“I’m told that you are both faithful servants of Qra’z,” he said, waiting for them to perform the same ritual.
Carym cast a perplexed look at Zach.
“That is a trait difficult to come by in these parts, though we appreciate the risk of violence you would endure for openly practicing your faith. The prejudice against the faith of Qra’z is troubling, and the lack of faith of your fellows is disturbing. Your people have been very resistant to our ways and that has proven most disturbing to the Emperor. Assimilation is necessary and the Emperor’s patience has been exhausted. Now we resort to the old, tried and true ways of conversion.”
Satisfied that the pair had showed the proper respect, Brother Roderious entered the small building. Carym and Zach followed with trepidation, disliking the superior look on the monk’s face, knowing that there was likely no turning back. Carym felt like a cornered rat and fought back his anger at having allowed himself to be forced into this predicament. The only way out of this now was to go forward and find out what Lord Cannath had in mind. Silently, the pair descended a narrow staircase that spiraled into darkness below.
At the bottom of the stairs was a large wooden door with an iron ring. The monk knocked three times and the door opened from inside. A beautiful young woman in a royal blue robe with auburn hair spilling out from the hood, opened the door. From the depths of the hood green eyes caught the light reflected from the wall-torches, giving Carym a glimpse of her face.
“Rashel!” exclaimed Zach, with a bit too much emotion.
Carym was indeed surprised to see Rashel Cheval here on the Temple Grounds. He considered the rumors he had heard lately of the division within that family, and Rashel’s choices became a bit clearer. If Lord Cannath was indeed working behind the scenes to thwart the Arnathians, it was logical that Rashel would ally herself with him; if her intentions were sincere. Although he suspected the Arnathians were just as well informed of the rumors about the Chevals as everyone else in Hybrand.
“Hello, Zach.”
Carym was amazed at how beautiful and vibrant the somber young girl had become. He hadn’t known her very well, but in a small town you knew a little bit about everyone. He resolved to discuss what her motives might be with Zach later.
“Hello, Rashel.”
Rashel turned to face the monk, avoiding eye contact with Zach.
“His Lordship is expecting you,” said the young woman. “Please follow me down to his chambers.” Roderious entered the stairwell first behind Rashel, followed by Zach and Carym. What was most surprising to Carym was that Zach appeared to be staring daggers at her back. At the bottom of the narrow stair was a large open hall decorated with tapestries and fanciful carpets. Swords, odd pieces of armor, ancient battle flags, and other mysterious artifacts were displayed with the decor and flair fit for a royal palace, out of place in an otherwise dank cellar. At the far end of the hall a fire was burning in a hearth, heating the chamber nicely.
Carym was loath to walk past any of these historical treasures without inspection, however Rashel led them quickly to a door. The pair followed Roderious into the chamber where a man was seated behind a large desk.
“My Lord, the carpenters are here as you have requested,” he turned to Carym and Zach. “Gentlemen, your liege lord.”
The pair exchanged glances and bowed low to Lord Cannath.
The office was well lit, and there were numerous Cklathish paintings and foreign tapestries on the walls. Laden bookshelves vied for wall space with intricate tapestries, and a wonderfully designed carpet covered the floor. The beauty of the lord’s brightly polished desk struck Carym. He gazed at his reflection in its glassy surface and noted the Hybrandese Royal Coat of Arms skillfully carved into the front. The moment he saw his reflection, the memory of why he was here came crashing back. He felt his temperature rising, that familiar tightness in his chest, as his blood began pounding in his ears; he exhaled slowly, knowing that only an imperturbable demeanor would see them through this trap.
“Gentlemen,” spoke the man seated at the desk. “Your reputations precede you.”
He paused and eyed them both intently. Lord Cannath was a handsome man by all accounts, yet his bloodline was not wholly Cklathish. Lord Cannath was descended from the bloodline of his grandfather, Prince Hydase, the traitor who arranged for the assassination of the royal family so many years ago. This act of treachery ensured that Hybrand would fall under control of Imperial Arnathia. The much-slighted youngest brother of the Hybrandese thayne felt himself an outcast. With little hope of gaining the throne, Hydase’s family made little of his choice to marry an Arnathian woman over a Cklathish noble. Cannath’s slightly darker skin, large brown eyes, and his stature were gifts from his grandmother. It was those features that earned him the ire of his countrymen from the moment he was born and it was that which he hated most about himself.
