“If not the spymaster himself,” Mycah drawled. The king gave Mycah a reproachful glance. The queen – still reading – gave a single, short guffaw.
“This book,” the queen said. “Have you read it?”
“No, my Queen,” Null answered. “I only know of its importance.”
“I see.” She continued reading, then: “Ruler of Men and Champion of the Faith,” she scoffed. “Dear, I would not take these words to heart, the High Cleric has always been rather eccentric and his threats unfulfilled.” Finished, she handed the papers to her son.
“You have met him?” Null asked.
Rin Tepa nodded. “Of course, I have been to the City of Trel a few times in my life. The first time we met, he told me that he would send my severed head gift wrapped to Atherahn if I did not leave King Rickard and marry him instead.”
With a smile, she turned to her son. “That was the angriest I have ever seen your father,” she said.
The king returned the smile before his gaze drifted back to the page.
“No,” the queen continued. “The High Cleric’s game is ever the same: shout loudly and obnoxiously enough that your opponent gives in. His knowledge of historical events however, is… surprisingly informed.” The queen leaned across the aisle and pointed to the page. Her finger seemed to point at the section about Mystic’s tomb. “And other parts, baffling to the extreme.”
Null gave the queen a questioning look, which the queen ignored.
Rin Tepa straightened in her chair and continued her tirade, “I wish you had brought this letter to my attention sooner. I could have handled the old fool myself. He has always been afraid of confronting me, which I’m sure is why he addressed his letter to you instead of me or my son.”
“I am certain that all men are afraid of confronting you, Queen Tepa,” Mycah crooned, smiling and winking at the queen. She feigned an offended frown and a crude laugh. Null was more interested in the queen’s change of subject. Which part does the queen think is true? Null wondered.
The door slammed behind them. Spymaster Tyvan Dahl entered, followed by Commander Stills, who still held the map, her legs scurrying to keep up with the king’s cousin. By most standards, Beda was tall for a woman – taller than most men for that matter – but Tyvan was much taller.
“Where’s the servant?” Tyvan demanded, planting his feet firmly behind the queen, his gaze wandering the room. His study intentionally omitted ‘the mage’ and ‘the priest,’ refusing to meet either’s glance, as he always did.
“We sent him out, cousin,” Erin said. “As spymaster, I am sure you can understand the need to keep some information private.”
“Of course, my liege,” Tyvan said, with two fingers flicking at waist level, he ordered the commander to retrieve more chairs. Taking the map from her hand, he walked to the king’s side and offered it to him. Erin waved it away, turning to the letter in his hand.
“What is that?” Tyvan asked.
“A letter from the High Cleric of Trel,” the king told him.
“A formal declaration of war?” Tyvan asked, reading the letter over the king’s shoulder.
The two cousins had a strange, often silent relationship. Though Tyvan’s question had been simple, the king didn’t bother to answer, and neither did Tyvan seem to need one. Indeed, his lips already mouthed wordlessly as he read, as if he had never expected one.
Stills retrieved a chair for herself and Tyvan, placing them opposite Mycah and Null. For Tyvan she took the last high-backed chair, for herself she selected a stool like the king’s. She stood patiently behind her stool, waiting for the spymaster to sit before she would herself. The spymaster ignored her, continuing to hover over the king.
Null looked to Mycah, offering him a strained smile. He returned the smile distractedly, his eyes training on Tyvan. Over the years, Null had accepted that the spymaster would never approve of her, but Mycah had not. He tugged at his kris earring – the tiny knife’s stylized hilt looped through his left ear, its ceremonial blade like a bolt of lightning.
“Sit girl,” the queen ordered Stills. Beda jumped to obey.
The king looked up, “What do you think, Mother?”
“Despite my opinion of the High Cleric, I fear the rumors of war are true. There is no other reason for the Trellish Legion to be marching in our direction.”
“What do your spies say, Tyvan?” Erin asked, glancing up at him.
