The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “We will meet him in the east receiving room,” he told the butler when his mind had returned to the task at hand. “Would you like to join me, my dear?” he asked Eia.

  “I never miss a chance to see our fine ambassador,” she answered. “I have a feeling his message today will be especially telling.”

  The way she said the last told Ipid almost immediately that bad news was waiting. He almost anticipated it now.

  #

  “Ambassador an’ Pmalatir,” Ipid began as he swept into the room, determined to make a better showing of himself than the last time he’d met the ambassador on the day they’d planned the deal with Stully. They were ensconced in a room that was meant for such intimate, but stately, meetings. Similar to the room where he had met Lord Stully in Aylesford, it was paneled with richly polished wood. Weaver tapestries lined the walls – though not the antiques that Ipid had seen in Aylesford. A similar oval table of light colored wood polished so that it was nearly a mirror seemed to levitate in the room. The chairs were carved, polished, and padded with seats wide enough even for the ambassador’s girth. And most important of all, a set of crystal decanters marked a smaller table at their side with a liveried footman prepared to serve. “I am so pleased that you have called on us. I am sorry that we have not prepared a meal. If I had known, we would have offered you the same meager rations we’ve been having for the past few weeks. But our saving grace is that soldiers do not know the difference between fine brandy and sour wine, so the best bottles of Lord Stully’s estate have been saved. May I offer you a glass?”

  Vontel did not bother to bring himself from the padded chair that held him even as Ipid rounded the table and offered his hand. Only then did Ipid see how old and tired and crumpled the ambassador seemed. All the pomp and playfulness seemed to have left him. His eyes were downcast and tired, posture deflated, face slack and joyless. “A brandy would be most welcome,” he answered as if to a barkeep rather than a sovereign. “Large and strong,” he said to the footman who was pouring from a decanter into a cut-crystal snifter.

  “Thank you for seeing me, Lord Chancellor.” He caught Ipid hand in a weak, clammy embrace then turned to Eia. “My lady, I’ve come to beg your assistance in returning to Sal Danar.” His eyes remained on her, but the flirtation was gone, replace by wariness bordering on fear. The brandy arrived as Ipid was walking around to the far side of the table. The ambassador downed it in a series of gulps and handed it back to the footman. “Another.”

  “Returning?” Ipid asked and waved off the footman’s offer of a glass. He remained standing at the head of the table, watching the interaction, expecting their previous play, waiting for it. Eia curled herself into one of the big chairs, knees pulled to her chest, long dress flowing off the end of the chair, pale-blue silk held together by the slim white bands of her arms. She smirked at the ambassador but said nothing as his anxiety grew.

  “They’re dead,” he blurted out of nowhere, voice breaking.

  “Who?” Ipid glanced at Eia. Her cat’s grin had not changed. The footman delivered the ambassador’s second glass with wide eyes, and Ipid motioned him decisively from the room.

  “All of them,” Vontel moaned, losing his composure for the first time Ipid had seen. “Stully found them. He killed them all. The butler, the cooks, the stable master, the order advisor. But not just them. My entire network. My messengers, my street men, my tavern girls.”

  Ipid could not grasp what the near hysterical ambassador was talking about. “What . . . what are you talking about? Who’s dead?”

  “Everyone! All of them! They’re all dead!” Vontel’s voice rose again. He wiped his nose and eyes with a silk cloth and looked at Ipid beseeching. “I received the list last night with the names of every person in my confidence.” He took a deep steadying breath. “Each name had a red X on it. I knew immediately what it meant, but it took most of the day to squeeze enough information from the watch to confirm it.” He threw his hands up, eyes wide and wild, rant continuing with rising fanaticism. “There have been so many murders over the last week that they were barely registered, but these were my people, my people.”

