“It isn’t right to interrupt the conversation,” the priest cried, trying to stop the surgeon.
Ferhdessar moved him out of the way. “You’re no longer needed. Leave this room!”
The priest obeyed reluctantly.
“Will he make it?” Ghalatea whispered.
The surgeon put his hand on hers. “I think so. Lord Yvar isn’t the first to have undergone this ritual. Most people survive a bite from this snake.”
“Luckily, he’s in good hands.”
She gave him a grateful look. The surgeon nodded. “All we can do is wait. Call me when his condition changes.”
Ghalatea and Ferhdessar sat by the bed. Every now and then, the Ancilla Princeps dabbed the King’s brow with a cold cloth. Even though he was still unconscious, his condition seemed to improve a little.
Ferhdessar got up and paced the room. He stopped at the window and opened it. Leaning outside, he inhaled the air and let his gaze wander across the city. He sighed. How long would Nadesh remain the way it was? Everything was changing, even Yvar. What had made him risk his life?
“Go, if you’d rather be somewhere else,” Ghalatea said. “There’s nothing you can do for the king, so you don’t need to stay.”
Ferhdessar shook his head.
Ghalatea laid her hand on Yvar’s forehead. “He has a serious fever,” she said. She looked worried as she straightened the blankets. Then she looked up at Ferhdessar. “Do you know if there’s been fighting in Kandar?” Her voice broke as she asked the question.
Ferhdessar had wanted to shrug, but he realized this was important to her. He thought for a moment. “We’ve received no messages, but several villages in that area have been raided.”
Ghalatea nodded. A tear welled up in the corner of her eye, but she wiped it away before it could roll down her cheek. “If Kandar was attacked last night, when will news about it reach us?”
“Tomorrow at the earliest. Why do you ask all this?”
“I had a dream,” Ghalatea answered.
The door opened. Ferhdessar looked over his shoulder. Nigesanla entered, but didn’t advance further into the room. She pointed at Yvar. “How is he doing?”
“The surgeon says that he’ll be better soon. Why don’t you come closer?”
Timidly, the young woman did as Ghalatea suggested. She sat down. Hands resting in her lap, she looked at the king. She sighed with worry. She caressed the back of his hand with her finger.
Ferhdessar examined her closely. She stared back, but almost immediately averted her eyes and blushed. She was afraid of him, he knew that much. Undoubtedly because he was a sorcerer.
“What do you think of Merzia?” he asked.
Nigesanla shrugged. “It takes a bit of getting used to, but there’s a lot about this country that I appreciate.”
“And what do you think of Lord Yvar?”
Nigesanla hesitated and took his hand in hers. “He means a lot to me. I enjoy talking to the king. He knows a lot and is patient enough to share his knowledge with me. I feel at ease around him.”
Ferhdessar rummaged around in his pouch until he found the magic key. He rubbed the top that was decorated with filigree. “But?”
“But he’s impure,” Nigesanla blurted out. She immediately clasped her hand to her mouth.
Ferhdessar smiled and stowed away the key.
Ghalatea jumped up, bent over and dragged the king’s hand out from under Nigesanla’s fingers. “Is that really what you think of him?” she hissed.
“No. Normally I hardly ever think about it,” Nigesanla said, desperately trying to defend herself.
“Then why do you say such a thing?” Ghalatea asked.
“Because he is,” she whispered. “I was raised with the teachings of Margal. You were baptized. You of all people should understand me.”
“I don’t understand anything about Margal or the people who follow her,” Ghalatea huffed. “I despise your Goddess. That entire baptism is meaningless. It maimed me, that’s the only thing it did.”
Ferhdessar regarded them with interest. It wasn’t often that he saw the Ancilla Princeps this agitated.
“It hasn’t brought you closer to Margal?” Nigesanla asked.
“Of course not. If there ever were a bone in my body that wanted to follow Margal, the baptism put a complete stop to that and made me turn my back on Her for good.”
