by Matthew Ward
No! railed the voice.
I ignored it, sheathed my blade and took a seat opposite. Pieces were clicking into place in my brain – happenstances aligning with the force of certainty. "It was you. The book, The Great Powers of the World. You left it for me."
"One of my minions, actually, but yes, the directive was mine. As was the pen, as it happens."
"You're Eldor of Kyme?" Somehow it seemed inevitable.
"I was him, he was me – for a time, at least. One does not live so long without taking certain precautions concerning one's identity. I spent years travelling the Contested Lands and beyond. I was even a guest in your father's court for a time. I learned much that had been forgotten. That's how I knew of Malgyne's invasion before it occurred, and that's how I know of the Reckoning, and of the Radiant's return."
"The book said nothing of the Reckoning."
"Of course it didn't," Solomon snapped. "Secrecy and silence have a value of their own. Our only advantage lies in assumed ignorance. Do you think I'd spoil all of that by risking yapping mouths?"
"And you claim this is why you've butchered Arianwyn's family?"
"Of course. The Radiant cannot return without a mortal host. That mortal host must bear her power."
"So Sidara was the Radiant?"
"No," Solomon said scornfully. "Sidara was just a girl in whom the Radiant's power took root. It has waited in the Trelan blood for generations, seeking to be made whole. I cannot allow that." His voice grew excited, determined. "Bad enough that the serathi have endangered Tressia with this tiresome war, but to enlist us to their cause? Insufferable. Tressia is mine to shape. It flourishes because I wish it. I will not allow another to take it from me."
I'd wondered many times if Solomon were mad, and now I had my answer. Unfortunately, it was no ordinary madness that drove him, but one so finely focused it could achieve great and terrible things.
"Let's assume I believe you. Why would you help me save Arianwyn? You need her dead as much now as before."
"Death is a salvation of sorts, is it not...?" Solomon broke off as he saw me reach for my sword again. "...in any case, things have gone too far. I'm not setting foot on Skyhaven, not even for this."
"How noble," I sneered.
"A cause is a cause, but life is life." Solomon sniffed. "The former can be reclaimed from the ashes, providing the latter endures."
"So what help do you offer?" I couldn't believe I was going along with this, but desperate times birthed strange alliances.
Solomon smiled. "I've already given you so much – the book, the rescue in the palace square when Magorian tried to have you removed..."
"That was your doing?"
"Naturally, though it wasn't as effective as I'd have liked. Fortunately for us all, it seems your friends are rather more competent than my associates. You will permit me to say that I was rather pleased."
I didn't say whether I'd permit it or not.
Undeterred, Solomon continued. "I even sent a pair of minions to test you on your first night back in the city. I wanted to be sure you weren't complacent in familiar surroundings. I worried you'd become too comfortable."
"Did I pass your test?" Not that I cared.
"Barely. You need my help, whether you like it or not." He rose. "Come, let me show you something, then I'll make my modest contribution to your cause. It will be worth the wait, believe me."
*******
I followed Solomon into the main cavern and the warren of tunnels beyond. We walked in darkness. Apparently Solomon didn't need light to see by any more than I did. Tomas and his associates were nowhere to be seen. Perhaps Solomon's claim of being able to summon men at a moment's notice had been simply talk, but perhaps not. I marked that Solomon had a dagger at his belt, but I didn't fear him attacking me. If he wanted me dead, there were easier ways, and ones which wouldn't soil his hands. I kept my hand on my sword, in any case.
"You've had this bolt hole long?"
"Oh, this is but one of many," Solomon assured me. "A site of old victories and defeats. My stint upon the council was only ever a temporary measure, though I didn't see it coming to an end quite in the manner that it did."
I thought back to the moment that Solomon's influence in Tressia had ended, and took pleasure in the memory of Quintus' fist smashing into his face. I'd thought that defeat had broken him. I'd been wrong.
