Telos had faster reactions than most, but not fast enough to dodge the excited felidae. He was bowled over and knocked to the ground. There was a flash of white teeth and he almost screamed—but then a large, sandpaper-harsh tongue began to scrape along his face.

  “Wow, pleased to see me, Urgal?” Telos said, laughing.

  He felt Jubal relax beside him. He wondered what the giant would have done with only one arm, but he knew he shouldn’t underestimate him, even injured as he was. One of Jubal’s most deadly weapons was permanently affixed to his head, after all.

  After a few more minutes of wrestling with the enthusiastic cat, Telos eventually managed to clamber to his feet. Ylia was still out-cold, slumped over the table. At least a hundred other tavern patrons lat in similar manner. Whatever party had taken place here the night before had been apocalyptic.

  Telos went over to Ylia’s table.

  “Ylia, my dear?”

  A groan escaped her lips but nothing more. Urgal started licking Telos’s hand.

  “Is there anyone here? My friend needs medical attention.”

  “You waste your breath,” Jubal said. “It’s like a plague struck this place.”

  But there was at least one person still standing. A heavily robed figure made their way through the carnage. A woman’s voice emanated from under the heavy hood, delicately feminine, with the lilt of a Qi’shathian accent.

  “You know, Ylia?” the woman said.

  Telos nodded. There was little point in hiding it, since he had been caught using her name.

  “We met…” Telos paused. Time had expanded and contracted for him. It surely could be merely the night before last that he had stumbled, soaked to the bone, into Ylia’s tavern. A sudden weariness came over him. He wanted to lie down and join the sleeping patrons. “We met two nights ago. She seemed a good person.”

  “She is. Except when she drinks.”

  Telos detected a note of both surprise and disdain.

  “Oh? Did she start whatever this is?”

  The woman nodded.

  “She started singing Beltanus The Cuckold. They got all the way to verse seventeen.”

  “Gods, even the bit about…?”

  The woman nodded.

  “It seems our tavern maid is a dark horse, after all.”

  “Quite. Well, may I ask your name, fair lady?”

  The woman laughed.

  “How do you know I am fair?”

  “The timbre of your voice, the sweet music of your accent.”

  “Ahh,” she said, all full of knowing. “I have heard rumour that Qi’shathian women are coveted by Yarulian men. Is that so?”

  “I have no prejudice.”

  “A wise answer.” Telos felt warmth flood him, the newfound energy that could only arise from unexpected human connection. There was a strange confidence about this woman, as though she was absolutely certain of her place in the universe.

  “Might I see your face? Why the secrecy?”

  “I might ask the same of your friend, there,” the woman said, pointing to Jubal, who remained cloaked.

  A growling noise escaped Jubal’s lips.

  “Peace, friend. I think this woman could prove an ally.”

  “And how in Erethia have you deduced that?” Jubal snapped.

  “Because she, like us, has something to hide. And because any woman who is familiar with the song Beltanus The Cuckold must have a sense of humour.”

  Jubal laughed, deep and throaty.

  “It is true that humour is one thing our enemies lack.”

  “I propose that on the count of three, both you and my friend here drop your hoods. Then there will be no more secrets.”

  “And if someone should awake?” the woman said.

  “We could move to a more private space?” Telos suggested.

  The woman nodded. “I have booked a room. Technically, I should relinquish it this sunrise, but even our host, Harper, has had too much to drink. And that is saying something. So I think we shall have the room for a little longer. Why don’t you be gentlemen and carry our friend Ylia back up the stairs?”

  Telos and Jubal each took an arm. They hoisted Ylia over their shoulders and carried her with as much grace as they could, though because of their uneven heights, one foot dragged heavily on the floorboards. Urgal slinked behind them, looking somewhat amused. The mysterious woman led the way up a small set of stairs into a hallway of lodgings. She slipped into number thirteen and they followed. Telos took in the décor, which brought to his mind the fortune tellers and soothsayers of the carnivals of Gorgosa’s underbelly. He had travelled in such circles many times, for thieves were always needed by such ventures. He noted the altar to Lileth and the Qi’shathian lamp—neither were cheap artefacts.

  They lay Ylia on a series of cushions. It was not a comfortable bed but better than the floor. Urgal curled up next to her. The mercurial cat started to purr.

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  The woman sat at a small circular table. Telos indicated Jubal should sit, given his arm.

  “I’m fine,” he growled.

  “You are far from fine. We’ve both sustained injuries but yours are more severe.”

  Jubal grunted, then begrudgingly took a seat.

  “I am partly skilled in healing arts. I will not be able to mend your arm as new, but I might mitigate some of the worst. But first, I think your friend is right. On the count of three, we should reveal ourselves to each other.”

  “Let’s get it over with,” Jubal said, and doffed his hood with his good arm. “If you meant to kill me, you have had ample chance.”

  The woman let out a musical laugh and let down her own hood. Telos stared in wonder. She was a rare beauty, a wildflower plucked from the shores of the Emerald Empire. But she was also familiar. He had seen her face in some record of royalty… It clicked. He knew exactly who this woman was and the revelation awed him.

  “Y-your highness!” he spluttered. He went to one knee. “Qala Jin!”

  If the theront was impressed by the presence of the Qi’shathian heir, he gave no indication.

  She smiled, and it was like the moon’s crescent glimmering over a black sea.

