“You don’t have to,” said a strong voice across the room.
Dohj Cristof was on top of Ana, holding her down. As soon as Teo spoke, both faces turned toward him. Ana’s eyes conveyed the desperation she felt at the hands of the lascivious prince, but that wasn’t what angered Teo most. It was her swollen, bloody lip. The sight of it filled Teo with cold fury.
He had entered the room by means of the masons’ ladder. It hadn’t been difficult to sneak into the palace and bribe a slave to point him toward Ana’s quarters. When he looked up from the courtyard and saw the dohj shove her across the room, Teo had leaped into action. Now he was infuriated by the scene before him.
“What are you doing here?” Cristof growled. “How dare you barge in on a man and his wife!”
“I am not your wife!”
Ana pushed Cristof away and rolled from the bed. Throwing open the doors to the balcony, she hurled an object outside with all her strength.
“You little whore!”
Cristof’s face bore the twisted expression of a madman. He started to move toward Ana, then realized he would have to deal with Teo first. Gnashing his teeth, he turned and charged his adversary at full speed.
Teo was too angry to stand back and wait. He barreled toward the dohj with a savagery of his own. The two men collided in the middle of the room and caromed off a decorative table. A porcelain vase tumbled to the floor and shattered. Ana shrieked as mayhem filled the room.
“Guards!” Cristof yelled. “Come to me! Hurry!”
The two combatants were locked in each other’s grip. Cristof forced Teo to the window and pushed him backward over the sill, trying to cast him to the hard stones below. In the struggle the ladder was knocked away and banged against the ground.
Teo hooked Cristof’s foot and tripped him. Both men hit the floor, thrashing like wildcats. As Cristof scrambled to his feet, he drew a knife from his belt. The massive blade tapered to a wicked point—a fighting knife if ever there was one.
Ana ran toward the dohj, but he cuffed her with the back of his hand and sent her sprawling. Rage took hold of Teo as he saw Ana go down. Cristof advanced toward Teo, knife in hand.
“I’m going to kill you, peasant,” he snarled.
“Try it,” Teo muttered through gritted teeth.
The dohj had obviously received training in the art of combat, for he didn’t flail around but held the blade close and slashed with surprising quickness. Teo stepped back to avoid the vicious thrusts. Any one of them would have laid him wide open.
“Now you die,” Cristof vowed. He rushed at Teo and stabbed low.
Teo saw his chance. Deflecting Cristof’s arm with a sweeping motion, he collapsed his opponent’s elbow and forced him into submission. Teo’s fingers closed on Cristof’s clenched fist, which still grasped the knife but now had little control. It was a standard combat move whose coup de grâce was to turn the blade toward the assailant and finish him off.
“Teo, don’t!”
In the heat of battle Teo paid no attention to Ana’s shout. Years of training took over. He finished the move by plunging the blade into the dohj’s throat at the base of his neck. Cristof gagged, then coughed up a spray of bright red blood. His eyes rolled, and his body went limp. He hit the floor with a thump, his lifeblood draining away.
Teo stared at the dohj’s back, breathing hard as he tried to comprehend what had happened. The awful reality began to sink in: he had just killed the sovereign of the realm. Teo turned toward Ana, whose eyes were wide and afraid.
“Open up immediately!”
Fists pounded on the door. There was a pause, then the door rattled on its hinges as a foot kicked it from the other side.
“We have to get out of here!” Ana’s voice was thick from her swollen lip.
Teo ran to the balcony and looked down. Far below, waves broke against the sheer palace wall, and jagged rocks protruded from the frothy sea. Suicide, Teo realized.
He dashed to the window overlooking the courtyard. The ladder he had used to enter the bedroom lay useless on the ground. He swung his leg over the sill and began to lower himself.
“Wait!” Ana’s plea was urgent. “You can’t jump from here! It’s too high!”
“The wall is rough. I can climb down and get the ladder.”
“Please, no! You’ll fall!”
