The False Martyr

by H. Nathan Wilcox

  “Naidi is gone,” the old man admitted. “His injuries were too . . . too much for the surgeons to repair.” Ipid felt his heart drop. He had not known the wizard well but had liked his steady presence, had appreciated Eia’s admiration and everything he had done for Rynn.

  Belab sighed this time. “Rynn has gone to continue his training. I fear this is where my roll delivered the evil eyes. The boy was very close to Naidi. He had never had a father figure that spent time with him and cared for him. Naidi had filled that gap. When he was hurt . . . . Well, Rynn snapped. He lost his control.” Belab sighed again and looked at the ceiling. “I fear it will be some time before he recovers enough to be around people again. He may never be able to use his gift safely.”

  Ipid tried to swallow the lump he felt rising in his throat. As terrible as what Rynn had done, was the thought of him having to live with it. “What will become of the Kingdoms?”

  Belab did not answer immediately. He watched Ipid for a long time. Finally, he took a deep breath. “I fear to tell you this, but I suppose you must know.” He paused again. “They will fall into chaos. Knowing that you would ask, I have sent my followers to assess. It has been two nights and a day since the . . . the accident. Already uprisings have occurred in every city. Your governors have been overthrown. The leaders of those uprisings await word from Wildern. When they do not receive it, they will lose control of the mobs. The people are starving. They will do what they must to find food. There are no more soldiers to keep the peace, no leaders to unify them or give them direction. Chaos will claim them. The kind of chaos that we all fear, the kind that no reasonable man could ever worship.”

  Ipid felt all the air leave him, felt his shoulders slump, and spine bend. “So there is no hope?”

  Belab looked at him, dark eyes contemplating. “I have a proposal. I do not know if it will work, but I see it as our best chance.”

  “Alright.” Ipid was skeptical.

  “Hear me out. When this latest Battle of Testing is complete, Arin will release the vassals from our side of the mountains from his service. Most of them will return home but not all. I propose that my followers go to your cities, that they bring with them some of these men, that they restore order, bring your people together, and provide stability until new leaders can be found.”

  “Why would they do that? And why would the people of the Kingdoms follow them?”

  “My followers would do it because I ask. The soldiers because we will pay them. I will do it because I feel like much of this is my fault, was caused by my miscalculation. As for your people, they will likely resist, but stability is what they need, and they will soon realize that is what we offer. The followers I select will be those that have skill and experience as administrators. The soldiers will bring stability and the rule of law. Your people will not like it, but the food will soon be flowing back to them, life will return to normal, and their attitudes will soften. Do not mistake me and think it will be easy, that lives will not be lost, that there will not be strife, but again, I think it will create the best possible outcome given what we face.”

  “You can do that?” Ipid looked back down at Eia, silently wishing that he could see her expression. Even if she had nothing to say, just seeing her smile would reassure him.

  “I can, but I will not unless you want it.”

  Ipid thought about his country, about the lawless mobs, about the looting, rampaging, fighting, about all the damage that they would do, about how much harder it would be for the country to recover if that destruction were added to the damage already done. He thought of the Sylian’s exploiting the chaos to attack cities, to take children as slaves, to burn and pillage and rape. He thought of the whole country breaking apart and falling into endless wars. Then he tried to think of alternatives to Belab’s plan. The army here was the obvious one, but he knew that Arin would never release it, at least not in time to do any good. “Alright,” he conceded. “Please, send your people. Anything to keep the country from falling to the mobs.”

  Ipid looked at Belab expecting to see a smile, but he just nodded, face grim. “I almost wish you had said no. I know this is right, but I fear for my followers, and the soldiers I put in harm’s way. It is the burden of all leaders. All choices causes suffering, but still, you must pick.”

  “Thank you,” Ipid conceded.

  Belab did smile at this, a tight grim line, then pounded Ipid on the shoulder with his big withered hand. “There is one other thing we must discuss.” His tone turned lighter, and he looked at Eia.

