“But now we know,” said Third, “just where the Confessor found the dragons he used in his war against Owyllain.”
“It is strange to think that there is a nation of mankind on another world, sundered from us,” said Caelmark. The archbishop began to pace back and forth before the dais. “Of course, a few years ago I would have said much the same of Owyllain. But this Frankish Empire - an entire nation of men who can use magic? Their civil wars must make ours look like squabbles by comparison.”
“Tyrcamber didn’t say as much,” said Ridmark, “but I got that impression. The Frankish Empire seems to be in a three-way civil war between the loyalists, an order of necromancers, and the followers of this so-called Dragon Cult.”
“The appearance of these rifts is also concerning,” said Caelmark. “The last two wars with the Frostborn wreaked devastation on Andomhaim. A third war with an invading kindred from another world would be ill news indeed.”
Calliande felt a surge of appreciation for the archbishop. People talked a great deal about the Frostborn war thirteen years past, but they rarely mentioned the first war against the Frostborn two and a half centuries ago. Calliande could hardly blame the men of Andomhaim for that. It was dusty history to them. But she remembered it, remembered the desperate battles, the screams of the dying and the wounded, her quest to Cathair Solas that had cost so many lives…
She could remember it, but she was the only human who did, as far as she knew.
“But if the Swordbearers and the Magistri can close these rifts as they open,” said Caelmark, “perhaps the threat is not as dire as that the Frostborn posed.”
“If and when the enemies of the Frankish Empire decide to attack Andomhaim, we shall defeat them,” said Accolon. “Right now, my lord archbishop, my concern is with foes inside Andomhaim.” His face hardened. “Specifically, with the men who have brought Cintarra to the edge of ruin.”
“As it should be,” said Caelmark with a sharp nod. “It is long past time that the High King took a direct hand here.”
“I am surprised,” said Ridmark, “that you are not on the Regency Council.”
Caelmark snorted. “I was on the Regency Council. Much to the dismay of Cyprian and Hadrian and their collection of hirelings and bootlickers. I opposed this madness with the sheep enclosures and did everything I could to block them. I was successful for a time, but finally, Cyprian secured enough votes to remove me from the Council.” He grimaced and twisted his ring of office around his finger. “Fortunately, the church holds many benefices in the valley of the River Cintarra. I was at least able to block any enclosures on those villages, along with the lands held by nobles allied with me. That is probably what has kept the city from starving for the last year.”
“The Drakocenti, though,” said Jager. “I have heard of them in the past.”
Mara frowned at her husband. “You have? And you didn’t say anything?”
Jager shrugged. “They seemed so trivial and ridiculous that I barely noticed them. And they didn’t seem all that different from the other cults of Cintarra.”
“Cults?” said Ridmark. “Just how many cults are there in the city?”
“More than I would like,” said Caelmark.
“It’s not as bad as all that,” said Jager. “One of Cintarra’s problems was that there were too many people with too much money and too much idle time– the sons and daughters of rich lords and merchants and the like. At least, it used to be a problem before Cyprian and the Scepter Bank drove so many men into penury. Anyway, these bored idle rich sons and daughters invented games to pass the time, and sometimes they invented secret societies that dabbled in magic. Most of it was nonsense.”
“Except sometimes it was not, Prince Jager,” said Caelmark, “and these idle fools stumbled across blood sorcery and dark magic.”
“Aye,” said Jager. “That’s what I thought the Drakocenti were. A game for the daughters of rich men.” He scratched his chin. “Of course, I think the typical daughter of a rich man would prefer to marry Accolon Pendragon, not kill him, so the Drakocenti are clearly more dangerous than I thought.”
“I can attest that they are far more dangerous than you suspected,” said Accolon.
“I have long thought that Master Cyprian of the Scepter Bank had motives other than simple wealth and power,” said Caelmark. “Your tale, Prince Accolon, all but proves it. And there is another matter. I believe Cyprian is looking for something in the Shadow Ways.”
“The Shadow Ways?” said Ridmark.