We passed through another iron-bound door. This one had a guard – another fellow in hard-worn leathers – but he stood wordlessly aside as Solomon approached, and gave me but the briefest of distrustful looks.
We stood in a small, dark room, lit only by guttering candles. The room stank, not only of waste and debasement, but of fear as well. A bench was affixed to the far wall, a rough and calloused thing whose only concession to comfort was a thin palliasse. On it sat a man, his clothes and skin covered with grime and blood, his wrists and ankles bound to the wall by heavy chains.
"Behold. The man who sought to be a king." Solomon's tone was mocking, his arms upraised in sardonic reverence. It was Magorian. He flinched as Solomon spoke and shuffled to the other end of the bench – or at least did so insofar as his chains allowed.
"I could almost forgive his desire to rule," Solomon mused. "Power – true power – is not something any real man can turn down. Let him murder, cheat, lie, and steal. Let him kill all those he has loved, and all who loved him. Let him betray his lord, and make the empty seat his own before it has grown cold." He shook his head. "That I could pardon, even in my Tressia, for we must all begin somewhere. But to do all this in the name of misguided worship? To court the favour of the old gods? That betrays a lack of vision, and a weakness that I cannot ignore."
"He's not working with the serathi," I said.
"Edric? Edric is that you?" Magorian asked in a desperate voice. He could not see – his eyes had been put out. "But you're dead. The serathiel told me so."
"And the serathiel never lies, does she?" I countered harshly. "Yes, I am dead. Perhaps I've come to drag your pitiful soul back to Otherworld with me?"
Magorian whimpered and went still. He was such a contrast to the darkly confident man who'd poisoned me all those nights ago.
Solomon watched the exchange with sly amusement, tapping a lean forefinger against his lips. "I know he's not really working with the serathi. He tried to use them to his own advantage, an act that would have earned him my admiration, had it not been for his true allegiance."
"The Burning Lord?" I asked.
"The Burning Lord," Solomon agreed. "Our dear Councillor Magorian may not look it, but he was once a soldier – he even served in my personal guard. I only assume my standards were somewhat lower then. He served in Craggan Keep for a time, fighting the good fight against the Ith'najim. He never found his courage in the desert, but he did find the Burning Lord, didn't you Magorian?"
Magorian remained silent, his empty eyes staring down at his feet.
"I do apologise, he was much more talkative earlier." Solomon raised his hands in mock frustration. "It's like someone has taken his tongue, but it certainly wasn't me. At least, not while I have need of it in situ." He smiled thinly.
"So having found a new purpose, he came back to Tressia to do what? Awaken the balnoth?" I asked.
"Precisely so," said Solomon. "I suspect he dabbled in ritual worship long before he joined the army. I'll find out before he dies. Magorian had struck a bargain with the Burning Lord. He'd bring Tressia over to the Burning Lord's side, in exchange for the usual baubles and trinkets a weak mind requires. Pathetic. Unfortunately, some of Magorian's associates weren't quite so reliable as he thought, and I charitably rescued him from their jealousy."
I glanced at the pitiful figure who had once been so confident and forthright. "If you knew all this, why wait so long to act? And how does this help me?"
Solomon wagged a finger. "I told you, the seeking of power in and of itself I do not find offensive. I will confess I was ignorant of much of all this bef
ore Magorian sampled my... hospitalities. It was only when I invited him here that the full story emerged."
He crossed to the bench and sat down beside his prisoner. Magorian snivelled and shrank away, but the chains would not let him. He made small mewling noises as Solomon patted him softly on the shoulder.
"We have had such long conversations, he and I," said Solomon, "things of such warmth and joy that you cannot conceive. He holds no secrets now, not if I know the questions to ask."
"How does this help me, Solomon?" I hated Magorian, and had wished him dead, but took no pleasure from seeing him in this state... no pleasure at all.
"It doesn't." He stood smartly upright. "This isn't my help, this is my surprise. A peace offering, if you will. This man betrayed you, sought your death, and that of your beloved. He fomented the war that blazes through the Contested Lands, and he thought to sell us all into the service of a slumbering god." He clenched a hand and unfurled it in Magorian's direction. "I give him to you. His life is yours."
