Money.
A man might have a strong sword arm…but what good would that do if Cyprian hired a dozen strong men?
The Scepter Bank had been wealthy when he had taken it over, but Cyprian had made it both rich and powerful. No one ever crossed him, at least not twice, and those who defaulted on their loans from the Bank regretted it. With the Bank’s collection of loans, Cyprian had holds over many of the chief nobles and merchants of Cintarra, and they knew better than to challenge him. No one had protested when the son of a whore had been raised to the Regency Council after Prince Cadwall’s death.
At least, no one within Cyprian’s hearing.
By rights, he knew, he ought to have been the ruler of Cintarra. He had come from nothing, had started with nothing, but he had made himself strong and feared. Had Cyprian been given a free hand to do what he liked, he would have crushed the unruly commoners and put an end to all talk of revolt. But no matter how much money and power he acquired, there was one obstacle that stood in his path.
He wasn’t a nobleman.
Cyprian detested nobles, loathed them for their pedigree and unearned wealth. He hated them almost as much as he hated priests and churchmen, who were useless parasites who lived off the tithes of commoners in exchange for anodyne, mealy-mouthed platitudes about the afterlife and morality. Cyprian doubted that there was anything but oblivion after death.
He had tried to find a noblewoman to marry in hopes of acquiring power, but here he had found another obstacle. The lords of Cintarra were happy to borrow money from him, even to see him become powerful, but none of them, not even the poorest, would let his daughter marry the son of a whore. Utterly impoverished nobles had declined his interest in their daughters, even when their daughters were fat cows with no prospective suitors whatsoever.
It seemed his advancement had been blocked…and then the Theophract had found him.
“You are an ambitious man, Cyprian of the Scepter Bank,” the dark elven sorcerer had said, face hidden behind that snarling dragon mask, “but your imagination has been limited. You think in terms of wealth and political power. But such material things are shadows that arise at dawn and pass away at sunset. The Heralds of Ruin need your talents. Serve them well, help us to find and open the Great Eye, and you shall have power beyond gold and titles. You shall be the first of a new order of dragon gods to rule over mankind forever.”
That had been years ago…and the Drakocenti had been born from that fateful meeting.
Again, Cyprian felt a flicker of rage, though he forced it down. He was so close, so very close. His men had been prowling through the Shadow Ways beneath Cintarra for months, and they had almost found their way to the Great Eye. Once they located it, Cyprian and the other Drakocenti would need only to activate their marks and cast the spells, and the Great Eye would open.
And then Cyprian would have power far beyond a strong sword arm or even gold.
He and his bodyguards came to the southern garden of the Prince’s Palace. The vast courtyard within the red granite curtain wall had been divided by numerous smaller walls and colonnades, creating a maze of courtyards and gardens. The southern garden was a pleasant space, part garden, part orchard. Paths of crushed white stone wound their way through grass and beneath flowering trees, and a fountain bubbled in the center of the garden. Cyprian bade his bodyguards to watch the entrances to the garden and then walked onward by himself.
Seven of the lords of the Regency Council stood in the shade of one of the trees, waiting for him. There were fifteen other members of the Council other than Cyprian, and seven of them were part of the Drakocenti.
“Master Cyprian,” said Lord Hadrian, inclining his head. The fat lord believed he ought to have been the High One of the Drakocenti, though the fear of crossing Cyprian had stilled his tongue on the matter.
“High One,” said Lord Lythan with a slight bow.
“Enough,” said Cyprian, keeping his tone mild. He detested the other members of the Regency Council, even those on his side, but he needed their help. “Until we have dealt with the problem of Prince Accolon, do not speak of our brotherhood, and do not show your marks to anyone. If we try to draw on their power, the Keeper may see it, and if she does, all will be lost. We are not yet strong enough to face such power.”
Lord Lythan sneered. “I fail to see what is so fearsome about Calliande Arban. Pretty enough for her age, I’ll warrant. I suppose I would deign to bed her once or twice before discarding her out of boredom.” A few of the other lords laughed.
