King by R. J. Larson

“Walk.”
    Scythe grunted, moving forward tentatively as if he’d gauged Kien’s headache to its exact level of endurable pain. Kien took deep breaths as he rode, trying to quell his nausea. To distract himself, he looked around.
    ToronSea hadn’t changed much in a year. A muddied main road, edged by rough walls and small stone houses, many with miniature towers. And the inn, rustic yet welcoming. Until someone yelled an alarm from within the building. “Monster!”
    â€œThey’re referring to you,” Kien told Scythe.
    The huge beast snorted and stomped, sending vibrations through all the nearby buildings.
    Shrieks echoed up and down the street. Shutters slammed closed. But the inn’s door opened and a man peeked out, brown-haired, thin, smooth-shaven, and understandably nervous. Kien recognized him. Giff, leader of the Infinite’s faithful in ToronSea. Infinite, thank You!
    Kien grinned. “Good afternoon, Giff.”
    Disgruntled, Giff sidled out of the doorway, clutching its frame. “You again—and riding a monster this time. You don’t quit!”
    â€œI’d like to.” Kien raised his voice. “Now, Giff, you know what I’m going to say. Politely this time.”
    Giff backed up against the door, watching Scythe. “So say it.”
    â€œThe Infinite is displeased because His followers in ToronSea are beguiled by worshipers of Atea. They, and particularly you, must be faithful to our Creator and seek His will.”
    Looking from Scythe to Kien, Giff’s expression changed, not easing, but quieting. “I’ll admit last year I was angry with you. But I’ve considered your warning every time I see . . .”
    â€œEvery time you see one of the Ateans?”
    Giff nodded. “Yes. I feel the Infinite’s Spirit, waiting and watching.”
    â€œNot comfortable, I’m sure, if you’ve been ignoring Him.” Kien looked around. “Where are the Ateans?”
    â€œWhere aren’t they?” Giff complained. “Look for their symbols and you’ll find them.”
    Symbols? “Thank you.” Kien nudged Scythe onward, scanning ToronSea’s stone walls until he saw the serpentine goddess coils, all death-dark, worn by entrenched Ateans. Worn by Akabe’sfirst would-be assassin. “Infinite? Have the Ateans deepened their grasp on ToronSea?”
    Yes. But there is more here than you perceive. Do as I have commanded.
    â€œLead me,” Kien prayed. “I am Your servant.” He eased Scythe’s reins, watching, sickened each time he glimpsed the goddess coils painted on ToronSea’s buildings. When Scythe grazed before a fine stone residence with a particularly large goddess coil incised on its open gate, Kien asked, “Here?”
    Yes. Speak only to the ones who answer the door.
    Bracing himself to confront whoever lived in this residence, Kien dismounted. While Scythe watched, leaning his big, dark head over the wall, Kien entered the courtyard, crossed it, and rapped on the heavy wooden door. Whoever answered would surely slam the door; he looked disreputable in his rumpled, travel-begrimed clothes.
    A pretty young woman opened the door. Clad in soft green, her hair hidden by a knotted scarf, she gaped at Kien, her blue eyes widening, particularly when she saw Scythe. “Oh!”
    Behind her, a grizzled older man stared suspiciously. “Sir?”
    A sensing of the Infinite’s compassion and His love for these two struck Kien with an almost-physical impact. He smiled at them. “The Infinite has seen your failings and seeks your hearts.”
    Paling, the young woman clasped her work-smudged hands to her throat. “What do you mean?”
    Kien lowered his voice, realizing he’d frightened the poor girl. “I’m only His servant. That’s all I was commanded to say. I’m sure that if you speak to your Creator, He will