  Ipid felt his heart leap. He knows. By the Order, he knows. He slowly forced himself to release Eia’s hand, as if the old man might not have noticed him holding it for the past day and a half. His mind screamed the danger, played the words that Eia had said about Belab or Arin finding out. They will never let me see you again. He felt his heart breaking beyond the misery already there. He looked again at Eia.

  “You have formed a relationship with Eialia.” Belab made the accusation a fact. Ipid could not possibly deny it. He nodded. “How far has it gone?”

  Ipid did not know how to answer. He suddenly felt like a boy who had been caught in the hayloft with the farmer’s daughter. He thought about the things he had done with Eia and felt his face turn hot. At the same time, his mind spun trying to find some way to save them, to convince Belab that they had not broken the rules, that they should not be punished. “We . . . I mean . . . we are . . . but . . . not . . . .”

  “I see,” Belab ended his babbling. He brought a hand to his face and rubbed his beard. “I suppose I should have expected this. It was always cruel to cage her as we have.” He stopped and looked long at Ipid. “And I think she is probably good for you as well.”

  Ipid considered how he felt about his lover, of the uncertainty, guilt, and agonizing desire. He was not sure if she was good for him, but he knew that he had to have her, could no longer be without her.

  “I will allow it,” Belab said, “as long as it is what both of you want.” He looked at Ipid, stared at him then nodded. “I release her from the vows she took after the Darthur. They never should have been applied to her, it was too against her nature, too against that which Hilaal created. When she has recovered, you will be together as much as your duties allow. I wish you luck. You will need it.” He looked at Eia then Ipid knowingly. Somehow, Ipid knew exactly what he meant. Belab pulled himself from the bed, rising slowly as if he knees resisted the effort.

  Ipid came up to help him, realizing for the first time how old Belab was. “Thank you,” he said. He looked at Eia lying there so peacefully. He wanted nothing more than to climb into the bed with her, to feel her next to him. His eyes began to mist.

  Belab clapped his arm and laughed. “You may not thank me for long,” he chuckled. “You may curse me in a month, but it should be your decision. I would tell you to treat her well, but I fear the concern should go the other way.” He chuckled again and patted Ipid’s arm. His smile was broad and genuine. Ipid felt like he had the night he’d asked Kira’s father to join her. As he recalled, the big logger had said something similar that night as well.

  “You should go,” Belab said finally. Ipid looked at him confused. He had no intention of leaving Eia’s side. “I am sorry, I got so carried away I forgot to tell you that I came to fetch you for Arin.” The old man smiled and eased himself into the chair Ipid had occupied. “The Liandrin Battle of Testing is tomorrow. He rides to meet the Liandrin King in a few hours. He wishes you to accompany him.”

  Ipid looked around confused. He had nearly forgotten the reason he was here in this village that the Darthur had occupied on the Liandrin side of the Alta. The idea of another battle, of starting all this over again was almost more than he could take. He felt his knees grow weak.

  Belab caught him. “Meet with the Liandrin King,” he said. “I think you will be encouraged. I think that the foibles that occurred in your Kingdoms will be avoided here. Now, you must go. I have already kept you too l
ong. I will stay here with Eialia. You need not worry that she be alone.”

  Numbly, Ipid turned to the door. He walked through and pulled it closed behind him. Only then did he realize that he had not even said goodbye. It seemed foolish given that Eia was unconscious, but he could not help himself. He returned to the door, reached for the handle, and heard Belab’s voice. “My daughter,” he said. “I think you were correct. I think he is the answer.”

  Frozen, Ipid could not make himself turn the knob. He could only hear those words ringing through his mind time and again. Daughter. Answer. Daughter. Answer.

