by James Erich
He walked away down the hall, Sael sighing and following after him. Sael had been trying to tell Koreh he understood what was bothering him and it wasn’t really anything to worry about, but he’d apparently done it all wrong. So he nodded toward the guards to tell them to follow, and they all went downstairs in silence.
They found the vek and the others seated in the dining room, being served an enormous breakfast of kikid eggs, ham, bacon, and various fruits and breads.
The moment Sael walked into the room, his father saw him and said loudly, “I see the dekan has managed to avoid assassination for a few more hours. Wonderful!” He made no note of Koreh’s presence at all.
Sael grimaced at him. “I’m fine, thank you, Father.” “General,” Worlen said to General Meik, as Sael took the seat reserved for him near his father, “would you please explain what happened when you went to check on the prisoner this morning.”
There really wasn’t much to explain. Meik and one of his men had gone to give the prisoner some food and water after leaving him in decidedly uncomfortable conditions the night before. They also had a bucket for him, if he’d managed to make it through the night without relieving himself in the corner. They’d peered into the cell and he was nowhere to be seen. So of course they assumed he was hiding near the door. They entered cautiously, prepared to attack if the prisoner attempted to escape. But he was gone. Not a trace of him remained.
“The bolts were intact,” Meik said, shaking his head in bewilderment, “and neither of the guards on shift heard a sound all night long. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“We have soldiers searching every corner of the keep,” Worlen said, “but of course they’ve uncovered nothing. The young man is samöt, after all.”
“Koreh managed to find him last night,” Sael said. Suddenly all eyes turned to Koreh. He’d been forced to take one of the empty seats at the end of the table, and Sael was ashamed to realize he hadn’t even noticed this when he sat down beside his father. Now Koreh looked decidedly uncomfortable to be the center of attention.
“I, uh….” Koreh cleared his throat. “I can see into shadows. It’s something I’ve learned from the Taaweh. That’s how I found him.”
“What do you mean, you can see into shadows?” Worlen asked irritably. “Anywhere that shadows exist, I can see. Not all at once, of course. I have to focus. But I started searching last night in Sael’s room and expanded out from there until I found him in the room on the floor above.”
For once Worlen didn’t correct Koreh’s failure to use their titles. He looked at the young man closely and asked, “You can see anywhere, then?”
“Anywhere there are shadows, Your Grace.”
“So where is the assassin now?” Koreh looked distressed. He glanced at Sael and then back to the vek before replying, “I can’t find him anywhere in the keep, Your Grace. I’ve searched it as thoroughly as I can.”
Worlen sat back in his chair slowly. “More Taaweh magic?”
“I don’t know.” “Why would the Taaweh send Koreh to stop him,” Sael asked, “just to help him escape later?”
His father tapped his fingers on the heavy oak tabletop as he contemplated this. “We know they have a use for you. Perhaps they also have a use for him.”
BY LATEafternoon, Koreh found himself wishing the Taaweh would call for him. What he really wanted, of course, was to be alone with Sael, but the vek and Sael’s duties were making that impossible. Instead Koreh spent the day being treated respectfully by the servants, who knew he was Sael’s lover, and disrespectfully by the vek and his cronies, who probably wished he would go away. But Sael insisted upon keeping him close. Koreh suspected Sael was publicly asserting the legitimacy of their relationship in the court of Harleh, which was the main reason he put up with it. Anything to make the vek squirm.
Master Geilin and Sael’s lovely sister-in-law, Tanum, smiled at him occasionally, but even they were too busy to talk with him. And most of the interminable meetings were incredibly dull, broken only by the midday meal. Koreh was occasionally asked to provide information about the Taaweh, and he agreed to petition the Iinu Shaa for protection on behalf of the city of Worlen at the first opportunity. But for the most part, the day passed in painful tedium.
In the evening, just after the bells had rung in Nemom—which, Koreh observed, neither Sael nor Geilin bothered to perform rituals for—a messenger came running into the throne room, reporting that a carriage from Worlen had entered the outer gate and would be arriving in the courtyard within moments.
