The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  The ground came up to meet him at an angle. He fell into it, anticipating the slope, and rolled head over heels, summersault after summersault accelerating down the slope, narrowly avoiding trees, stumps, rocks. He crashed through a bush and nearly came uncurled as it pulled at him with thorns and branches. A creature running out-of-control at his side hit the rock that had been the alternative and planted face-first into a tree, but far more followed, and Lius could only roll. Battered, disoriented, nearly unconscious, he rolled toward the men waiting at the bottom, hoping beyond hope that the thing at their middle would order them to save him.

  #

  Something hit the ground on the ridge above Jaret Rammeriz. He and the legionnaires that surrounded him turned as one toward the disturbance, breaking their jog and forming into a defensive position. Bows and swords were drawn, muscles tensed, eyes scanned, ears perked. Yet Jaret could almost feel relief wash over them. It is finally happening, they all seemed to say. I knew this had been too easy. Now, we finally have to earn it. Though getting him out of the Great Chamber had cost the lives of twenty precious legionnaires – killed by Maelstrom-sent creatures or burnt by the magic of Emperor Nabim’s Exile henchman – their escape from the city had been too easy, and that made the remaining legionnaires more nervous than if they’d had to fight for every step. Any man with enough experience to be a member of the Legion of the Rising Sun – Jaret’s personal regiment and the most elite military unit in the San Chier Empire if not the world – knew better than to trust anything easy.

  After he dove into the canal to make his final escape – the only survivor of the band that had freed him – the remaining legionnaires had taken Jaret to a safe house in the docks district of the city where they had waited three days. Emperor Nabim, desperate to recover the scapegoat that he planned to blame for all the Empire’s woes, had ordered a search of the city, but the soldiers never came to their door. The patrols were tripled, but they never crossed their paths as they made their way on the fourth night to the wall. The gates had been ordered closed, but they climbed over at a place shrouded in darkness and abandoned by the guards. The soldiers in the towns outside were just as numerous, but the ones they encountered were drunk. They died quickly and their bodies were easily stashed.

  The whole thing had been almost miraculous, but it had never been a choice. Jaret was not even sure he was capable of making choices any longer. To prepare him for trial after he had been shattered by weeks of torture, the Emperor’s henchman had blocked Jaret’s emotions, created a barrier in his mind to keep him from feeling anything. But that barrier also made him the Order’s tool, blocked his freewill, took away any ability he had to choose his own path. He did not understand it, and the men who accompanied him clearly found it maddening, but he had simply known how long they had to wait, had known the exact time to go, the perfect time to reach the wall, the easiest section to climb, the exact place to climb down, the drunken soldiers that would have to die, the empty shed that would hide their bodies, the path into and through the wastes. At any point, he could not have described any aspect of his plans, could not have said what would happen, but every time a decision appeared, he knew exactly the path to take. It had been the Order’s will, not his, that had saved them.

  Now was another of those times. “Bows!” he yelled without even knowing why. He watched the ridge above them as a dozen legionnaires crowded in front of him and brought their bows up. The remaining men pulled swords and formed at the flanks of the archers, watching the hill above and waiting for anything that might make it past their brothers.

  There was a yelp, a crashing, and Jaret found the source of the disturbance. Something, someone was rolling down the hill, crashing through the underbrush at a fabulous speed, somehow avoiding every obstacle. All too familiar figures pursued – cousins of the thing that had tortured him, black hair a blur in the shadows, claws and teeth glinting in the afternoon sun.

  “Wait,” Jaret found himself calling though the very sight of the things made his trapped emotions pound against the wall in his mind.

  “Creatures, lord commander,” Lieutenant Caspar said from his side.

