War God's Will

by Matthew P Gilbert

  Kariana had been awake for some time, and was growing dangerously bored with the hospitality of House Noril. It wasn’t as if she were a prisoner. Not yet, anyway. She could leave, but it might well spoil her cunning plan, and she very much needed that plan to succeed. Her life expectancy was decidedly shorter without it.

  She sat on the edge of her bed, fists grinding at her temples, waiting. The bed was a lovely four post affair with a great canopy that could be drawn for privacy, and plenty sturdy, but there were no mirrors on the ceiling, and at any rate she was quite alone. It offered little entertainment.

  Kariana eyed numerous shelves about the room. No alcohol, just books. She had it on reliable authority that there was, indeed, some entertainment value to be had from books, but she had never personally experienced it. Supposedly, one needed the ‘right’ book, which she took to mean something similar to the ‘right’ position. The problem of course being that reading was a crashing bore, whereas even mediocre sex was entertaining enough to slog through to find what one really liked.

  Still, there was nothing but time, and she was beginning to get a headache. She pulled a small tome from the shelf at random, holding it gingerly, as if it were both fragile and poisonous. It claimed, at least by its name, to be of some moderate interest: Naked Aggression. She thumbed through it, disappointed to see that not only was there no nudity, but there were no illustrations at all. Even so, it was the only thing even remotely interesting, and so it would have to do. She took the book and lay down on the bed, holding it over her head at arms’ length.

  She waited perhaps an hour longer, occasionally throwing the book at the wall and being forced by sheer boredom to retrieve it. Apparently, House Noril did not find it necessary to mark the time with bells or devices, which Kariana found simultaneously annoying and refreshing. In the end, she was actually growing somewhat interested in the tale, which seemed to be about a man seeking vengeance, and the knock upon her door came as something of a shock.

  Polus opened the door without waiting for her to respond. True, she had waited several seconds as she finished the paragraph she was reading, but that hardly made it acceptable. Then again, you’re at his mercy. Perhaps you should get used to thinking like that.

  Polus cleared his throat and looked at her expectantly. She looked back, not entirely certain what he expected, but doing her best to seem imperious rather than confused. At last, Polus spoke, his tone slightly sarcastic. “Would you prefer I came back some other time, Empress?” He gazed pointedly at the book.

  Kariana closed it with a bit more force than was strictly necessary, feeling a bit like a child caught in the liquor cabinet. “No, not at all. I’m just feeling a little… uncertain.”

  Polus gave her a wry smile. “No doubt. But let us find that certainty. Do you intend to go through with this or not?”

  Kariana tried to read the mind behind his aging features, but they told her little. “And how will I be treated?”

  Polus shrugged. “I can only speak for Davron and myself. We certainly intend to look upon recent events in a…” He paused, raising an eyebrow as he considered his words, apparently unable to find the right one. “Well, let us just say we will be favorable to you. As for the others, we will do our best to convince them, but in the end, they will hold their own counsel on the matter.”

  Kariana scowled at him. “’Favorable’ could mean any number of things. Perhaps you’ll simply imprison me instead of executing me.”

  Polus grunted, but smiled as well. “There would be some irony there, considering what was done to poor Aiul. But no, I assure you, I mean no treachery. Davron and I will cling to you on this matter. I simply find it uncomfortable to speak openly of the chicanery we intend.”

  Kariana gave him a sour smile. “It seems to run in the family.”

  “Now, if only my son would learn practicality to balance his sense of duty, he would be able to fill my shoes.” He raised an eyebrow. “I’d prefer we go through the formalities.”

  Kariana felt a slight chill, but nodded.

  Polus stood a bit more erect as he spoke. “Tasinal Kariana, I, Luvox Polus, accept your submission for judgment by the council for the slaying of Prandil of House Idlic, and place you under arrest. You are hereby remanded to the custody of House Luvox and House Noril, and you are relieved of all duties and powers you currently hold, until such judgment is made.”

  Kariana felt tears welling, even though this was going just as she had planned. She had certainly not foreseen this turn of events at the start of the day.

  But then, there were a number of others who were going to be surprised at the twists life offered soon enough. For once, she would be the first instead of the last to know.