Ana held on to Teo’s jerkin, but he pulled away from her and dangled his legs until he found a foothold. The wall was old and crumbly. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, he thought. The pounding on the door to Ana’s room reminded him he had no other choice. The guards would be inside in a moment.
“Be careful, Teo! Oh, be careful!” Ana was watching the precarious descent from her position at the window.
With his fingers straining to find purchase, Teo clambered down the wall. A chunk of masonry broke away under his foot. He heard Ana scream as he plunged. His feet hit the ground first, rattling his teeth at the impact. He fell backward and conked his skull on the flagstones.
Teo squinted and shook away the dizziness. “I’m okay,” he called as he got to his feet and went to the ladder.
He was about to raise it to Ana’s window when he looked up and saw her standing at the opening with her back to the courtyard. Teo could tell from her movements she was wrestling with men who were trying to subdue her. He ducked into a shadowed niche and crouched behind a fountain.
When Teo glanced at the window again, Ana was gone. A man in the livery of the palace guard surveyed the courtyard with a stern expression. He reached out and grabbed the two casement windows, banging them shut. Then curtains were yanked across the glass.
Teo closed his eyes and hung his head. “She’s in your hands now,” he whispered to his God.
CHAPTER
9
It was a pleasant spring morning. Count Federco Borromo sat on the terrace of his lakeside palace, nibbling figs from a bowl. Of course, every day at Greater Lake was pleasant. The climate here was mild in both summer and winter, and the variety of plant life provided a lush environment that was excellent for gardening. The count’s lavish estate boasted a diverse array of flowers, shrubs, and trees, all of which thrived in the temperate setting. On this sunny morning the winds flowed off the northern peaks and ruffled the water’s surface. Later they would switch directions and blow from the plains in the south. It always happened like that. Having attained a state of near perfection, everything in this paradise was notoriously reluctant to change.
Count Federco had arrived at his palace only a week earlier. Though he had enjoyed his extended wintertime visit to Likuria with all its glitz and glamour, he felt glad to be home. The servants who stayed behind had taken good care of the place under the watchful eye of the majordomo. Still, having the lord of the manor back on the premises would tighten up operations even more.
The voice of a servant girl interrupted the count’s thoughts. “Good morning, m’lord,” she said with a submissive nod of her head. She was a heavyset lass of childbearing years, no doubt nursing an infant of her own in addition to the baby she held on her hip. “I’ve brought the boy as you instructed. He just ate. Quite an eater, that one.”
“Very good. Give him to me and leave us.”
Count Federco took the squirming child in his arms, cuddling him awkwardly until he realized what the little fellow really wanted was to be set down. As soon as Count Federco released him, the baby scooted across the terrace and began to investigate the base of a large urn. The boy’s hair was a shock of black curls that Count Federco knew hadn’t come from him. The boy had received that hair from his mother, Benita, who had died almost a year ago after a long and arduous childbirth. Though the silky curls were his mother’s gift, the other trait with which Federco’s son had been born was a curse: the blotchy port-wine stain that covered the left side of his face. Because of this blemish, the boy would be raised as a slave—never to leave the estate, never to inherit, never to be acknowledged as the beloved son he was. Thoug
h a few palace servants knew the truth, everyone else would assume the little Defective running around in their midst was just a deformed slave. Only the boy’s name might have suggested otherwise to those who gave it some thought. Count Federco had named his son Benito after his cherished wife, who was now in the arms of Deus.
The count stroked his mustache as he watched the inquisitive Benito explore the vast universe of the patio. The baby crawled around the flagstones, reveling in his newfound freedom. At length a servant approached and announced the arrival of Federco’s expected guest. Although none of the household staff would recognize the visitor, Federco knew him as the one man who would not turn away in disgust at Benito’s marred face: his old friend Ambrosius, the Overseer of the Christiani in the Forbidden Zone.
Count Federco rose to greet the saintly old man as he was ushered onto the terrace. “Welcome, brother,” he said, shaking hands. “It has been many years.”
