In Service Of The King (Book 2)

by Steven Styles

  The stair ended at a small, stone chamber. Stumbling into the room, the fleeing group stoodstill, trying to catch their breath. Only a small staircase—heading upward—could be seen, one that ended at the low, stone ceiling.

  “What kind of escape shaft is this?!” Dunner said wrathfully. Hezekiah coughed, and then tilted his head to one side.

  “Quiet,” he said, motioning for the others to be silent. “Do you hear singing?”

  Listening, they could hear sounds like faraway voices lifted in song.

  “That sounds like a hymn… from midnight services!” Hezekiah whispered, incredulously. He began climbing up the short staircase; reaching the stone ceiling, he laid his ear against it. “It is!” he said. “There must be a cathedral right above us.” Joseph crept up next to him, inspecting the rock ceiling with his torch.

  “There are seams here,” he said. “Help me push.” He gave the torch to Dunner and began trying to push the rock up. It did not budge. The smoke had almost filled the small chamber completely; Jensen and his fellows were grouped by Tyrus’ feet, coughing. They heard a voice above the rock being to speak as the singing ended, though muffled somewhat.

  “My good parishioners, your giving at tonight’s service will be like the smoke of a thousand fires rising to the Heavens. Let not the black devils whisper in your ear to stop you from generosity! Come! Give!”

  In the vast nave of the cathedral, a bishop stood at the altar, gesturing to the crowd; the audience gasped; smoke was rising from around the altar. The bishop turned his face a mask of bewilderment. Below, the smoke was unbearable and too thick to see; Joseph felt around the rock above him; his hand caught on a handle, cut into the rock. He pulled on it with all his might. The rock above them began to slide to one side.

  “It’s opening!” Joseph called down. “Get the prisoners up through first!”

  Above, the Bishop’s bewilderment turned to astonishment as the smoking alter slowly moved to one side and smoke began billowing out in a great, black cloud. The Bishop took a few steps back, staring at the hole in the floor. Several thin men with unkempt beards, covered in black soot struggled up through the opening, gasping for air. Several audience members stood and began making their way hastily out of the cathedral.

  Tyrus, Joseph, Hezekiah and Dunner—blackened from head to toe—crawled out of the hole. They stood around the edge, helping their charges to stand. The Bishop stared at them in horror. Joseph turned to the man in crimson and smiled; his white teeth showed brightly in his soot-blackened face.

  “Carry on, my good priest,” Joseph told him, stepping down from the dais. He helped Jensen to walk down the aisle, past the awestruck presitly attendents, gaping parishioners in the pews and out into the elaborate foyer.

  The Bishop recovered sufficiently to point after the blackened figures as they hurried away.

  “They are devils! From the fiery pits of…”

  His rant was interrupted by a deep growl, coming from the opening in the floor behind him. Eyes wide, the Bishop turned to see a large, black beast struggle up through the floor. The lion staggered out of the pit, roared at the audience and fell over with exhaustion. Women screamed and held their children up, as they all struggled to get out of the cathedral. The bishop fainted on the spot while his aides ran for their lives.

  Opening the entrance door Joseph ushered Jensen and his fellows through, followed by Hezekiah, Dunner. Tyrus came last. He shut the door behind him. The group stood under the night sky in the fresh, cool air, resting and breathing deeply.

  “I never thought air could smell so good,” Jensen said at last. Joseph nodded.

  “That it does.”

  “Sea air smells better, friend,” Dunner remarked, lighting his pipe.

  SIX

  On the outskirts of the great city of Fehale—some distance from the cathedral—Fehale Monastery welcomed eight weary, sooty travelers into the safety of its walls. The brothers there gave the men rooms, food and use of the baths. Messages were sent by rider, out to all Shamar within half-a-day’s ride, calling them a gathering at the monastery.

  The following morning Tyrus, Hezekiah, Dunner and Joseph met in the long dining hall to talk. Joseph brought out the mysterious bundle he’d removed from G’azal’s chamber. Untying the sooty knots, he laid out the bag’s contents on a dining table. Tyrus opened up the scrolls immediately. He stood—reading in silence—scanning the documents with his keen gaze. Hezekiah was particularly interested in the odd-looking glasses.

