The first dalaxa returned from the kitchens faster than seemed possible. They bore cups made of cloudy orange crystal, setting two of each in front of the king, then a pair before each of the visitors. One cup contained a warm brown liquid that smelled like a hint of lime peel while the second was filled with a mint green liquid that smelled like it would have curled Dante's nose hairs if he'd actually been able to smell it fully.
The king raised his cup of brown stuff. "Kalt, aged twelve years, and chosen personally by my cupsmaster." He raised it in a toast. "With the blessings of the crown, I welcome you to Harasphont."
He brought the cup to his lips and drank.
Blays lifted his own cup in celebration, smiling at the king. To the others, he murmured, "We're sure this stuff won't kill us?"
"If you start to feel sick, let me know so I don't miss it," Dante said. He drank from his cup. It was bitter, probably, but other than that he couldn't really say. "Delicious."
"Isn't it?" Xanalos licked his lips, set down the cup, and hoisted the second. "But this is the true prize. Talos. From the time of my grandfather. I'm the only one who's tasted it since the time of my father."
"An honor indeed," Gladdic said. "Then let this talos be drank in toast of them."
The king nodded his agreement. Dante took a drink. One that, if he'd been able to properly taste it, probably would have choked him, because whatever it was, it was so strong that he was terrified of how it was going to feel when it passed out of him.
"I'm sure it's exquisite," Blays said. "But there's something so strange about it."
The king raised his eyebrows. "Is something wrong?"
"Well I can barely taste it! It's like my tongue's gone numb. It's been like that ever since we crossed into your world. Can hardly smell anything, either."
"You aren't ill, are you?"
"I can still taste our own food just fine. It's like the stuff here is just too different for my tongue to even know what it is."
"That is remarkable. I hate to think I'm wasting my grandfather's best talos on tongues that can't even taste it!"
"The real tragedy will be if it can't even get us drunk!"
Xanalos laughed heartily at this in a way that couldn't be faked. Dante relaxed slightly. Blays was always a potential liability in situations that involved lots of manners and stuffy propriety, but if they found themselves in the presence of a lord or authority who appreciated someone who wasn't particularly concerned with strict adherence to those proprieties, he could be a great asset as well.
The king's laughter crashed to a halt. Dante's eyes darted upward, fully expecting to see Blays doing something to totally reverse whatever goodwill he'd just earned, but nothing seemed to be happening. At second glance, though, that was wrong: more dalaxa were emerging from the back. And this time, they were carrying food.
There were more trays and platters than Dante could count. Most of it was only recognizable in a general sense: those pinkish cutlets were meat, obviously, but neither the color or the striations looked right for beef, duck, or pork. And those small yellow ovals with little dimples at one end were…olives? Or maybe more like dates? There were eggs in peppered gravy, too, though the green-gray tint of them didn't have Dante champing at the bit to try them. Whatever all of it was, there was enough of it to feed five times as many people than were prepared to eat it.
"Try something from everything," the king said, motioning airily at the now-burdened table. "See if you can't find something that can overcome the affliction placed on your tongues."
Dalaxa filed past them, setting little scoops on their plates until every square inch of ceramic was filled with food. The king had already begun to wait and so Dante used his fork—if you could call it that; it only had a single tine, more like a miniature spear—to stab up a stalk of something wrapped in a well-crisped slice of reddish meat laced with threads of fat. It was probably delicious. At least the texture was nice.
Xanalos leaned back in his padded throne, chewing. "I'm certain you wouldn't lie to Hara Canthana, but I have to say I find your story almost impossible to believe. Your world is truly on the brink of being destroyed?"
"It is," Dante said. "The power of the being that's attacking us is beyond any reckoning. Rale's already half ruined as it is, and the entity hasn't even done the worst of it yet."
"And there's nothing at all you can do about it?"
"If there was, we wouldn't be here."
The king stabbed himself a ball of browned meat and chewed thoughtfully. "Have you tried fighting him?"
Dante laughed bitterly. "More than once. Though I wouldn't say we were eager to."
"But you're still here."
"I'm not sure I take Your Majesty's point."
"It's very simple, isn't it? If this entity of yours was that overwhelming, then surely he would have destroyed you as soon as he got his hands on you. Yet you've survived combat with him. Not just once, but several times. That can't be a fluke, no?"
"It wasn't a fluke," Blays said. "It was a whole bunch of them."
"I just doubt that. I can't help but wonder if there's a way for you to kill this thing—and you just haven't found it yet."
"Whenever we fought him, it's only been a small part of him," Dante said. "Even then, we've barely gotten out with our lives. With no disrespect intended, if we tried to fight him to the death, I know for an absolute fact whose deaths it would lead to."
"Have it your way. But I simply can't imagine a force so powerful that it couldn't be defeated by, oh, two or three hundred sorcerers. You make this thing sound like one of your so-called gods."
"That is because it is like them," Gladdic said. "The gods and entities fought once, when the gods were in the process of creating Rale. The entities killed several gods before it was done. Such is the scope of their strength."
Xanalos quirked an eyebrow and one corner of his mouth. "Do you really believe in such things, these gods and their great wars? Or is this just an old story meant to illustrate the strength of these entities?"
