by NS Dolkart
In the end she settled on, “I can hold the baby too if you like.” That prompted an appraising glance and a small nod, which was enough to delight Dessa no end. Mother never did hand the baby over, but Dessa was glad to have been considered worthy anyway.
In the meantime, she was starting to gather more about what was going on. Her people were coming out of hiding for good, and would have to find allies to help them retake their homeland. Criton was going to take them northward first, to find allies on the northern plains. They would leave tomorrow.
Dessa was almost certain that that meant she would not have to marry Malkon any time soon. As happy as she was at the thought, there was also a sadness that caught her off guard, because if she didn’t marry Malkon, she wouldn’t be Vella’s sister-in-law after all. She had already started thinking of her as a sister, and had loved the way Vella kept reassuring her that her family would love Dessa. They could still be friends even if the marriage never happened, but it wouldn’t be the same.
On the other hand, she was already related to Bandu, sort of. Father said that Criton was his cousin, and that meant that Bandu was family too. Wouldn’t Vella be jealous! She was sure Vella would be just as fascinated by Bandu as she was.
She spotted Vella in the crowd, standing beside her husband Pilos. Did she dare to go join them? Pilos had always sort of frightened her: he was so aloof and disdainful. He was the same way with Vella, and possessive too – that was part of what frightened Dessa about getting married. What if Malkon would be the same way with her? Vella said he wouldn’t be, that he was a nice boy, but Dessa wasn’t convinced that such a thing existed.
Dessa was halfway there before she realized that Pilos’ parents were right behind him. She hated Pilos’ parents. They always acted as if Dessa’s engagement was an attack on them – it had been quite a coup for them to marry their son to Hessina Highservant’s eldest grandchild, and they jealously guarded the place that gave them in the community. They were always polite to Vella, since her inclusion in their family gave them status, but they also did their best to keep Dessa from her.
Now they would hate Dessa even more, because the Dragon Touched suddenly had two leaders instead of one, and Dessa was related to both. Or, at least, she would be if the wedding still happened – maybe she ought to marry Malkon after all, just to beat them at their stupid game. It was a tempting thought.
In any case, they’d all seen her walking toward them, so it was too late to turn back. She had wanted to tell Vella about everything that had happened to her today, and everything she’d seen, but instead she walked up and said, “Vella, do you want to come meet my new cousins? Criton’s related to us, you know, and his wife said I could hold their baby! You should come meet her!”
Vella gave her in-laws the sort of look that said, “This girl’s not really my friend, but what can you do? She looks up to me.” Then turned back to Dessa and said in an indulgent tone, “Sure, Dessa. I’d be happy to.”
She kept up the act until they had put half the crowd between them and her in-laws, and then she said, “Criton’s related to you?”
Dessa nodded. “Wait till you meet his wife, the witch. She’s so amazing.”
But by the time they got to where Bandu was standing, the crowd was quieting down to hear what Criton himself had to say about their future. Dessa tried to give a hurried introduction, but her mother shushed her and Bandu just nodded absently and turned to look at Criton while he spoke.
“Today we armed ourselves,” he said, “right under our enemies’ noses. But if we want to take Ardis, we’ll need more than weapons. We’ll need an army. So tomorrow, we’ll start off northwards. I’ve heard that the people of the northern plains used to be enemies to the Ardismen, so I’m hoping they’ll willingly rise up to help us take Ardis back.
“They might not, though, so I want us all to be prepared. If we’re going to build an army big enough to beat the Ardismen, we can’t let every other village turn us away. We need a reputation as frightening as the red priest’s was, so that people will be afraid not to join our cause. That means we’ll have to make an example of anyone who refuses to help us. Do you all understand?”
There was a murmur of assent from the crowd, but Dessa wasn’t sure she understood. Was Criton saying they’d have to kill everyone who didn’t join their army? That couldn’t be what he meant, could it?
“I hope this war will be short,” Criton said, “but there’s no way of knowing. We’ll just have to trust Salemis that God Most High is with us and will protect us from our enemies.”
