Wisdom Lost

by Michael Sliter

Darian, for all his many faults, was not prone to violence against women, traitors excluded. He had never touched Fenrir’s mother like that. If he had, boy or not, Fenrir would have stuck a knife in his throat. As it was, Fenrir’s hand tightly gripped his sword.

  “You are drunk. Kapnis, Mel, deal with the count. Sigmund, you…” Darian’s eyes shot to Fenrir’s. “Bring the girl. It’s time we had a family discussion.”

  Interlogue: Sloth

  “I wish we had more time together, sweetling. It will not be long now. There is so little of you left. Just a small bit of humanity resisting all of your basest instincts. Lust. Aggression. Hatred. Violence. Wrath. Soon, those will be all you know. But, as things stand, you will no longer be aware of yourself. Whatever there was of you, sweetling, will be gone. It is a mercy, as your body—bereft of you—may be called to serve me a final time.

  “You may be called to battle. I do not relish this, sweetling, but events in the world are forcing my hand.

  “There was a time, sweetling, when nothing could spur me to action. I have learned from those times, hence my intervention in the world now.

  “When Oletta pierced my body, it damaged more than just my physical form. My mind was also crippled.

  “I told you of my pride; how I began to truly believe that I was a goddess, that the Blood Maiden was immortal. That I was superior to my followers and contrarians. That my powers were unrivaled, and I could destroy armies and cities with a wave of my hand. Being so near death, experiencing the very real fear of the end, and the existential terror associated with that, my life, as I knew it, was shattered.

  “I grew indolent, listless. I returned to more settled lands, and locked myself away from the world. I no longer gave commands or orders; no longer accepted gifts or visitors. I no longer took lovers, though it seemed as if Wantran had some interest. Perhaps her motivation for saving me? I will never know.

  “I was lost, sweetling. It was pure sloth, and it did not suit me.

  “My domain stopped its expansion, both on Saiwen and Imsul. The Wasmer were allowed to retreat into the mountains with Oletta, and your Ardia remained mostly unsettled. I cared not. I only emerged periodically to accept a donor. I occasionally experimented with healing magic, injuring one follower and trying to heal him with the power of the next. It was the only thing of use that I accomplished during that time.

  “Amorum was hundreds of miles away, but he wrote to me occasionally. His words were those of forgiveness and acceptance, sorrow and love. He was as good a writer as an orator. I never wrote back.

  “Intenu continued to lead my school of pasnes alna without input from me. I didn’t care, and couldn’t gather the energy to care. She continued to search for the man who held her bonds. If she was ever successful, I do not know. We lost contact in what was to come.

  “My most trusted captains—Wantran, Yinra, Pinetoe—spent most of their efforts maintaining order in my vast domain, putting down the occasional unrest, and carving out their own little domains.

  “During this time, Ultner began to rise in the center of my domain. A man, a god, with powers to rival mine… with the oratory skills of Amorum, as well, and the knowledge to rival Intenu. A charming man who held the hearts and minds of the people.

  “I would call it a rebellion, what Ultner started, but it was more than that. It was a movement, a shift in the mindset of the general populace. Ultner evidently taught of freedom, of a release from the bondages that I had created. A breaking of my chains around the necks of the people.

  “Was it so bad, sweetling, having most of the world united under a single ruler, a single ideology? Was that not better than a thousand warring factions across the land, with the few peaceful havens—like Aquine—living in fear? That is what freedom begot, sweetling. Violence and anarchy. Chaos.

  “Pandemonium.

  “Nonetheless, Ultner’s own idealogies spread like a great forest fire, and people rose to his standard. They began to assemble, organize, and destroy everything that I had created.

  “However, in my lassitude, I hadn’t the energy nor the motivation to confront this problem. It was a thousand miles away and seemed like a minor thing. Certainly something that my underlings could handle.

  “It was a long while before the extent of the problem became evident, at least to me. My followers feared me, as always, but also lied to me. To their goddess!

  “They led me to believe that Ultner was under control, that my various forces from across my domain had the rebellion well in hand. So, I continued to take little interest. I continued to remain slothful, idle, listless.

