Chapter Seventeen

The Cinder King's own ship?

By itself?

Damnation. What was going on?

"Why would he come on his own?" Rebeke asked, her confusion mirroring Nomad's own. "It makes no sense."

His frown deepened as he saw the man himself stroll out onto the deck, hands behind his back, eyes burning in the twilight. The ship parked in the sky, hovering, with the Cinder King standing at the bow. It was an invitation if Nomad had ever seen one.

"He's here for me," Nomad said.

"What? How would he even know you're here?"

"Depends on how much that scout was able to report," Nomad said.

Nomad, the knight says trepidatiously, what are you thinking?

"Trepidatiously? Is that even a word?"

Not a proper one. Oh, you're going to do something stupid, aren't you?

"I can't stop moving," he said. "If I stop, I die." He switched to the local tongue. "Rebeke, I'm going to go up. Pretend that you're not here. But if things go poorly, try to back me up."

"Uh…" the young woman said. "How will I know if things go poorly?"

"I'll most likely come crashing through one of those windows," he said. "If I'm lucky, I'll do so of my own choice." He took a deep breath, pulled his cycle out of the overhang, restarted the engine, and went roaring into the sky.

The Cinder King's luxury ship was hovering at the peak of what the cycle could manage, height-wise. Nomad's vehicle strained as it hovered up to the bow, and again he noticed that his ears popped from pressure change rather quickly as he climbed to that height.

The Cinder King wore a high-collar shirt under a long coat marked with softly glowing ribbons of light, highly polished boots, and black leather gloves. He smiled, the light in his eyes mirrored by the ember in his chest.

He turned and gestured toward a docking point at the side of the deck. This ship was shaped like a seafaring boat, with narrow decks that widened near the bow, a control cabin, and storage space within the hull. Nomad hadn't seen much wood since coming here, and this thing was emblazoned with it—and with gold trim that must glitter fiercely in brighter conditions. The docking point was a rectangle cut out of the deck, where a small craft could slot in.

Nomad carefully moved into position—but didn't fully dock. He left the cycle hovering on its own power and stepped out onto the deck. From the cabin, two Charred—their simmering embers impossible to miss in the shadows—moved closer. Their king, however, waved them back. With his other hand, he reached welcomingly to Nomad.

Last time, the knight notes, he locked us up and tried to brand us. Why the change in behavior?

The Cinder King waved over a white-jacketed servant, who carried a stack of…large pieces of paper? Yes, stiff paper—almost cardboard—with pictures on them and…

"Oh," Nomad said in their tongue as the man held up the first, depicting the Cinder King and Nomad shaking hands. "Yeah, you won't need those. I figured out your language."

"You…figured it out?" the Cinder King said. Storms, those eyes were unnerving. Reminded Nomad of people he had once trusted, once loved. "In less than a day?"

"I'm a quick learner," Nomad said. "How did you know I would be here?"

"Please," the Cinder King said, smirking. "Someone brought down one of my best scouts? It was obvious. Would you kindly join me inside? No tricks, I promise."

"An oath?" Nomad said, curious. "Given so easily? Tell me what this is about, and I will consider it."

"Our initial meeting was unfortunate."

To put it mildly, the hero remarks.

"But," the Cinder King continued, "I've realized the mistake was mine. Having you be one of my Charred would have been delightful, but there is another way to have you serve me. I'd like to hire you."

"Hire me," Nomad said flatly.

"Yes," the Cinder King said, walking briskly toward the cabin. "They do that on your planet, don't they? That place you come from, of storms and stone? They hire men as soldiers?"

He knew?

How did he know?

For the first time, Nomad was legitimately intrigued by this man. He found himself following the Cinder King into the cabin. Behind a door at the front were the pilot's controls. A small bank of screens sat atop a desk, each showing a flickering scene of the Cinder King's ship from a different angle. Nomad had almost forgotten about the security camera he'd seen while restrained in the arena, but here was evidence of the Cinder King's tight control over his people. One of the swiveling images faced the ground beneath the ship, zoomed in so far that Nomad could see the wreckage of the scout's cycle. He hoped they couldn't spot Rebeke from here. He forced himself to turn away before someone noticed where he was looking.