“Now what?” the vek snarled as he followed the messenger downstairs. Sael and Master Geilin trailed after him, along with the vek’s chief mage, Snidmot, so Koreh decided to follow them, hoping it would provide an interesting distraction. Nobody stopped him.
The carriage had arrived by the time they reached the lower level, and the servants had shown the passengers into the entry hall. The head butler, Diven, could be overheard issuing orders to the hall servants for someone to notify the Master of the Barracks that beds would be needed for the soldiers, and likewise for a messenger to be sent to notify Harleh’s caedan makek that a priest was among the passengers. But the moment Diven noticed the vek and Sael approaching, he snapped to attention and shouted, “His Grace, the Vek of Worlen, and His Lordship, the Dekan of Harleh!”
All activity and conversation immediately ceased as all those present bowed, the servants clearing out of the center of the room before doing so.
“Good evening, Captain,” Worlen addressed one of the passengers. Koreh knew little enough about military rank, but he assumed the vek had singled him out as the highest-ranking officer among them. Worlen also acknowledged one of the other passengers. “Father Kaüsim.”
The Captain spoke first. “Good evening, Your Grace. I’m afraid we bring dire news.”
“Of what?” The captain glanced over at Father Kaüsim, who was dressed in the kneelength gold skirt of the caedan. He was elderly and stooped, leaning heavily upon a cane with a brass head. Though he no doubt had the golden Eye of Atnu tattooed on his chest, he was too thin and spindly to display it as he would have done in his youth. He now wore a simple linen tunic and had a wool cloak thrown over his shoulders for warmth.
“Your Grace,” the withered old caedan said nervously, “something happened in Worlen during the Cabbon service. Something… unimaginable.”
Worlen was already beginning to show signs of impatience. “Yes, yes. What was it?”
“The Worlen Temple, Your Grace. It’s been destroyed.” Sael felt a chill go through him at the old priest's words. But his father seemed less shocked than resigned, as if he'd been expecting something like this.
“Tell me what happened,” the vek said. “All of it.”
Chapter 11
AGEwas beginning to tell on Father Kaüsim. His arthritic joints prevented him from getting around without the use of a cane, and even then he couldn’t walk very far. Father Tönz, the caedan makek of Worlen, was kind enough to allow the old man to remain seated during most services. But once in a while he requested that Father Kaüsim take a place upon the raised pulpit in the courtyard outside the temple. The temple wasn’t large enough to contain more than the wealthiest families in Worlen, so the less fortunate of the faithful gathered in the courtyard. They couldn’t hear the service out there, but young temple novitiates walked through the crowd, cleansing them with incense and chanting, and after the end of the service, all those present would be blessed.
“It helps to have a senior priest visible,” Father Tönz had once told him, “so people feel that everything is in order. Your presence on the pulpit gives the novitiates more authority to act on behalf of the Church and the gods.”
So Father Kaüsim endured the heat of Atnu at midday a couple of days a week, taking his turn on the pulpit. He said nothing, merely smiling and waving at the crowd as if to say, “The gods are watching over you.”
Lately this had been even more important, as the str
ange blue clouds that had settled in Harleh valley to the south had everyone on edge. Worlen was built on a hill, and the unnatural phenomenon afflicting the valley was plainly visible from the city. At night the clouds even gave off an eerie bluish glow! The vek had returned from there after the clouds had settled in the valley and had recently gone back, so one had to assume it wasn’t dangerous. But many residents of Worlen had family there—now cut off by royal decree—and the vek’s secrecy was merely adding to the anxiety.
Father Kaüsim sat in the chair the caedan makek had kindly had provided for him, smiling and waving to the crowd, while the novitiates wandered here and there, waving the censers. It was a particularly hot day for this time of year, not a cloud in the sky. He distinctly remembered that.
Then an odd thing occurred. Someone in the crowd near him gasped and exclaimed, “There are two Eyes!”
Yes, of course there were two Eyes, thought Father Kaüsim. There had always been two Eyes. What of it?
