Touched by the Gods

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “Oh, come now,” Lord Dabos interrupted. “Niniam's a member of the Imperial Council! He has as much to lose as any man alive, should the rebels actually harm the Empire. Surely, you can't think any of us are involved in this plot?”

  “Why not?” Shoule said, whirling to face the Minister of the Commonwealth. “True, he has much to lose – but perhaps he has as much to gain! The man who hands the Imperial Palace, or the entire capital, to the rebels can surely name his own price; how do we know we are not looking at a man who hopes to become Emperor Niniam the First?”

  “Second,” Lord Graush interjected. “Niniam the First was fourth century, younger son of Bederach the First, reigned about eighteen months during the time of the Veruet Campaign.”

  “I stand corrected,” Shoule said. “Was there also a Sulibai the First, perhaps?”

  Granzer frowned. Shoule was being rather free with his thinly-veiled accusations.

  “Not that I ever heard of,” Graush replied. “It's not a traditional Domdur name.”

  Lady Dalbisha rapped on the table with her cane. “Who cares?” she demanded. “We're here to find out who set the fire and why, not to bicker about names or pedigrees, or throw around a lot of foolish accusations!”

  “Are you calling me a fool, Dalbisha?” Shoule shouted back. “Someone betrayed the Empire to arrange this fire!”

  “Who says so?” Dalbisha replied angrily. “I see trickery at work, yes, but no treachery!”

  “How did our rebel tricksters know what to do, where to go, who to deceive?” Shoule said. “Someone must have instructed them in the workings of the palace routine!”

  Dalbisha frowned, lifted her cane, and tapped one end thoughtfully against her cheek.

  “Perhaps,” she said, “you have a point.”

  “Lady Dalbisha,” Sulibai said, “don't listen to this nonsense!”

  “Is it nonsense?” Dalbisha asked, turning to face him. “Lord Shoule may or may not be a fool, I'll reserve my judgment on that, but he asks a good question – how did our foes know so much?”

  “Is it so secret, then?” Sulibai said, spreading his hands. “Does not every soldier here know the routines?”

  “Damn!” Dabos said, slamming a fist on the council table. “Is it that easy? I don't know who to believe! I've never meddled in palace maintenance.”

  “If there were secrets known,” Lord Gornir ventured, “that still doesn't mean treachery. What if we were spied upon by magical means? We know the rebel leader is a wizard – could he have observed us from afar, perhaps, or listened in on our conversations?”

  “I should think that the province of the old magic,” Lord Passeil said. “Isn't this wizard using the New Magic?”

  Several eyes turned toward Apiris.

  “We don't know what he's using,” Apiris said.

  “Can't you find out?” Graush barked.

  Apiris sighed wearily. “You have already demanded that our temple magicians devote their attention not only to whatever they can do to aid General Balinus against the rebels, and to restore order in the eastern provinces, but also to Lord Kadan's efforts at recruiting and supplying the largest army the Empire has fielded in two hundred years; when that's added to their usual duties for the temples, and their services for the public, they have no time – ”

  “Blast their services to the public!” Lord Graush bellowed. “Do you mean to tell me that you still have them sending messages and enchanting lovers just as if we were at peace?”

  Apiris blinked at him in surprise.

  “Of course,” he said. “How else are the temples to raise the money they need?”

  For a moment no one spoke; half a dozen Councillors glared angrily at Apiris, while the rest looked variously embarrassed, confused, or sympathetic. Apiris was simply bewildered.

  “Your Highness,” Graush said, turning to Prince Granzer and breaking the silence at last, “will you tell this... this priest that... that... oh, blood and death!”

  “Calm yourself, Councillor,” Granzer said. He turned his attention to Apiris.

  “It seems to me,” he said, “that if the Imperial treasury can afford to equip and feed an army, we can also keep our priests fed. Your magicians would be better used elsewhere. Your customers can wait until the rebels are defeated.”

  “But, your Highness – ” Apiris protested.

  Granzer held up a hand.