  “You need not kneel, not yet, anyway. There is a long road to reclaiming what is mine.”

  Her eyes went to Jubal, taking in the proud cast of his bull features, the gleam of his horns in the lamplight. There was care weathered upon his face, but the bluffs of his defiance still stood strong. Did Telos glimpse a momentary desire flashing the princess’s eyes? He could not be sure.

  “A theront,” she said. “In my lands, your kind are welcomed more readily. But it is rare to see one on Yarulian shores.”

  Jubal grimaced.

  “We were purged. And the one who did it still lives.”

  “Koronzon Hammyr, if I remember rightly.”

  Jubal’s eyes widened.

  “Then the black legend of his deeds has reached even Qi’shathian shores.”

  She nodded, eyes fluttering as though with a momentary pain.

  “Yes. He is known the world over, though not always by name. In Qi’shathian histories, we call him The Zealot. It is sad to say there are many who admire his ruthlessness, for that is considered a divine trait in Qi’shath.”

  Jubal sneered.

  “Then your people are no better than the Yarulians.”

  “Let us try and play nicely together,” Telos said. “She has just offered to heal your arm, after all.”

  Jubal gave Telos a filthy look, but then begrudgingly lowered his broken arm onto the table, wincing and growling as he did so.

  Qala stood. She walked around the table and stood nearby Jubal. First, she examined the arm in silence. Then, with delicate fingers, she probed various point at which the bone had been wrenched out of place. Jubal hissed and ground his teeth, but bore the whole thing with admirable resilience.

  “First, the main break must be reset—physically. That will be very painful. The shards of bone that have been scattered will only be repairable with advanced surgery or old magic. I might attempt the latter, if you are willing.”

  “You wield the sorcery of the gods?” Jubal said, and at long last his aggression had vanished, replaced by wonder.

  She nodded.

  “It is taught to nobles in Qi’shath as a matter of course, for a noble without this skill is at great disadvantage. And it is practiced in the streets of the great and ancient cities, the ones that very few westerners ever visit.”

  Jubal swallowed.

  “Will it hurt?”

  “No. But the initial setting of the bone—that will be agony.”

  With a speed Telos begrudgingly admitted matched his own, Qala lifted Jubal’s arm and snapped the elbow joint back into its original orientation with a single, powerful blow of her palm. Jubal screamed. Qala began to whisper words.

  “By the strength of Eresh is the flesh remade.

  By the love of Lileth is the body healed.

  By the power of the One is all re-written.

  By the doom of Koronzon is Death sealed.”

  Light gathered, then poured. The light was unnatural, inchoate, with no clear of definite source, like a shadow impressed on fog. The light flowed about Jubal’s arm and there was a bright flash. Jubal gasped.

  It was over before it had even begun. Qala slumped back into her chair, evidently exhausted. Jubal bent and flexed his arm in wide wonder. Telos noted that his range of movement was not full, there was still some damage to the joint, but it’d been healed almost completely.

  “You are a miracle-worker, God-touched!” Jubal said.

  Qala shook her head.

  “Once, it was the birthright of the human race to know the magic of old. But time has rotted the body of magic. Only the return of the gods can renew it.”

  Jubal glanced at Telos. Telos shook his head. As much as he did want to tell Qala some things, he thought it would likely not be in their favour for her to know Telos was cursed.

  A voice boomed from below. “Is anyone alive?”

  All three of them laughed.

  Qala shot Jubal a look.

  “He is a friend to theronts,” Jubal said.

  Qala nodded. “Yes, Harper!” she called. Telos heard footsteps and then a strong, well muscled man staggered into the room. His eyes were triple ringed with shadow and bloodshot. He scanned the room, only looking surprised when he saw Jubal, but then a warm grin plastered his face.

  “Jubal? Well, I’m glad to see you’re alive.”

  Jubal grinned with his overlarge teeth.

  “Likewise. It’s good to know you have not drunken yourself into a coma, yet.”

  “Not for lack of trying. These patrons will be the death of me. Are you looking to lay low for a few days?”

  “I’ll be moving on soon,” Jubal replied. “But as always, I thank you for your hospitality, Harper. I will not forget your kindnesses.” Harper smiled, then turned to Qala. “And you look like you did not partake of the festivities last night. Far too fresh.”

  Telos smirked; he supposed he looked anything but fresh. However, the filth, disarray, and exhaustion clinging to him was clearly going to work in his favour, because it made him look like he had been part of the revelries, rather than other things.

  “I did not partake as heavily as the others,” Qala replied.

  Ylia gave a groan from the pile of pillows. Telos suppressed a laugh, but wondered how much she heard despite being in a stupour.

  “Well, maybe next time,” Harper said. “We were just about eaten out of House last night, but I can offer porridge to those who want it.”

  “Porridge?” Telos said. “You don’t have anything else?”

  “I’m sorry,” Harper said, his voice shifting into the manner of one used to serving difficult customers. “But these gannets cracked into my storehouses and ate pretty much anything that was not nailed down.”

  “I see,” Telos said.

  First Ylia, then Jubal, now here. This was no coincidence. The Fate-shaper’s curse was at it again, taking away from him the one thing he desired: a meal that was more than milk and oats. Of all the vicissitudes he had suffered, this somehow seemed the worst. What he would do for bacon, eggs, or freshly baked bread. He cursed Nereth.

  “Very well,” Telos said. “Three bowls of porridge it is.”