The name of all things, p.1
The Name of All Things, page 1
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For Bethany,
whose faith and friendship
will always be gold.
DOMINIONS OF THE EMPIRE
(IN ORDER OF CONQUEST)
Quur—Not technically a dominion, Quur was a city-state ruled by God-King Qhuaras. He was slain by Simillion (who promptly declared himself Emperor Simillion), who then expanded Quur’s borders. Quur remains the capital of the empire of the same name.
Eamithon—Added to the empire in 1 QR (Quuros Reckoning) with the marriage of Emperor Simillion and the god-queen Dina. It was the only dominion added to the empire without violence, and its citizens are granted enormous privileges and latitude compared to the rest of the empire.
Khorvesh—Added to the empire by Emperor Nerikan in 5 QR, with the death of the region’s previous god-king, Ynis. The native thriss population was either slaughtered or pushed out. The descendants of the Eamithonian and Quuros populations, who moved there after its annexation, have since become famous for their bravery and talent on the battlefield.
Kazivar—Conquered in 43 QR by Emperor Nerikan. This was the conclusion of a campaign that started forty-two years before. This push began with the death of the area’s god-king, Nemesan, at the hands of Emperor Simillion. Most of the native population was forcibly assimilated, and the empire wouldn’t expand again for over a thousand years. This was in large part due to the nonexpansionistic proclivities of Emperor Samar the Builder.
Raenena—Conquered by the empire in 1533 QR by Emperor Atrin Kandor. Whether the dominion was conquered or claimed is debatable. Most people believe Kandor killed the native dreth residents in order to have greater access to the region’s ore mines.
Jorat—Conquered by the empire in 1612 QR, with the death of the god-king Khorsal. He died at the hands of Emperor Kandor. As part of the same campaign, Kandor dammed the Zaibur River to flood the Endless Canyon. This created Lake Jorat, Demon Falls, and Atrine—later embraced as the capital of Jorat.
Kirpis—Conquered by the empire in 1699 QR by Emperor Kandor, who pushed out the vané population of the Kirpis region. This included their king, Terindel. The Kirpis vané resettled in the Manol, with their Manol vané cousins. Emperor Kandor followed them in 1709 QR and was slain during the attempted invasion. His sword Urthaenriel, a.k.a. Godslayer, was lost.
Marakor—Conquered by the empire in 1962 QR by Emperor Jalore. This concluded a 240-year campaign to unite the various city-states and divided clan groups of the region. Jalore named the technically united dominion Marakor (a name none of the clan groups wanted or accepted). He also chained the rebellious population with extreme penalties as punishment for their prolonged disobedience.
Yor—Conquered relatively recently in 2044 QR by Emperor Gendal. Even without Urthaenriel, Gendal oversaw the deaths of the god-king rulers of Yor—Cherthog and Suless. However, to this day, the region remains inhospitable, and its citizens are still unhappy with Quuros rule. Their current duke, Azhen Kaen, is primarily Yoran. However, he’s also the grandson of one of the original Quuros generals involved in the conquest.
FOREWORD
My dearest Lord Var,
Here’s the account you asked for on the history behind the current situation in Jorat. I cheated and took advantage of Janel telling the story herself, but best from the source, yes? And your little brother is even in here too, which I know you’ll find just delightful.
I didn’t make up nearly as much as you might think—it helps when you can use an artifact to check your facts. Our friend’s input was useful too. He didn’t want to contribute at first, but I convinced him to see reason. I’m sure he’d have gathered his records together into a semblance of order eventually, but we don’t have the time for that academic crap. No offense, but have you read his transcripts? He does love words, doesn’t he?
I’m glad I decided to do this myself.
I hope you’ll forgive my occasional artistic license, but if that D’Lorus brat can do it, why can’t I? I’ve left a few of my own personal notes along the way.
Anyway, turns out you can top killing the emperor, freeing every demon, and destroying half Quur’s Capital City, but then …
… you know how much I love happy endings.
Ever your faithful and obedient servant,
Senera
… one last thing, my lord.
I suppose I should explain what really happened in the Capital.
Long story short: this is all Gadrith’s fault. Our favorite undead necromancer decided that he and he alone was the answer to all those prophecies. Thirty years of him plotting to snatch Urthaenriel away from everyone, us included, just came to a rolling boil in the Capital. It didn’t work out well for Gadrith. Or for the Capital.
Gadrith needed the Stone of Shackles, which was a problem, because he had no idea where it was. We did—but he didn’t ask us, did he? No, instead he plotted and schemed and recruited a couple of royals to his cause—Darzin D’Mon must have been a real coup—until he finally figured out where it was: around the neck of a High Lord’s long-lost son, Kihrin.
Except that to get to that point, Darzin D’Mon’s mimic Talon had killed, oh, pretty much anyone Kihrin had ever spoken to. Kihrin hated Darzin’s guts. Still, Darzin claimed Kihrin was his son and laughable as that idea is, Kihrin’s real father let Darzin get away with it. After that, Darzin tried to mind fuck the poor kid into giving up the Stone of Shackles, mostly using Thurvishar D’Lorus and some slave girl Kihrin was sweet on.