  “Spectacles…with prisms in them. Bizarre,” he said, turning one over in his palm.

  “Why just one glass?” Dunner inquired, “Most of us have two eyes, save maybe a few pirates I’ve seen…”

  “It may be a glass for finding hidden messages of some kind,” Hezekiah mused. “Maybe for marks on a map, or certain type of ink…”

  At this, Tyrus leaned forward; he took up one of the glasses and looked carefully through it at the scrolls.

  “I see no difference here,” he said at last, looking a little disappointed. “They must have another use.” Nearby, Hezekiah held the crimson tablecloth in both hands, scrutinizing the heavy embroidery.

  “These cloths are normally used for placing under sacred candles in the cathedrals,” he remarked.

  “Ha!” Dunner said, puffing his pipe. “No honor among thieving Bishops. They even steal from themselves!”

  Joseph looked at the one of the spectacles closely; he’d never seenanything like them, but could not offer an opinion on its purpose. Taking up the bishop’s heavy money bag, he peered inside. His eyebrows rose. Slowly, Joseph dumped the bag’s content out, onto the crimson cloth. Three large cut gemstones fell out, each landing with a dull thud. Dunner gave a low whistle, picking up the nearest stone; it lay heavy in his hand,covering fully half his palm.

  “Gems of Zo,” Tyrus said, grimly, looking up from the scrolls. “The cavern was more than just a refinery.”

  “I didn’t see any other gemstones in the cavern,” Joseph put in. “They were bringing in gold ore, packed in wine barrels. There must have been a full score cauldrons throughout the cavern, each full of molten gold.”

  Setting the scrolls aside, Tyrus spent a moment in silent contemplation,his gray gaze upon the gemstones.

  “There is a man here in Fehale, one of us… a jeweler by trade,” he said, after awhile. “I will send for him to take a look at these.” The men in dining hall heard the jeweler arrive long before they laid eyes on him.

  “It is good you have sent for me…” came a boisterous voice from out in the corridor. “I have unrivaled knowledge of the lustrous, beautiful gemstone and all the many precious metals. My fellows say I have an eye like no other for spotting value.” A monk appeared, followed by a short, rather round man in his early fifties, with flaming red hair speckled with gray and bright blue eyes. He shook hands vigorously with all the men around the table.

  “I am called Gazeto,” he greeted them genially. “My shoppe is renowned in…”

  He stopped short, spying the gems on the table. “Is this why I was called here?” he demanded. “You’ve brought me away from my supper to look at these cheap, fallacious rocks?”

  “Say on, Gazeto,” Tyrus said, standing by the man. The jeweler snorted.

  “There is nothing to say, your worship,” he replied. “These stones are the bane of my existence. The market has been flooded with these…imitations. All I hear of them—from my fellow merchants that these stones come from slave mines in the far north, in barbarian lands. Curse on the man whom brought in these rocks, these stones. They are not worthy to be called jewels.”

  “I see nothing wrong with them,” Dunner piped up, puffing on his pipe.

  The jeweler narrowed his gaze at the aging sailor.

  “As if you could see anything with that cloud of smoke around you,” he retorted, lifting his chin a little. Dunner scowled at him and began to get up from his seat; Hezekiah rested his hand firmly on Dunner’s shoulder
.

  “What makes them worthless?” Joseph asked the man. The jeweler turned to the young man, his face grave.

  “The barbarian lands north of here are fraught with impurities in the soil,” he explained. “When the gems were formed, these impurities made them cloudy… and weak. They fly apart at the wrong touch; it is difficult to cut them, and most jewelers won’t bother with them; there are a few, I am ashamed to admit, whom deal with stones like this to try to fool those who do not know their poor quality; most such dealers reside in the Southern Province; I do not where exactly.”

  Looking at the table again, the jeweler spied the odd-looking spectacles.