The adults around Dessa nodded solemnly. That seemed to be the end of Criton’s speech, because he thanked everyone and took two steps toward the crowd before suddenly freezing. He was looking at something behind Dessa and to her left, and as she turned to see what it was, she heard frightened cries and gasps of, “Is it an omen?”
A little girl was walking toward Criton, and she was covered head to toe in blood. She had been on the outskirts of the crowd at first, and with all eyes on Criton, few had seen her as she approached. Now there was horror and confusion. Was she real? Or a ghost? A vision of things to come?
The girl couldn’t have been older than six, seven at the most. There was no expression on her face as she approached, dripping, dripping. She was leaving a trail of blood behind her – did that mean she was real? Either way, Dessa shuddered at the sight of her.
She looked back at Criton, who had the same look of horror on his face that most of the others did. But as the girl got closer, his expression suddenly changed.
“Delika?”
At the name, the girl broke into a run. Criton bent toward her, and she hurled herself into his arms, sobbing. Nobody in the crowd knew what to make of that. Neither did Dessa, but unlike the others, she was too curious to gossip and wait. Bandu was already walking to join Criton and the girl, and Dessa followed.
“I didn’t even realize,” Criton was saying. “I should have known, but I never thought – how did this happen?”
Dessa couldn’t quite hear the response, muffled as it was by the girl pressing her whole face into him, but she thought Delika said something about the fire in the temple.
“Where are the others?” Criton asked suddenly, kneeling and pulling her away so he could look at her. “Rakon and Caldra, and Adla and Temena?”
The little girl shook her head. “I don’t know. I ran away.”
Criton sighed. “They’ll be gone then, either way. I hope they’re all right.”
Suddenly, she rushed in and hugged him around the neck again. “Please let me stay with you!”
“Of course,” Criton said. “Bandu? Is that all right?”
Bandu nodded, and said nothing. Behind Dessa, a voice spoke.
“You two know this child?”
It was Vella’s grandma, Hessina Highservant, and she was just as formidable up close as Dessa had feared she would be. Even from afar, she had seemed terribly judgmental and severe, and proximity only reinforced that impression. The rest of the crowd might react with horror or fascination or wonder or trepidation at the blood-soaked girl who had thrown herself on Criton, but Hessina didn’t. Hessina only disapproved.
“This is Delika,” Criton said. “We rescued her from the elves, and from Mayar…”
“She stays with us,” said Bandu. “You don’t care.”
The “you don’t care” was a command, not a statement. Dessa loved the way Bandu talked.
“Well,” Hessina said, “as long as you take responsibility for her. But for God’s sake clean her up.”
Criton looked relieved that Hessina wasn’t giving him any more trouble. He turned back to little Delika with a smile.
Dessa was relieved too. More than anything, she was glad that Delika was a real girl and not some terrible omen of things to come. Because if she had been an omen – well, Criton’s whole neck and chest were covered with blood.
14
Narky
For three hellish
weeks, Narky stayed hidden in the room the Graceful Servant had prepared for him. It was not the accommodations that bothered him – the bed was fine, and the meals they brought him were good. The problem was the crushing boredom. He wished someone had taught him to read, so that he could at least try to amuse himself with the books that were in his room. Not that he thought they’d be especially interesting if he could read them, but anything would be better than sitting alone on his bed and waiting for news.
The Graceful Servant or one of her followers always gave him updates on the situation outside whenever they visited to bring him food or take out his chamber pot, whether there had been any real developments or not. He got to know a few of the other followers who came to visit him: Ptera, the young widow who had turned to Ravennis in her grief; Taedron, the big, nervous man who always called the Graceful Servant ‘Teacher;’ wispy Magara, whose voice was so gentle and soft that it put Narky on edge. They were all clearly intimidated by him, whether because of his history or his general appearance, it was hard to say. Narky found that he preferred the Graceful Servant’s company.