It didn’t work. Kihrin gets no credit here. It didn’t work because Talon screwed it up, as you’ll find she’s in the habit of doing. Talon is the one who put Kihrin on that slave ship, and ultimately who we can thank for letting the Black Brotherhood get their claws into him. And while Kihrin did come back to the Capital eventually, it was four years later, with friends, and having been trained by literally the best swordsman in the whole world. Nice job, Talon.
But Kihrin underestimated Gadrith’s willingness to break the rules of polite villainy. The wizard took over the Blue Palace and started executing Kihrin’s family until he finally agreed to hand over the Stone of Shackles. Which Kihrin did. After which point Gadrith promptly killed him.
Or rather, Gadrith had Darzin kill him, sacrificing Kihrin to the demon Xaltorath during what was no doubt stage 517 of Gadrith’s great ‘conquer the world’ plan. You’d think being sacrificed to a demon would be enough to kill Kihrin for good, right? Once again, we can thank Talon. Neither Gadrith nor Darzin realized Kihrin had been gaeshed while he was away. Talon knew. So she’d grabbed Kihrin’s control talisman as a souvenir. Combined with our very own Janel personally escorting Kihrin’s soul to the Land of Peace in the Afterlife, it was enough for Thaena to bring Kihrin back.
And that, as they say, was that.
Sure, Gadrith probably thought his plan was coming up rainbows and puppies. Xaltorath had started a Hellmarch in the Capital, luring Emperor Sandus into the open. Gadrith then tricked Sandus into killing him while Gadrith wore the Stone of Shackles. And—since that’s what the stone does—that meant Sandus was now dead and Gadrith, now living in Sandus’s body, was the newest emperor of Quur. Nobody could stop him—he’d killed his own daughter Tyentso when she tried and left her body to rot on the Arena floor. Everything was going great.
Funny how quickly your fortunes can change when you’ve just murdered one of the Goddess of Luck’s favorite people. Kihrin might have been too weak to stand after being Returned, but he still managed to kill Darzin, find Urthaenriel, and destroy both the Stone of Shackles and Gadrith at the same time. Destroying the Stone broke every gaesh made using it, so that means all the demons are free now too. So’s Kihrin’s mother, Khaeriel. Who, by the way, killed every single member of House D’Mon Gadrith hadn’t already finished off except Kihrin’s father, whom she’s kidnapped. Pretty sure she has no idea her son’s alive. Do with that as you will.
Just to add insult to injury, remember how I said Gadrith killed his daughter? Thaena returned her without even being asked. After Kihrin had slain Gadrith, and after the magical barriers had gone up to keep the Crown and Scepter locked away until the next Great Contest. All Tyentso had to do to crown herself emperor of Quur was reach out and grab the damn things.
So good news: we have a new emperor. One who hates the Royal Houses. I’m excited to see where that leads.
And Kihrin? Kihrin did one smart thing: he left town. I couldn’t use magic to find him because of Urthaenriel, but we know he headed to Jorat next—which is where the chronicle attached picks up. Happy reading.
PART I
CONVERSATIONS IN A STORM HOUSE
Jorat Dominion, Quuros Empire. Two days since Kihrin D’Mon returned to Quur
The men paused at the ramp’s base to shake the rain from their sallí cloaks. Behind them, the black sky flickered, then lit up with blinding brightness. A second later, the crash of thunder rolled over them. The heavens opened to drench the ground.
“Shut that door!”
Before they could respond, Scandal, the gray fireblood mare, shouldered her way past. Her passage knocked the heavy oak barrier backward, and the high winds yanked at the unanchored door, forcing the two men to wrestle it back into position. One man closed the latch, locking it.
Stillness enveloped the men even as they heard the winds howl outside. Kihrin turned to his companion. “Why didn’t we go to Atrine again?”
The other man, a large fellow with a white star-shaped birthmark on his forehead, grunted. “Too many imperial soldiers in Atrine.”
“Right. That was it.” Kihrin eyed the stone building’s interior with suspicion. “Star, I know how much you love horses, but … is this a barn?”
As Kihrin D’Mon walked forward, the barn opened into a broad stone-lined vault nestled into the hillside. A herd of horses clustered at the rear, wide-eyed, ears flicking back at each peal of thunder. His gray fireblood, Scandal, joined them, sidling up to two large black fireblood stallions also present. Unlike Scandal, who resembled an oversized mare, the other firebloods’ not-a-horse natures showed themselves in red eyes and matching tiger stripes running up their legs. The other horses grouped around them like children seeking a parent’s protection.
“If she winds up pregnant, she’d better not come crying to me about it,” Kihrin muttered.
An old woman with piebald skin rushed to the entrance from a passage in the back. “Shut that door good, you hear me? That storm’s a killer, if ever I’ve seen one…” Her voice trailed off as she took in Star’s appearance.
Kihrin couldn’t blame her. Star could stop a stampede with a frown. Kihrin stood taller, but Star was twice as wide and rough as the weather outside. At the brothel where Kihrin grew up, he’d have hired Star as a bouncer on the spot.
The old woman gave Star a wink.