Yes! thundered the voice. Kill him. Slowly. Let him go to Otherworld deafened by his own screams!
I strode across the darkened room and drew my sword. Gods, but I wanted this man dead. Almost as much as I wanted to kill his captor.
Drink his blood!
Magorian heard my footsteps and shuffled away. Again the chains held him fast. Solomon stepped mutely to one side, his face a mask of banal interest.
Feel his flesh tear under your teeth!
Magorian deserved to die. I'd feel no remorse. I might not save Arianwyn, but at least this viper would pay.
His heart! Feast upon his heart!
I raised my sword. Unbidden, I heard my father's voice.
Why matters far more than what.
I didn't know whether his earlier words echoed in my mind, or whether he somehow spoke to me through the sword. It didn't matter. Those words gave me the strength to banish the dark voice to the depths of my mind. I sheathed my sword. Magorian deserved to die – most likely would die – but that didn't excuse me slaughtering him.
"Kill him yourself."
Solomon pushed his spectacles higher onto his nose, and gave me a look torn between admiration and disappointment. "You can control it, can't you? How very interesting."
I was moving before I realised it. I seized the neck of Solomon's shirt and slammed him against the wall with enough force to jar the spectacles loose. The delicate glass lenses shattered on the floor.
"What were you trying to do to me?" I demanded.
"Do to you?" Solomon gasped. "Why, nothing, of course. You simply present an unusual opportunity for study." I slammed him against the wall again, harder. "How often do you think I can observe a fallen so closely?"
I slammed him against the wall for a third time.
"If you don't let me down, I can't give you the help I promised."
It was plain that Solomon had sought to drive me over the edge, possibly for study, as he claimed, but it was equally likely he'd some use in mind for me had I become the feral thing I so feared.
Not today, I vowed. Not ever.
With a frustrated scream, I flung Solomon across the room. He thudded into the door, and collapsed. The guard burst in, sword in hand.
Solomon waved at him to put the weapon away. "Nothing to concern yourself with," he said, massaging his throat. "I'm afraid our guest lacks refinement."
The guard nodded and retreated outside.
"Do not fret, Edric." Solomon picked up the remains of his spectacles. "I do not spurn you as you spurned my gift. I promised my help, and you shall have it. Believe me, it will be my pleasure to have Magorian remain as my guest," he said dreamily. "Imagine the things we shall discover."
"Edric, no!" Magorian screamed. "You can't leave me! Not like this!"
"You don't deserve my pity," I growled.
I crossed to Solomon, and plucked the dagger from his belt. He regarded me with amusement, but didn't seek to stop me. Returning to Magorian, I took one of his hands in mine – the fingernails were gone, I saw – and pressed the hilt of the dagger into his palm.
"There is a way out here, if you've the courage to take it," I said quietly. "It is more than you deserve."
Magorian sobbed something that could have been gratitude, or could have been despair. I released his hand and returned to Solomon's side.
The grey man nodded, and led me from the room. "Even as a dead man, you're sickeningly conscionable, aren't you?"
"Give me your help or let me go, Solomon," I replied. "I want no further part in your games."
"I merely set the pieces upon the board in a manner to my liking, and observe their behaviour. If I don't like how things play out, I sweep the board away and start again."
"And if the pieces resist being swept away?"
"You mean the serathi?"
"Amongst others," I said darkly.
"Then I do the only thing I can." Solomon offered his thin, knowing smile. "I cheat. A wild card wins all games."
We reached the end of the passageway. Solomon pressed his hand against a section of wall that, to my eye, seemed identical to the rest. I heard a grinding noise, and the rumble of something heavy moving beneath us, and then the wall in front of us slid away.
After the gloom of the passageway, the daylight stung my eyes. A little way ahead, the rocky floor ended in a sheer cliff face, and the sea stretched away to the horizon.