The majority of the space was a room with fine woods, a bar, and several plush seats. The Cinder King shooed back several Charred who haunted the room. He walked over and served himself a drink.

"Would you like some?" he asked, holding up a cup. He sipped it to prove it wasn't poisoned, though Nomad's body was Invested enough to handle any normal poison.

He took the drink, had a smile about the codes he used to follow, then downed it in a single shot. It was good stuff. He wouldn't have expected that from a planet full of religious types, but then again, the best moonshine on his own planet was made by a deeply religious people. So what did he know?

"The first offworlder I killed," the Cinder King said, sipping his own drink, "was weak. Plump, with strange long eyebrows. Tried to talk his way free through the use of some device that made his words work in our language. I didn't know what he was. Seemed better to end him, as I thought he might be some kind of demon.

"It was in his things that I found the books." He slipped one out of a bookcase next to the bar and held it up.

It was one of those Silverlight guidebooks, an antiquated volume—the type originally written through much travail by people visiting the various planets on difficult expeditions. That had grown easier with the advent of space travel, and Nomad felt something had been lost with the ease by which people now went from world to world.

This old volume was a survey book, which spoke of many different planets. A little on each one. Curious. It was written in Thaylen, which—with the eyebrows of the man who'd been carrying it—indicated the former owner had been from Nomad's own homeworld.

"The translation device," the Cinder King explained, "allowed me to read this book. The translator gave out eventually, but I'd been wise enough to commission written translations by then. The book speaks of all kinds of peoples from all kinds of places in the stars. I think this section is about you, though, isn't it? Rosharan. A tall people with distinctive features, like here in this illustration. Warlike, extremely aggressive, dangerous."

"A generalization," Nomad said.

"In your case, though?"

"True enough," Nomad said. "I'm surprised you invited me in. Close quarters favor me with my greater reach."

That made the man's grin grow even wider. "You are a killer. Tell me, you have them on your world, then? Kings, warlords, emperors?"

"Too many," Nomad said. "So?"

The Cinder King closed the book and rested his fingers on it. "I always felt that there was more for me to do. A greater destiny. Surely I wasn't meant to just live life in an endless rotation on the run from the light. I was important. In these books, I learned what I was to do, offworlder." He looked to Nomad, eyes glowing brightly. "I was destined to unite all of my people."

Well, Nomad had heard that somewhere before. He smiled, then he laughed. Partially because he knew the Cinder King would hate that sound. But mostly because, even here, it chased Nomad. In his early life, he'd passed through royal hands, traded from tyrant to tyrant like coins in the pocket. Until slavery had brought him low, and camaraderie finally led him to soar through the skies.

But storms. Even here, how many worlds away, it chased him. A pursuit of a completely different kind from the Night Brigade's.

The Cinder King's expression darkened.

"Sorry," Nomad said. "Just appreciating the irony of the situation. Please. Continue your megalomaniacal ranting."

The king walked over to one of his cabinets, from which he removed a very small sunheart. Barely glowing. "You know what this is?" he asked. "It's all that remains of your kinsman, the one who visited our planet, the one I slew. Your people make for terrible sunhearts, offworlder."

"I'm surprised you got anything," he said. "The man you killed probably had Breath. And he was no kinsman of mine. From an entirely different country."

"Your planet shouldn't have different countries. You should have conquered and unified it all."

"Conquest doesn't remove countries," Nomad said. "It removes lines on a map. Unity requires something else."

The Cinder King growled softly, palming the tiny sunheart. "I thought, from what I read, you'd appreciate what I'm building here. I thought you might be inspired to find a taste of home."

"Wrong taste," Nomad said. "Try some curry powder next time. It has a much better flavor than tyranny. Less nutty."

The Cinder King finished his drink, then returned the sunheart to its place. He rounded the room, passing behind one of the Charred—whom he seized by the throat. He squeezed, and the poor man didn't fight back, barely even struggled.