Nigesanla glanced at the Ancilla Princeps’s veil. “I’m sorry that I triggered those emotions in you. I’ve always been told that the villagers feel the warmth of Margal’s embrace after the ritual. To be honest, I used to envy them, because I’ve never experienced Her warmth.”
“Well, if you’d like to know how it feels, I suggest sticking your hand into the fire and keeping it up for at least an hour,” Ghalatea sneered, as she pointed at the fireplace.
“I don’t understand how you can believe anything Margal says,” Ferhdessar interrupted.
“I never knew anything else before I came here. I was raised according to her teachings, but I didn’t always feel at ease with Margal. Why do you think I join the king on his visits to the temples?”
“It isn’t hard to pretend to be someone you’re not, but there’s one thing that I’m certain of: you despise the king, because he’s impure. That’s all I need to know.”
“That’s not true! I don’t despise him, please, believe me. I owe him so much! You can’t blame me for being raised with Margal’s religion. I didn’t have a choice. I’m sure you know that people who refused to believe in Margal used to be sacrificed.” She looked at Yvar. Some fluid trickled from the corner of his mouth. She brushed it away with her sleeve. “Even my father, a pontifex, didn’t mind the fact that the king is impure. Otherwise, he would never have given me to him in marriage.”
“You might as well forget about that. You’ll never be queen of Merzia.”
Nigesanla got up and walked to the door. “I beg you not to tell him what I said.”
“I’m afraid it’s my duty to tell him,” Ferhdessar answered. Ghalatea looked at him and nodded her assent.
15
Yvar coughed. Ferhdessar spun around. Arms crossed, he went to stand at the foot of the bed. Yvar glanced at the sorcerer.
“You think I’ve made a mistake.” His voice was almost back to full power.
“I do, indeed,” the sorcerer grumbled. “You could have died! The people need a leader right now, and there you go putting your life at risk!”
“I had to talk to Jakob to know what His connection is to Kasimirh. On no account do I wish to drag my people into an unjust war. I hadn’t anticipated the consequences of the ritual, but I still think I did the right thing.”
“And, did you talk to Jakob?”
Yvar nodded.
“What did He say?”
“I have no idea. It all seemed so clear when I was in trance. I understood everything He said, but now I can’t even remember the words.”
Yvar wondered if he would do things differently if he got another chance. But even though he couldn’t remember what had been said, he felt he was on the right path. With the approval of the Gods, he could safely leave for Naftalia and face Kasimirh. Jakob would not stand in the way of his victory.
“Maybe Jakob really doesn’t want me to hand over Merzia to Kasimirh. He could have kept me, and then nothing would have stood in the way of the prophet.”
Ferhdessar rolled his eyes and walked around the bed. He put his hand on Yvar’s forehead. His fingers felt cool to the touch. “Your death might have made things easier for Kasimirh, but there are others who can take your place and protect Merzia.”
“Why don’t you just admit that you’re talking about yourself, Ferhdessar?” Yvar sat up and threw his legs over the edge of the bed. He remained seated like that. “You’re convinced that you would do a better job than I.” They looked at each other for a few seconds. “You’re too big a coward to say it straight to my face, so you make insinuations.” Yvar shook his head
in disgust.
“You have doubts as well…”
“Say it to my face!”
“Yes, Yvar. I know I would do better than you. You let yourself be distracted too much.”
There was a knock. Dumbfounded, Yvar looked at the door before he gazed at Ferhdessar and shook his head.
“Enter.”
It was Nigesanla. She stopped at a distance of a few paces from the king. “I’m glad that you’re awake. I was very worried.”
Holding on to one of the pillars of the four-poster bed, Yvar hauled himself to his feet. He took a few steps and was relieved to be able to sink into a chair. He beckoned Nigesanla.
“By her, for example,” Ferhdessar said. “If you feel well enough to spend time with her, I’m sure there are more important things that require your attention.”
“Like what?”
“Don’t you know what else happened when we were in the temple?’
Yvar shook his head. “What should I know?”