  It was well after midnight as Rithard took another sip of whiskey from his tumbler. The Southlander was snoring softly on the couch before the fire. I should be too, I suppose. But then, he had always had a problem with sleeping. His mind raced like a jackrabbit on the calmest of nights, and the simple act of lying in bed had never done much to quiet it. Booze helped, for a bit, but he inevitably woke in the wee hours of the morning as the effects wore off. Typically, he would walk the halls, or contemplate his own mortality for an hour or so, then finally get back to sleep, only to wake exhausted. Then coffee aplenty, and the process started anew. Such was life for Rithard.

  Tonight, though, was an altogether different matter. Technically, it would be morning. Chiefly, it was different because it was the first night Rithard had ever faced the prospect of sleeping when the literal fate of the world might be on his shoulders.

  He lowered himself to the floor again and began measuring the baseboard with a ruler, a simple, poetic line running through his head over and over: “The key to true knowledge lies within the heart of wisdom.”

  It had been right before them all along, the cryptic last words of Amrath's book. Many had puzzled over the strange characters and words, and every generation of thinkers had put forth guesses, but none of them had been even close. Because there is perhaps a single man left in the world who can read ancient Ilawehan, and he claims to have been sent here by a god.

  Amrath could have written it in Priman. No one would have understood the significance. It sounded so pithy, so trite, just the sort of thing a wise man would use to close his great work. But this way, he had kept it a subject of constant debate, and it would draw particular attention from someone who could read it.

  “It's here, somewhere,” Rithard muttered. He finished a measurement and scribbled notes. He just needed accurate dimensions, and then he could consult the original architectural drawings and find the difference. He glanced up at the statue of Amrath and smiled. You magnificent bastard! But why didn't you leave us a warning in the damned papers?

  The Southlander woke with a sharp cry. Rithard started, almost whacking his head on a book shelf, and turned to see what was the matter.

  Ahmed sat bolt upright, sweat lining his brow, turning his head back and forth in confusion and fear for a moment, dreadlocks fanning about his head. He ran a hand over his face, confused or distressed, perhaps both. “I was somewhere! Somewhere important!”

  “Mei, it must have been a battlefield, the way you shouted!”

  Ahmed's eyes were wide, though not so much with fear as awe. His whole face was almost radiant. “No! It was a place of wonder! It is here! In Nihlos!”

  Rithard glanced back at the baseboards, longing to complete the measurements and solve this next piece of the puzzle. “Is it important?” Mei, here I am, tossing rigor and procedure in the ashbin and siding with 'feeling'.

  The Southlander bobbed his head up and down with vigor. “There is no doubt. It was a true vision.”

  Rithard sighed and placed the ruler on his desk. “Do you have any idea where it was?”

  “No.”

  Rithard considered this a moment. I suppose we could show you drawings—”

  “No,” Ahmed interjected. “I need a map.”

  “Of?�
��

  “The whole city.”

  Rithard turned back to the shelves, trying to remember which book held maps. It came to him quickly, and he placed the tome on the desk, open to a two-page drawing that depicted Nihlos from the eye of a bird. A wry smile crept across his lips as he noted the artist’s signature: Talus Ariano. Then it will certainly be accurate.

  He gestured to Ahmed, and the Southlander came over and took a seat at the desk. Rithard was tempted to say something snarky about Ahmed's sorcery, but a knock rang out from the library entrance, and not a gentle rapping as Slat might do, but a banging that carried some weight. As in 'authority'.

  “Mei, it's after midnight!” he shouted. “You're trying my patience, I'll have you know!”

  Rithard struck an indignant pose as the door began to open. From the corner of his eye, he saw the Southlander poring over the map. Rithard felt his pose and the feeling behind it fold in on itself when Caelwen, not Davron, stepped into the room.

  Caelwen, armed and armored, helmet cradled in his elbow, offered a slightly wounded, reproachful look. “'Idiot'? Really, Rithard, I know you're smarter than me, but...”

  Rithard snorted. “Obviously not, or I wouldn't look so stupid now, would I? I presumed you were Davron, prying into my affairs as usual.” He paused a moment and peered at Caelwen’s bruises. “Mei, what happened to your face?”