  “If we can't feed you, then you can sell off some of your temple treasures,” Granzer said. “You don't seem to appreciate the gravity of the situation, Apiris. Maybe you think the gods would tell you if you were supposed to do anything out of the ordinary, but when was the last time the gods told you or your oracles anything?”

  “Sixteen years ago,” Apiris mumbled, eyes downcast.

  “Then isn't it time you started listening to somebody?” Lord Shoule demanded. “Or is this deliberate?”

  Apiris looked up, astonished. “Deliberate?”

  Shoule didn't address him directly; instead he turned and spoke to the prince.

  “Your Highness,” he said, “while at first it might seem unthinkable that we might distrust the Archpriest himself, the gods' own representative beneath the Hundred Moons, I ask you to consider the situation. By his own admission, Apiris has done as little as possible to advance the war effort – ”

  “That's not what I said!” Apiris objected.

  Granzer held up a hand, then told Shoule, “Go on.” He didn't think Shoule was right in accusing Apiris of disloyalty, but he wanted to hear the reasoning, so that he could judge for himself whether it was sound.

  “Very well. By his own admission our Archpriest no longer has any more contact with the gods than the lowliest farmer praying to Vedal as he works in his field,” Shoule said. “But surely, he's had many years to form theories about this. What if he's concluded that the gods have abandoned the Domdur? I'm sure you've all heard such pessimistic theorizing and dismissed it – but here we have a man who devoted his entire life to serving as the link between the Domdur and the gods, only to find himself cast aside by the gods he has sworn to serve! Might he not have more cause than any of us to believe that the gods no longer favor us, and that, as the gods' servant, he no longer has any duty to the Empire? Might he not see this eastern wizard's black power as a sign of divine favor?”

  “That's absurd!” Apiris shouted.

  “Then perhaps he knows the gods still favor the Domdur,” Shoule suggested, “but he no longer chooses to serve the gods! In petty revenge for their silence he seeks to side with those who defy the divine will – ”

  “This is nonsense,” Apiris said, getting to his feet. “I'm not going to listen to this.”

  “Yes, you will,” Dalbisha said, rising as well and brandishing her cane. “Sit down.”

  Apiris sat, but turned to Granzer. “Your Highness, is this the sort of behavior I can expect in the Imperial Council's chambers henceforth?”

  “Until we know whether there are traitors among us, and who, if anyone, they are,” Granzer said, “I don't know what to expect. Now, can we get back to reviewing what we actually know?”

  “Your Highness, I am no constable,” Apiris said. “I know nothing about investigating anything. If I'm to order my magicians to new duties, snooping out the enemy's secrets, might I not do better to get on with it? I have nothing to contribute here. I was in the temple throughout yesterday's unfortunate events.”

  Granzer considered for a moment, glancing at Graush, Shoule, and Dalbisha.

  “Oh, let him go,” Graush said. “As he says, he's no help here.”

  “Should he be permitted to leave alone?” Shoule asked.

  “Lord Kadan,” the prince said. “Would you accompany the Archpriest back to the temple? And perhaps you might station a few trusted soldiers there, to guard the temple against any such misfortune as struck the palace.”

  Lord Kadan bowed his head in acknowledgment, then pushed his chair back and rose.

  “Your Holi
ness?” he said.

  Apiris got to his feet and looked around at the other Councillors.

  “You're all being ridiculous,” he said. “Mistrusting me, accusing one another – it's insane! The gods will protect the Domdur Empire; we're their chosen people. We need only use our plain common sense, and this Olnamian warlord will be defeated in due time.”

  “How do you know?” Lord Shoule countered.

  Apiris stared at him for a moment, then cast a glance at Prince Granzer. He saw no sympathy on the prince's face.

  The Archpriest turned on his heel and marched out without answering, with Lord Kadan at his elbow.

  Chapter Thirty- Seven

  “So you still believe the gods will ensure our triumph?” Lord Kadan asked, as he escorted Apiris down a long stone corridor in the Great Temple. The muffled echoes of their footsteps thudded from the grey walls.

  “It depends,” Apiris said. “When I think about it I know it might not be true. When I think about it I can envision all sorts of horrors; I can imagine that the gods have, indeed, deserted us – but then, if I don't think, for even a moment, I always believe again.”