“Aye, Mare.” Star laughed as he pulled on a lock of his salt-and-pepper hair. “And you’re a fine sight to see too. We need pillows and a place of honor for Hamarratus. Sorry to trot in so late. We weren’t expecting the storm.” He touched forefingers to forehead, then bowed from the waist.
Kihrin had never heard Star string more than two sentences together before. He’d also never seen Star bow—not to a high lord, not to anyone.
Wait. Who is Hamarratus?1
“Oh, no problem at all.” The old woman pulled up short and turned her attention to Kihrin. “Right. At least you’re here. Get yourself into the shelter. She’s waiting for you. Best hurry while the stew’s hot.”
Kihrin lowered his pack to the hay-strewn ground. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but there’s been a mistake. No one here’s expecting me.”
The old woman looked surprised. “You ain’t named Kihrin, then?”
The young man, who definitely was named Kihrin, managed not to pull out any weapons. Barely. “Who gave you that name?”
“Your woman said you’d be along.”2 She pointed down a tunnel leading into the hillside. “She’s waiting for you. Said I should watch for a tall foreign-looking fellow with yellow hair. And that’s you, right? I mean, you must be from the other side of the empire. Nobody local would dress like you.” Her eyes flicked down to his misha and kef as though they were a signed confession.
“My woman?” Kihrin exchanged a look with Star. Not all his female acquaintances were friends. “Nobody knows I’m here. Hell, I don’t even know where we are.” Kihrin’s hand found the pommel of the dagger at his belt.
“I’ll settle here, see to the horses,” Star offered.
“Sounds good. If you hear my dying screams, avenge me.”
Star shrugged. “Not sure how. You’re the one with the fancy sword.”
Kihrin didn’t seem armed with anything larger than a dagger. If the groom thought the comment strange, she didn’t say.
“Come on, then, foal.” She motioned to Star. “Help an old woman with the watering.”
Kihrin walked toward what he hoped was a tavern.
The passage led from the vaulted stone stable to a wide common room, nestled so far into the hillside it was underground. Fresh air somehow still circulated to flutter the multicolored banners hanging from the ceiling.
The rainbow hues reminded him of the Capital’s Royal Houses, but he suspected these colors had a different meaning here. The Royal Houses didn’t have a strong presence in Jorat; Kihrin thought that spoke well of Jorat.
Kihrin noticed three exits from the main room, besides the one he’d used to arrive. He had no way to know which of them—if any of them—led back outside, but he liked to keep his options open. The tavern also possessed a well-stocked bar, no obvious bouncer, and the aroma of roasting meat wafting out from a kitchen. Perfect.
Joratese townsfolk sheltered from the weather here and many were enjoying an afternoon meal. Kihrin forced himself not to stare; Joratese skin colors varied as much as their horses, with similar markings. Everyone wore their hair long and straight—loose or in intricate decorated braids. Some townsfolk shaved the sides of their heads so a single strip remained, mimicking equine manes. And all either sported plain earth-toned attire or bright clothing paired with all the jewelry they owned. Kihrin couldn’t tell if the difference in styles showed rank or fulfilled some other social role, but it seemed independent of gender.3
The townsfolk’s return stares were far less polite than his own. All chatter in the area died away.
“Kihrin?”
He turned to see a woman his age, standing by the fire.
Kihrin’s breath caught in his throat.
She was as Joratese as everyone else in the room; she was nothing like anyone else in the room. Everything about her was red—her skin burnt sienna, her eyes ruby. He’d imagined meeting her so often that seeing her in person struck him as ludicrous. A demon prince named Xaltorath had shown her image to Kihrin once, years before. Kihrin had never been able to push her memory away. She defined the meter by which he measured all beauty.
And she was there. She was right there.
Impossible. The idea he’d travel to Jorat and run into his dream woman at the first ale house defied credulity. The Goddess of Luck favored him more literally than most, but there were limits.
So this must be a trick. Bait.
He suddenly felt insulted; it wasn’t even subtle bait.
She gave him a smile that outshone the sun, to his dazzled eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. Please, join us.” She gestured next to her. A thin, small western Quuros man sat with her, dressed in a priest’s robes and agolé. He looked like someone resigned to being an awkward third wheel.
She stopped smiling as Kihrin again placed a hand on his dagger.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” Kihrin said. “I’m Kihrin. And you are?”
The joy drained from her eyes. “You don’t remember me.”
“I’ll repeat myself: we’ve never met.”
The surrounding people started grumbling. A man in the back even stood up. No doubt they felt the need to protect their own from a random outlander.
She turned to the tavern and made a shushing motion. “It’s fine. He’s my guest. Free drinks for the room on my tab.” That earned cheers, with laughter mixed in, as if she’d said something funny. Kihrin added it to his list of reasons to distrust the situation.
“Perhaps you might sit down,” said the priest. “We’ll introduce ourselves and explain matters.”
Kihrin moved his hand from the dagger. If she were a ruse, at least he had the small advantage of recognizing her nature. Only three entities in the universe knew what his dream girl looked like: his best friend, Teraeth; the demon Xaltorath; and the mimic Talon. Teraeth would never do something like this, but the other two? Neither of them was a friend.