  “It’s nothing,” Caelwen answered. “And Davron's part of it, actually.”

  “He gave you that?” Rithard asked, shocked.

  “Mei, no, that’s not what I meant!” Caelwen snapped, shaking his head in frustration. “I reckon he’s given me my beating for the month already. Stop playing about. This is important!”

  Rithard raised both hands and nodded his surrender. “Fine. Do go on.”

  Caelwen waited a moment, as if expecting Rithard to make another snarky comment, then continued. “Davron and my father have called an emergency council session. I'm rounding up all house leaders within the city.”

  “In the wee hours of the morning? When we can't even field a quorum? Ridiculous.”

  Caelwen shrugged. “I don't know a thing about it. I just know they want all of the house leaders immediately.”

  Rithard glanced at Ahmed, who was still studying the map with a bizarre, almost religious intensity. “Technically, I'm not a house leader yet, and I am occupied with vital business. Send them my regrets.”

  Caelwen clenched his jaw. “It's not that kind of meeting, Rithard. They mean it. As in, you're going, one way or another. That's the order.”

  “You wouldn't dare!”

  “It would hardly be the first time I tossed you over my shoulder and hauled your drunken ass to where you needed to be!”

  Rithard felt the edge of his mouth creeping into a smile, there, and decided to simply let it happen. He chuckled softly. “Let me fetch my things.”

  “Here!” shouted Ahmed, jamming his finger at the map. “This is the place!”

  Caelwen, suddenly noticing the Southlander, stepped toward him and extended an arm, confusion all over his face. “Ahmed! Eleran said you had left.”

  Ahmed's face lit up at the sight of Caelwen. He rose and they grasped firmly at the forearm. “Well met, Caelwen. My people did leave, by Ilaweh's command. He sent me down another path.”

  Caelwen looked back at forth between Rithard and Ahmed. “So I see. And what are the two of you up to? You both look almost feverish!”

  Rithard snatched his cloak from the back of the desk chair and draped it over his shoulder, scowling. “Saving the world, or at least we were, prior to being interrupted for Davron's foolishness once again.”

  Ahmed pointed to the map and said in a solemn voice, “We must go here, Caelwen.”

  Rithard bent down to examine the map where Ahmed's finger was tapping. “I can't say as I know what that place is.”

  Caelwen raised an eyebrow and again looked back and forth between them before speaking. “I know what's there. Sort of. I've never been inside, and I don't know anyone else who has, either.” He gestured for Rithard to follow as he started for the door. “It's some kind of mausoleum, I think, House Tasinal's property. It's somewhat ominous, actually, surrounded by fencing. The commoners steer clear of the place; they claim it's haunted.”

  Rithard gave Caelwen a triumphant look, pointedly not accompanying him. “There, you see? That can hardly be coincidence. Do give Davron my regrets for being unable to make his silly midnight tea party.”

  Caelwen glowered at Rithard. “Two points: one, you are going, because I have my orders. Two, you'll need to talk to the Empress about accessing that building. Even if we were all fine and dandy about breaking and entering, and believe me when I say I get that I am the odd man out on that, I am fairly certain you are going to need some kind of key.” He jerked a thumb at the door, again beckoning Rithard. “There's no way it's stood all these years without having some warding from the founders. The commoners tend to carry things off down there unless there's reason not to.”

  Rithard heaved a great sigh and shambled forward, shoulders slumped in defeat. “Presumably Tasinalta will be at this meeting as well?”

  “I would assume so.”

  “Very well. Ahmed, you have the run of the house, but please do remember the slaves see you as a killing machine. Try not to frighten them overmuch until I return.”

  Ahmed chuckled. “It's nearly one in the morning. I am going back to sleep, you poor bastards.”

  Having recently had the run of House Noril, Rithard had no trouble finding the reception room. The last time I was here, Davron questioned my manhood for being effeminate enough to read books. But give the devil his due, he had a Meite bend a knee before him. Maybe he has a point about that 'bold action' after all.