“They say much the same,” Tyvan said. “But, they also say the Legion’s armies are untested and incompetent, more pomp and tradition than actual soldiering. The failings of the religious.” His eyes glared at Null and Mycah, on his lips a disdainful sneer. Mycah’s face and neck grew red and his hand tugged viciously at his earring.
Null ignored the insult. The spymaster did not understand the difference between a mage and a priest. His ignorance was not her failing and more than that, she knew her place. Her job was to serve her king, and aside from that, she was nothing.
The king ignored the barbed comment and continued reading. The queen remained oddly quiet. Queen Tepa had always treated Null kindly, but her sympathies rested with Tyvan and the Atheists.
Tyvan’s glare returned to the letter. Null looked forward to Tyvan’s reaction. The king must have reached the portion regarding Lock, for he yanked the letter away and folded it. He was too late.
“What?” Tyvan demanded, frowning at his king. “What was that about Lock?”
“Nothing, cousin,” Erin asserted. “The words here are mostly lies and boasts.”
“Oh, come now, my son,” the queen began, in an annoyed tone. “Your spymaster is not a child.”
The king met her eyes, then with a heavy frown, nodded. “Commander Stills, can you wait outside for a moment, please. Mycah and Null, you as well.”
“My King,” Null objected. “I have already read the letter…”
“The priest stays too,” Queen Tepa ordered. “I suspect his input will be of value.”
“Fine,” the king grated. “Commander Stills, leave us please.”
The commander, unable to hide her dissatisfaction, bowed and left the room. Grudgingly, King Erin handed the letter to Tyvan. The spymaster read aloud:
“‘Lock was a power-hungry wretch. He used a hatred he did not feel as his path to power, and all the while he secretly worshipped the Whore…’” He paused and read ahead. “‘Lock was nothing more than her prized bitch. Ask your king, he knows the truth.’” The last words were a shout.
Mycah laughed. “Ha! I never thought I would respect Lock. It all makes so much sense now.”
“It is not true,” the spymaster insisted, glaring at Mycah.
“No, it must be!” Mycah said wistfully. “That is why Dydal rallied Trel to support Lock in the Succession. They both served the same master. Through Lock, the Whore would control the Atheists and through Dydal she would control the priesthood in Trel. She had lost Atherahn to the Butcher’s Cult, but through those two she would maintain her power over the other factions. It was the Whore’s scheme all along!”
“Quiet, wretch,” the spymaster hissed.
“Calm yourself, cousin,” the king commanded.
“Why? Is it true or is it not?”
The king glanced away.
The spymaster’s eyelids flared. “Say it,” he said.
The king didn’t.
“You mean this demon is right?” Tyvan demanded, motioning to Mycah.
“I didn’t say that, now calm down.”
“You ask me to calm down, when you tell me that all of our histories are untrue? When you knew, and did not tell me!”
“Calm down,” the king repeated. “The priest is only speculating. Yes, Lock worshipped the Whore, but that does not mean anything.”
“It means everything!”
“No, listen to me.”
“I will give you one chance,” Tyvan said, rage burning in his eyes and the letter crumpled in his hand. The king eyed him slowly, waiting for Tyv
an to get hold of himself.
“The priest’s theories are a theologian’s perspective,” Erin said. “They hold no value in the real world. It is true. Lock worshipped the Whore, but because he believed in the gods does not mean they existed. What is important is that Lock saw a deeper truth. He realized that because he believed in the Faith, did not mean that everyone must, so he gave us a voice of resistance. The Atheists did not want anything more to do with religion. In Atherahn the Butcher’s Cult had twisted the Faith to satiate their own corrupt desires. In Trel, Dydal ruled by the Writ, demanding that everything belonged to the priests. Lock foresaw a third alternative, he saw a country where the Faith did not rule, and so he turned to the Atheists. Together, they fought for everything we now have. His personal beliefs are of no import. What matters is the freedom he has given us.”
The spymaster glared at Erin. For several moments, the room was silent. Finally, Tyvan crumpled the letter even farther and tossed it to the floor, then stormed out of the room, slamming the door even harder than when he’d entered.