  Kadan smiled crookedly. “So you weren't thinking at the meeting just now.”

  “No, I wasn't,” Apiris agreed. “I couldn't believe what I was hearing! All that bickering, the casual accusations of treason – what's wrong with them all? Whatever the gods want, we're still the rulers of the world; why should we distrust one another?”

  “They're frightened,” Kadan said.

  “Of what? Of some eastern magician? Of nightwalkers?”

  “Of the unknown,” Kadan replied. “That's what every man fears. Didn't you just say that you envision horrors because you no longer know the gods' will?”

  “It's not the same at all,” Apiris protested.

  Kadan shrugged. “Something has struck at us where we thought ourselves safe. That's frightened them, and they need to strike out at something. They have no foe visible, so they strike at each other.”

  Apiris glanced at him with interest. “You speak as if you were no part of the Imperial Council.”

  “Oh, I'm very much a Councillor, Apiris – more than you, I think. It often seems your heart isn't in it, that you'd much rather be here in the temple than there in the palace.”

  “Well, that's true enough,” Apiris agreed. “I chose to be a priest, not a politician. It wasn't I who decided the Archpriest should automatically have a seat on the Council.”

  “But you're there, as I am – and I chose to be a soldier, not a politician. You might as well use the opportunity. As you say, we are the masters of the world, Apiris...”

  “No,” Apiris objected. “I correct myself. The gods are the masters of the world.”

  “Well, the gods aren't doing much about it right now, so far as I can see,” Kadan said, “and we're the masters of the mortal world. We should behave as such, and act assertively, decisively, courageously. Bickering amongst ourselves and hurling accusations is pointless; those others are fools to give in to their fear this way. If there is a traitor among us, he'll reveal himself eventually. We won't find him by shouting at each other.”

  “It seems to me that I've heard you shout a few times in the Council Chamber,” Apiris remarked. “Usually at Lord Orbalir.”

  “That fool,” Kadan said. “Yes, of course I've shouted at him – it's a natural response to idiocy. But that was when it didn't matter. You didn't hear me shout today; there's too much at stake.”

  “I heard you growl, perhaps...”

  “At myself. For not having considered the possibility of a strike at the Imperial Palace itself.”

  “We were all shocked.”

  “I shouldn't have been.”

  “You have no gift of prophecy, Kadan.”

  “But I'm supposed to have an understanding of strategy. And speaking of prophecy, where are these magicians of yours? This passage seems to go on forever!”

  “We're almost there.” He pointed. “That door ahead leads to the Master Magician's chambers.”

  Kadan nodded, and stayed back a step as Apiris knocked on the indicated door.

  The door opened, and Bishau himself, Master Magician of the Great Temple, thrust his head out. He squinted in the dim light and brushed a lock of unruly white hair out of his eyes.

  “Ah, your Holiness,” he said when he recognized Apiris. “Come about those boots? I was just about to send a messenger to the prince.”

  “Boots?” Kadan asked.

  “I don't know what he's talking about,” Apiris said. He glanced at Kadan. “I suppose you'll want to hear whatever we say.”

  “I'm afraid so,” Kadan said, not sounding at all sorry. “If only so I can tell the others I did so.”

  Apiris sighed. “Let us in, Bishau. There's no point in standing out here.”

  “Certainly, Holiness,” Bishau agreed, swinging the door wide.

  The two Councillors entered the apartment; Kadan looked around at the rather austere interior with mild interest. He had noticed before that magicians – the traditional magicians, not Vrai Burrai's upstarts – tended to be unworldly, more involved in their so-called Higher Realm than in everyday reality; this room reflected that. It was bare of ornament, furnished with a desk, two small benches, and little else. A half-eaten meal of bread and fruit was on the desk beside a bit of parchment. A door on the far side stood slightly ajar.

  “What's this about boots?” Apiris asked, as he settled on one of the benches.