Lord Hadrian did not laugh. While Cyprian did not like him, he had to concede that Hadrian Vindon was no fool. “Do not speak of things you do not understand, Lythan. I accompanied Prince Cadwall on his march against the Frostborn when I was still young and fit. I saw the Keeper wield battle magic against the Frostborn, and I saw Lord Ridmark take up the sword of the Dragon Knight when all was lost at Dun Calpurnia. Aye, I would fear to face either one of them. If you wish to fight them, be my guest. There won’t be enough left of you to bury, which would at least save your heirs the price of a coffin.”
Lythan scowled, but Cyprian spoke first.
“Cease this dissension,” he said. “This is no time to quarrel among ourselves, brothers. Abbot Caldorman and Prior Simon were to kill Prince Accolon. Well, it is clear they failed so badly that Accolon learned of our existence. What is done is done. We must decide how to proceed.”
Silence answered him.
“Well,” said Lythan, “for a sufficient sum of money, we could hire the Red Family to kill Accolon this very night.”
Hadrian shook his head. “It’s too soon. If an assassin of the Red Family stabs him to death, it will be obvious that one of us is behind it. For that matter, it may not be possible for the Red Family to kill him. Their assassins are skilled, but they cannot work miracles. Accolon is a Swordbearer now,” it seemed Hadrian had noted that as well, “and he has his own men around him, to say nothing of the Shield Knight and the Keeper. And the damned Anathgrimm as well.”
“Lord Hadrian is right, brothers,” said Cyprian. “We must be patient as the spider is patient, and not show our hand too soon.”
“What do you suggest?” said another of the lords. Sir Tristan Bregan was the youngest of the members of the Regency Council, and the least experienced. He had taken his father’s place after the old man had died, and Cyprian had welcomed Tristan’s ascension. The father had been incorruptible and had opposed the enclosures at every step of the way. It had taken Cyprian all of three weeks to bring Sir Tristan to the side of the Drakocenti. Though he found Tristan useless otherwise. The doughy young man lacked all skills and had no confidence whatsoever.
“We do everything we can to assist Prince Accolon’s inquiries and give him our full cooperation,” said Cyprian.
A rumble of displeasure went up from the lords.
“We stand to lose a great deal of money,” said Lythan.
“Aye,” said Hadrian. “All of us have built large estates out of the enclosed village lands, and each of us owns tens of thousands of head of sheep. Accolon and the High King are already ill-disposed towards the enclosures, and the Crown Prince will have the Keeper and the hybrid bitch and that up-jumped halfling whispering in his ear against us.”
“You are worried about money?” said Cyprian. “What of it?”
They stared at him in silence.
“An odd position for the Master of the Scepter Bank to take,” said Hadrian.
“We are playing for greater stakes than mere gold,” said Cyprian. “Once we find the Great Eye and open it, we shall have far more than coins or lands or titles. Immortality, my lords, and power. We shall become dragon gods, and we shall reign over mankind.” He allowed himself a tight smile. “Think of the expression on that brat of a Crown Prince’s face when he learns the truth…in the final moments of his life, of course.”
“But that is still a lot of money,” said young Sir Tristan, a faint whine entering his voice. Cyp
rian resisted the urge to slap him.
“But the High One makes a good point,” said Lythan. “What do you propose?”
“Let us cooperate fully with Prince Accolon,” said Cyprian. “Let us aid his hunt for the Drakocenti in every way that we can. That may draw him close to our trail, true. But we shall blame corrupt and faithless servants. Alas, how could we know every detail of what our servants were doing in our name?” The other men laughed. “And while we keep Accolon and his dogs occupied, we move ever closer to the chamber of the Great Eye. Soon we shall find it, soon we shall open it, and then we shall never need to bow to anyone ever again.”
Though Cyprian intended to kill the rest of the Drakocenti before the Great Eye opened. He had no desire to share its power with anyone.
“The plan has risks,” said Sir Tristan.
“Aye, it does,” said Cyprian. “But we have no choice, brothers. Ideally, Accolon Pendragon would have been slain at Castarium and never come here. But things do not always go according to plan, do they? We must adapt to circumstances. We…”
“A fine speech.”
The woman’s voice was low and mocking.