The king looked to his mother. “I thought you said that Mycah’s input would be valuable,” he grated.
The queen blushed. “I also said that your cousin was not a child.”
Erin sighed. “Null,” he said. “Can you tell the commander to come back in please?”
She nodded and went to the door; the feeling in the room was too awkward for her to sit patiently anyway. She found Stills waiting at attention just outside the door.
“The king requests your presence,” Null said.
Beda Stills was a hard and often difficult woman, but when Null saw Beda’s face, her heart melted. The sorrow on the woman’s face was palpable.
“You heard?”
“Yes,” Beda said. “The shouts were louder than I expected.” Beda was not an animated woman, but her current tone made her normal demeanor seem a match to the emotion and vibrancy of a minstrel. “I heard enough,” she said.
“The king was right,” Null offered. “It doesn’t matter what he believed, only what he accomplished.”
“No. Intentions are too often an excuse.” Breathing deep, the woman stepped past Null and opened the door. For a change, she held it open and waited for Null to go first. They returned to their chairs. The king made no comment of Beda’s stark expression.
“Mother,” he asked, “will giving away this book solve anything?”
“No,” Tepa said, shaking her head. “Null’s assessment is correct. If we give away the book, especially to the Trellish, it will be seen as an insult to the Atheists. Moreover, I suspect that this war is not about the book, yet even so, I believe we should take precautions. Null, do you have the copy the Cleric sent us?”
“Ye- Yes, it was damaged, but I kept it.”
“Good. Bring it to me.”
“Certainly, Queen, it’s… it’s in the Atheism section of the library.”
The queen glanced at her quizzically. “With the other shit, I suppose you meant to say?”
Null blushed. “N- no, Queen. I only put it there… I, well… I put it in the place it was least likely to be read.”
Mycah laughed, yet the queen did not look pleased.
“Have it brought to me, in its entirety. Despoiled pages and all. I suspect it is simply a diversion, but there may be something there. We cannot overlook it.”
“Mother,” Erin began, “if this is not about the book, then what is it about?”
“I couldn’t say… with the High Cleric, it is never about what you expect. He has another motive here, but I cannot see it.”
The king frowned. “Then we go to war.”
Everyone was silent as the statement sank in.
“Mycah,” the king continued. “You have done a wonderful job as Null’s teacher. When I first hired you, I was worried that you might turn her into an Atherahnian cultist, but you have done no such thing, and I am glad to call you friend. Unfortunately, Null is now grown, and I believe that for now, if you are willing, your talents would be best utilized elsewhere.”
“This is not about what I said, is it?” Mycah asked.
“No, this is about necessity. I need you to go east. You must speak with the Hegemon, and tell him to withdraw from the engagements with Atherahn.”
“But the cultists,” the commander objected.
“Yes, I know, Beda,” the king sighed. “They are still a menace, and in recent years the raids have gotten worse, but the Trellish threat cannot be denied. Our only hope is to recall the Old Guard and believe that our more experienced troops can bloody the Legion badly enough that this war is over before Atherahn realizes the opportunity. Tyvan speaks the truth. Winter Blake is a far more experienced commander than the Trellish Grand. The Old Guard is more able and more seasoned, but it will take them a month, at least, to march an army that size back to Dekahn. If they hurry, they should beat the Trellish, but that is why you must go. You can get their faster than anyone else I can send.”
“But who will protect the border from the cultists?”
The king paused and looked at the queen. “In the past, Mother and I have discussed such an event. For now, the Hegemon will be recalled, along with seventy-five percent of his troops. In the meantime, Lord Kelwyn and Consul Ven will need to raise their levies to make up the difference. In addition,” he turned to the priest. “Mycah, you will stay there and relieve them in any way you can.”
Mycah scoffed. “I shall do what? An ex-priest of the very cult they fight against, serving alongside them? They will not accept me.”