Cannath was a complicated man. He never truly felt part of Cklathish society, and thus was he viewed by his people. Similarly, Cannath did not feel himself to be part of Arnathian society and most Arnathians felt the same way. Cannath struggled with his identity throughout his childhood and into his adult life. Cannath’s father was a very bitter man, having dealt personally with his own father’s treachery firsthand as a small boy. His father died a very bitter man, never quite able to find the courage to stand up to Arnathia. After his father died, Cannath and his mother went to Arnathia proper where she raised him among the Arnathian elite. But the young Lord Cannath secretly vowed to return to find a way to expel Arnathia from his homeland, hoping to bury a brutal and dark chapter in his country’s history.
When the day of his mother’s own passing came, the grieving boy had been serving abroad in the Arnathian Imperial Army. Due to his mother’s station, the now battle tested young man was granted a discharge and allowed to return home to tend to his family holdings in Arnathia Proper. The emptiness of his heart and the callousness of his Arnathian peers made him decide, irrevocably, that he was not Arnathian. Cannath and his longtime friend, Hugh Renaul, an Arnathian provincial, decided to find their fate in Hybrand, for better or worse. Although Hugh haled from the Arnathian Empire, he was from a region that detested Arnathian rule and largely disassociated themselves from their countrymen.
From the moment he decided he was a Cklathman, Cannath’s life changed for the better. The typically sullen young man found that he was much happier on the road and away from his conniving upstart peers and the drama of the Imperial elite. Cannath had been ill received by the Arnathian rulers in Hybrand and his countrymen both, although this was not unexpected and the intelligent young man vowed to change this. Cannath slowly won the favor of the Hybrandese by connecting with his murdered Great Uncle, a true Cklathish hero, and adopting his attire and demeanor while rejecting the blood that tied him to his treacherous grandfather.
Eventually he became fast friends with an Elvish merchant named Gavinos. Gavinos shared tales of the grandeur of the Hybrand of old, for he was old enough to remember it. Gavinos often brought news from Brythynburr, the capital of a Cklathish thaynedom to the north, and Cannath was wistful for that which he had never known. Officially, there were no ties between Cannath’s family and that of Thayne Connor Anuryn III, ruler of Brythyn, due to the stained honor of his family. Cannath vowed to change this too, and the mechanism of this change had recently revealed itself to him.
“We have need of your skills to build a grand monument to Qra’z in the temple square. The Emperor has mandated that every temple square in the Empire shall have a monument befitting our god. You have seen the Golden Dragon in the temple square. It is an old monument not fitting for the Arnathian god.”
Carym and Zach both noted that the word “Arnathian” preceded god. What could this portend?
“You have been brought here to build a new Golden Dragon in the temple square that will serve as both an altar and a monument. It shall be made from the wood of the Arnathian Oak harvested from the groves of Blackthor
ne Forest, and it will be gilded with gold blessed by the Patriarch himself. The Patriarch will use this to give his sermons when he blesses us with visits from time to time.” Cannath smirked as though remembering some private joke.
“But this monument will serve a dual purpose.”
Lord Cannath rose from his desk, regaining his solemn bearing, and peered intently at the men. Then he placed some building plans on the desk and turned to examine one of his paintings.
“As you know the Church has instituted a ban against false religions, and conversions are underway across Arnathia. The people of Hybrand need to know that treason and heresy will not be tolerated.”
By the tone of the lord’s voice, Carym was not sure that Cannath actually believed what he was saying.
“We are part of the Empire and yet many of our people refuse to accept this fact. For this reason, the Patriarch has ordered a gallows to be built as part of the monument to Qra’z; the gaping maw of the Golden Dragon. The Patriarch wants the church hierarchy to oversee the public execution of all infidels.”