  “Wait,” Jaret growled again. He watched the man roll down the hill – a blur of brown – watched him bounce over a ridge and land and keep rolling though by rights his neck should have snapped. He watched the creatures come at the man, watched them trip and tumble and crash and rise and follow. In seconds, those things would be on top of Jaret and his men. In less time than that, they would take the rolling man. Yet, something made him wait. There were perhaps twenty of the creatures, a number equal to the legionnaires that accompanied him. He knew what those creatures were capable of, knew that they were evenly matched to the legionnaires, knew that he would lose men if it came to close combat, knew that he could not afford to lose those men, that he would need every one of them for the journey they had planned. Still, he waited.

  The rolling man hit a bush, slammed into it with his back and stopped. The branches held him upside-down, tangled around him so that he was lost somewhere inside with only his feet sticking from the top. He screamed, crying out in frustration or pain or fear. And the creatures came at him. They closed on the bush as one, were drawn to it like iron filings to a magnet. From every direction, they swept in on that bush with no regard for any other aspect of their surroundings.

  “Fire!” Jaret yelled. A dozen arrows released. A dozen more rose from quivers. The creatures fell. Gathered in a clearing twenty paces away, attention focused on the screaming man trapped before them, the archers could not miss. Firing up a steep hill at running targets that were moving erratically through heavy cover, the archers, for all their skill, would have been lucky to hit a few of the creatures. Now, they were sitting ducks. They did not even know what was happening until the second set of arrows had struck, until two-thirds of their number were on the ground. The final eight looked up in time to see the archers load their third volley, but it was too late. The archers dropped four more of them as they charged. The swordsmen at their sides took care of the rest. It was over almost before it began.

  “Recover arrows,” Jaret said. He somehow knew that the threat was passed, that there were no more creatures or soldiers accompanying these. “Make sure all those abominations are dead. And bring me the monk.”

  “Who is he?” Lieutenant Caspar asked.

  Jaret had no idea. He was not even sure how he knew that the man was a member of the Church. In the blur of motion, he had barely even been able to discern his brown robes, but he somehow knew that those were the correct words to say. “I have no idea, but I know that he has to come with us.”

  Chapter 8

  The 16 – 19th Day of Summer

  Ipid was already at his desk when Eia began to wake. He watched her rouse, stretching underneath the cotton sheet. She rolled, reached for him, then opened her eyes when she came up empty. Pulling the hair from her eyes, she propped herself against a pillow. “Good morning,” she croaked. The sheet remained tangled around her legs but left the rest of her bare. A smile split her sleep-creased face as she struggled to get the mounds of hair under control. Watching her, Ipid wondered how she ever got a comb through the tangled mass of curls. He rose from his seat and crouched on the bed to kiss her.

  “That’s nice,” she said when he pulled away. “Would be nicer if you were still in here with me.” She held back the sheet.

  Ipid kissed her again but did not take her invitation. “Not now, my dear. My mind is already whirling, and I’m afraid I couldn’t give you the attention you deserve.”

  “Your attention wasn’t what I was looking for.” Eia smiled mischievously and reached for him. He pulled back and she laughed. “I’m sorry. I’ll be good. I promise.” She pulled the sheet up over her chest and batted her eyes. “Is this better?”

  Ipid ran his hand along her cheek, pushing back the hair that seemed unwilling to retreat. “I brought up some food. I can barely boil water, so it’s not much.�
� He reached to the table beside the bed and lifted a tray. As promised, it contained a few slices of stale bread, a chunk of white cheese, and a small bowl of red jam.

  Eia smiled. “It has been some time since a man has brought me breakfast in bed. If you’d managed eggs, I might have considered it a joining proposal.” Ipid retracted and stuttered, which just brought more laughter from Eia. “Do not worry. Those of my order are not allowed to be joined. In that alone, we are like your counselors.” She laughed again. “I am not like the women you have known. I do not define myself by the man I have snared. I can be with you, can love you, can be your friend and partner without our lives being inexorably tied.”

  Ipid was certainly not ready to be joined again, but he was still not sure how he felt about what Eia had said. If they were not committed to each other, what was to keep her from finding another as easily as she’d found him? He knew that she was a free spirit, so what was to keep her from flitting away?

