Chapter One Hundred Twelve: ‘The house of four flames...’

As they continued north, Hector was surprised to find the vast stretch of barren and cracked flatlands gradually give rise to fields of grass and even the occasional tree. Considering that they were going to a place called Dunehall, he hadn’t been expecting to see much other than sand.

When they finally reached Moaban, it was the dead of night, but even through the darkness, Hector could see that the city wasn’t struggling for water. Rows of trees with arching canopies covered many of the roads, blocking out the night sky’s vibrant half-moon. The foliage was so thick that the first few areas they drove through made it feel like they’d suddenly entered a forest. After a time, however, there came a break in the trees, revealing an array of buildings buried in sand.

The change was so stark that it took Hector a while to understand what he was looking at.

Mountains of sand in the moonlight. In the middle of an otherwise lush, sand-free city. Hector could see four bulbous towers just barely peeking out from the centermost mound, each one topped off with a jagged spike pointed skyward.

As they pulled closer, the fortress before them became more obvious. Tall lamps illuminated the path into its heart, making the sand all around them glisten like still water. A tunnel guided their entourage up to an underground entrance, where the limousines finally eased to a stop. Everyone began exiting.

Hector marveled at the fine stonework around him. There seemed to be some wooden beams thrown in, along with some metal ones, but the whole area had a golden aura about it thanks to the lighting.

Asad appeared and led everyone inside. Hector moved to help carry Zeff, but a pair of much larger men were already there, so he just stuck close to the children.

The building’s interior left him gawking again. Polished black tiles covered the floor of the entryway, matched by an obsidian lion that looked pretty much life-size, by Hector’s estimation. A team of butlers were there to greet them as well, offering to take luggage that most of the Rainlords chose to hold onto. Hector did the same with his one bag.

‘Wow,’ Garovel said privately. ‘We knew Asad was rich, but holy shit. This place is ridiculous.’

Hector had to stifle a laugh. ‘Do you think he’s richer than Roman?’

‘Ha. Dunno. Now that I think about it, we seem to have a lot of rich friends, don’t we?’

Hector gave a sideways nod. ‘Yeah, I guess so. How the fuck did that happen?’

‘Maybe it’s because whenever you meet a poor person, you usually just save their life and leave, you classist prick.’

‘What--?’

‘You should take a good long look at yourself.’

He knew the reaper was joking, but he also knew that there was some truth to be found there as well. They’d discussed the topic at length back in Gray Rock and come to the conclusion that he should work on achieving a better relationship with the lower classes. Indeed, that had been the purpose of his visits to homeless shelters just prior to his trip to Sair. Thinking about it now reminded Hector of all the things that still needed doing at home.

It still felt a little strange to think of Warrenhold as home. Strange in a good way, though.

He glanced over and saw Emiliana lagging behind her siblings. Hector pulled back to ask her, “Are you okay?”

She looked at him, as if surprised, and adjusted her mask. “Ah. Yes. I apologize.”

Chergoa floated up beside her. ‘Something wrong?’

“No,” said Emiliana. “It was only an odd shiver.”

‘A shiver?’ said Chergoa.

“Goose pimples. They surprised me. But I am fine.” She walked on ahead, not waiting for a response.

Hector exchanged looks with Chergoa before the reaper left to join her.

‘Hmm,’ hummed Garovel privately, who’d apparently been close enough to overhear. ‘A shiver, huh? Is it cold in here?’

‘Not really,’ said Hector. ‘Well, maybe compared to outside...’

Hector expected Garovel to ask another question, but the reaper said nothing further. They hurried to catch up with everyone.

Soon, the butlers began showing different people to different rooms. Hector’s room shared a hallway with the Elroys. There were no windows, but to his eyes, the chamber would have been fit for a king. It was almost too nice, in fact. The giant rug at the foot of his bed had been woven with such a complex fractal design that he didn’t even want to step on it.

As lovely as it was, however, he didn’t linger in it for long. He was more interested in exploring the rest of Dunehall, and Garovel seemed to agree with him.

After only a short while of wandering, he and Garovel found themselves in a globular chamber full of paintings and artifacts on pedestals. There was one particular pedestal which caught Garovel’s attention. It seemed to have been relegated to a position by the wall, enough so that Hector might not have noticed it if the reaper hadn’t pointed it out. On its mantle lay a transparent case filled with four large slivers of crimson glass.