“A maze,” murmured Calliande, the memory coming to her mind. “Beneath Cintarra. This is an old city and has been here for centuries. The Princes built a vast sewer system and a maze of catacombs beneath the streets, and parts of them have been lost or not mapped properly. And there were cities here before humans ever came to Andomhaim. There was a high elven city here, Cathair Cintarr, but it was abandoned long ago, though the name lingers. The dark elves raised a stronghold here that was destroyed, and the dwarves built a city beneath the surface. After that was destroyed, there was an orcish city on this site as well. All those cities left traces behind, and they’ve become a huge maze beneath the surface called the Shadow Ways. And no one knows how far the Ways reach or how far beneath the earth they descend.”
“They’re quite dangerous,” said Jager. “Thieves and brigands like to hide down there. Not that I ever saw it firsthand, of course.” He smiled at the obvious falsehood. “Portions of the Ways open into the Deeps themselves. There are rumors of sealed burial chambers and undisturbed treasuries far beneath the surface in the lowest levels of the Ways, ancient treasures leftover from before humans came to Andomhaim. Sometimes expeditions or bold adventurers descend into the Ways to seek out treasures. Usually, they come back empty-handed. Often, they don’t return at all. But very rarely they come back rich.”
“For the last year,” said Caelmark, “Cyprian and the Scepter Bank have been hiring men to venture into the Shadow Ways. When questioned, Cyprian claims he is mapping the Shadow Ways to prevent a surprise attack on Cintarra, but I do not believe him. I suspect he is looking for a magical artifact or relic. And if, as we surmise, Cyprian is part of the Drakocenti and the cult is working to throw Andomhaim into chaos, then we must ensure that he fails in his goal.”
“We shall have to act to stop him,” said Mara.
“I already have, though unsuccessfully,” said Caelmark. “I sent my son Rufinius to investigate.”
“Your son?” Mara blinked. “I didn’t know you had children.”
“A bastard son,” said Caelmark. “I did not always pursue mortification of the flesh, Queen Mara. Among the sins of my youth, I fear, was a tendency towards licentiousness. A common failing of young men, alas, but still a sin. One of my liaisons resulted in a son, Rufinius. Naturally, I accepted responsibility for the boy and provided his mother with a pension. I had hoped the boy would opt for a career in the church, but given his martial instincts and athletic ability, it was clear that God had called him to a soldier’s life. He became a Swordbearer several years ago, the bearer of the soulblade Starflame, and fought with distinction in the battle of Cathair Animus.”
“How long ago did you send him into the Shadow Ways?” said Calliande.
“Four days,” said Caelmark. “It can take weeks to traverse the labyrinth of the Shadow Ways, so I am not yet concerned.” The flicker in his eyes belied that. “However, too much longer, and I shall have to send men after him.”
“A Swordbearer is better equipped to survive in a place like the Shadow Ways than nearly any other man,” said Calliande.
“Yes,” said Caelmark, though he still looked distracted.
“I think it is clear,” said Ridmark, “that the Drakocenti are plotting against the realm of Andomhaim. They tried to kill Accolon, they somehow opened the rifts at Castarium, they are pushing Cintarra towards revolt, and they are seeking something in the Shadow Ways that we do not want them to find.”
“A
n admirable summary, brother,” said Caelmark. “But how shall we proceed?”
Ridmark looked over everyone. “Between us, we have many avenues to puruse. The High King sent Accolon to investigate matters in Cintarra.” He looked at the Crown Prince. “If you will accept my counsel…”
“Always,” said Accolon.
“Then I think you should investigate the lords of the Regency Council as thoroughly as you can,” said Ridmark. “As your father said, their enclosures of village land are almost certainly illegal. And even if they were not illegal, they are threatening the peace of the realm, and you can overturn them. If we put enough pressure on the Regency Council, one of them might break and tell us more.”
“Or they may try to kill Prince Accolon,” said Caelmark. “The men of the Regency Council are the sort to hire the Red Family to solve their disputes.”
“Which is why we shall protect him,” said Ridmark. “We’ll keep loyal men with him at all times, and make sure we check everything he eats and drinks.” His gaze shifted to Selene. “I think you should start investigating the Scepter Bank.”