On Narky’s third day in the room, Ptera passed along rumors of a dragon north of the city, supposedly trying to raise an army of its own with which to conquer Ardis. From this Narky gathered that Salemis must have visited his former home and met the other islanders there – the talk of an army was clearly ridiculous. The next day, the story was that some of the Dragon Touched had survived the purge, and were sure to try to take back their city. Someone had spotted Criton, then.
The Graceful Servant was pleased with all this nonsense. She said, “The people no longer trust Magor to protect them. They see an enemy in every shadow, a dragon in every cloud. Can they cling to their God for long? Just a little longer, and we will show them how weak Magor truly is. When Ravennis reveals His might, the people will flock to Him as their true protector in this world and the next.”
“Let’s hope so,” Narky said. It was hard to feel hopeful after three days lying low in a dark room.
On the fifth day, the news from outside was shocking. The Dragon Touched had raided several villages, stealing weapons from under their servants’ noses, and even sacked the town closest to the Dragon Knight’s Tomb. Reports on their numbers ranged from hundreds to thousands – it was no longer possible to believe that all this fuss was about Criton alone. There must have been a community of Dragon Touched hidden out there after all, a community that Salemis had rallied during his visit. Criton must be overjoyed.
How had Bestillos missed them all? The red priest had had no difficulty seeing through Criton’s disguise, and Bandu had insisted that he could track them by the smell of Criton’s magic. A clan of hundreds, of thousands, all lurking near Ardis undetected seemed impossible to reconcile with his knowledge of the red priest’s power.
But villages did not sack themselves. A community of Criton’s kin must exist, and they were beginning to assert their power, just as the followers of Ravennis meant to. It appeared as if Magor really was doomed. The vultures were circling. Or the ravens, rather.
The days passed slowly, as Narky spent his waking hours waiting for news that didn’t come. The Ardisian Council of Generals sent scouts to assess the strength of the Dragon Touched army, but apparently these had yet to return. The generals were raising a massive army of their own, while in the shadows, the Graceful Servant and her followers spread their gospel throughout the city. The time was nearly at hand – they had to prepare the populace for the great confrontation between them and the priests of Magor.
Then at last the day came. The Graceful Servant came to get him, bringing with her a hooded black robe.
“You want me to put this on?” he asked. If the idea was that he could travel through the city unnoticed that way, it wasn’t going to work: his dark hands and face would still be visible to anyone who looked. What was the robe for, then?
“The priests of Ravennis wore these garments,” she replied. “Do you object?”
Narky sighed and took it from her, and she left the room to wait for him to change. The garment was long, at least, and would hopefully keep him warm in the chillier weather. But Ravennis forgive him, he didn’t want to be a priest! Was that what the Graceful Servant wanted from him? If she thought he could do it well, she was very much mistaken.
When they stepped out of the house, Narky was nearly blinded by the light outside. The sky was overcast, but that only meant it was uniformly white and unbearable. Though the alley struck him as deserted at first, soon he and the Graceful Servant were joined by a small crowd of other Ravennis worshippers, and together they set off. People gasped and stared as they marched through the streets as a unit, squeezing through countless alleyways before bursting out into the temple square. It was uncomfortable how right the Graceful Servant had been: though the prophetess of Ravennis stood no more than three feet away from him, all eyes were on Narky. His presence had made the desired impression.
The Ravennis worshippers fanned out, and the Graceful Servant stepped toward the Great Temple of Magor. The temple was a gigantic, hulking edifice of painted stone, with murals of hunting scenes visible past the outer support pillars. There were stylized spearheads seeming to burst out of the roof above each pillar, and the tip of each spearhead was painted a very convincing red. A large permanent altar stood in front of the temple, with gold-coated boar’s tusks at its four corners. The sight of it reminded Narky of the Boar of Hagardis, and he suddenly wished he had a spear to hold onto. At least then he’d have something to do with his hands, besides letting them hang impotently at his sides.
“Priests of Magor, I challenge you!” the Graceful Servant cried, and her voice boomed throughout the square and echoed off the temple’s walls. It was magic; it had to be. Like Bestillos, the Graceful Servant was not just her God’s High Priestess, but His chosen, His representative on earth.