  He brought his eyes to Ipid, saw the shock, and laughed. “You don’t know how bad things have gotten, do you? Well, there are countless murders every night. That idiot, Tyne, thinks they are fights over food. He’s doing everything he can to keep it from you, but then he’s the only one who doesn’t know how this ends, isn’t he?” The ambassador laughed, but it was a dark chuckle that made Ipid’s skin crawl. “You probably don’t even care that it’s Stully, that he’s in the city, that he’s gone completely crazy, that he’s eliminating anyone not under his control, that he’s purging the city in preparation for his return. Look at you. Sitting here in your manor, fucking your Exile whore, oblivious as the world falls apart around you.”

  “Watch yourself!” Ipid sprung from his chair and pounded his hand on the table.

  Eia caught him with her hand on his chest and guided him back to his seat. “Do not forget yourself, Ambassador. You will upset not only him, but me.”

  “I . . . I am sorry,” the ambassador mumbled, anger turning to real fright, eyes never leaving Eia. “I . . . I allowed my emotions to get ahead of my mouth. I . . . I beg your forgiveness.”

  “Granted,” Eia proclaimed like a magnanimous emperor. She waved off the insult then sat back in her chair. “So someone had killed your informants?”

  “Stully!” Vontel wailed. “Not someone. Stully. He blames me for what happened to his son, so he’s getting his revenge. He killed them. I don’t know how, but I am surely next. I have to leave. I must return to the Empire.”

  Ipid was just getting over the insult and considering the other part of Vontel’s rant. Captain Tyne’s well-honed sense of self-preservation had likely kept him from hearing about the violence in the city, but as much as he wished it were not the case, the news was almost welcome. It meant that Stully was tying up loose strings before making his move, that he was here and almost ready. He’s careful, Ipid reminded himself. He doesn’t do anything unless every variable is accounted for, unless he’s guaranteed to succeed.

  “How did he know?” Ipid asked, wanting only to understand what he was facing. Even Allard Stully could not have infiltrated a network as vast as Vontel’s without help. And to have killed so many so quickly? Even with the city watch at a fraction of its strength, it would require a vast network of enforcers. It didn’t add up. There was a traitor about, and if he could take down Vontel so decisively, what role would he (or she) play when it was Ipid’s time to go.

  “I have no idea! I’m not an amateur, you know. We didn’t have meetings. We didn’t communicate directly. Only a very few even knew each other. It is almost impossible that he could have found them all. A few, certainly. In his own household, in a few of his closest allies. But the street and tavern people? How could he have known?”

  “Someone knew them all,” Eia offered. She sat forward and placed a cool hand on Ipid’s forearm to keep his questions on his lips.

  Vontel stopped. He looked at her meaningfully, face flushing white. “Only . . . . But I trust him absolutely.”

  “You already knew,” Eia said as if fact. “You knew the moment you got the list. There is no traitor, no spy, no conspiracy. You and I both know what this is. I sensed it the first time I met him. He’s been wanting to turn on you for years.”

  Vontel’s jaw hung slack. His body lost all form. The blood ran entirely from his face so that he looked like a ghost who’d just learned of his earthly demise. “He was my son,” he said in a whisper. “His mother was a whore, but he was mine. And now . . . .” He stopped and looked at Eia. “How could you . . . ?”

  “How could I? How could you?” Eia snapped. “You stupid fool! You whored out your son, used the fact that the counselors here condemn men like him to entrap his lovers. Every relationship he ever had was ruined by you, was twisted for your gain. Every lover he had ended up hating him be
cause of you. Did you think he had no emotions, no feelings for those he was with?” She paused but there was no answer. “He hated you. He wanted nothing more than to be away from you, but he was afraid you’d do the same thing to him, that you would destroy him just as you threatened to do to his lovers, that you would ruin your own son.”

  Vontel froze. Ipid held his breath, eyes bouncing between Eia and the ambassador. He was afraid she had gone too far, that Vontel was going to snap.

  He broke instead. “You are right!” A tear rolled down his round cheek. He caught it with a handkerchief. “I did it to myself. There is no one to blame but me. I am the fool. I am of no use to you, so please, send me home.”