  “During this time, Ultner found his own army of pasnes alna. Some, I later learned, he had recruited as I had. Most, however, came from Intenu’s homeland—Menoga, far to the northwest, from across the seas. These were miernes armas, enslaved pasnes alna who were both revered and controlled.

  “They wreaked havoc across my domain. Destroying cities, monuments, knowledge. Killing my devout followers and my soldiers, murdering my pasnes alna wherever they could be found. The dispensation of power was so great that the landscape itself began to change. Verdant plains turned to wastelands and deserts. Hills and mountains crumbled. New rivers formed, and lowlands were flooded.

  “Still, I did nothing. Still, my followers lied to me. And, sweetling, I knew they lied. I knew it! But, I languished.

  “That is, until the day I received word that Amorum had died. That washed away my indolence.

  “Tiernum was once a great city near the center of my domain. It was known for its architecture, for the beautiful arches that spanned the city like a spiderweb. Amorum made Tiernum his home as he tried to unite my domain, bringing the people together for the common good. He was largely impotent. My people knew better than to insult him, but without me by his side, he was unable to truly accomplish much.

  “Also, he was growing older.

  “Because Tiernum had become the seat of the government, it was an immediate target for Ultner’s movement. The city was utterly defensible; the walls were great, and the arches were functional, allowing soldiers to deploy to breaches in an instant. Whatever remained of Aquine’s great defensive weapons were stationed there. Ah, if only we had focused on science—inventing—perhaps we could have duplicated those weapons and protected Tiernum. Perhaps, then, Amorum would have survived. Perhaps Ultner would never have risen in revolt, would never have forged an alliance with the Menogans and their miernes armas. Perhaps I would not still be on this earth.

  “Tiernum held, sweetling, for months. The Book of Amorum says that its namesake won the battle of Tiernum. As always, it was an oversimplification. In reality, the battle was a protracted siege, with attacks testing the vastly outnumbered defenders almost daily. But, the city held! Amorum rallied the people again and again. His voice finally swayed the masses, and he again had the hearts of the people. But, counter to all of his beliefs, the thing that brought the people back to him was war.

  “I could only imagine that he recognized this juxtaposition, and that it demoralized him. He was nothing if not a man of principles.

  “Eventually, Tiernum seemed invincible—such faith the people had in Amorum, if not me. But it was not to be.

  “Amorum was assassinated, killed in the council chamber along with the other leaders of the city. It was said that Ultner, himself, led the infiltration attempt. Not a person in their path survived, and the council chamber was bathed in blood, none recognizable.

  “Of course, I did not see this. How could I, wallowing as I was? Everything I learned of the assassination was from second-hand accounts, spoken to me by the broken men of Tiernum. The city did fall, of course, having lost its rallying point.

  “Though we had rarely spoken, for years, Amorum’s death felt like part of me died. The decent part. The good part. The part that may have deserved some sort of redemption. I was decimated.

  “Again, I felt a great urge for vengeance. Stronger, this time, than even when Aquine had been de
stroyed. And, this time, I had the power to seek such vengeance. I would exact payment for what Ultner had done. I would take it from his flesh. I would rip it from his soul. I would keep him alive and make him suffer.

  “I would destroy Ultner, totally and utterly.”

  Chapter 36

  The moonlight twinkled down, bathing the garden in a soft, blue-white light—the type that would lull a person into a sense of calm and security. The winterblooms and frost weeds bobbed gently in the breeze, snow falling in a soft, meandering fashion. Only the crunching of two pairs of boots in the snow interrupted the serenity of this secluded spot.

  Emma had taken to spending her evenings in this place. Throughout the days, her head was on fire, throbbing and buzzing while she attempted to organize the shambles of the Army of Brockmore for their return to Ardia, and likely certain death. And, at night, though exhausted, at the moment that her aching head touched the pillow, her mind was lost in a red anger. Anger at Escamilla for ever assuming she would want these worries. Anger at Unael for failing to convince the magnates to support her war. Anger at herself for an endless barrage of failures and bad decisions. And, anger at any god who might have his ear cupped against the door to their world.