“They will have to. Without their superior numbers, you and your magic will have to be their backbone. Over the years, I have seen what you can do and I have faith that you can rally them against any threat that might emerge. Go now and gather your things. You leave tomorrow.”
Mycah did not look happy, but he met the king’s gaze without flinching. After a long silence, he sighed and nodded. “Yes, Erin. Even if I do not like it, for you, I will do this.” Mycah gave Null a sad smile then stood and left the room.
The king turned to Commander Stills.
“Beda, Null.”
“Yes, King?” they said in unison.
“I have given Beda a map of the western plains. Both of you will need to go to New Luddahn and try to convince as many as you can to return to Dekahn. I hate to uproot the refugees a second time, but I fear they might be in as much danger now as they were in the Eastern Province. You two will leave tomorrow. Take one hundred of the New Guard. You’re dismissed.”
Null and the commander stood. She could not believe this. Even with the queen’s words, she wasn’t convinced. This was her fault. I have caused a war, over a book I don’t believe, she thought. She followed the commander to the door. As she shut it behind her, she heard the king’s voice.
“I hope your plan works, Mother.”
Null didn’t hear Queen Tepa’s response.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Bell had no choices that haunted him. No dark abuses to hide. No poor decisions to regret. He understood this made him rare. Few made choices without questioning them later, so he felt himself unique in his lack of regret. He enjoyed his station, he enjoyed his responsibilities, he was proud of his family. But those around him didn’t have this same ease of place, this comfort of identity.
Bottle of wine in one hand, glass in the other, Bell stared at the ink vials the boy had been playing with, one purple, one blue, and two bright green. He brought the wine glass to his lips and drank. Even five years after execution, Indaht Trask was still ruining lives. As Jem trudged up the steps and out of sight, Bell sighed and clenched shut his eyes. It was sad, but difficult to understand. Bell was not familiar with trauma, not in his own life. He’d seen prisoners suffer, but to get behind another’s eyes seemed, to Bell, an impossible task. The boy had seen much, and those scars were recognizable, but the obsession was not. Sure, Bell had those moments of sadness, worry, and depression just like anyone else, but the sourn
ess the boy emitted was alien to Bell. It was rare for Bell to hold onto an emotion for longer than a day, and this boy had held his for five years.
Trin called Bell sheltered because he’d never experienced hardship first hand. He might be, but that didn’t make him ignorant. It was one thing to witness suffering and another thing to feel it. He understood the fact, but not the suffering. Overall, he’d always been happy. Not in an every moment of every day sort of way, but in a general mindset kind of way. Right now, he felt sad for this boy – haunted by another’s mistakes – but the sadness couldn’t last. It wasn’t an affecting sadness, because it was more distant, the kind that spurred emotion, but not action. For that, he was happy, and if that happiness were heartlessness, he didn’t care. And if he was sheltered, he didn’t mind that either.
Trin had made the accusation mockingly, almost an insult. When she’d first said it, Bell had been self-conscious because she’d said it in such a way so as to make him feel inadequate. But that was the flaw with self-doubt. With a little bit of rational thought, it could be quickly overcome. Feeling bad because he was sheltered was silly. To be sheltered meant to live without pain and pain was nothing to be proud of. Suffering was not a note of debt; it did not entitle the bearer to future gains nor was it a guarantee of later joy. So, it was better to go without. To say that suffering might be a boon was to worship it, to empower it, and Bell would not worship pain.
Drawing a heavy breath, he opened his eyes and turned to Trin. He despised pain, but tonight he would need to deliver it. Standing, he grabbed the ink vials and stuffed them into a pocket. Walking to her table, he set down the wine glass and pulled out the chair across from her. This close, he could see the tears she was holding back. Making sure his scabbard didn’t catch on the table, he sat. She spoke as he settled in.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“It wasn’t right. Not in front of all those people you didn’t know.” He set the bottle of wine on the table and leaned across to take her hand. Trin’s eyes were a piercing accusation.
Death's Merchant: Common Among Gods - Book One Page 15