  “But what about Stully?” Ipid asked as if the ambassador might disappear simply by saying it. “When is he going to strike?”

  “Have you not been listening?” Vontel bellowed. “I don’t know anything. He destroyed me, everything I have built for years. To move so decisively, he has to have known for weeks. He has probably been feeding me lies since the moment you met him. You cannot trust a thing I have told you. I know nothing. Do you hear me, nothing. It was all lies. It was all a game, and he swept me from the board like a child.”

  Ipid considered that. Though there had not been nearly as much information as he would have liked, everything pointed to Stully following exactly the script that he had agreed to in Aylesford. He had allied with the former governors and members of parliament. He had kept protests to an almost excessive minimum in Wildern and the outlying cities. Wallock had confirmed that he was part of it, was using his resources to help Stully coordinate. It all made perfect sense, except this. “So why eliminate your network?” Ipid finally asked. “If he knew who they were, why not use them to feed us lies? Killing them only told us that he knew, so why give that away?”

  “Revenge,” Eia answered with certainty. “Stully only has one path to what he really wants, and he knows it. No matter how he feels about you, he is smart enough to know that your plan is the only one that gets him what he really wants. The spies and informants don’t matter. We already know how things will go. But Vontel was responsible for the death of his son and now was his last chance to have his revenge before he had to answer to a parliament and populace. So he had his revenge as his last act before replacing you as Chancellor.” Eia paused and grinned as if pleased by finding the answer of such a brutal riddle. “And maybe he sent us a message as well. Maybe, he is telling us that the feud is over, that this puts us on even ground, that everything can now proceed as planned.”

  “You’re right,” Vontel blubbered. “I failed and he’s had his revenge, but please, don’t let him get me as well. I don’t want to die here. I want to see my home again. Please. Please, send me home.”

  “Though you sicken me, I will see to your transport. You who prey on people’s choices, who use your Church’s prejudices against the freewill of the people under its care. You more than any of your servants deserve Allard Stully’s punishment, but I will help you escape so that you can live the rest of your life knowing what your depravity has wrought.”

  “Thank you!” Vontel nearly leapt across the table to show his appreciation. “I will never forget this. I have learned my lesson. I will never . . . .”

  “You will shut your mouth,” Eia ordered. “Leave the room. I will find you and transport you in a few minutes.”

  Taking Eia’s order to heart, the ambassador showed himself out, bowing and scraping as he went. But Ipid had heard almost nothing of his exchange with Eia. His mind was locked still in what Eia had said about Allard’s message.

  “Are you alright, my dear?” Eia disturbed his thoughts with a cool hand on his.

  “Something isn’t right,” he answered. “How could Allard Stully, for all his power, move that quickly against that many? It had to have been more than just Vontel’s valet. I mean, even if he knew all the names, how could he have known where they were? How could Allard have positioned men to kill them so quickly and completely?”

  “Does it matter?” Eia asked. “The only thing that matters now is that Allard is doing what we need him to do. And there is nothing in this to suggest that is not the case.”

  “I suppose,” Ipid mumbled as he considered. “I suppose you’re right. But then why won’t he communicate with us? Why won’t he tell us when he’s going to strike?”

  Chapter 72

  The 56th Day of Summer

  In the time since its founding, the city of Gorin West had faced more trials than men could count. It had been sacked by invaders, burned by fires, flooded time and again by the rivers that met before it. It had been destroyed and rebuilt so many times that no one could even say when one disaster had ended and the other began. But all those tragedies, all those disasters had come from outside the city, had been perpetrated on the people of Gorin West by forces outside their control. Today, even that tide had turned against it. Today, Gorin West was a city of chaos, a city without law, a city owned by mobs. It was a people rising up against the very institutions that bound them together. And the only thing that could give them pause was Teth.

