The D’Lorus Lord Heir had thrown himself into teaching the Hon’s wives to read. He was scanning suitable materials when Brother Qown interrupted.
Thurvishar looked up. “Why in all the heavens would you want to know that?”
“Obviously, because it would help Yor.” That didn’t seem obvious at all, but Brother Qown had a good idea why Janel wanted to know. The weapons unleashed against Yor haunted its land still. Since the Yorans didn’t understand what had been done to them, an opportunity existed to gain the duke’s trust, gain greater privileges and great access to—well, whatever Janel had come to Yor to do. If someone like Janel—or Brother Qown—presented the duke with information on what had been done, and better yet, how to reverse it …
Thurvishar narrowed his eyes and leaned back. “You want to make friends with the Yorans.”
“My life depends on being perceived as useful,” Brother Qown reminded him. “You do know, don’t you? What was done?”
“Oh yes,” Thurvishar said. “We unleashed horrors upon these people.”
Brother Qown waited.
Thurvishar sighed. “It’s not reversible,” he said. “The things we did—” He stood up from his chair and walked over to a large book stack. “Here. Rituals of War by Ibatan D’Talus. Also … Siege Tactics of the Yoran Invasion by Sivat Wilavir. Those two will have the most information. But I wouldn’t read them just after you’ve eaten.” He set the books down.
Brother Qown blinked at the magician, but he seemed serious.
“Selanol preserve us. How bad was it?”
Thurvishar scowled and looked away. “We should be ashamed. But we aren’t. We never are. It is our duty, you see, our destiny. We’ll make any excuse that lets us believe we were righteous when we crushed our enemies underfoot.”
Brother Qown’s mouth felt dry. “Did they deserve it?”
“Define deserve.” Thurvishar’s mouth quirked. “The god-kings Cherthog and Suless were fiends. Cherthog was a power-hungry brute, and Suless—oh, Suless had so much blood on her hands, entire oceans wouldn’t wash them clean. Did you know Suless invented the god-king ritual?”
Brother Qown blinked. “What?”
“She invented the process, figured out how to turn a wizard into a god. She was the very first god-king. God-queen, I suppose. The Eight Immortals are much older and didn’t come into existence the same way. Even if no one worshipped Argas, as one of the Eight, he’d still exist—because the concept he represents still exists. Same with Thaena and death or Galava and life. The Eight are tied to concepts that give them power. The god-kings, though, require active worship, they require tenyé sacrifices to maintain their power. Without the ritual Suless created, we would have no god-kings, just powerful wizards. She found a way to be more. Then she taught her husband, Cherthog, and her daughter, Caless. Caless taught her lover, Qhuaras—who went on to found what would later become Quur…” Thurvishar spread his hands. “The rest is history. Maybe someone else would have figured it out, if Suless the witch-queen hadn’t done it first, but she did do it first. Think of all the monster races in the world who wouldn’t exist if not for Suless. The snake-king Ynis wouldn’t have created the thriss. Jorat’s Khorsal would never have made centaurs or firebloods. The Daughters of Laaka wouldn’t exist. It’s a long list. So … did Suless ‘deserve’ to be slain when Quur conquered Yor? Interesting question.”
“Even if she did, a lot of Yorans didn’t.”
“Yes, true.” Thurvishar tapped his hands against the table, unhappy and bitter. “There’s one spell in there in particular … Invented by Henakai Shan about two hundred and fifty years ago, it transforms common rock, igneous or otherwise, into razarras ore, which is … deadly. Not even House D’Talus’s Red Men know how to work razarras safely anymore.4 And it kills every living thing around it. Whole caverns in this dominion can’t be used because the ore poisons anyone who comes close. It’s not a fast death either. No. When our wizards realized Yorans grew their food in those caves, they cast the curse to break the siege. The poison ruins everything it touches. And it doesn’t go away.”
Brother Qown felt sick. “Why would—”
He didn’t finish the question. He didn’t have to. He knew very well why. They did it because they could, because it had seemed like an easy, clever answer to their problems.
He was growing to loathe easy, clever answers to problems.
Brother Qown opened a book. The very first chapter was titled “Suppressing Large Population Centers Using Self-Distributing Lysian Gas.” The very first paragraph included a warning about experimenting in areas without adequate ventilation systems. And the very first sentence noted that the summoned magical gas manifested as a pleasant shade of blue.
Brother Qown closed the book, fighting back nausea.
“I told you it would be hard reading,” Thurvishar warned.
Brother Qown took several deep breaths. He reminded himself he had, at least on some level, always known Quur capable of atrocities. After all, one didn’t become the largest empire in the world through compassion and a generous spirit. Quur had always crushed its enemies, mercilessly and without hesitation. This was … just that. Just another example.
But he had seen this example with his own eyes. And he knew it wouldn’t be the worst example he’d find in these books.
“Do you have any more volumes?” he asked instead of fleeing.
Thurvishar frowned at him. “This is dark research, my friend.”
“If I’m going to figure out how to cure a curse, I need to understand how the curse works,” Qown replied.
“The advanced books are kept locked away in the House D’Lorus archives,” Thurvishar admitted, “but since I’m the lord heir, I have the key.”
47: THE WITCH-QUEEN
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Three days since Kihrin briefly remembered being S’arric
Everyone remained quiet as Qown finished.
“The Academy spends a great deal of time researching—weapons. Spells usable as weapons,” Qown finally said. “They’ve become good at it.”
“When I said anyone who would use a weapon like that…” Kihrin swallowed and looked over at Janel. “You already knew.”
“I already knew,” she agreed. “I may hate talk of prophecies, but I will say this: Those prophecies that talk about the Hellwarrior toppling the Quuros empire? Smashing it to pieces? I hope those prophecies are true. Quur has earned it.”
“Now you sound like Teraeth.”
Janel refreshed her coffee. “Am I wrong?”
Kihrin scrubbed his eyes with his hands. He was losing track of what wrong meant. Horribly, he found himself agreeing with his brother—with Relos Var rather. Maybe everyone was wrong, and it was a matter of picking the wrong side you found more acceptable. “If the Empire of Quur is as powerful as you say … as horrible as you say … what chance would anyone have to rebel against them?”1
“Sooner or later, everything falls.” Janel and Kihrin stared at each other for a rather long beat, before Janel took a deep breath. “Anyway, I believe it’s my turn.”