And before Hector could even ask a question, Qorvass arrived, flanked by Asad.

‘Hello again,’ said Garovel cheerily.

‘Hello,’ said Qorvass. ‘I see you’ve found the gallery.’

‘Indeed. It’s lovely, as is everything here. But I am wondering--are these what I think they are?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Qorvass. ‘Do you think they are a bunch of shiny rocks? Because you would be right.’

Hector saw Garovel tilt his head.

‘Actually, I was thinking they were the Quta Jaf’lah.’

‘Mm,’ hummed Qorvass. ‘Well, they’re not.’

‘Oh?’ Garovel paused. ‘I see.’

Hector was lost, but he didn’t want to interrupt.

‘Supposing they were, though,’ Garovel went on, ‘why might you keep them here? This seems like an odd place for objects of such value. Hypothetically speaking.’

‘Perhaps they are not as valuable as you are imagining,’ said Qorvass. ‘Or perhaps this place is more secure than you are imagining.’

Garovel laughed faintly. ‘I suppose your suspicion is understandable, but I assure you that my interest is purely academic. And I am quite certain that these are indeed the Quta Jaf’lah.’ He turned to Hector. ‘The Shards of the Dry God.’

Hector was only slightly less lost now.

‘I got quite a good look at them once,’ said Garovel, facing Qorvass again. ‘Ages ago.’

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‘Is that right?’ said Qorvass.

‘It is,’ said Garovel. ‘However, I remember there being many more shards than this. I remember a mound of them. As big as a person, one might say.’

Qorvass’ hollow eyes narrowed a moment. ‘Where are you from, Garovel?’

‘I was born a Lyzakk.’

‘Ah. A most ancient brother.’

‘You were born a Lyzakk as well?’ Garovel asked.

‘Of course,’ said Qorvass. ‘But you must have guessed that by now.’

‘I try not to presume too much these days,’ said Garovel. ‘Rather, I find it more surprising that your loyalties haven’t shifted in three thousand years.’

‘Three thousand? I am not as old as that, but yes, it has been a while. My loyalty may not have wavered, but my curiosity has certainly led me to wander on more than a few occasions. But I am curious as to why you did not tell me of your heritage sooner? You must have realized it would have gone a long way with the Sandlords.’

‘Well, I wasn’t a Sandlord. And I don’t exactly have a birth certificate to show you.’

‘Even so,’ said Qorvass, ‘I would have liked to know that I was fighting alongside my kin this whole time.’

Garovel’s skeletal face twisted somewhat. ‘You are very kind. But I get the impression that your experience with the Lyzakks was more enjoyable than mine.’

‘Yes, I am getting that impression as well,’ said Qorvass. ‘Perhaps you would care to share your story with me.’

‘Perhaps I would. But for now, I am more interested in these jewels. I remember hearing about their creation, and I went to see them shortly thereafter. Why are there so few now? What happened to the rest of them?’

‘The War of the Three Sands happened to them,’ said Qorvass. 'Strange that you are able to recognize the Shards but not know their history.’

‘Ah,’ said Garovel. 'I was on the other side of the world when that was going on. So these were what that whole fuss was about, huh? I probably could have guessed as much.’

Hector just had to interject now. “There was a war fought over these things?”

‘Pretty much,’ said Garovel. ‘It was a war between the Sandlords themselves. That’s the trouble with a system built on divine right.’ He looked to Qorvass. ‘But you must know more about it than I do.’

‘That is largely correct,’ said Qorvass. ‘We have never had “kings,” per se, but we did believe that individuals with a certain power had been chosen to guide our people.’

Hector put two and two together and looked at Asad, who was busy yawning and hardly even seemed to be paying attention.

‘Such individuals are historically quite rare,’ Qorvass went on. ‘They usually appear only once in five generations. Oftentimes longer. There were several instances where we went without a clear leader for extended periods of time. But then the gods decided to play a cruel prank on us, and three children manifested the divine ability in the span of a single year.’

‘I suppose it would’ve been too much to ask for them to just rule together,’ said Garovel dryly.