“A group of men and women destroyed Jakob’s temple. We almost died in the flames.”
Yvar’s gaze drifted off.
“We could have expected people to turn against Jakob. It’s no secret that Kasimirh is trying to conquer the world in His name,” said Ferhdessar.
“What have you done with the rioters?”
“The guard rounded them up and brought them to the Throne Room. They are waiting for you to regain your strength so you can judge them.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t done so yourself,” Yvar whispered. “Fine, we will, I shall do that immediately. Wait outside for me, Ferhdessar.”
The sorcerer glanced at Nigesanla as he left the room. She winced.
“Nigesanla, would you help me get dressed?”
She helped the king as if she had never done anything else. She didn’t feel any fear any more as she touched him.
“You shouldn’t be worrying about things while you’re still this ill.”
“You’re right, but Ferhdessar is giving me a hard time.”
Nigesanla looked startled. Yvar put his hand on her shoulder and smiled.
“I hope that you can feel grateful for being here.”
“I have a good life here,” Nigesanla answered hesitantly. “I hope you’d like me to stay here longer. I understand it if you don’t trust me, like lord Ferhdessar.”
“Trust,” Yvar mumbled. “That’s the most important thing in times like these, but it seems as if it’s the first thing that is broken down.” He walked to the door, still a bit unsteady on his feet. He turned around before he left the room. “Will you wait here for me?”
As they walked through the corridors, Yvar asked Ferhdessar: “Will I need to keep bodyguards around me from now on when we’re together?”
“I would never go that far. Even though our friendship is put to the test because of Kasimirh, I still consider you my friend. I assume you know that.”
Yvar huffed. “I wonder what my advisor would say if this hadn’t been about himself.”
They reached the hall before Ferhdessar could answer the question. The three steps to the throne felt like climbing the rocks that Nadesh was built on. Yvar was glad to be able to lower himself down onto the soft pillows of the throne.
Yvar looked at the group of Merzians standing before him. He was surprised at what he saw. The anger about the threats of Jakob’s prophet had united people from various layers of society. Men and women, young and old, civilians who would normally not have much to do with one another, had joined forces.
He saw people he invited every year to receive a pouch of coins in the middle of the night. He could hardly blame them for being involved in the destruction of the temple. In order to fund the war, taxes had been raised recently. Soon, food prices would probably rise as well, affecting the poor twice as hard.
To the back of the room – probably trying to stay out of the king’s sight – stood a number of rich merchants. At least one of them should have known better, Yvar thought. He shook his head in disapproval, making the merchants wince even more.
“I’m furious because of what happened, not because you jeopardized my life. We need to respect all Gods, but in these dire times, we need to respect Jakob even more than any other God.”
“He calls on others to attack us!”
“Who spoke?” Yvar looked at the people in the room. Nobody answered. “Strange that this person only dares to speak his mind when he can hide behind others.” He shook his head. “Jakob is one of the Gods. The sorcerer in Naftalia has proclaimed himself His prophet, but I doubt if this is in line with Jakob’s wishes. At any rate, it’s unwise to infuriate Jakob. I went to His temple to ask His guidance in the upcoming war. Your actions have frustrated my efforts. Tell me, why wouldn’t Jakob turn against us after all this?”
An insecure murmur rose up form the crowd. Shocked, people looked at one another. Some fell to their knees and started to pray to Jakob.
Yvar let them. It gave him time to think about what he had to do. He tried to catch Ferhdessar’s gaze. Why hadn’t he taken the time to confer with his advisor? Grumpy, he pushed the thought aside. He was perfectly capable of dealing with this by himself.
“It’s clear that I can’t ignore this. As punishment you will rebuild Jakob’s temple. You will work on it day and night. Not a minute of time may be wasted. Make it bigger and more beautiful than it was before!” Yvar addressed the merchants, “You will finance the construction.”
“You’re ruining us,” someone protested. Some of the other merchants looked dismayed.
