Ugmak faltered a bit. “They say… they say that you have become as a Lightling, my chieftain. That you are unwilling to do what must be done to bring back the ways of our people. They dishonor themselves with such careless slander,” he added hurriedly.
Asherzu allowed herself a small smile. “Necessity is most subjective, is it not?” she said, switching to the Imperial language.
“Lady?” asked Ugmak, uncertain of what she’d said.
Asherzu thought about translating, but shook off the idea. Shadowtongue had no word for a subjective idea; the closest it came was labbo ri’zabbadad, or the reason for a war yet to be fought. Yet subjectivity was a wonderful concept, as were peace treaties, and trials that weren’t by combat, and corporations. For all the pain and suffering they caused, Lightlings were also the source of so many fantastic ideas. As were all peoples, Asherzu reflected. Fulgen taught that every soul held the capacity for works of evil and destruction, but also the seeds of beauty and creation. Anyone’s path to lasting glory led them to stand against the vile within and work to foster the good throughout.
She watched the river of people flow below her window. Two figures stood out like great boulders among the rapids; Darak had taken the afternoon off to court Gizardu the Mountain. In the days of her childhood, wooing an Orcess of Gizardu’s power would have meant traveling together to slay a great foe or raid a village. Instead, Asherzu’s brother was bringing Gizardu down to the Second Tier for a kebab and grog. Asherzu grinned at the thought of nieces and nephews in years to come.
Ugmak cleared his throat behind her. “Chieftain, what must I do?”
“Tell me of your approach as you met with the Red Horde.”
“We told them of our desire to reconcile the tribes, and entreated them to see that our people divided are weaker than we are together, and told them we were willing to work for a short time for rest between fights.”
“Ah,” said Asherzu. “That would be the problem.”
Few of her people truly understood the path of the aggressive seller. Some believed that the path took their kin far from the Old Ways. Some, like the Red Horde, would call her a coward, soft and weak. They had before, when she grew in her father’s shadow, when she kept to his path after his death, and when she took his place. Yet she was still here, and many of her critics had joined her on her path. And at the end of the day, her people went home to fat and happy children each night.
A knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. A Naga receptionist poked his head through the door. “Lady, it isss almossst time for your hot ssstone massssage.”
“Ah, good,” said Asherzu. “It is most needed today.” Massages were another great innovation of the Lightnings. And satin pillows. And chocolate. All three awaited her now, and every night. Such were the perks of the path of the aggressive seller, when you were good at it. And with Warg Incorporated’s meteoric rise to market dominance, few would say there were any better than Asherzu Guz’Varda. “Tell Mitsy of the Gentle Hand I will be down shortly.”
“And, uh, what of the Red Horde?” asked Ugmak.
Asherzu smiled at the wise-one, then looked back out the window. He was one of those who also misunderstood her way. Ugmak and his ilk thought that the path of the aggressive seller followed the high-minded ideals that Lightling’s talked about when they spoke of selfless concern for the greater good, and of the good in all people invariably triumphing when shown a better way. Asherzu would like to walk life’s journey in such a world, but she did not. The path of the aggressive seller guided her through this one, where people could be irrational and fearful and greedy, and those impulses often got the better of the good within them.
“Find the mightiest chieftains among the Red Horde.Tell them of the success of Warg Incorporated,” she told him, watching the people swirl through the street below their mighty office building. “Boast of the plunder we took from the Lightlings on the day Johan the Deceiver was slain. Send a drummer to chant the saga of our mighty brokerage, which inspires fear and trembling upon the Lightlings’ Wall. And then…” Asherzu’s tusks flashed in a predatory grin. “And then offer them jobs.”
“Saying goodbye?” Kaitha asked. The curtain whispered as it closed behind her, shutting out the rays of sunlight and noises of Pinnacle Plaza.
Gorm gave her a quick nod of acknowledgement before he turned his gaze back to the statue of Niln. The high scribe was cast in deep blue by the azure tent set up around him. He wore a serene smile, hands clasped behind his back, gazing down benevolently on the cobbles before him.