"There's a path along the cliff face." Solomon slapped something hard and metallic into my hand. "Follow it to the end, and it will bring you to the palace vaults. You've lost something. You'll find it there."
I opened my hand to see a large, three-edged metal key. "This changes nothing between us, Solomon.
He laughed. "Of course it doesn't. I'm a monster. You're a fool. But for the moment, we have a common enemy, and a common purpose. Now be a good wild card, and win this game for me."
"What if I can't? What if I don't?"
Solomon laughed again. "You will Edric, you will. And if not, I'll think of something else."
Nine
A sudden gust of wind and I'd have little to look forward to other than a substantial drop into the bay below – the plunge into the water would have been bad enough, but I'd have likely hit the line of jagged rocks long before I got wet. Fortunately, there was no such gust. I followed the winding path down through the rocks and windblown heather without mishap. I even remembered to pull my hood back up before I reached the quayside.
This was an isolated part of the city, reachable only from a single narrow road. It was whence the council's envoys departed overseas, and where important shipments arrived. Though I couldn't see it from where I stood, a stone storm-wall extended about the bay. On the shoreline itself, was a wharf, a barrack room and a cluster of warehouses. Beyond, I made out the entrance to the long, dark tunnel that was my destination. The tunnel was wide. It had to be, to accommodate the canal and towpath serving as entrance to the vault beyond. There was no gate in sight, though I knew there was one further in.
I crept across the quayside, keeping to the shadows cast by the stacks of cargo. I'd seen only four praetorians on patrol, but that didn't mean there weren't others. Fortunately, the guards were bored and inattentive. No one really expected to catch anyone sneaking around down there.
I darted into the welcoming gloom of the tunnel. Shortly after, Solomon's key unlocked a steel gate set across the towpath. This tunnel had once been guarded by a wooden door, bolted from the inside. This replacement was intended to be both more accessible and more secure than the original arrangement – unless some ne'er-do-well managed to lay his hands on a key, of course.
I eased the gate open and slipped into the vaults proper. Whoever had made the alterations to the tunnel gate had not seen fit to install firestone lamps, but then I supposed that anyone with official business down here would have thought to bring their own source of illumination into that oppressive darkness.
The vaults were a vast, natu
ral cavern, expanded by untold generations of Tressian masons. Those same workmen had levelled sections of the uneven floor, and set stone galleries into the walls. Aside from a few clear pathways that crossed the floor in seemingly random paths, every gallery or patch of level ground was laden with the Republic's hoarded treasures.
Chests, crates and urns were piled precariously, and to no obvious pattern. Some were aged and split, their contents of coins, gems and rare cloth visible through desiccated timbers. Others had collapsed entirely, spilling a king's ransom across the rough floor. There was wealth here enough to buy any kingdom in the world, or raise every pauper to riches, yet the Tressians simply hoarded it like the dragons of legend – just one more reason why I'd never understand them.
Edging along, I found a bridge over the still waters of the canal. By the time I'd reached the other side, my eyes had adjusted to the near-darkness. My eyes had always served me well in the dark. My mother had joked it was a gift from Ashana, and I'd taken that off-hand comment with a child's trust. Given recent experience, I had to wonder if there was more to it.
Without sound or motion to herald it, a vicelike grip closed around the back of my neck.
[[You are not welcome. You are an intruder.]]
The voice was female – insofar as such distinctions could be easily made between sentinels – but it wasn't Zorya's. Nonetheless, elation kindled in my heart. Sentinels! Or at least one sentinel. So that was why Solomon had sent me here. Something I'd lost, indeed. And if the sentinels were here, then Zorya might well be here as well.
The pressure on my neck tightened. Another hand closed around my upper arm and held me fast. My elation faded. Finding the sentinels did no good if one of them crushed my bones to powder.
"How do you know that I'm not a guard, here on official business?"
[[A guard would not have moved as you did. They belong here, and move without fear. You move furtively.]]