“You should have thought about the consequences beforehand.” Yvar rose. “Jakob’s priest will be in charge of the works. Let’s hope this new temple will satisfy God, otherwise I foresee a bleak future.” The people bowed as he left the room. Ferhdessar frowned at him. Yvar didn’t want to know what the sorcerer thought of his decision. “And you, Ferhdessar, you stay out of my sight for now.”
The sorcerer stood still as Yvar and his bodyguards walked on. General Zander joined the group. He deliberated with Yvar in a soft voice. The king rubbed his forehead and sighed. “Thank you. I’ll inform Ghalatea.” He was going to tell her personally that Rogan had been seriously injured during the pillaging of Kandar.
16
Ghideon dragged the priest with him until he was right in front of Kasimirh. Once there, he forced the man to his knees.
Irritated, Kasimirh looked down on him. The priest was responsible for the fact that no one in this town had been converted. Kasimirh had made big promises as well as violent threats, but the people had refused to be mollified. It had been like that for the past few weeks. He had gone to dozens of cities, but the priests were so influential that nobody dared to abandon Margal. Perhaps because of the Feast of Purity that had been celebrated a short while ago.
Kasimirh pointed around him. The square was filled with dead bodies. “This is on you!” If it had been up to him, everybody would still be alive.
The priest swallowed audibly, but when he looked at Kasimirh, his eyes were filled with hate. “If that’s so, then I led my followers to Margal.”
“I’m sure they’re grateful,” Kasimirh huffed. “Would you like to join them?”
The priest didn’t reply. Ghideon grabbed the man’s hair and made his head nod.
“You look scared,” Kasimirh said. “Let me help you.”
He rolled up his sleeves and placed his hands against the priest’s temples. The man struggled to break free and then suddenly bowed. If his eyes hadn’t shone so bright with hatred, it would have been a gesture of humility.
Kasimirh said to Ghideon, “Give him a knife.”
Ghideon looked surprised.
“Do it!”
Ghideon handed the priest his knife and immediately raised his sword. Kasimirh laughed.
The priest held the knife with both hands. He slowly turned it around. As soon as the tip of the blade touched his chest, he stopped. His eyes were wide open. All of
a sudden, he thrust the knife between his ribs. Foam gathered between his lips, and he fell over.
Kasimirh kicked him in the shoulder, turning him on his back.
“Are you finally where you want to be? Or have you come to realize at long last that Margal has been feeding you nothing but lies?”
Ghideon pulled the knife out of the dead body and wiped it on the priest’s robes. “What did you do?”
Kasimirh had used a mixture of magic and healing energy. Jakob had taught him both, and Kasimirh had found a way to combine them. Magic could accelerate the healing process or – and that was what he had just done – gruesomely deform it. Kasimirh had learned over the past few days that it was an excellent way to vent his rage.
“I assumed power over his body.”
It was the first time he had done something like that and he was surprised how easy it had been. He had expected more resistance.
Ghideon nodded in admiration.
The servi were now gathering round Kasimirh as well. “Collect everything of value and burn the rest to the ground!” He turned around with a grand gesture. He lifted up the hem of his cloak and jumped across the dirty drain in the middle of the street.
At a short distance from the city he sat down on a rock. He looked at the flames that had already destroyed huge parts of the city. The thick plume of smoke blocked out the sun, making it look as if twilight was setting in. Together with the fire, it gave the savannah an eerie appearance. It reminded him of Lilith.
With her on his side, it had been so much easier to get people to convert. Rumours had preceded him about the dragon that attacked cities and the man who offered protection. Sometimes people had even been awaiting him, giving him an enthusiastic welcome.
Of course, back then there had also been cities and villages that had refused to abandon Margal, but they had been exceptions. Now, it was the other way around. He had been able to send only a handful of Naftalians to Ilahidir. In the meantime he was drawing more and more attention from the pontifices. Of late, he had encountered more soldiers than ever before.
Kasimirh thought about the previous day: yet another failure. The only simmer of hope lay in the way he had made the priest kill himself. Rarely had he felt this powerful.
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