‘The children themselves were not the real problem,’ said Qorvass. ‘They were children. They did as their Hahls told them. And each Hahl feared--perhaps quite correctly--that one of the other two Hahls would betray them for power. And precaution became escalation, and escalation became war.’

Hector still didn’t understand something. “But, er... uh, how did the Shards factor in?”

‘The Shards are powerful catalysts for servant abilities,’ said Garovel. ‘And they work for anyone, divine power or no. They would even work for you, for instance. But there is a catch.’

Hector was not surprised.

‘They fall dormant when there remains no living person who wields the Sandlord’s divine ability with sufficient skill.’

“Uh... not sure I understand...”

‘It has to do with the way they were made,’ said Garovel. ‘The so-called “Dry God” was, in truth, just another person who happened to have the divine ability. Like our good friend Asad here.’

Asad matched Hector’s gaze evenly. His expression seemed somehow sad.

‘The Dry God’s real name was Rasalased, and he was one of the most powerful servants of his age,’ said Garovel. ‘The story goes that he was so powerful and so heavily relied upon by his people that he became terrified of what would happen to them if he were ever killed in battle. As was known to happen. So he created the Shards, hoping that they would help keep the Sandlords safe after he was gone. The only problem was that in order to create them, he had to fuse his soul with his ability so completely that he turned himself to crystal. Which killed both him and his reaper, ironically.’

‘You are more or less correct,’ said Qorvass, ‘but there was also more to it than just that.’

‘Oh?’ said Garovel.

‘It is an oft repeated tale that the Dry God was a fool who mistakenly ended his own life, but that is untrue. Rasalased knew exactly what he was doing. He had been searching for a way to die for some time, but as you said, he worried what would become of his people. He made the Shards for his successor, who by that point, was already powerful enough to use them.’

‘I see. Did you know him personally?’

‘Near the end of his life, yes. I took one of his grandchildren as my servant for a time.’

Hector wondered how that relationship had turned out, but it seemed an impolite thing to ask, and of course, if the servant wasn’t here now, then Hector didn’t imagine that it could have ended well.

Hector eyed the Shards again. He’d considered them beautiful before, but now that he knew the story behind them, that they were the remains of a person, he found them rather unsettling. Perhaps that deeply red hue of theirs was no mere coincidence.

Garovel had another question, though. ‘So how powerful does Asad have to become in order for the Shards to reactivate?’

Qorvass was silent a moment. ‘Please do not be offended. I’m sure you can appreciate why I would not wish to share such information.’

‘Ah. Well, I guess that’s better than lying to me.’

-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-+-

Asad soon returned to his room on his own. He was glad to see Qorvass getting along with another reaper so quickly for a change, but there was nothing about their conversation that Asad didn’t already know. He’d only accompanied Qorvass to the gallery in order to make sure their guests had no designs on stealing anything.

Qorvass always worried about the Shards. It didn’t seem to matter that no one had been able to use them in more than seven hundred years or that hardly any non-Sandlords remembered their existence. Still, the reaper’s concern was not without justification, of course. The Shards had indeed been stolen many times in the past, always from some kind of super vault or otherwise absurdly guarded chamber. That had apparently been a difficult lesson for Asad’s predecessors to learn: if the wrong person came for them, it would not matter how many thick walls were in the way. It was better to hide them until they were forgotten.

Now that Garovel had demonstrated memory of the Shards, however, Qorvass would probably insist they be relocated again.

Asad took a seat on the edge of his bed and rubbed his forehead, trying to think. If he was being completely honest with himself, he had no idea what he was doing, bringing the Rainlords to Dunehall. Sure, the Vanguard wouldn’t find them here, but how was he supposed to explain this to Abbas and the others? It was only a matter of time before they found out.

And of course, there was still the matter of the Rainlords themselves. Hopefully, they would be able to reach a peaceful solution concerning Ibai, but if that didn’t happen, then Dunehall might well become their new battleground. Asad just hoped he wasn’t a fool for trusting them in this place.

He hadn’t visited Dunehall in months, but it wasn’t for lack of wanting to. Really, he would have liked to simply live here again, but his wife’s family lived in Kuros, and for most women, that might have given them cause to leave, but not for her. Samira was very much a daddy’s girl. Asad had tried bringing her here after their marriage, but it made her miserable, and her happiness was much more important than his nostalgia. And besides, Kuros wasn’t so terrible. It just didn’t really feel like home to him, even after twenty years--or at least, not like Moaban did.