  “What are these?” he said, picking one up. “It is like a glass a gem-cutter would use to see very small stones but I have never seen one with such a prism in it.” With obvious distaste, Gazeto picked up one of the stones of Zo. Bending down, the jeweler looked at one stone through the prism-glass. His face changed; an expression of surprise dressed his bulbous features. He looked up at Tyrus.

  “I have never seen anything like this,” he said, quietly. “There are hidden markings in this stone.”

  Taking the prism and the stone from the jeweler, Tyrus looked himself.

  “He speaks the truth,” the gray-eyed man said, gravely. He handed them to Hezekiah, whom looked at each jewel carefully.

  “They are rhunes,” Hezekiah said. “Ancient letters of a pagan alphabet. There are only three here, though. There are twenty-four others.”

  “So, the rumors are true.” Tyrus said, staring down at the gemstones. The others looked at him, puzzled.

  Joseph eyed the head of the Shamar for a moment, a realization falling on him.

  “You knew of this,” he stated, his expression dark. “You sent me down into the cavern to find these.” Tyrus let out a long breath.

  “We did not know for certain, Lord Asher,” he said, carefully. “The King has heard many rumors over the years that the corrupted priests carried rhunes with them, hidden in the sight of all; their riddle was always closely guarded. Until now.” He met Joseph’s gaze. “I once told you that secrecy is our greatest weapon.”

  “About that…” the jeweler interrupted. “How come I haven’t been given a ring or one of those new swords that I have been hearing about?”

  “Well, ” Tyrus said, directing a stern gaze at the jeweler, “Perhaps we can find another cavern of death to send you down into, since you have requested a sword.” The jeweler mumbled something to himself as he returned to studying the gems.

  “If it is any consolation,” Hezekiah said, addressing Joseph. “I did not know of this either. Besides, not all of us all brave enough to make the initial foray down into those horrid depths. Your service there was invaluable and paved the way for us to follow.”

  “Thank you, nothing,” Dunner said with conviction. “I can brave typhoons and hurricanes and pirates and rabid mermaids, but going underground in the dark… with a painted pagan priest running around was more than even I wanted to handle by m’self.”

  “Your consolation is duly noted,” Joseph said, folding his arms over his chest. He turned to Tyrus. “What else do the Shamar know of this?”

  “We know there are eight others who also possess three stones,” Tyrus said, heavily. “From a former priest guard—and the now deceased Finch—we learned that the Bishop of the Hoggen cavern had them in his possession. We knew that the ancient people of Zo originally used rhunes carved on stones; these were held by a high priest. The stones were thrown down at rituals times to spell out ‘instructions’ so to speak, from their pagan gods.”

  “Then, these stones must represent an adapation of their system,” Joseph remarked.

  “I concur,” Hezekiah said. “The men holding such stones as these must be the leaders of the rhune readers.”

  During this conversation, Gazeto busied himself looking carefully at the three stones.

  “This was cut to fit into a ring,” he announced, suddenly; he picked up the other gems. “This was meant for a necklace and this… a broach, or pin.”

  “So, this is purpose of the Spring ball at my castle…” Joseph said. “You wish to see who possesses these stones.” Tyrus nodded, gravely.

  “Apparently, they are given out in sworn allegiance to but the highest in that cursed order.” He held up one of the prisms. “Now we have a tool to see them with.”

  “A spring ball,” Gazeto the jeweler said, sighing. “Now there would be some lovely gems to see there.”

  “You will get the chance to see them, jeweler,” Tyrus said, smiling a little. “You will be accompanying us there.”

  “Do I get one of those swords?” Gazeto inquired.

  “Aye,” Dunner said, standing up. “As soon as we’re certain ye won’t stab yourself with it.”

  A GREAT throng of Shamar men congregated in the monastery’s dining hall. After their long journey the king’s men greeted one another. Amid the din of voices, Tyrus rapped loudly on a table at the front of the room. As he stood, the voices in the dining hall quieted.