  But, in this isolated, unmaintained garden, lost in the uninhabited emptiness of the Hold, Emma could sometimes find her calm. It was strange that she could feel so alone when surrounded by others for every minute of every day. Even as she slept, her room was ringed in Apple-ornamented steel. But, here, near an unused portion near the center of the Hold, with no way to reach it without passing dozens of checkpoints and hundreds of armed men, she was given a bit of distance. And, strangely, she felt less alone when actually by herself.

  But on this night—her last night in the Hold—she was not alone.

  “You are quiet tonight,” Lord Unael said, looking up at the moons, both visible at different ends of the sky. In the lunar light, his cragged face mirrored the surface of the celestial bodies.

  “Can you blame me, my lord?” Emma asked, pausing during their slow pacing through the garden. She looked at him askance. He’d joined her this night for a reason. Last words of encouragement, perhaps?

  “No. No, Emma. Were I in your position, I would be in a constant rage.” So, they were more alike than she’d suspected. “But I can respect quiet. Tell me, how is your chaplain recovering?”

  Ignatius was, frankly, in poor shape, even these weeks after his Trials. His face had been sewn up, leaving him with two wicked, purple scars on either side of his face. His molars, strained from holding the iron bar in place, had cracked and required removal, lest they splinter and be swallowed. His chest was scarred with the Yetranian Ascension, and the nails that they had driven through his feet still hobbled him. Strangely, with his new lisping whisper, he most often complained of the old pain in his knee rather than a myriad of new aches.

  His healing might have been more complete, except that one of the lash wounds had become infected and lingered. He was still abed, though not without a great number of visitors. His faithful were more fervent, and his bravery had even won over some of the unfaithful. Not to mention the native Jecustans who were now clamoring to join Ignatius’ fight against Pandemonium, but had yet been turned away.

  But that was a problem for a different night.

  “He is resting comfortably among the men, in a wagon probably more lavish than anything you have here in the Hold. I’m certain that he is bathing in the attention of his followers, almost making his Trials worth it.” She remembered the utter, hopeless fear in his eyes. “Almost.”

  “I am glad for him. Truly,” he added, noticing Emma’s disbelieving expression. “The Grand Taneo has long been a thorn in my side, using his divine authority to thwart my mere mortal laws. As terrible as the coming storm will be, I have to say…. It was a fantastic feeling, telling him no.” Unael was smiling a wide smile—maybe the first authentic expression of joy that she had seen from him over the past months.

  “And I will never be able to thank you enough for that.”

  “My debts are now cleared. When the dust settles, I still expect to retain my control of the city, though I’ll be bereft of nearly every favor and certainly be hated by the most devout Yetranians. Rential, particularly, has been working to usurp me. But, it will be alright. It will be alright.” His gaze was distant.

  Emma had nothing to say, so she began a slow walk once again. She pulled her coat closer to her body against the chill of the evening, wondering how much worse it would be once her army was again on the march. She should try to take one last bath this night, even if it meant not getting a wink of sleep. How long would it be until she could be alone and surrounded by warmth once more?

  “Emma. We never found the traitor, did we?” Unael asked, abruptly changing the subject.

  “No, my lord,” she said, bitterly. “Somewhere, among my army, is the person who betrayed Lady Escamilla and all of us. The person who allowed fear to penetrate our ranks. We had men try and desert—officers, even. I haven’t been as heavy-handed as on the march, but I fear another demonstration will be in order if my army is to survive. At least the Yetranian soldiers are in hand.”

  “Hmmmm.” Unael grunted. “And I hear that Ultner’s Fist will not be joining your march?”

  The Silver Lady had come to Emma two nights previous. With a formality not usually associated with the blonde-haired warrior, Trina had rescinded on their contract, leaving a great amount of money in Emma’s coffers. Emma had even bribed her to stay, willing to use some of Unael’s loaned money—which he knew would never be paid back—but Trina had not budged. She’d simply smiled a sad smile and walked away. Ultner’s Fist would be leaving them tomorrow when they left Farrow’s Hold, heading north to Algania.