Cyprian whirled, his heart thudding in his chest. He half-expected to see Queen Mara or her half-sister standing behind him. Both Queen Mara and her damnable sister had the power to transport themselves from place to place in the blink of an eye. Perhaps Cyprian had made a final, fatal error. Perhaps the hybrid queen or Lady Third had followed him, heard everything, and would report to Prince Accolon.
But neither Mara nor Third stood behind him.
Instead, Cyprian found himself looking at a blond, fit woman of average height, her cold blue eyes seeming to slice into him. She was pretty enough, but she had a peculiar sort of charisma that drew the eye, that seemed almost to compel obedience. Her blond hair had been tied back in a thick braid, and she wore traveling clothes of wool and leather, a ragged cloak hanging from her shoulders.
A belt of black leather wound around her hips, and a sheathed sword hung on her left side. The pommel looked peculiar, almost black, but red veins threaded through the metal. Something about the sword seemed to urge Cyprian’s eyes to move on, to forget that it was there.
Cyprian found that easy enough to do. The dangerous woman standing before him demanded all his attention.
“Aeliana,” said Cyprian.
The woman’s mouth twisted. “High One of the Drakocenti.”
“I told my men to guard the entrances to the garden,” said Cyprian, reaching for smooth calm. “I do hope you didn’t kill any of them.”
“No,” said Aeliana. “Explaining corpses in the Palace at this stage would be inconvenient, would it not?” She almost smiled. “Besides, your men are competent enough. It would be wasteful to kill them.”
“I am glad you think so,” said Cyprian. He took care to hide his dislike of her. He did not like taking orders from a woman. Women became arrogant so easily, but they broke like glass when threatened. In his earlier days for the Bank, collecting on loans, he had found that a few sharp blows to the face reduced even the haughtiest noblewoman to sniveling, weeping compliance. It took a much more vigorous beating to bring a man to a similar state of acquiesence, but there was nothing a woman dreaded more than becoming ugly. Sometimes even the mere threat of a blow to the face was enough.
But he still feared Aeliana. She was a Herald of Ruin, one of the Theophract’s followers, and there was something cold and mad in her eyes…
Plus, she had defied the Matriarch of the Red Family and was still alive. Few could say that.
“Is it wise for you to be here?” said Hadrian, giving her a wary look. “If the Matriarch learns that you have arrived in Cintarra…”
“The Matriarch,” said Aeliana, her hand resting on the pommel of that odd sword, “will cease to be of any account once the Great Eye opens.”
Well, that was true enough.
“You are welcome among us, Herald,” lied Cyprian, “though I do wonder why you have shown yourself now.”
Aeliana laughed. “Worried that the Theophract has tired of you, banker?” Hatred and fear coiled inside him. “Fear not. You were not the one that failed. Caldorman and his lackey failed to kill Accolon in Castarium, despite all the advantages in their favor.” She gave an irritated shake of her pretty head. “The Dwyrstone opened the gate as expected, and Caldorman had Accolon at his mercy…but the fool stopped to talk.”
“Clearly he was not schooled in the wisdom of the Red Family,” Cyprian said.
He wondered if Aeliana would take offense, but he was surprised when she laughed with genuine amusement.
“No,” she said. “He most certainly was not. I know you despise me, but we can at least agree upon our opinion of churchmen.” Her mirth faded. “I overheard your plan. It is a good one. The enclosures were intended to destabilize Cintarra and trigger a revolt or even a civil war, but they shall also serve the useful purpose of distracting the Crown Prince. Has he asked to see Tywall yet?”
“He has,” said Cyprian. “I’ve put him off with a tale of an infectious fever. That will buy us a few days, but sooner or later the Keeper will insist on seeing him.”
Aeliana nodded, frowning. “We’ll need to find a way to distract her. Fortunately, there are ways.” Her frown turned to a cold smile. “There are Dwyrstones enough near Cintarra.”
“You’re going to unleash dragons and goblins upon the city?” said Cyprian.
“Why not?” said Aeliana. “Cintarra will probably be destroyed when you open the Great Eye anyway. But I haven’t decided on a plan, not yet. I need to have a look around the city first.”