  “Men of the King,” he began. “As many of you know there is within our borders an insidious evil. The Shamar has intercepted many evidences of this evil and obliterated hundreds of small gathering if these rhune-readers, these eaters of men. Seventeen years ago, a farmer of a small settlement in the forest, in Falloway province, stumbled across one of the gatherings of these rhune readers at a ritual in the forest. The farmer was understandably horrified by what he saw, also by seeing some of his fellow villagers engaging in it. This was the first evidence the Barbarians integrating with Kingdom folk, spreading their pagan beliefs in small villages, helped along by the province priests.”

  “Through the farmer, Brother Oryn—a long time member of the Shamar—discovered the invader’s cannibalistic practices; he began investigating—with his considerable resources—all that could be found about where the rhune readers had come from… and whom was aiding them. He wrote a detailed report to the King and set out in haste to deliver it. En route, he came upon a lieutenant, on patrol with a unit of Kingdom soldiers. In trying to save the farmer’s village they were ambushed by a horde of barbarians.The villagers were slaughtered. Brother Oryn was killed, and the lieutenant fatally wounded. Thanks to the lieutant’s bravery—and cunning—the message, along with Oryn’s report, was finally delivered to the King. In this report the name of Bishop Sytel was mentioned prominently, along with the history of this perversion of a religion… and its origins in our land finally became clear.”

  “Thirty years ago, Bishop Sytel—along with a few corrupted members of the Senate and various members of the powerful aristocracy—set out in search of a new experience of religion. They traveled north, to the barbarian islands of Zo, people whom were known to eat their own kind as part of religious ceremonies. The Bishop—in particular—was most taken by this, believing wholeheartedly that such heinous practices extended one’s life. In addition, the land of Zo held vast wells of gold ore and gemstones that the barbarians seemed to have no interest in. Bishop Sytel saw a way to gain much gold—with which to sway governing officials—and win powerful allies to himself. Taking the barbarian Rhunes back with him, he began to secretly spread the practices, intermingling them with the things of God into a sort of hybrid religion, in which canibalism featured in the most secret rituals. Like an infection, these putrid beliefs spread among the aristocracy infiltrating governing officials and many of the priests.”

  “What we knew of the Rhunes was little, save that they were written on some kind of rock and fostered the belief that worshiping death and eating men extend one’s life. Over the years, this religion strengthened in secret, here in our Kingdom, a hidden society based upon hatred of the King and rebellion against his just laws. Many among the poor in our land have fallen victim to these rituals of death, which we know to take place once a month on the nights where there is no moon. The cavern at Hoggen was merely one of the refineries of the forbidden ore; the
good men liberated from there tell us of such rituals taking place there, in a hidden room, and of the priests feasting on the dead.”

  All eyes were fixed on Tyrus, all ears taking in the information. Rarely did the head of the King’s Shamar speak so much. The gravity of his words weighed heavily on all of them.

  “The King is determined to exterminate this evil from his land,” Tyrus continued. “We have uncovered that heads of the rhune readers have carved the barbarian rhunes on large, precious stones.” At the words ‘precious stones’, Gazeto the jeweler let out a loud snort. Tyrus continued speaking as if he had not heard. “Take this information back to your villages and towns. Find out anything you can about whom carries these stones. If you find such information, send word to me quickly. I have dispatched a message concerning these matters to the king, which will be dispatched to all provinces from the Hall of Illumination.”

  Finished, Tyrus sat down; the meeting was over. An hour later—in the dining hall—a few remaining Shamar gathered to break bread with the monks of the monastery. Tyrus ate at an empty table near the fire, reading over a scroll. Looking up, he encountered Joseph’s face. The young man sat across from him, a resolute look dressing his features.

  “The lieutenant you spoke of, the one whom aided Brother Oryn,”Joseph asked, “was this man my father?”

  Tyrus laid his scroll down upon the table.

  “Yes,” the gray-eyed man replied, meeting Joseph’ gaze. “The message he passed to you contained crucial information. It led us to hundreds of followers of the rhunes and those whom aided them.”

  Hezekiah’s approached, interrupted Tyrus’ story. The noble man stood by the table arrayed in traveling clothes, his gray cloak over one arm. Gazeto walked up behind him.

  “We should leave within the hour,” Hezekiah said. Behind him, the jeweler looked puzzled.