Carym had the feeling that his liege was, in fact, trying to convince himself.
“There are many Arnathian carpenters that could accomplish this task, but it would not have the same uplifting effect on the spirit of our countrymen. Both of you however, have served in the Imperial Fleet and you are faithful to Qra’z.”
Carym wondered how he and Zach had gained reputations as followers of Qra’z.
“Your seal will be boldly emblazoned for all to see so our people will know that Cklathmen have embraced Qra’z as their own. You will each be paid one hundred Holy Imperials per day.”
Zach spoke first, “Why does it take the use of gallows and stocks to convince our brethren of the right path to follow, My Lord?” He asked boldly, his lust for money now overcome by his sense of hatred for the man who represented Arnathian oppression in Hybrand.
The monk gasped and Cannath glared at him with his angry brown eyes, calculating the meaning behind the brash question. He was intimidating; he was every bit of six and a half feet tall and his jet black hair was kept short in military fashion. Cannath wore his traditional Cklathish leather armor and a great Cklathish sword lay across the desk before him. He had long ago forgone any adornments that bore resemblance to Arnathian tradition.
In a very low and menacing voice the lord replied, “We do not question the motives of the Emperor and the Patriarch.”
Although the lord did appear angry, Carym wasn’t so certain they weren’t being played to.
Zach bowed low. “Forgive me, my liege. I meant no disrespect.”
Carym was glad Lord Cannath had not noticed his friend’s sarcastic edge. After completing his military service, Zach had become very resentful of authority and challenged it frequently; he was lucky it had not yet become his undoing.
The count appeared mollified by the apology and sat down. “Very well, here are the plans and an advance on your pay,” he slid a metal scroll case across the desk along with a pouch full of coins.
“The materials you need have been acquired. There is enough money to hire the necessary workers. Please review the plans to be certain whatever else is needed can be acquired before construction begins.”
Carym’s momentary contemplation of the odd look in Cannath’s eye slipped away as he beheld the scroll case. What would his fellow villagers think of him as they watched the feet of their family members dangling in the breeze beneath a gallows he and Zach had built? Arnathian rule was becoming far more intolerant and failure to assimilate into Arnathian custom and tradition would likely prove fatal.
“Your Lordship, please forgive me. I believe that our talents are not quite what you are looking for. Perhaps I could recommend the services of another?”
“Perhaps I was mistaken about your loyalty?” the lord replied quietly, a glint in his eyes. “A faithful believer would feel honored to have been chosen to do this god’s work, and yet I sense that you do not. Do you gentlemen worship Qra’z?” he paused after asking this question, and then continued without allowing the men to answer. “If I choose another carpenter to build these gallows for me, you may rest assured you will be the first to hang in them. One does not take lightly the business of our church,” his tone was stern yet lacking in emotion.
“No, my lord!” stumbled Zach, “we did not mean-”
“Good, it is settled then. You will report tomorrow with your assessment of the plans and whatever you feel you must acquire. Enjoy the Games.”
C H A P T E R
3
A Friendly Game.
Decisions.
Carym and Zach intended to spend the rest of the day relaxing, deciding what to do. They returned to the Silver Star Inn a short while later and stabled their horses. Oddly, the inn was nearly empty. Zach went to the outside ordering window and called the barkeep, “A cold mug of ale, Raffo.”
“Right away, Zach,” replied the barkeep in his thick brogue. “Cider for you, Carym?”
“Yep.”
Carym looked around and saw that the town seemed unusually quiet as well. In fact, there were but five other patrons seated inside and out. The Silver Star Inn was a very old business and it was located in a very old building on Inn Street. Most of the businesses on Inn Street were located in large buildings, each having many storefronts. The Silver Star was said to be the oldest in the city, dating back to the Golden Age of the Cklathish High Thaynes who ruled much of what is now the eastern part of Arnathia, nearly a millennium ago.