But as more and more people turned to look at the sky, he couldn’t avoid doing so himself, shielding his own weak eyes with one hand. It was far too bright. He had to look away. But he’d seen it for just a moment—there did appear to be two Eyes of Atnu in the sky, one much larger than usual.
He heard a roaring noise, growing louder while the crowd raised their faces to look at the bizarre phenomenon, and even the novitiates ceased their chanting to stop and peer in wonder from behind raised hands. Was it a miracle? A sign from the gods?
Father Kaüsim felt the searing heat just a moment before he heard the impact behind him. Then a wall of flame exploded outward from the door of the temple, engulfing anyone unfortunate enough to have been standing there. The air was pierced with screams. Kaüsim stood with much difficulty and turned around to see flames licking up from the temple skylight. Every window in the temple was alight with fire, and he saw the stained glass shattering from the intense heat of the blaze.
A moment later, the strong arms of one of the novitiates were around his waist and lifting him bodily from the pulpit. The novitiate was a large man— Gonim, if Father Kaüsim recalled his name correctly—and he more or less carried the old man to safety, shielding him from the panicked crowd with his body. When he set Father Kaüsim down in the doorway to the dormitory, the two were able to look back at the courtyard and the ruined temple without fear of being trampled.
It was a horrible scene. The fire was burning so intensely within the temple that no human could possibly still be alive inside. As the soldiers in the courtyard rushed to aid those people who had been caught by the blast from the doorway, aided by the novitiates, the upper part of the temple collapsed inward. The falling stone tumbled into the interior and another tongue of searing flame exploded out of the doorway to engulf victim and rescuer alike.
“Will you be all right, Father?” Gonim asked. “I have to get back out there!”
“Yes, of course, my son. Be careful!” Kaüsim watched as the young man rushed into the chaos, cursing his frail body for being useless at a time like this and praying for the injured and dead.
Men began forming lines to pass leather buckets of water to those near the temple from the river that ran through the center of the city, while soldiers maneuvered wheeled carts into the courtyard, fighting against the tide of people who were pushing their way out. These carts had large hand-operated pumps on them to siphon water from the river through hoses and spray it on the burning building. But Kaüsim feared it would be a long, hard struggle against the white-hot flames consuming the temple.
“Father!” He turned to see Father Yanekh rushing toward him with a small group of soldiers trailing behind him. “Thank the gods you’re all right,” Yanekh said breathlessly as he drew near.
“And you, Father.” “These men are being sent to Harleh to inform the vek of this catastrophe,” Yanekh told him. “And they feel that one of the Fatherhood should accompany them.”
Father Kaüsim knew where this was headed and decided to volunteer, rather than embarrass both himself and Father Yanekh by forcing the other priest to point out that he was otherwise of little use in this crisis. “I would be honored to accompany them, Father Yanekh.”
“HOWmany caedan survived?” the vek
asked. Sael had asked Diven to prepare the library and they were there now, seated around the fire, while the old man relayed his news. Diven had put out a bottle of sherry before departing, and Father Kaüsim sipped his now to steady his nerves.
“Less than a dozen, Your Grace. Mostly young men, novitiates with little experience, though there were a few senior caedan in the dormitory at the time.”
“Was Caedan Makek Tönz killed?” “He must have been, Your Grace. He was presiding over the service inside.”
“And there were no more attacks after that?” Worlen demanded. The priest shrugged and raised one quivering hand to his chin. “I don’t know for certain, Your Grace, but I don’t think so. None occurred while I was still in the city, and we saw no more of these… fireballs falling from the sky while we were on the road here.”
“It’s begun,” Worlen muttered quietly, as if to himself. He got up from his chair and went to stand by the window.
Sael waited for his father to say something further, but he seemed lost in thought. So Sael asked the old man, “Would you like something to eat, Father?”
“Yes, Your Lordship. Thank you. I haven’t eaten since Penent.” Sael stood and went to pull a thin strip of embroidered silk near the wall to summon a servant. When Diven appeared at the door, Sael told him, “Please see to it that a meal for our guest is brought to the dining room.”