  “You worry too much,” Eia laughed, seeming to sense his fear – which, given her abilities, she probably was. “I am very fond of you. I will be with you as long and as much as I can, but is it not inevitable that relationships, that feelings change? It may be that we are a constant compliment, or that we come together and drift apart many times, or that this week is all that we are allotted.”

  Ipid heard and understood everything she said. He agreed with it, of course. But looking at Eia, hearing her words, thinking about losing her left him feeling hollowed out. “Of course, I . . . I would expect nothing more.” He tried to sound as detached as she had, but the words rang hollow.

  “Sweet man,” Eia cooed. She seemed, if anything, invigorated. “That is why I want us to make the most of the time we have, because we never know how long it will last.” She smiled, but her expression was different. Ipid could not pin it down, but that smile made his insides quiver like a rabbit looking upon the smile of a fox.

  “Now,” Eia continued as she spread jam on her bread. “What is it that has your attention? Maybe if I help you resolve it, I can get that attentions back to me.” She smiled, and Ipid felt his confidence returning. It’s reality, he told himself, and she’s just keeping us connected to it. She is right. Where did you think this was going to go? Two days away and you’ve already forgotten everything that has happened, everything you have to do, everything that is balancing on your shoulders. Could you give that up, let all those people down just to be with her? The answer was obvious, but he sighed, wishing it was not.

  Ipid returned to his desk, lifted a sheet from it, and turned in his chair to Eia. “I’m trying to figure out how to get the Chancellor to listen to Arin’s demands and seriously consider accepting them. The problem is, I have no idea what Arin’s demands will be.”

  “Hmmm,” Eia said as she chewed. “I do not know what he will ask. I am sure that even he does not know.” She paused. “You see, the Darthur are ruled by their women. He has returned to them as the Darthur always do after a Battle of Testing. They will set the terms for your people to join the clans, and because your people are k’amach-tur, they will not be negotiable.”

  “So what do they usually ask? Will they want gold or weapons or slaves? The terms will greatly impact the Chancellor’s reaction.”

  Eia laughed around a mouthful of cheese. “That is obvious.” Ipid felt himself blush. “I’m sorry,” she continued. “I understand what you’re asking, and though I can’t know exactly what they’ll demand, I can give you an idea based on what they did on our side of the mountains.” Eia took another bite then fought her hair. “Do you mind if I take care of this before we go any further?”

  Ipid could not help but chuckle. “I’ve never understood how you women can stand to have all that on your heads. Do you know how much time I save by being bald?” He rubbed the smooth space on the top of his head.

  Eia laughed then climbed from the bed and kissed him on the very spot. “Do you think I should shave it off then?” Her hair fell around his face, filling his sense with her smell. He tried to imagine her without her hair but could not. Instead of answer, he angled his head up and kissed her, running his fingers through the fine hair until it was trapped in the tangles. “I didn’t think so,” Eia said as she pulled away. “I’ll be right back. While I’m gone think about what you have told Arin about these Kingdoms. Their demands will most certainly be based on what he knows.”

  With that, Eia strode from the room. Ipid watched her go, white hair bobbing above her round rear, thin legs, bare feet. He thought about what she had asked, tried to recall exactly what he had told Arin about the Kingdoms. He scribbled some notes and was just finishing when Eia returned.

  She was wearing a sleek, sleeveless silk summer dress that was far too large for her. The neckline barely covered her breasts, the line of the waist was nearly at her knees and several inches dragged on the ground. She looked most like a child wearing her mother’s dress. For some reason, Ipid found it captivating. Catching his stare, she adjusted the straps to raise the neckline. “I make do with what I have. Unless you want me to put that cursed robe back on.”

  Ipid laughed. “Anything but that. You look lovely. I just wish I could buy you the dresses you deserve.”

  Eia looked down at the one she was wearing. It was deep blue with no adornment, but the silk was of a perfect weave, not a catch, nary an imperfection. “If this is any indication, I imagine they would be magnificent. You obviously have excellent taste.” She thought for a moment. “Or was it your son who selected these for his new wife.”