“They fly by, do they not?” The Overseer smiled warmly. He wore a rough-spun white tunic with a rope belt knotted at the waist. Underneath his hood, a black skullcap was pulled low on his forehead. Federco knew it concealed the disfigurement that lay underneath: a scar put there by the Overseer himself as an act of solidarity with the Defectives.
A loud crash across the terrace caught both men’s attention. Benito had pulled a potted plant from a table, and the container shattered upon hitting the ground. Frightened, he began to cry, so the Overseer went to him and picked him up. Soon the baby was his usual laughing self again. The Overseer handed him to his father.
“An excellent child,” Ambrosius said. “Full of boyish mischief.”
The count grinned, then leaned close so no one else could hear. “Just like his father.”
“By his presence here, I assumed as much. Do you wish me to give him shelter?”
“No. I cut a deal with the shamans. The boy can stay on the grounds as a slave. He’s the only connection I have . . .” The count faltered and lowered his eyes.
“Your Benita was blessed in life,” the Overseer said gently. “Now the blessings of the Almighty rest upon her.”
Federco swallowed. “I know. My faith comforts me, simple though it may be.”
“Even those with simple faith can be used by Deus. And in fact it is to discuss the implications of our faith that I have come to you.”
The count did not respond at first but strode to a table and rang a handbell. Benito’s nurse arrived and took him away, leaving the two men alone on the patio. They strolled out onto a dock that jutted into the lake.
“Have you discovered more about Deus?” Federco asked.
“Such discovery is difficult in this evil world of ours. Nevertheless, I believe we are on the cusp of a breakthrough.”
“Tell me more, my brother.”
The Overseer clasped his hands behind his back and stared at the luxuriant hills across the lake. “A man has come to me. First he came in my dreams, then in body. He knew the Creator and had heard of the Pierced One. He was a seeker of truth.”
“A Defective?”
“No, he was whole. Yet he had the spirit of one who sees the broken as Deus does.”
“A brother of ours then?”
“I believe so.”
“What is his role in the mysterious plans of Deus?”
The Overseer sighed. “I cannot say what the outcome will be. Yet I discerned that this man is capable—a warrior, but much more than that. Intelligent. Wise. A divine hand rests upon him, of this I am certain. I sent him to Roma to meet the Papa.”
“For what end?”
“It remains to be seen.”
Count Federco nodded. He had learned enough about the secret religion of the Christiani to know that unresolved mystery was a necessary part of the spiritual life. The count glanced at his longtime friend standing beside him on the dock. Many years ago Ambrosius had begun to testify about the Pierced One—the one who gives instead of takes, who heals instead of injures, who sacrifices instead of abuses. “The purpose of life is to expend it for the sake of the weak and the downtrodden,” Ambrosius had said. “This is the way of the true God. His prophets cried out for justice, and the Pierced One gave us an example to follow. What few legends survive tell us he loved the poor and joined them. For this great love he was killed by wicked men.”
Though the details about the ancient religion had been lost through the centuries, Count Federco recognized these fundamental truths when Ambrosius spoke of them. He had asked to join the faith in a formal way. Because the count wasn’t called to live among the Defectives like his friend, Ambrosius had offered him an alternative: join the Order of the Cross.
The secret society of knights was fiercely suppressed in Ulmbartia by the shamans. To Federco’s knowledge, he was the only such knight in the realms of Ulmbartia and Likuria. Periodically delegates would sail up the coast to Likuria from the distant city called Roma. They would then journey overland to communicate with him privately, leaving behind carrier pigeons by which messages could be exchanged with the Christiani leadership. Count Federco considered membership in the Order of the Cross his best opportunity to establish a connection with the faith of Deus. Of course, it meant living with partial knowledge of the truth, since many teachings had been lost over time. Yet what remained was good and wise.
The Overseer turned and faced the count, gesturing at the beautiful surroundings. “Your estate is lovely, Federco. You have clearly prospered over the years. Everything you have touched has been blessed from above.”
“It’s true. Deus has given me more wealth than I know what to do with. I only wish I could give something back to him in gratitude.”