Hadrian snorted. “Take care that the Matriarch and the Red Family do not find you.”
Her cold smile turned in his direction. “Perhaps the Matriarch should take care that she doesn’t cross my path.” She looked back at Cyprian. “Proceed with your plans for now. They will distract Accolon while your men find the path to the Great Eye. Should it become necessary to take more drastic action, I will contact you.”
“As you command, Herald of Ruin,” said Cyprian with a slight bow.
“Go,” said Aeliana. “Continue your work. Soon you shall receive rewards beyond the imagination of most mankind.”
“There is one other matter,” said Lythan.
“We need not trouble the Herald with that,” said Cyprian. Best not to show weakness to a creature like Aeliana.
Her eyes narrowed. “What other matter?”
“A thief of exceptional ability called the Wraith has been targeting our domi and our properties,” said Lythan, the words tumbling out. “We have lost a considerable amount of money, and…”
“If you are having trouble with thieves,” said Aeliana, “I suggest you invest in better locks and more guards.”
Without another word, she turned and vanished into the trees. Cyprian tried to follow her progress, but she disappeared from sight. The assassins of the Red Family were skilled at stealth, and it seemed Aeliana had learned their lessons to the highest degree. Perhaps the Matriarch would find Aeliana and rid Cyprian of her. For an instant, just an instant, Cyprian considered contacting the Red Family and telling them that Aeliana Carhaine had returned to Cintarra…
No. Too dangerous. If Aeliana and the Theophract learned what he had done…well, he had seen how the Theophract dealt with traitors. Best not to tempt the Theophract’s wrath.
Not now, not when he was so close to godhood.
“Come,” said Cyprian. “We have work to do. A banquet to prepare for our gracious overlord the Crown Prince of Andomhaim.”
The other men laughed, and Cyprian walked to rejoin his guards.
###
Aeliana crouched behind a tree, one hand resting on the hilt of the dark soulblade, and watched as Cyprian and the other Drakocenti cultists dispersed into the Palace, no doubt going about their various plots.
Idiots, the lot of them. The Theophract had told them that the ancient Great Eye, h
idden far beneath Cintarra in the Shadow Ways, was a font of magical power. When they opened it, the Drakocenti would be transformed into dragon gods. Aeliana found that story so implausible that she doubted anyone would believe it.
But believe it the cultists did. There were only a few dozen Drakocenti, all told, but the Theophract had told Aeliana that the Dragon Cult in the Frankish Empire had thousands of secret adherents, enough to fill Duke Merovech Valdraxis’s growing army. What was more, the fools of the Dragon Cult believed the doctrines the Theophract had taught them, even though the Dragonmaeloch who led them was quite obviously insane.
Truly, people were stupid enough to believe anything.
But why should they not? The cosmos was a broken, disorderly place, full of chaos and randomness.
When the Warden of Urd Morlemoch opened the door that must never be opened, that would change.
But until then, Aeliana had work to do, and Cyprian and his pet cult were the tools she had.
Cyprian’s plan was sound enough. At the urging of the Drakocenti and the Scepter Bank, the lords of Cintarra had enclosed much of the arable land along the river for sheep. Apart from the unrest it caused, in another few years Cintarra would start to suffer from food shortages and perhaps even famine, given how much cropland had been given over to pasture. Any idiot could see that the enclosures were a disaster in progress, and Accolon and the Keeper and the murderer of Tarrabus Carhaine would be busy with that for some time.
Aeliana’s hand stroked the hilt of the dark soulblade, the movement almost unconscious.
Cyprian’s plan was sound…but it might fail. And Aeliana needed to open the Great Eye at any cost.
Which was why the Warden had given her the dark soulblade.
The soulblades of the Swordbearers were weapons of preservation. Which, strangely, was not a contradiction in terms. They had been forged to destroy dark magic, to defend against magical attacks, to preserve the world from dark powers. The dark soulblade was exactly the opposite. It had been created as an instrument of destruction, and to unlock its powers, Aeliana needed to employ it in acts of destruction.
Dragontiarna: Thieves Page 5