  Ipid chuckled at the thought of either him or Dasen selecting dresses. “I wish that one of us could take the credit, but it was someone from the staff that arranged for the clothes. I did nothing but open my purse.”

  “Well, I love them, nonetheless, and am sure that your daughter-in-law would have felt the same. She is very fortunate to have you.”

  “I doubt very much that she felt that way, but you are nice to say so.”

  “How could she not want you as a father? You are kind and considerate . . . and rich.”

  Ipid laughed again. “The last most of all. But Tethina was never the kind of girl who cared much for money or what it could buy. She is creature of nature. I fear that she will never be tamed, will never fit into this world.”

  “And your son? Does she love him?”

  Ipid sighed. “She did once, when they were children. Now, I don’t know. They are as different as two people can be, but that is not always bad.”

  “Like us.” Eia giggled and sat on his lap. “The frivolous girl and the serious lord. It is the stuff of ballads. The world revolves around such romances.”

  Ipid wrapped his arms around her. “I suppose it does, and as it turns out, Tethina may have already saved Dasen. If they made it through the forest to Thoren and escaped your camp, I can only imagine it is because of her.” And killed a warrior, Ipid added silently, unable still to grasp the horror of that.

  “So he would brave the forest and risk escaping the Darthur for this girl? But I thought you were not sure if they were in love.”

  “No,” Ipid chuckled darkly, “I cannot imagine Dasen doing any of those things. I cannot imagine him lasting a day in the forest. But Tethina . . . . She was in many ways built for this, for hiding, running, fighting. She has done it her entire life. If Dasen has survived the forest and evaded your armies, it is because of her.”

  Eia seemed to ponder this. “I see,” she said seriously as she rose from his lap. And does she know this area? Is she from here as well?”

  “No. There are no forests here. She has spent her entire life in Randor’s Pass. That is why we were there, for their joining ceremony.”

  “So where would they have gone?”

  “I wish I knew,” Ipid answered, but Eia seemed not to hear. She paced, mumbling to herself. “What is it?” he finally asked.

  Eia looked up as if surprised that he was still there. Then, remembering herself, she smiled and waved off
the question. “Nothing. Now, I believe we were going to discuss what you have told Arin.”

  #

  Ipid sat back, rubbed his forehead, and stared at the pages before him. Eia had answered his questions in more detail than he could have hoped, but the answers had done nothing to reassure him. He now had a good idea of what the Darthur would ask of the Kingdoms but could not imagine the Chancellor accepting. “And if they don’t accept these terms?” he asked.

  Eia sat near the window on the other side of the room, splayed on a divan watching the clouds meander through the blue of the sky. It was approaching noon, and the day was, if anything, hotter than the previous. Even Ipid had unbuttoned his shirt and taken to constantly mopping his brow to keep his sweat from ruining the papers before him.

  Eia looked back at him, fanning herself but seeming less affected by the heat. “Oh, they will accept. They always accept. By the end, the leaders on our side of the mountains were begging to accept the Darthurs’ terms. They could have asked anything, could have asked the people to . . . to murder their own children, and they would have accepted.” She sighed, turning mournful. “In the beginning, there were a few nations that resisted before they knew what Arin would do. He destroyed their cities, killed everyone inside, stole their livestock and burned their crops. He made them beg, made them see that his terms were a mercy. And that was before he had us. You saw what we did to Thoren. Wildern will suffer the same fate. Then the next city and the next and the next. He will keep destroying until his terms are met, until your leaders beg him on their knees to be allowed to give him what he wants. By then, you will pray that he is still in a mood to accept.”

  Ipid gulped. He looked back down at the list of terms. He imagined the Chancellor, as proud a man as exists in the world, accepting them, bowing to Arin, pledging his support and that of his nation to the invaders. Then he imagined Wildern erupting in fire, circled by the demon stoche. He imagined the screams of the dying, the lines of refugees seeking shelter in yet another city that Arin would destroy. And where would it end? Eia was right. The only peace was to give Arin exactly what he wanted.