“Yes, Your Lordship.” Diven paused a moment and then said, “Begging your pardon, but there is a young man from the temple waiting to escort the Father to the temple dormitory.”
Sael looked to the vek. “Father?” Worlen turned, looking surprised, as if he’d forgotten there were other people in the room. “What’s that? Oh, yes. Let him go. We’ll talk more with you later, Father Kaüsim.”
“Thank you, Your Grace,” the old man said, sounding extremely relieved. After he’d followed the butler out of the library, Master Geilin spoke up. “You appear to have been correct, Your Grace. The Stronni are lashing out against the city of Worlen.”
“Yes. And they’ve managed, in one fell swoop, to wipe out the heads of most of the noble families there!”
“But why attack Worlen first?” Sael asked. “They haven’t even attempted to attack Harleh, or we would have seen fireballs in the sky. Wouldn’t we? Even if they didn’t reach the ground?”
“Perhaps,” Geilin answered. “I would hazard a guess that the Stronni don’t yet know whether they want to attack Harleh.”
“No,” the vek said. “This was a message—a very strong one—to the caedan all over the kingdom. The Stronni want answers, and they want them immediately. They’ve run out of patience and they will no longer tolerate delays.”
“Then it seems to me we don’t have much choice,” Sael said. “The Stronni will lay siege to Worlen as long as the return of the Taaweh is kept a secret. And the moment they learn of the Taaweh, they will destroy Worlen outright.”
“That’s entirely speculative,” Snidmot insisted, but Sael ignored him. He knew he was right, and he knew that, for once, he and his father were in agreement. He took a step closer to the window where his father stood looking out at the garden. Outside, once-familiar plants had grown enormous and strange. “Our only hope is to do what the Taaweh ask—send me and Koreh to rescue their queen. They are the only defense we have against the Stronni, and they are weakened as long as she is held prisoner.”
“Your Grace,” Snidmot said, “I fail to see how angering the Stronni further will help us.”
“‘No point changing your mind after jumping,’” Worlen said quietly, quoting an old proverb. “We’ve already angered the gods, Master Snidmot, and they are not in the habit of forgiving.”
He turned to face the old wiza
rd. “And neither am I. The Stronni have attacked my city and killed my people. Therefore they are my enemy. If I was reluctant to side with the Taaweh before, I am not now.”
KOREH had been sitting by the fire, keeping to himself as the priest was questioned, but now he realized exactly what the vek was saying and he stood abruptly. “You don’t mean you’ll let Sael go!” Worlen quirked an eyebrow at him and Koreh quickly added, “Your Grace.” He didn’t need to alienate the man further at this stage.
“Sael may be correct about our lack of choices if Harleh and Worlen are to survive,” Worlen replied curtly.
“He’s your only heir!” Koreh pointed out desperately, ignoring the glare he was getting from Sael.
Worlen gave him a sour look. “Your concern for the kingdom is admirable. But the Taaweh haven’t given us alternatives. It’s to be you and Sael. Or is this apparent concern for Sael masking something else?” Koreh was uncertain what he meant until the vek added, “Are you hoping perhaps that, if Sael doesn’t go on this fool’s errand, you won’t have to go either?”
Koreh felt his cheeks flush with anger at this. He clenched his hands into fists and replied slowly, through gritted teeth, “No, Your Grace. It has always been my intention to go. I just don’t want Sael to go.”
Worlen smiled, though Koreh couldn’t tell if it was because the man thought he was lying, or simply because Worlen enjoyed goading him. Koreh suspected it was the latter.
“That’s enough!” Sael interrupted. He looked just as angry as Koreh felt, but his anger seemed to be directed at Koreh. “I’m not a child in need of your protection. I’m the Dekan of Harleh and a Menaük! It’s my decision if I’m to be a part of this, not yours.”
“If you go, you’ll die!” Koreh blurted out. He immediately regretted it as everyone in the room turned to look at him. The look Sael gave him was murderous, as if he’d betrayed a confidence.
“What are you saying?” Geilin asked. Koreh saw no way to back out of it now. “The Taaweh say that he’ll die if he goes.”