  He looked about as he entered, taking a quick headcount. Caelwen, helmet on now, stood guarding the closed doors. Polus, Davron, and Kariana were nowhere to be seen, presumably all involved in whatever machinations had brought the rest of them here. Rithard spied Olemus Freth and Lucreta Strall sharing a couch, both looking irate. Olemus requires two seats, so there's no room for me there.

  Alone in a chair, a redheaded, waifish young woman sprawled, knees over the armrest, her expression somehow both disinterested and fascinated at the same time.

  Across the way, on the other side of a low table, his mother, Teretha, sat side by side with a young man Rithard didn't recognize. She's looking particularly self-satisfied. Why is she here instead of whatever his name is? Clearly, this is more than I thought. He went over the headcount again, troubled by his mother’s presence. Three house leaders here, counting me; another for Mother, assuming she’s sitting in for House Prosin; three in the kitchen as 'twere; one missing in protest; and four off gallivanting Mei knows where. He looked at the strange young man again as he took a seat next to him, trying to place him and failing. Rithard had just decided to actually ask the fellow his name when Davron, Polus, and Tasinalta entered the room, Davron swaggering, Polus stiff-necked and formal, holding Tasinalta's arm, escorting her like a gentleman, and Tasinalta—

  Mei! She's actually in chains!

  The empress seemed to be struggling to maintain her dignity as Polus gently led her to a standing position in the center of the room, then stepped back to stand shoulder to shoulder with Davron. Kariana stood waiting before them, head high, cheeks pale, a slight tremor to her breathing.

  Davron cleared his throat to speak, when the young man next to Teretha raised a hand, rose to his feet, and spoke. “There's been some sort of mistake. I shouldn't be here.”

  Davron smiled at the young man briefly, then grew somber. “No mistake. Sit. You'll understand soon enough.”

  The youth looked about with wild eyes, as if he had suddenly found himself in a cage. “But I'm just a slave,” he stammered, the ragged edge of panic in his voice. “I don't belong in a Council meeting!” He turned, pleading to one, then another, his voice growing shrill. “Prandil should be here, not me! I'm
just a slave!”

  Polus declared in a flat voice, “Prandil has been slain.”

  Gasps and whispering erupted throughout the room. For a moment, Rithard was certain the boy was going to have a stroke. The poor fellow’s eyes bugged, and he began gasping for breath as if he were being choked. “Oh, Mei help me, it wasn’t me!” he wailed as he fell to his knees, trembling and sobbing. “I love Prandil! I would never—!”

  Davron stepped forward and slapped the young man hard. “Do you not see we have the slayer here in chains?”

  The boy looked up at Davron, stammering. “I don't understand.”

  Davron extended a hand. “You are Thrun, of House Idlic, yes?”

  “I am, but—”

  “You are now acting Patriarch. Prandil filed the paperwork to make you his heir last week.” Thrun opened his mouth to say more, but Davron silenced him with a glare and an upraised index finger. “Behave with some of the dignity of that office and hold your questions until this is sorted out.”

  Thrun allowed Davron to haul him to his feet, the expression on his face like that of stunned cattle waiting for the blade. Davron guided him to his seat, a patronizing smile on his face.

  “He did it,” Thrun mumbled as he slowly lowered himself to the couch. “He really did it.” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed quietly.

  Polus cleared his throat. “If we are quite done with histrionics, there is a pressing legal matter.” He looked about the room, as if daring anyone to interrupt him, before he continued.

  “As I stated, Prandil is dead. Tasinal Kariana came to me a little over an hour ago, confessed to his slaying, and has been relieved of her duties until she can be tried. However, this has created a governmental crisis.”

  Teretha actually laughed out loud at this. “You cunning devil!” she purred at Kariana. Kariana smiled slightly, but remained silent, allowing Teretha the spotlight of Polus's ire at the interruption.

  Polus shot Teretha a hard look, but continued, “Specifically, it is now no longer possible for us to meet the requirements of quorum.” He paused to let the point sink in. “Normally, the law requires we have two thirds plus one member to act on official matters, meaning nine of the twelve houses must be present for any vote to be valid. With four house leaders in some state of incapacity, we are required to convene, and by simple majority approve of new house leaders. In essence, we are without government until we approve the newest crop of elders. Hence the call at this late hour.”