“Why, however shall I do that?” said Selene with a smile. She gestured, silver light flaring around her hand, and suddenly she looked like an exact duplicate of Master Cyprian of the Scepter Bank.
“That is uncanny,” said Caelmark. “Such power could easily be abused.”
“True,” said Selene in Cyprian’s voice. The silver light flashed, and she resumed her normal appearance. “Fortunately, it is in my hands, and I think the Regency Council is made up of either fools or traitors. Or perhaps both. Probably both, on the balance of probability. I shall start spying and see what interesting things I can learn.”
“I may be able to assist with that,” said Jager. Mara gave him an alarmed look. “In a fully legal and open way, of course. We had come to Cintarra to visit with some of our trading partners, and I shall continue to visit with them. I’ll just ask some more…pointed questions.”
“You should do the talking,” said Mara. “You were always better at it than I was.”
Jager smiled at her. “You can stand next to me with four or five of the Queen’s Guard waiting behind us. I’ve always found that inspires a great deal of civility.”
“No doubt,” said Accolon.
“And while you investigate,” said Ridmark to Accolon, “and Selene spies, and Jager questions, Third and Calliande and I will go to the Shadow Ways. We’ll see if we can find the Bank’s men and discover what they’ve been doing, and we’ll attempt to find my nephew in the process.”
Caelmark inclined his head. “I would be grateful. Rufinius is a Swordbearer, and knows his duties…but at times every man needs aid.” His perpetual frown deepened. “Will you be able to find your path through the Shadow Ways? They are a maze.”
Ridmark shrugged. “I have some experience with exploring underground ruins.”
“Do you?” said Caelmark.
“The Labyrinth near Bastoth,” said Third.
Ridmark nodded. “And then after that, the ruins of Thainkul Morzan near Khald Tormen.” He snapped his fingers in recollection. “And that dvargir ruin in the Northerland during the Frostborn war, when we had to dig out those medvarth and a pair of cogitaers.”
Third inclined her head. “And the ruins of Cathair Selenias.”
“Oh, I was there for that one,” said Selene, “but I wasn’t myself at the time. At least my present self, which is quite preferable to my previous self. But I was there as myself for Basilisks’ Run under Urd Maelwyn. Twice, I feel I should point out.” Caelmark gave her a confused look.
“And Khald Azalar before we even met you,” said Calliande to Third. “And the High Gate, Urd Morlemoch, the catacombs under Coldinium…”
Ridmark nodded. “Thainkul Dural, Urd Arowyn, Urd Dagaash, and the Deeps near Dun Licinia…”
“Thank you, you have quite made your point, brother,” said Caelmark, a rare note of amusement in his deep voice. “Though if I wanted a bard to sing me a song of the Shield Knight, I could pay any bard in the city a silver coin.”
“Yes, but you’re talking to us, which means we won’t even charge you,” said Selene.
“I…find myself unable to refute your logic,” said Caelmark. “If that was logic.”
“I am the most logical of all women, except when I am not,” said Selene.
“Mmm. Yes. Well. You shall, of course, have the aid of the church of Cintarra,” said Caelmark. “Once I return to the cathedral, I shall have my scribes prepare documents commanding any clergyman of Cintarra to aid you in all things. Should you require any assistance, you need only present them.”
“Thank you, archbishop,” said Accolon. “We shall be glad of your aid.”
“The men of the church are still subject to the High King of Andomhaim,” said Caelmark. “Did not the Dominus Christus command his followers to render unto Caesar that which is Caesar’s?”
“I hope I am not overmuch like Caesar,” said Accolon. He smiled, something he rarely did since Caitrin Rhosmor’s death. “For one thing, Caesar was stabbed to death.”
“Aye,” said Ridmark. “And Caesar didn’t have the help of the Anathgrimm. So when Cyprian or his followers decide to hire the Red Family, they’ll have a much harder time getting to you here.”
Accolon’s smile faded. “You’re right. We must be cautious. The poison of the Drakocenti has spread deep into Cintarra, and we can expect they will try to stop us before we can root it out.”
