his gods. Like a sword thrust into the furnace repeatedly, then hammered hard on the anvil. Most of this Asgrimmur came from those gods, garnered unwanted as they died. This Asgrimmur has seen much that that Asgrimmur never suspected.”
“If the Night can’t tell time how did you manage to get into my way at the right moment?”
“I’m not that far removed from humanity.” Talking was a strain. This man never was a talker, nor much of a thinker. But slow waters carve deep canyons, given time.
“Let’s get to the heart of it. Why put yourself in my hands?”
“Kharoulke the Windwalker. In too many potential futures the wells of power keep weakening. The earth grows colder. The Windwalker waxes stronger. He could become greater than he was before. There are no Instrumentalities capable of contesting what he might become.”
“How can this be?” That was really a gasp of disbelief. God Himself would crush the devil.
But. The God of the Chaldareans, of the Pramans, of the Devedians, of the Dainshaukin, was a God fragmented into all the thousands of places where He was worshipped. Some believed there was no longer any way that He could pull Himself together again.
“The ice will keep spreading. Someday, no power will be able to challenge Kharoulke within that realm. Already he’s found souls willing to work his mischief beyond the ice. The gods of the hot lands will weaken as their believers die and their churches are crushed by the advancing ice.”
“And you care, why?”
“The Windwalker’s return is largely my fault. The events that created the modern me filled me with insane rage. That drove me to avenge myself on the gods who made soultaken of me and my brother and murdered the rest of our band.”
Hecht nodded. “You bottled them up inside a universe inside the realm of the gods they created for themselves. Freeing the Windwalker from bonds that had held him for millennia.”
“Yes. Though Kharoulke isn’t the only one. He just awakened first. He’s forcing the other Instrumentalities of his age to become appendages of his will.”
“Why come to me?”
“You are who you are. You are what you are. You are the only means by which I can correct my error. I’m awfully thirsty.” That last stated as though by a second, different personality.
Hecht had a bucket of water brought.
Later, the prisoner said, “There is no way I can reassure you. You must, of nature, distrust me. Though I promise you that the lesson of the ambush, where I came within inches of death, hasn’t been lost. All that shot, all that terrible silver, burned the madness out of me. Since then I’ve done only what I must to survive and recuperate. No travelers have died because of me.”
Hecht stared thoughtfully. This sounded like an educated man of breeding, not a pirate ripped out of his own time by pathetically scheming lunatic gods.
“What do you want help doing?”
“I have to go back north. I have to rediscover the way into the Realm of the Gods. I have to free them. In some way that leaves me healthy. Once loose they’ll have no choice about fighting the Windwalker. He won’t give them an option. They imprisoned him ages longer than I’ve imprisoned them.”
“That’s a lot to think about. And there’s bound to be more.”
“True. See to your obligations. There’s no rush. The Windwalker is still weak. And will be for years. Though weakness is relative. And he’ll get stronger as the ice advances. One day he’ll become strong enough to reach beyond the ice. When that happens this world’s days will be numbered.”
Good Praman or good Chaldarean, Piper Hecht heard little that could be encompassed by the faiths and prejudices of his experience.
“You don’t need to trust me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I’ll accompany you, causing you no harm, to Brothe. Where I can be examined by those able to determine the truth.”
“Can you travel hurt?”
“I heal fast.”
But not
“If the Night can’t tell time how did you manage to get into my way at the right moment?”
“I’m not that far removed from humanity.” Talking was a strain. This man never was a talker, nor much of a thinker. But slow waters carve deep canyons, given time.
“Let’s get to the heart of it. Why put yourself in my hands?”
“Kharoulke the Windwalker. In too many potential futures the wells of power keep weakening. The earth grows colder. The Windwalker waxes stronger. He could become greater than he was before. There are no Instrumentalities capable of contesting what he might become.”
“How can this be?” That was really a gasp of disbelief. God Himself would crush the devil.
But. The God of the Chaldareans, of the Pramans, of the Devedians, of the Dainshaukin, was a God fragmented into all the thousands of places where He was worshipped. Some believed there was no longer any way that He could pull Himself together again.
“The ice will keep spreading. Someday, no power will be able to challenge Kharoulke within that realm. Already he’s found souls willing to work his mischief beyond the ice. The gods of the hot lands will weaken as their believers die and their churches are crushed by the advancing ice.”
“And you care, why?”
“The Windwalker’s return is largely my fault. The events that created the modern me filled me with insane rage. That drove me to avenge myself on the gods who made soultaken of me and my brother and murdered the rest of our band.”
Hecht nodded. “You bottled them up inside a universe inside the realm of the gods they created for themselves. Freeing the Windwalker from bonds that had held him for millennia.”
“Yes. Though Kharoulke isn’t the only one. He just awakened first. He’s forcing the other Instrumentalities of his age to become appendages of his will.”
“Why come to me?”
“You are who you are. You are what you are. You are the only means by which I can correct my error. I’m awfully thirsty.” That last stated as though by a second, different personality.
Hecht had a bucket of water brought.
Later, the prisoner said, “There is no way I can reassure you. You must, of nature, distrust me. Though I promise you that the lesson of the ambush, where I came within inches of death, hasn’t been lost. All that shot, all that terrible silver, burned the madness out of me. Since then I’ve done only what I must to survive and recuperate. No travelers have died because of me.”
Hecht stared thoughtfully. This sounded like an educated man of breeding, not a pirate ripped out of his own time by pathetically scheming lunatic gods.
“What do you want help doing?”
“I have to go back north. I have to rediscover the way into the Realm of the Gods. I have to free them. In some way that leaves me healthy. Once loose they’ll have no choice about fighting the Windwalker. He won’t give them an option. They imprisoned him ages longer than I’ve imprisoned them.”
“That’s a lot to think about. And there’s bound to be more.”
“True. See to your obligations. There’s no rush. The Windwalker is still weak. And will be for years. Though weakness is relative. And he’ll get stronger as the ice advances. One day he’ll become strong enough to reach beyond the ice. When that happens this world’s days will be numbered.”
Good Praman or good Chaldarean, Piper Hecht heard little that could be encompassed by the faiths and prejudices of his experience.
“You don’t need to trust me. I don’t expect you to trust me. But I’ll accompany you, causing you no harm, to Brothe. Where I can be examined by those able to determine the truth.”
“Can you travel hurt?”
“I heal fast.”
But not
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