"They are both quite real."
"Yes? If they're that real, I would have to ask why they're not helping you."
"We might pray for their favors, but they are far from our servants. That is not a proper understanding of the gods."
"Gladdic," Dante said. "There is no need to offend the king."
The king ate another of the round bits of meat. "Offend me? I'm not the one with such an overpowering urge to debase myself that I go and invent myself an entire pantheon of mystical lords to bow down to. Our people moved on from such superstitions a good long time ago."
"There is no offense intended," Gladdic said. "I am merely answering his questions."
"Indeed." The king beckoned for a refill of his talos. A smiling dalaxa happily obeyed. "But you do worship them, right?"
"We do."
"And pray for favors, as you said. Do they ever come and do anything to answer these prayers?"
"They do not leave their world to come to ours. But they sometimes answer prayers nonetheless."
"How does that work? Does a giant hand pop out from the void to smite your enemies, or deliver you a sack of treasure?"
"It is nothing so direct. Still, I have known many cases where what was asked for has been given."
"And you take this as proof one of the gods did it. Instead of it being the case that a person asks the gods for a thing, and then works to make it happen by himself."
"We do."
"I can't say I understand your thinking at all, sir. It's very strange to me."
It occurred to Dante that it might not be such a brilliant idea to make the king believe that he'd be admitting a horde of dangerous fanatics to live as his neighbor. Furthermore, on the chance they did fail to destroy this world and its portals, and had to relocate to it instead, they wouldn't be able to continue their belief in the gods as they were used to, would they? The Hypatians would never stand for it. At best, his people might continue their worship in private.
But it would only be a matter of time before someone slipped up, or a spy caught them out. If Kelen's story was any indication, when that time came, they would all be purged.
"If you will excuse me," Dante said to one of the dalaxa hovering over them, but loudly enough for the king to hear, "might you direct me to the privy?"
"See him to it," the king waved. "I hope you haven't found our food not just tasteless, but also disagreeable?"
"Oh, I don't think so. But better to be safe."
Dante rose. The dalaxa grinned at him. "Right this way, lord!"
The king made a subtle gesture. As the dalaxa led Dante to the back of the chamber, one of the escorts who'd been standing silently behind them—undoubtedly a sorcerer—followed after them.
After a couple of hallways, the dalaxa stopped in front of a closed door and bobbed his head up and down. "Oh, right here, lord."
Dante thanked him and entered. The door opened to a short hall with several open windows that led to another closed door. The second door opened to the privy itself. There was much in Olastar that was so weird it threatened to drive him insane, but other than a little blue torchstone that lit up as he entered, the design was just like something he'd see back at home.
It didn't stink at all. Normally he'd thank the heavens for that, but in that moment, it sent his heart racing with worry. But as he stepped forward, his presence stirred up a handful of flies, and he sighed in relief.
He felt out into the nether to try to see if his escort was using it to spy on him. Nothing. Could the man use the soma or neuma to do that instead? If so, Dante didn't know if he'd be able to detect it.
Still, it was a risk he had to take. He drew on a thimble of nether, shaped it into the tiniest pins he could, and jabbed these into the flies.
Careful as he was being, the nether still blasted two of them into a shower of legs and wings. He was left with three intact enough to fly and function, though. He reanimated them. There were vents carved into the upper walls of the room, and he sent the flies buzzing out through them.
All of this took no more than a few seconds, so he took a couple of minutes to direct his scouts in different directions and watch through their eyes. By the time he decided he'd better get back to the meal, they hadn't spotted any massive vaults that might be protecting a secret portal, but he'd only just gotten started.
In the king's dining hall, no Celeset-believers had been hanged in his absence, and the conversation was finally shifting somewhat, to an inquiry about how Harasphont and other such places could even function without a strong faith to guide them.
"You're not asking the right questions." King Xanalos liked to gesture, and was currently using his fork-spear to accentuate his points. "To do so, you must first ask, What is faith for?"
"To teach the people to live in accordance with the laws of the gods," Gladdic said. "So they might live as they are meant to, and not fall astray due to following false paths that might look more alluring or well-reasoned, but will only lead them away from their own nature."
"No, no, no. Your faith exists to get your unhappy masses to behave. Without something to keep them in line, they'd look at the misery of their lives and the splendor of yours, and then they'd drag you and all the other lords out of your manors and split you in half. You believe in your gods because they're the only thing standing between you and the mob."
"What do you know of our beliefs? They are banned here. Your people have not walked our world in centuries. You would try to tell me the shape of an animal that you have never seen."
"Oh, but all faiths are the same. Yours isn't special. You could replace it with another one from halfway across the world tomorrow and nothing would change. That's how you know it isn't about truth or 'living in accordance with the laws of the gods.' It's about tricking people into accepting being ruled by you."
"You speak as though you do not do the same."
The king laughed, glancing about the hall. "How can you say such a thing out loud without being struck down by shame? We have no fear of riots and beheadings and revolutions. Our masses will never rebel. They're perfectly happy to serve, and they always will be." He snapped his fingers at a young woman. Like all dalaxa, her hair was cut close to her scalp—likely to avoid lice. "Isn't that right, girl?"