Carym took a deep breath and tried to let go of the worries of the day’s events. He leaned on the lacquered bar of ancient black oak, and studied the odd trinkets old Raffo had skillfully placed under the glossy surface of the bar. His favorite was the old four-point cross badge that belonged to Raffo’s great, great, great, great uncle, or grandfather, or whatever the story warranted that particular day. Whoever had worn it was someone of great importance, and he knew enough of his history to know that this badge was the symbol of the authority of a Cklathish thayne given to a worthy person to carry out the thayne’s justice.
Some said those old badges were imbued with magical powers, offering added protection to the wearer. Such things were often confiscated by the Imperial authorities as heretical or demonic devices. The empire was becoming far too intolerant these days. Crafty Old Raffo wasn’t concerned however; Imperials rarely visited his inn long enough to notice. And, even if they had, the display section was set in a swivel of sorts; with one quick flip, the innkeeper could have his favorite display items out of sight.
Raffo returned a few moments later with two glass mugs filled with drink. “Here you go, gentlemen. That will be one crown, please.”
“I didn’t realize you were taking Imperial coin now. What gives?” asked Zach, retrieving a coin from the advance money they had received earlier. “Next thing you know, you’ll have us humming Glory to Qra’z and Arnathia!”
“No choice. General Craxis issued an order; there will be no more use of Hybrandese Emerald Currency. On penalty of death, no less! May Zuhr help us,” he said scandalously as he wiped the counter with a rag.
“Will the Royal Hybrand Bank accept the old emerald coins for conversion?” Zach asked nervously.
“Not any longer, I’m afraid. And now it’s called the Imperial Arnathian Bank of Hybrand! That’s what comes of spending too much time in the country! No matter, news will catch up to you country folk sooner or later,” he chuckled. “Why aren’t you lads at the Cklathball game? I sure hope we thrash those Arnathians!”
“Crackin’ Imperial Games!” Zach swore. “Have a care what you wish for, man.”
Raffo nodded with a grimace, the Arnathians were sore losers. Everyone knew what the Arnathians had done to the traditional Cklathish Games. Before Arnathian occupation, the games had been a spirited affair celebrating physical prowess, athletic skill, and Cklathish culture. Merchants would travel from all over to sell their wares, competitors from neig
hboring Cklathish and non-Cklathish lands alike trained all year long to be eligible for some of the events. The traditional sporting events included foot races, mountain climbing, archery, horse races, bull fighting, log tossing, hammer throwing, and Cklathball. The finest food, drink, and wares from around the Cklathish lands could be had in abundance. It had been a truly wondrous occasion.
After the occupation began, the Games were abolished by order of the territorial governor and had remained so until five years ago, when pressure from both the Cklathish natives and the Arnathian settlers was mounting to reinstate the games. In a fashion typical of how General Craxis responded to pressure from anyone - including other Arnathians - he reinstated the games but added his own twist. Craxis only allowed one traditional Cklathish event in the line-up, Cklathball. The rest of the events became gruesome duplications of the Arnathian Glory Matches celebrated around the empire. Even the honorable events like the mountain foot race were bastardized by the Arnathians and turned into a race where the loser, usually Cklathish, was ambushed by an enemy team of competitors and killed. This was how Craxis accomplished his goal of reducing demand for the games.
“At least Cklathball is the first event,” Zach said as he gulped down the last of his ale. “If any of those damned Arnathians try to make me join the Games, there will be bloodshed!”
He slammed his mug down on the table and stalked out of the inn. Carym followed more slowly, warily casting glances at the few other patrons as they made their way to the stable.
Cklathball was an intensely popular pastime with the Cklathish people. When Craxis ordered the games reinstated with his own twisted Arnathian vision, Lord Cannath convinced him to allow the Cklathball matches to remain unchanged. It was Lord Cannath’s hope that by retaining the time-honored tradition of Cklathball in the Games, it might soften the impact of the other corrupted events; but this was not to be. The Hybrandese largely viewed Lord Cannath in the same light as his great-uncle, Prince Hydase. The fact that he was half-Arnathian and had been raised in Arnathia did little to endear him to his people.
A Tide of Shadows Page 5