  #

  The tent was the same one Ipid had stood under on that disastrous day only six weeks – a lifetime – before. The warriors jockeying for position, the table, the waiting were all the same. The sense of dread was the same as well. The sense of it all starting over, of the most terrible chapter of his life playing again, the tides of history sucking him back down into that same whirlpool. It was cooler this day, the summer finally loosening its grip. The sun was warm when it poked through the clouds, but its intensity had diminished, was slowly waning. The steady breeze was warm, comfortable, reassuring rather than the blast of a furnace it had been a few weeks before, but Ipid was still soaked with sweat. The ride here had been part of it. His worry about Eia, his country, these talks were another.

  The King of Liandria arrived at the tent only a few minutes after the Darthur. Unlike Chancellor Kavich, he entered first, his entourage scrambling to keep up with his long strides. He wore only pieces of his armor – a great gilded breastplate with the Liandrin Eagle emblazoned across it, wings spread, claws outstretched; shoulder guards; a simple helm; and guards for this thighs – and though it was ornate with intricate gilding and scroll work, it was also clear that his armor was meant to be functional, that it was armor meant, above all, to protect the man wearing it. He carried no weapons that Ipid could see though the same was not true of his son, who kept his hand on his long sword, or the knights in full plate that remained mounted outside the tent.

  “We accept,” the king declared as he burst into the tent. Ipid expected more. He stood confused. Finally, Arin slapped him on the arm, and he translated.

  “Accept what?” Arin asked.

  “Your terms of surrender. Our army is yours. We will meet whatever demand you have. Our harvests are bountiful, enough to feed even this horde. We will give you safe passage and cheer as you pass through every city. We ask only that you support us in our war with the Empire and the Fells, that you test them next and allow us to lead the charge.”

  Ipid could not believe the words even as he translated them. Arin seemed nearly as confused. He looked at the king then at the te-ashüte gathered around him. “You must be tested first.”

  “Yes,” the king agreed, “tomorrow morning. I have received your messages, and we will meet you with enough of a force to show our capability. However, I have already commanded several units of our army to march north or east. Once this battle is concluded, the remainder will follow. I hope that you will accompany us with all haste.”

  Arin seemed confused by this king who sought to command him even as he surrendered. “I do not understand,” he finally said in the Imperial tongue. “Why are you so fast to surrender?”

  “Vengeance,” the king growled. “We want them to suffer, and you are our best hope of making it happen.” He turned to Ipid and spoke to him. “I know you can understand. The Morgs betrayed us. They murdered my son and stole the gold we’d sent to hire them. They have sided with the Empire and invaded our lands together. Already, Valden is gone. We received the reports today. The imperial army burned it to the ground. They massacred the people, left no survivors. Neither of them has a scrap of honor or decency, and I will see them punished. Do you understand, Ipid? Do you see? I will end them. I will kill the Morg bastards that murdered my son, will end their haughty arrogance once and for all. I will finish the pile of corruption that the Empire has become as my ancestors should have done centuries ago. I will kill every member of their accursed Imperial line. And I don’t care what devil I have to make a deal with to do it.” He gnashed his teeth, eyes blazing with intensity. “So, I accept,” he declared again to Arin.

  “It shall be as you say,” Arin agreed in Darthur. “After the testing – assuming you earn a place of honor – you and your people may withdraw. The clans and the armies from Ipid’s lands will join you. Already we have an army prepared to cross your border to the north and test the Fells. They will wait for your forces to join them. Likewise, we will join you in testing the San Cheir Empire. If the truth of their honorless crimes presents itself in the Eroth Amache, you will have the revenge you seek.”

  “Thank you,” the king said with obvious relief. He pounded his hand on the table. “I look forward then to meeting your army tomorrow for this testing then riding beside you to the Fells.”

  “The Eroth Amache shall decide,” Arin agreed. He turned and walked from the tent.

  Ipid moved to follow, but the king reached across the table and caught his arm. “Chancellor Ronigan,” he said low, pulling Ipid across the table to speak in his ear. “I hope you can see the need for our nations to again be allies. I am deeply sorry for the attacks we made on your men as they came up the Alta. We were seeking only to defend ourselves. Now, I see that the Order never meant us to be enemies.”