  By the time she ran into town, the blood covering her had darkened from glossy crimson toward matted burgundy, except where her sweat had kept it bright on her cheeks, neck, and arms. It ran in scarlet drops from her, making it appear that she was its source, but no person could have that much blood inside them, no one could ever believe it was her own. Her auburn hair was plastered to her head. Her face and neck were painted, deadly eyes and clenched teeth the only white. Her shirt was soaked, the same color as her chest where the shirt had been ripped open and contrasted to the pink-stained wrap that contained her breast. Her brown pants were dark and stiff, shoes soaked so that they left carmine shadows behind her even now. The knife in her hand sparkled, lacking the mar of blood but seemingly begging for its own crimson palette.

  She saw the first mob of revolutionaries as she came through the empty, barren streets of the outer district – windows shuttered, doors closed, silence stunning – to the first commercial street. It consisted of nearly fifty men. Carrying makeshift weapons, they pushed down the street, tearing open doors and cleaning out the shops inside, looking for food to steal, wealth to procure, authority to destroy. They entered the intersection a few paces before Teth, blocking her way to the inn. Until they saw her.

  As one, their faces blanched white. Though most were drunk with alcohol, power, destruction, or all three together, they trembled. Some of them lost their stomachs on the side of the road. Some whispered prayers. All of them moved from her path. Teth ran between them, barely seeing their faces fall, their determination wane, their fury diminish. And when she was gone, they dropped their weapons, lowered their heads, and wandered silently away, purpose lost, hunger quelled.

  Ahead of her was the fighting. Mobs fought through barricades manned by soldiers toward the hill above, but the end was inevitable. The soldiers were beaten down by dock tools, kitchen utensils, carpentry wares, and farm implements. From above, arrows rained down finding victims in the crowd, but they were only a smattering, not nearly enough to be noticed by the singular entity that the mob had become. Like the creature that they had fought on the field outside Thoren, the arrows only served to enrage it, did nothing to slow it or deter its terrible purpose.

  Behind that main assault, others came running to add their numbers, their weapons, their passion to the creature. They brought whatever they had been able to find, raided houses and shops for knifes, tools, and pans, took food and bandages and drink to fuel the attack. But when they saw Teth, they stopped. They stepped aside. They gasped, held themselves, diverted their eyes or covered those of their children. More than the goddess of war, she was the very soul of carnage, and in her, they saw something more horrible than a blood-soaked girl. They saw what they had become, saw their madness, their fury, their malevolence reflected before them.

  Another mob blocked Teth from the River Maiden. Men pounded on the door wi
th their shoulders, shouted for it to open, demanded that the owners pay tribute. Undeterred, Teth walked slowly, silently through the crowd, watched them part around her, listened to their mumbled prayers, heard them fall back, lose interest, and retreat. She raised her hand to knock – knuckles puffy and purple even through the flaking sheets of red – prepared her voice to call. Neither was needed. The door opened. She walked in, and it closed behind.

  “Where is he?” she barked to the broad shadow who had opened the door. Eyes used to the bright sun, she could see nothing. The room was beyond dim. Every window was shuttered, the door was closed, a fire barely burned in the hearth. Light filtered through only from the cracks, slicing white lines across tables and chairs.

  “He’s gone,” Valati Lareno answered from the center of the room. Teth turned and blinked as his shadow materialized out of the darkness. He was sitting at a table, hands folded before him, passive as a man at prayer.

  She was on him in a flash. Her hand held the braided cord of his pendant. Her knife bit his chin. A drop of blood ran down its expanse, marking a single red line along the sparkling steel before falling to join its countless brothers on her sleeve. “Liar,” she snarled and dug her knife in deeper. “He is safe. The Tappers saw to it. Garth took him to the boat. He got away. Admit it. You’ve tried to control us, but you’ve failed. Admit it then you are going to the Maelstrom, and I am going to join you.” Teth’s hand began to move, despite the shaking that made it waver. Her teeth ground as she fought to control that shaking, fought to slash the valati’s throat. A tear coursed down her cheek.