At first, no priest came to answer her challenge. A crowd of citizens, however, was beginning to gather outside the temple, watching to see what would happen. For a good five minutes the Graceful Servant and her pupils stood watching the crowd grow, waiting for the priests of Magor to show their faces. The Graceful Servant even repeated her challenge, mocking the priests with her tone. Why hadn’t they come out yet? It made them look weak.
Finally, five priests emerged from the temple, all carrying spears and dressed in red robes. “Who are you to challenge us?” asked their leader, a thin man in his forties. His voice was deep and gravelly, and it did not boom like the Graceful Servant’s, but cut through the air as if all distance was illusion.
“I am the Graceful Servant of Lord Ravennis, Keeper of Fates and Lord Among the Fallen. God of the Underworld.”
The priest let out a bark that never quite became a laugh. “The God of Laarna, you mean. Laarna, which was destroyed, and its Oracle slain. I am glad to finally meet you face to face, woman. I was beginning to think you no more substantial than your dead God. And yet, here you are. Where did you hide to avoid the fate of your sisters, eh, Graceful Servant? In a stable, with a pile of horse dung to disguise you?”
“Your High Priest Bestillos was no more observant than you are,” the Graceful Servant answered. “Perhaps that is why he was so easily killed. Magor’s chosen, killed by a boy with a crossbow, a servant of Ravennis. Here he stands today, the slayer of your champion, defying Magor’s power in His own city. You mock me to cover for your God’s weakness, a weakness that only grows more obvious by the day.”
There were whispers and gasps from the crowd as she introduced Narky, but the Graceful Servant barely paused before she moved on. “You have mentioned my priestly sisters,” she said. “I was there when our God spoke to us and commanded the Venerable and Youthful Servants of Ravennis to stay behind and die, so that He might conquer the underworld through them. That was their task, and they performed it unquestioningly. If Ravennis had chosen to let them live, they could have evaded Bestillos as easily as I did.”
The pries
t of Magor opened his mouth, but the Graceful Servant went on in her booming voice: “Perhaps Magor lost His eyes when the Boar of Hagardis was slain. Or before, since He tried and failed to eliminate the Dragon Touched. He has certainly lost His strength now, when the Dragon Touched no longer cower in fear but go rampaging across the countryside. I have come here to demonstrate, before all the people of Ardis, that Ravennis is a greater God than
Magor ever was, and that it is His protection the people should be seeking.”
At last, the Graceful Servant stopped to let Magor’s priest speak. “Those are bold words,” he said. “Especially coming from a so-called ‘Oracle’ of a God whose people were slaughtered and enslaved. I am glad you have come here to us, so that we can teach you a lesson and demonstrate to all your deluded followers that Magor still reigns in Ardis.”
At this the other priests raised their spears to the heavens, as if the very existence of their weapons proved their God’s power. It was a ridiculous, theatrical gesture, but Narky had to admit that the crowd responded to it.
The Graceful Servant clearly didn’t care. “Magor’s power is broken,” she laughed. “Ravennis, who rules the land of the dead, will soon rule over Magor as well. If you do not believe me, then believe the words of Narky of Tarphae, who slew both the Boar of Hagardis and your God’s High Priest.”
The square went silent in anticipation of Narky’s speech. It was extremely intimidating. Narky had never spoken in front of a crowd before, and he keenly felt the hundreds of gazes that were directed at him. He froze for a moment, a moment that seemed to last for hours. But nobody spoke in his place, and at long last he took a deep breath and addressed the crowd.
“Everything she says is true,” he said, speaking at the top of his voice and wishing that he could project it the way the Graceful Servant did. “I killed the boar, and I killed Bestillos. The Oracle of Laarna told us the truth those months ago – the Gods are being judged, and Magor has been judged most harshly. Even His victory at Laarna was an illusion: Ravennis outmaneuvered Him. The people of Laarna sacrificed themselves to make Ravennis the God of the Underworld, and now He can reward them in the world below while Magor’s power here in our world crumbles.