  “I understand,” Ipid managed though he had a hard time still thinking of himself as the man who should receive such apologies. “I knew about the Empire but am still coming to terms with what you said about the Fells. I cannot begin to understand what has happened to allow that.”

  “I have received only the report of my son’s murder and their decision to side with the Empire. I can only imagine what betrayals allowed that, but I will whip it from those bearded bastards soon enough.” The King’s teeth ground as his mind went to the betrayal. “In the meantime, my generals have made a separate agreement with your man, Marshal Landon. Can I assume you will honor it now that you are here?”

  “What . . . what kind of deal?” Ipid asked, still slightly overawed that he was speaking intimately with the King of Liandria, a man that he had previously only managed to glimpse despite all his wealth and influence.

  “The details are best left to the generals, don’t you think? I am told it will to keep the dying to a minimum on both sides.”

  Ipid sighed. He was certainly in favor of that. “I will discuss it with Marshal Landon, but if it is as you say, I can see no objection.”

  “Very well,” the king said, looking around the tent. The Darthur had departed, riding back to their camp, leaving Ipid alone with the king and his entourage. He held out a hand. Ipid took it and tried to meet the strength of the old man’s grip. “We are allies then. And this time, we will work together to put the Morgs in their place and bring down that abomination to our savior that the Empire has become. Let your invaders have their gold and conquest. When they have returned to their lands, we will have our world back, and it will be unified as Valatarian intended it be.”

  The king shook Ipid’s hand and smiled, but Ipid could not help but think about what he had just said, and he suddenly wondered who was using whom.

  Chapter 76

  The 59th Day of Summer

  The number of possibilities within the tapestry that is the Order are beyond any man’s ability to comprehend. They are as numerous as the drops of water in the ocean, the grains of sand in the desert, the beats of every heart, the thoughts of every man and woman. To trace them more than a few connections is to meet the full power of the infinite, to be lost, to drown. However, if one can remove himself from the individual strands, he can look out at the pattern that those strands form. Just as a man cannot understand the desert by looking at its individual grains of sand, he cannot understand the Order by looking at the individual strands of possibility that form it. He must look instead at the dunes, the wastes, the salt flats, the oases and see them as a whole, how they w
ork together, how they support one another, the conflict and cooperation between them, how one grows and the other shrinks, how one gives life while another takes it. The same is true of the Order. It is a tapestry, and a tapestry cannot be understood by its individual threads but rather by the patterns that form it.

  Lius considered those words again. Xionious Valatarian had written them at the end of his time in the desert. Driven there by his enemies, the desert nearly claimed him before he had his great epiphany. Having wandered for weeks, dying of thirst and hunger, he’d had the vision that allowed him to see the strands of possibility that formed the Order. He then spent three years studying the Order in its purest, simplest form and eventually came to see it as a tapestry made up of billions of possibilities, each a thread that could be pulled to change the outcomes around it. At first, that power was enough to help him survive his harsh environment, to find water and food and shelter, but eventually, he started to understand the full extent of his knowledge, to see the larger patterns, and how even small actions impacted those patterns, how his decision to kill a fly might lead to a thousand men dying a thousand miles away a thousand days in the future. Or, far more likely, to nothing.

  Eventually, he began to see the Order as a great tapestry, strands of possibility woven into sweeping patterns that showed everything that could happen. Following that, it was just a matter of learning how to read and manipulate those patterns, to create specific outcomes tomorrow through his actions today. Finally, when he had mastered the Tapestry, he prepared the world for his return. Months upon months of meticulous planning followed. Often their savior spent days in deep meditation, nearly dying of thirst as his mind stretched to create the patterns required to allow him to triumph over those who had driven him to the desert, the Lawbreakers. When everything was ready, he emerged, gathered his followers, and used them to magnify his control of the Order. With the growth of his power, the number of his followers and their dedication increased until even the most powerful of the Lawbreakers, not even his hated brother, could stand against him. Eventually, finally, he was able to align every power and possibility against the Lawbreakers, to harness the Order’s infinite power to exile them.