price for freeing the Aern, for giving them a freeborn kholster no longer bound by the myriad oaths heâd sworn in the past, Kholster considered it a sacrifice well worth making. He just didnât like the hidden costs that came with it.
As one Zaur rolled in agony, clawing at its burning scales and ruined hide, it occurred to Kholster how easy it would be to grant the dying a respite from pain and take them as soon as he felt the pull and knew death was certain.
He did not.
âEvery moment of life, each breath, each heartbeat is theirs.â The memory of Torgrimmâs voice washed over him. âDo not steal it from them. Even at the end, at the last spark of life, the evil can see the error of their ways and the pure and bright can become resplendent in their glory.â Kholster turned away from the dying Zaur. The death god smiled to see the warsuits moving unscathed amid the flowing superheated earth . . . a smile that vanished when he felt eyes spying on him in the night.
Aldo?
Aldo, Harvester confirmed.
Kholster growled low and took a single step.
*
Gray and dim, the death god Kholsterâs destination was little more than a carpeted cube floating in the ether, a single figure at its center. Wreathed in a swirling cloud of ever-shifting lenses, the occupant, a gnome-like being with cavernous eye sockets, twisted to face Kholster. Gold light gleamed from the beingâs distended ocular orbits. His robes, unlike the ones worn by his statues, were simple and well made but without ornamentation or embroidery. He could assume any form he wanted in a vain attempt to hide his true self from the mortals, but this, Kholster imagined, was the real god of knowledge: a cringing, spying deceiver.
Flinching slightly, as if expecting Kholster to seize him by the neck and lift him into the air, Aldo smiled broadly when the death god stood at armsâ length.
âAldo.â Kholster growled.
âKholster.â A full-length mirror appeared in the space to Aldoâs right. âDid you wish to see something? Dienox, Torgrimm, and I have spent many aââ
âThe eye that spies on me, I shall pluck out.â Kholsterâs voice came as a rough whisper abrading the cloud of lenses nearest him. Convex and concave alike, mirrors of all sizes and shapes, floating circles of various liquids, and even a few made of quicksilver broke and scattered before that voice, shards and silvery droplets drifting in a mass.
âThen it is fortunate,â Aldo said amiably, âthat I have none of them in at the moment.â He reached into his robes and withdrew a lacquered wooden box, holding it open for Kholsterâs inspection.
He has you there, sir.
Iâd noticed.
Kholster glared into the lacquered wooden box at the eyes, one pair for each type of sentient of Barrone, rolling about like marbles within.
âMy friend, if pulling a few of my eyes out of their box and shaking them about would mollify you in any wayââ Aldo thrust the box at him, further agitating its contents.
âI felt your eyes upon me, Aldo.â Kholster reached out, flipping the box closed. âI respect you for the kindnesses done for me when I was mortal, for the knowledge you gave me, the language you gave my people, butââ
âYou are everywhere anyone dies, Kholster.â Aldo waved away the sparseness of his surroundings as if he were banishing an illusion. The gray cube expanded, filling with light and color to become a fully appointed study with plushly upholstered chairs, a polished oaken desk, and even rows of books and scrolls, along with shelves of massive bookcases upon which the tomes were carefully arrayed. A fire blazed merrily on the lush burgundy carpet a few scant moments before a stone fireplace appeared around it and mystic globes of flame materialized hanging in the air at the corners and center of the room.
Was all this here or . . . ? Kholster
As one Zaur rolled in agony, clawing at its burning scales and ruined hide, it occurred to Kholster how easy it would be to grant the dying a respite from pain and take them as soon as he felt the pull and knew death was certain.
He did not.
âEvery moment of life, each breath, each heartbeat is theirs.â The memory of Torgrimmâs voice washed over him. âDo not steal it from them. Even at the end, at the last spark of life, the evil can see the error of their ways and the pure and bright can become resplendent in their glory.â Kholster turned away from the dying Zaur. The death god smiled to see the warsuits moving unscathed amid the flowing superheated earth . . . a smile that vanished when he felt eyes spying on him in the night.
Aldo?
Aldo, Harvester confirmed.
Kholster growled low and took a single step.
*
Gray and dim, the death god Kholsterâs destination was little more than a carpeted cube floating in the ether, a single figure at its center. Wreathed in a swirling cloud of ever-shifting lenses, the occupant, a gnome-like being with cavernous eye sockets, twisted to face Kholster. Gold light gleamed from the beingâs distended ocular orbits. His robes, unlike the ones worn by his statues, were simple and well made but without ornamentation or embroidery. He could assume any form he wanted in a vain attempt to hide his true self from the mortals, but this, Kholster imagined, was the real god of knowledge: a cringing, spying deceiver.
Flinching slightly, as if expecting Kholster to seize him by the neck and lift him into the air, Aldo smiled broadly when the death god stood at armsâ length.
âAldo.â Kholster growled.
âKholster.â A full-length mirror appeared in the space to Aldoâs right. âDid you wish to see something? Dienox, Torgrimm, and I have spent many aââ
âThe eye that spies on me, I shall pluck out.â Kholsterâs voice came as a rough whisper abrading the cloud of lenses nearest him. Convex and concave alike, mirrors of all sizes and shapes, floating circles of various liquids, and even a few made of quicksilver broke and scattered before that voice, shards and silvery droplets drifting in a mass.
âThen it is fortunate,â Aldo said amiably, âthat I have none of them in at the moment.â He reached into his robes and withdrew a lacquered wooden box, holding it open for Kholsterâs inspection.
He has you there, sir.
Iâd noticed.
Kholster glared into the lacquered wooden box at the eyes, one pair for each type of sentient of Barrone, rolling about like marbles within.
âMy friend, if pulling a few of my eyes out of their box and shaking them about would mollify you in any wayââ Aldo thrust the box at him, further agitating its contents.
âI felt your eyes upon me, Aldo.â Kholster reached out, flipping the box closed. âI respect you for the kindnesses done for me when I was mortal, for the knowledge you gave me, the language you gave my people, butââ
âYou are everywhere anyone dies, Kholster.â Aldo waved away the sparseness of his surroundings as if he were banishing an illusion. The gray cube expanded, filling with light and color to become a fully appointed study with plushly upholstered chairs, a polished oaken desk, and even rows of books and scrolls, along with shelves of massive bookcases upon which the tomes were carefully arrayed. A fire blazed merrily on the lush burgundy carpet a few scant moments before a stone fireplace appeared around it and mystic globes of flame materialized hanging in the air at the corners and center of the room.
Was all this here or . . . ? Kholster
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