  “No, they decided to part ways,” said Emma.

  “Probably a good decision on their part.”

  “Yes, probably.”

  The conversation again lapsed into silence, aside from the hacking cough of a soldier somewhere in the distance. The garden wasn’t perfectly secluded, as echoes from around the gigantic Hold seemed to congregate here. Last night, Emma had heard an unnamed administrator practicing a speech and a loud couple copulating somewhere distant. The latter had brought her a smile, followed by the sobering realization that she hadn’t slept with a man since Fenrir. There was a cute man—another guardsman in the Plateau—who had been flirting with her, but that had been just before she’d lost most of her hand. Afterward, he’d showed no interest in her.

  Since then, the thought of love, physical or otherwise, had fallen to the wayside.

  The same, as it turned out, could not be said of Unael.

  “Emma,” Unael said suddenly, grabbing her good hand, not ungently, and turning toward her. His hands were those of an old warrior—powerful, rough, and everlastingly dry. She turned toward him, simultaneously pulling away as if by accident. But he did not release his grip. “This is suicide. Disband your army. Send the men home in twos and threes, or we’ll help relocate their families to Farrow’s Hold. The gods know we have enough room in this city, though work may be hard to come by at first. You’ve lost half your mercenaries. Your faithless men desert you. Going back to Ardia will condemn all of you to death.” He held her gaze for a long moment, eyes intense with a strange fire. Emma averted her own.

  “No. There is no going back. The Yetranian soldiers will return to Ardia regardless, led by Ignatius and the more fervent captains. It is their divine right, they believe, to retake the city. The worse the odds, the greater the glory to Yetra, or so says their damnable book. The men cannot return home, as my agents have said that there are great lists detailing the names and residences of every man who fought in my army. Families have gone missing, and any attempt to contact them would put wives and children in danger.” At least, that was the story Emma had ordered circulated among the men, to prevent further desertion. The only path to their families would be over the bodies of the Rostanian Ar
my. “And, this is what Escamilla wanted.”

  Disorder’s warmth flared in her heart, amplifying her headache. Emma had her own reasons to desire a war, though her life would likely be forfeit. And, she knew that Disorder knew she was coming for him. Emma didn’t care. Vengeance was a powerful motivator.

  “Escamilla. You remind me so much of her, from when we were both young.” He grasped her mangled hand with a speed she wouldn’t have attributed to the large, older man. “Strong and unflappable, a cold fire burning behind your eyes. Escamilla had that, woe be to me. My life may have been different without her. I was just a young, trumped up lieutenant who managed to get promoted when half the regiment had dysentery. I’d no real military knowledge of any kind—most thick-hided farmers don’t.”

  “How did you meet Escamilla?” Emma managed to extract her half-hand from his grip. She thought about pushing him back, crunching her way back to where Nail and Havert waited in the eaves, but felt a magnetic pressure to learn more about her lady.

  “Escamilla came to me—a decade older, a mystery to the idiot boy I was at the time—to sell some rations. Hardtack and beans, surplus from one of her holdings in Draston. At the time, we were at the southern border, near Thaul; this was after they had sacked Kial.” Thaul was a sprawling country with a hundred major cities, sharing a border with both Jecusta and Ardia. It had once been a Jecustan conquest, before the empire had collapsed, and Emma knew that they had often threatened to return the favor.

  “I had no idea of the range of my authority, and she was surprisingly… understanding. Her visit was for more than to unload a few thousand pounds of shit food. Escamilla came from nothing, like me, and maybe wanted to help. She mentored me, a seventeen-stone plow horse of a soldier… on commanding some, on influencing others. We spent a lot of time together, then. Good time. If it weren’t for Escamilla, I would never have achieved what I have achieved. A curse, most times, to be honest. But I wouldn’t change it. When Escamilla passed…” Unael’s face screwed up with an unrestrained, painful grief, which she realized he must have been holding back for weeks.