  “You don't know?” Bishau looked surprised. “I know Prince Granzer said to keep it quiet, but I thought the Council would have heard. A pair of boots was found in the ruins of the east wing of the Imperial Palace, and eyewitnesses to the fire say that they belonged to the divine champion. The prince sent them to us, to see what the diviners could tell us.”

  Apiris and Kadan looked at one another.

  “I thought all the supposed champions had gone east,” Apiris said.

  “They have,” Kadan replied. “At least, all we knew about.”

  “Then who's this person with the boots?” Apiris asked, turning to Bishau.

  “The witnesses say he was a giant of a man who led the volunteers in fighting the fire,” Bishau replied.

  “He claimed to be the gods' chosen?”

  Bishau waved a hand. “No, no,” he said. “He didn't make any claims. The others just decided that he must be the champion, based on his actions.”

  “Do you suppose he might be the real champion, come at last?” Kadan asked Apiris.

  “I have no idea,” the Archpriest replied.

  “Is there any way to tell?”

  “No,” Apiris and Bishau answered in unison.

  “Not by divination,” Bishau added.

  “Nor by external signs,” Apiris said. “Lord Graush has researched that – you know that.”

  “So what about these boots, then?” Kadan asked. “Can they tell your magicians anything?”

  “Oh, yes,” Bishau said. “They retain their owner's aura, and his recent experiences can be read. He's a blacksmith from somewhere in the southern hills, but recently he's been staying in the Imperial Armory. I'd guess he's one of the volunteers come to make swords.” He gestured at the desk. “I was just writing that down for the messenger... now, where did I put it?” He stooped and picked the parchment off the desk. “Here,” he said.

  Apiris glanced at the parchment, but it didn't say anything beyond what Bishau had just told them. “So some people think the divine champion was fighting the fire?” he asked.

  “It would seem so,” Bishau agreed.

  “It would seem reasonable,” Kadan said. “For after all, if there is a divine champion, shouldn't he be defending the Empire from saboteurs and traitors, as well as from the enemy's army?”

  “As Prince Greldar fought the Red Traitors,” Apiris said. “I suppose so.”

  “Shall I send the message, Holiness?” Bishau asked.

  “Of course,�
�� Apiris said. “No need to keep Prince Granzer waiting.”

  “If you don't, he'll start believing Lord Shoule's suggestion that the Archpriest's turned traitor,” Kadan said with a grim smile.

  Apiris winced; Bishau's jaw dropped.

  “Lord Kadan's joking,” Apiris said hastily. “Go, find a messenger, send your message. Then come back; we have new orders for the Holy College of Magicians. The Council wants you to learn more about the Nazakri's black magic.”

  “As you command, Holiness,” Bishau said. He bowed, and hurried through the inner door, parchment in hand, calling for a messenger.

  “A blacksmith from the southern hills,” Apiris said thoughtfully, as he and Kadan waited for the Master Magician's return.

  “Why not?” Kadan said. “Better an honest workman than that confounded Diknoi troublemaker.”

  “I don't think Vrai Burrai was ever a serious contender,” Apiris said. “I rather thought that the heir of Snauvalia might be the genuine article, though.”

  “Duzon?” Kadan shook his head. “He's not the heir; he has an older brother. He still might be the champion, though. For all we know this smith is a fraud – or maybe he's the traitor who set the palace ablaze!”

  Apiris glanced at Kadan. “Didn't Bishau say the smith was seen fighting the fire?”

  “How better to get into our good graces?” Kadan asked, with an unpleasant smile.

  “Do you really think so?”

  “No,” Kadan admitted. “But is it any more absurd than some of the theories Shoule was shouting about?”

  Apiris didn't reply. Instead he repeated to himself, “A smith from the southern hills...” The mention of the southern hills in connection with the divine champion reminded him of something, but he couldn't quite place it – and then he remembered.

  “Biekedau,” he said.

  “What?” Lord Kadan asked.

  “Biekedau,” Apiris said. “That's in the southern hills, isn't it?”

  “More or less,” Kadan agreed. “It's on the Vren just below the falls. A pretty town. What about it?”

  “Someone from Biekedau, a priest, came to the temple last summer, claiming to know who the true champion was,” Apiris explained.