"I am the most powerful man on Canticle, offworlder," he said, still squeezing. "You see how they can't protest or resist? How they serve me regardless of how I treat them? I have absolute power over these." He smiled. "Once, before I rose to my destiny, I was the man who marched prisoners to their fates. There, I realized that true power is not in the ability to kill, but in the ability to control the killers."

Well, that's a perfectly normal and reasonable way of thinking, the knight observes sarcastically. I'm sure he's absolutely the most well-adjusted man on the planet, eh?

Nomad said nothing. He wished that this sort of sentiment was rarer. He'd seen it in guards, in watchmen, in soldiers. He saw it in the eyes of anyone who got a thrill from having others in their power. The stronger the person they could push around, the more intoxicating they found it.

This man might not be brilliant or clever, though he'd think himself both. Truth was, he didn't need either to be dangerous. Because he had power, and power—wielded by a fool—could crush anyone, smart or not. These types always gravitated toward positions of authority. During the time he'd been in command, Nomad had been forced to learn to spot them. If you didn't, then…well, this happened. They grew, like a nest of rats.

The worst kind of bully. Many were deeply afraid, which was why they lashed out. Those you could eventually help. This kind of man, though…

Well, it was refreshing. He'd faced far, far too many enemies with pictures from their kids in their pockets. Killed far too many people who never deserved it. But here was a man Nomad could run through with a hot poker and only feel bad for the poker.

"What is it you want, offworlder?" the Cinder King asked, finally letting go of his Charred, who fell to his knees, gasping. Nice to know they could be strangled. That didn't work on all Invested beings.

"I'm a simple man," Nomad said, helping himself—without asking—to more of the liquor. "I run. I just want to stay ahead of the people hunting me."

The Cinder King turned to the front of the cabin, where the open doorway to the pilot's station let them see the windshield—and beyond that, the horizon, where light was growing ever brighter.

"Understandable," the Cinder King said. "I can protect you from those chasing you."

This time, Nomad almost choked on his drink as he belted out a laugh. "Yeah, all right, sure. Good luck."

"Stop laughing at me."

"Oh, don't worry," Nomad said, waving his fingers and finishing the drink. "I'm allowed to laugh at kings. I've got a card somewhere from my master, granting me authorization." He shook his head. Damnation, that was good liquor. He almost felt something from it—a very, very light buzz—and it took a lot to get through his body's protections.

An official entered and whispered something to the Cinder King, and some of his good humor returned. A moment later, two more entered from the deck, dragging Rebeke. Her hair loose from its braid, her mouth gagged, her eyes wild as she struggled.

Nomad snapped the shot glass down on the counter.

The Cinder King, misinterpreting the motion, smiled more deeply. He slipped a handgun from a holster at his hip and pointed it at the young woman.

Oh, the knight says, up until this moment I thought he might actually be smart.

"Compassion?" the Cinder King asked Nomad. "From one such as you? I expected more from a man of your world. After all my studies, I expected you to be ruthless."

Nomad sighed.

The official continued whispering to the Cinder King, and Nomad picked out the words "entire city" and "prospectors." The Cinder King's frown returned, and he thought for a moment—clearly aware of the area they were in. His eyes flickered to the safe on the wall where he likely kept his key, the one replaced with a fake in the chaos of the surprise attack.

He was putting it together. Damnation.

"You should have kept reading," Nomad said, pulling back the man's attention. "It's not compassion that drives me, Cinder Fool. It's not ruthlessness either." He took a pointed step forward—putting himself closer to the Cinder King, and toward the line of sight between the man and Rebeke. "I really do only want to get away. But there's one thing you need to know about my people. You promised me no tricks. And you should never break an oath to a Rosharan."

Nomad lunged to the side as the king focused again, his gun aimed at Rebeke. At the same time, Nomad formed Auxiliary into a metal ball in his hand.

The Cinder King fired.

And Nomad's thrown sphere knocked the blast from the air in a shower of sparks.