“You must be our guests here this evening,” said Mara. “We shall be glad to have you.”
“Indeed,” said Jager. “The Anathgrimm have many fine virtues, but skillful conversation is not one of them.”
“I must return to the cathedral,” said Caelmark. “The supervising of alms is taking up an increasing amount of my time. I had best be there if any disputes require my judgment.” Calliande caught a flicker of fatigue in his expression, and she wondered how hard Caelmark had been working. No doubt like Ridmark, he would work to the uttermost limit of his strength and then some.
“Brother,” said Ridmark. “Before you go. Do you know where Prince Tywall is?”
“From what I understand,” said Caelmark, “the Prince of Cintarra fell ill several weeks ago and has been in the care of physicians and Magistri hired by the Regency Council. He has been isolated in the Scepter Bank, lest the fever spread.”
Ridmark snorted. “Convenient.”
“Aye, but plague is a dire danger,” said Caelmark. “There have already been outbreaks of fever in Cintarra, and I only stopped them by ordering immediate quarantines of the infected.”
“The Regency Council let you do that?” said Accolon.
“The Regency Council is too busy stealing the fields of peasants to bother with the business of actually governing the city,” said Caelmark. “Someone had to take action to safeguard the city, and I did. It is possible that Prince Tywall is indeed sick.”
“It is also possible that he’s being held captive, and the illness story is a convenient excuse,” said Jager. “It seems like the sort of thing Cyprian would do.”
Calliande nodded. “But if he really is ill, then I should examine him. I have a better chance of healing him than anyone save for a few other Magistri.”
“Perhaps I should start by looking around the Scepter Bank,” said Selene.
“That may be best,” said Ridmark. “Both for Tywall Gwyrdragon’s sake, and for Cintarra itself. The Regency Council’s authority derives from governing in the Prince’s name. If we get Tywall away from the Council and under guard here, we’ll both keep him safe and dissolve the Council’s authority.” His troubled expression deepened. “I think the sooner we get him safe, the better.”
“Do you think the Regency Council would kill Tywall Gwyrdragon?” said Caelmark. “He is but a boy of ten.”
“The Drakocenti were willing to murder Caitrin Rhosmor and make it look like a suicide to get at me,” said Accolon with a
scowl. “I am certain they have no scruples whatsoever.”
They stood in silence for a moment, contemplating those grim words.
“Well,” said Jager at last. “I suppose we had better get started, then, hadn’t we?”
***
Chapter 5: The Wraith
Moriah Rhosmor joined the other laundresses approaching the back gate of Lord Hadrian Vindon’s splendid mansion.
At least, she thought of herself as Moriah Rhosmor, though she really shouldn’t. The name Moriah was hers, but she was a bastard and had no right to the name of Rhosmor, at least not legally. Her father had only one legitimate child, Caitrin, and he had left her little more than the noble title and the family name. Moriah’s relationship with Caitrin had been friendly but distant. Caitrin’s mission in life had been to become beautiful and draw the eye of a powerful and wealthy man who would either marry her or secure her future as a long-term mistress.
Then she died.
Moriah had never assumed anyone would ever take care of her, so she had set out to take care of herself. That had gone well for years, and she had begun amassing a small fortune.
Then the Drakocenti had found her, and they had killed her friends.
Before that, Moriah had spent years as a thief, staying ahead of both the city’s militia and the Red Family, and she had learned a set of particular skills from that experience.
Skills she now turned to her revenge against the Drakocenti.
But none of that showed on the surface. Right now, Moriah wore a plain gray dress and leather boots, her long red hair tied back and concealed beneath a cap. She looked little different than the other laundresses walking to the back of Lord Hadrian’s domus.
“Come along, girls, come along,” said Lord Hadrian’s seneschal, a withered old stick of a man named Octavius. Some of the other women had warned Moriah never to find herself alone with him, advice she followed to the letter. Not out of concern for her safety or her virtue, but for the simple fact that killing Hadrian Vindon’s seneschal would ruin her plan.
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