It felt a shame to leave Dunehall without a Najir to watch over it, but he’d tried passing the reins over to Haqq or Imas, and to his surprise, both had refused him. Haqq cared only for the Golden Fort’s research facilities and nothing for tradition; and Imas said she didn’t wish to live so far away from her brothers--an argument Asad could hardly refute, given the sacrifice he was making for his wife.

Dunehall, therefore, had passed into the hands of the lesser lord Yasir Faheem, a blustery man who had been following Asad around for much of the evening and rambling about so many different things at such high speeds that Asad had only caught about half of them. Most of it had been assurances that the staff in Dunehall had been doing their jobs thoroughly and properly.

There came a knock at Asad’s door, and he half expected it to be Faheem again. “Enter,” he said in Mohssian.

Orjand phased through the door before Imas opened it and followed, closing it again behind her.

“Relaxing already?” Imas said in Valgan. “Where is Qorvass?”

“With Hector and Garovel,” said Asad.

‘They seem to have become fast friends,’ said Orjand. Her little scorpionfly wings buzzed silently as she hovered there in midair. ‘Qorvass is usually the last of us to warm up to new people.’

She wasn’t wrong, Asad knew. It had taken Qorvass years to finally accept his friendship with Zeff. “I think he senses an opportunity for an alliance,” said Asad. “Or maybe he just wants me to stop calling him a surly bastard.”

“An alliance?” said Imas. “With the young Atreyan lord? Why? Not to knock the boy, but his strength is not his own.”

“So you noticed it, too,” said Asad.

“Of course. And I am a little annoyed that Haqq did not give that shield to me. Or something like it, at least.”

“Be sure to chew him out when we get back to Kuros.”

“Oh, I will.”

Orjand hovered closer. ‘By the way, have you heard the news? We just heard about it downstairs.’

“Which news would that be?” Asad scratched his cheek absently.

‘The war between Jesbol and Horsht. It’s over.’

Asad blinked and sat up straighter. “What? Since when?”

‘Since earlier today. Jesbol won. They’re already talking about dissolving Horsht completely. It seems Jesbol will have territory on the mainland now.’

“So sudden,” said Asad. “How long has that war been going? It’s been so long, I’ve forgotten.”

‘Oh, it’s been a collection of wars, really,’ said Orjand. ‘The one you’re familiar with started about thirty years ago, but it’s been on and off for more than than a hundred now. I’m still not sure whether to believe it. If it were merely news of another “cease in hostilities,” I wouldn’t buy it for a moment, but this is the first time that one of them has been reported of conquering the other.’

“And there’s more to it,” said Imas. “The victory is being attributed to Field Marshal Jackson. They’re saying he cut through Abolish like a knife and killed Gunther and Dunhouser both.”

Asad’s eyes widened. “By himself?”

She nodded. “And in order to pull something like that off, the smart money says he achieved emergence.”

‘If it’s all true, then this means a major victory for the Vanguard.’

“Jackson might very well be second only to Sermung now,” said Imas, unable to conceal her smile. “I know we are currently in conflict with the Vanguard, but I am so excited about this news.”

“Why?” said Asad.

“Because! The Radiant Sentinel! The Star of the West! He’s done it again! And this time, he probably saved millions of lives! Oh, a man like that--I wonder what he’s really like.”

Asad exchanged glances with Orjand. “I didn’t realize she was such a fan of his.”

‘...I did.’

“Have you ever seen him?” said Imas. “He is so handsome. And I bet he’s amazing in bed.”

Asad was incredulous. “You’re a lesbian!”

She shrugged. “Yeah, but I wouldn’t say no. Not to him.”

Asad just sighed and laughed at the same time.

“Everyone has their exceptions,” said Imas. “I’m sure there’s at least one man you’d make an exception for, right? There has to be.”

Asad returned a flat stare.

“Just give it a little thought,” she urged.

He shook his head.

“Whatever. Big tough Sandlord can’t even admit when he wants to have sweaty, passionate sex with another man. It’s not like I would tell anyone.”

“...Is there a reason you’re still in my room?”