“They say the statue of Niln moved…” Gorm said, his voice hoarse. “He must have, if this is the same one they hauled up from the ruins of Al’Matra’s old temple. The Al’Matrans told me he’d been doin’ it for weeks, scarin’ the acolytes and all that.”
The Elf shrugged. “It’s not the most unbelievable thing we saw last year.”
“It ain’t even in the ten most unbelievable things,” said Gorm. He looked at Kaitha with red-rimmed eyes. “But it means that he was here, lass. He was with me—with us—when we went through all this. When I lost my way fighting the liche. All of it. And now…” He shook his head and looked back up at the bronze face of his friend.
“Now he’s just a statue and a memory,” said Kaitha sadly.
“Aye,” said Gorm. “Just like Tib’rin, and Iheen, and all me other friends. And when ye came back after I thought ye died, and Thane turned out to be a soul-bound Sten, I… I guess anything seemed possible. Anyone could come back. And selfish as it is, maybe I thought… I just hoped the rest of ’em could too.”
His eyes trailed from the bronze figure of Niln to a smaller, newer statue next to him; a brassy Goblin with a wide smile and a noble dagger. The sculptor had done his best based on Gorm’s description, but without the small plaque saying so near its base, nobody would recognize it as Tib’rin Had’Lerdak. “That I might see me old squire again.”
Kaitha put a hand on his shoulder, and for a quiet moment they stood and regarded the statues.
“In a way, we are together. Always,” the Elf offered eventually. She nodded to the other sculptures grouped behind Tib’rin and Niln. Gorm’s own visage stared back at him from behind the Goblin’s shoulder, with a grinning Burt leaning out of his rucksack. Laruna and Jynn stood behind them, their hands raised as though weaving spells. Niln was flanked by Heraldin and Gaist, standing back-to-back. Behind them all, elevated on the old plinth that had been the Dark Prince’s perch, Kaitha and Thane stood hand in hand. A small plaque in from of them read:
THE SEVEN HEROES OF DESTINY
&
OTHER SAVIORS OF ARTH
“That we are,” said Gorm, giving the statue of the Goblin a fond tap on the shoulder. “In many ways.”
“In many ways,” the ranger agreed as they turned to leave.
Gorm nodded up at the bronze Elf and Sten. “Public artwork must add a bit of pressure to the relationship, eh?”
“Oh, yeah, but that’s nothing,” said Kaitha, shaking her head. “It’s the old Stennish sculptures that are trying to rush things, with all of their talk of rebuilding populations and keeping the lineage going. Gods above. We’re not even thinking about the future yet.”
“Won’t be long, I imagine,” Gorm grumbled. “Everything’s fast with ye tall folk.”
“Don’t you start,” the Elf warned him.
“What? That’s how it usually goes.” Gorm pulled the curtain back and let Kaitha walk past him out next to the stage. “Ye and Thane make each other happy, ye know how the other feels, and ye got more history than most Humans who get together.”
“The history is the problem,” Kaitha said with a shrug. “I always wonder how many of our inexplicable feelings were ours and how many were just an echo of the gods’ relationship—a famously rocky relationship, I’ll remind you. And now there’s destiny and prophecy and governance and everything coming all at once. And yeah, a statue of us doesn’t help. It’s a lot for a young relationship, and I want to make it work, so we’re taking. It. Slow.” She emphasized the last point with a finger jabbing into Gorm’s mailed shoulder.
“Aye, fine. Fine,” laughed Gorm. “But I will say I still have a good feeling about ye two.”
Her eyes scanned the people milling about the plaza in advance of the statues’ unveiling, and found Thane speaking with several attendants. The king noticed her as well, and gave her a besotted grin and enthusiastic wave. “A very good feeling,” she said, waving back. “I’m going to go rescue him from whatever that conversation is.”
“Will I see the two of ye before your journey?” he asked.