“What makes you think you can’t?”
Federco arched his eyebrows, inviting his friend to say more. The Overseer smiled and continued, “The enemies of the faith have great resources at their disposal, and they aren’t afraid to use their riches for wicked designs. Is it wrong, then, for those who stand against evil to marshal their resources as well? Deus gives us wealth so we might do good with it.”
“What do you need? Do your brothers require food for distribution? I would be honored to provide charity for the broken ones in the Zone.”
“I am thinking of something far more costly than that.”
“Is that so? Go on. I’m listening.”
“Federco, the wealth of your entire estate could fund a sizable army.”
“An army!” The count was shocked. “Do you know how expensive it is to hire mercenaries? To supply them over time? To move men and matériel around the realm? Raising an army is a task for the state, not private individuals. No man is rich enough for that!”
“You could do it, my friend, though it would come at great personal sacrifice.”
“I would have to sacrifice everything.”
“At what point would that become worthwhile to you?”
The count stared across the lake with his hands on his hips, gazing at the horizon without really seeing it. “I guess if we knew we could defeat the Exterminati once and for all, I’d consider it,” he said.
“I believe the man of whom I just spoke is going to be a catalyst for something exactly like this. Things are coming to a head. The spiritual world is in unrest, and it is beginning to manifest itself in the physical realm. I can feel a storm gathering.”
“I don’t know,” the count said, shaking his head. “This is a lot for me to take in. Who is this man anyway? What’s he like?”
“He is a foreigner from over the mountains. His name is Teofil.”
“Teofil of Chiveis? I know that man!” Count Federco’s mouth hung open as he stared at the Overseer. “He’s the most impressive warrior I’ve ever seen. He single-handedly defeated a band of Rovers and saved the lives of everyone at my castle—including me. I’d be dead if not for him.”
“It doesn’t surprise me. As I said, the mighty hand of Deus rests upon him.”
The count turned away from his guest and gazed toward h
is palatial house. He studied it for a long time, taking in its grand marble columns, its ornate facade, its manicured gardens. At last he sighed and faced the Overseer again.
“Alright,” Federco said, “if the opportunity presents itself to crush evil underfoot with a final destruction, I will give whatever Deus asks of me.”
“You are wise, my friend. Yet be prepared. It may be that Deus will ask for everything.”
The dungeon reeked of urine and excrement. It was a dank, dark chamber buried under the monumental courthouse at Likuria’s capital city of Manacho. Ana had been taken there aboard a ship. Now she was all alone.
She shifted her position on the floor, but what she really wanted was to free her wrists from the shackles that bound them. The two chains, attached to the wall at eye level, were just long enough so she could lower herself to sit on the cold ground. Yet it was awkward and numbing to keep her arms suspended above her head. Having been in the cell for many hours, Ana was worn down by the unrelenting discomfort.
Something furry brushed her ankle. “Get away!” she cried, kicking her foot. A rat skittered into the shadows, then paused and regarded her with beady eyes. Ana wanted to throw something at the disgusting creature, but her restrained arms would not allow it.
Her feet were bare, and the cheap tunic she had been forced to wear was made of sackcloth that itched against her body. She was certain the garment hadn’t been washed in many years. The thought made her skin crawl. She hoped the ticklish sensation was only her imagination, not an infestation of body lice.
Voices sounded in the hallway, then the door creaked open. Two men with torches entered the gloomy cell.
“Get up,” the leader grunted.
Ana gathered her feet under herself and rose. With her arms chained to the wall, she felt completely helpless as she stood there with the two surly guards staring at her.
“You’re gonna die, you know,” the second man said. He had tiny eyes and an upturned nose like a pig. “Everyone knows what you did.”
“Yeah,” the leader chimed in. “The priest will testify against you. You were the only one in the bedroom, and the murder weapon was in the dohj’s neck. You’re a killer.” He shoved Ana and knocked her off balance. She could tell from the badge on his chest and his arrogant demeanor that he considered himself quite the big man around the jail.
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