“Vexusa,” Stephen said softly to himself.
“You have studied,” she replied. “Yes. In the end, the dominion of the League was so profound, the god-born joined forces across the breadth of these lands, and came to Vexusa. There, with the power of their birthright, they leveled the city. But it cost them dearly. Do you know the Priests’ price?”
“They perished,” Stephen said, “because they became conduits for power no more; when the power was gone, there was nothing but the body left. Or so the stories said.”
“There was less left than even that,” Evayne said, staring into the fire. She shook herself a moment, and continued. “But these lands, as well as much of the lands we will enter, were still held by the splinter groups that had once formed the backbone of the League. From out of this period came the Baronial Wars, in which wizards associated with the remnants of the older organization fought each other for supremacy. The Wars lasted centuries,” she added, and again her gaze was distant.
“One man—Haloran ABreton—stood out in the slaughter, and he managed to cobble the Baronial states together into a kingdom. His was a long reach, given the time in which he lived, and his rule was not a kind one. But he did not trust the priests, and did not have the power of their support; rather, he played the churches against one another, and allowed the church of the Mother to flourish so long as the priests did not interfere with his soldiers or their work. Therefore, he did not have the power of the Dark League as it had once been.
“He had three sons and one daughter, by three wives. The first wife died in childbirth, and the second died at the hands of assassins, although whose, history still does not tell us. The third wife died in childbirth with a daughter. He had no use for a daughter at the time, and gave her over to the keeping of the Mother while he continued to consolidate his realm; at a later point in time, he would probably have used her to make alliance with political allies.
“But the sons who were to succeed him fell upon one another, and in the end, he had no heirs. He married again to preserve his dynasty, but that wife died childless, and the wife after her, in her pregnancy—both by the hands of assassins. It was, as I said, a bloody time. He held onto power until his death, and then the court which was left, rather than fall into a war which no Lord could easily afford, agreed that the crown should go to Veralaan, the daughter. They felt that, raised by the Mother, she would be a malleable child, and that the Lord who called her wife would rule. Each House with any hope of ruling set about her courtship, content that they might force her choice and win the lands that they had already struggled so long for.
“They were wrong, but not in the way that they envisioned. She was, indeed, almost a child—but she had traveled as a Priestess of the Mother, and she had seen the death dealt by her father and his minions. She had done what she could to heal the hurt to both land and spirit that he had caused, and she knew that should she choose any of the lords who offered her their allegiance, nothing would change.
“But she also knew that they would not accept her rule, for she did not have the power necessary to be anything more than a puppet. Puppets, unfortunately, did not live long enough to become anything else, and it was her guess that she would die shortly after her first child was born.
“Abdication was not an option, for she knew, as the Lords did, that a civil war would destroy the very fragile peace that existed throughout the land. So she did what she could to stall.
“Now at the time, the healer-born flocked to the banner of the Mother, and although the Priests and Priestesses of the Mother had agreed that they would not intervene in affairs of the state, no matter how unjust or brutal, they had their own rules to offer in return: that anyone of any House that raised hand against a Priest or Priestess of the Mother would never again be healed by her.
“So Veralaan was able to stall for some time, but she knew that the dictate of the Mother’s church would not protect her—or her people—forever. A year passed, and then another half-year; at the end of this time, the council displayed an unusual cooperation and gave her this message: that the time for games was over, and she must choose should she wish to survive. In desperation, she prayed to the Mother, and the Mother answered, calling her into the half-world, the place between the lands of the Gods and mortals.
“‘Dearest of daughters,’ the Mother said softly, ‘why have you called me?’
“‘I need your aid,’ was Veralaan’s stark reply. ‘For I am rightful monarch of the kingdom that my father gained by war’s art, but I shall not be so for long without help.’
“The Mother was angry, but in the way that mothers are.
“‘I cannot leave the throne without starting a war that will never end. And I cannot rule among these vultures, for if I did I would have to grow cold and warlike to earn their respect, or to plot their deaths. There must be another choice.’
“‘Stay thus,’ was the Mother’s reply. ‘Stay, and wait for my return.’”
“And the Mother left her troubled daughter in the mists of the half-world, and went to seek the aid of her sons, Reymaris and Cormaris. Reymaris and Cormaris conferred long, and at length asked the Mother’s leave to accompany her back to Veralaan.
So did Veralaan first meet the two gods, and she saw in their faces all that she might have judged worthy, although the mists of the half-world obscured much.
“‘Let me leave my kingdom in your hands,’ she said, ‘For you will guard and guide my people in a way that I yet cannot.’
“‘It is not so simple, daughter,’ Cormaris replied, ‘and yet we might be of aid to you if you have the will for it.’
“‘What will is that?’
“‘Stay with us a while in the half-world, and you will come to understand. But you will have no company but ours, and while no time will pass in the world you have left behind, much time will pass here, and you will feel it all in isolation.’ Thus spoke Cormaris, for he was the Lord of Wisdom, and he knew that mortals and immortals are, in the end, alien and unknowable to one another.
“‘So be it,’ Veralaan replied.
“And when the Queen returned at last to the mortal world, she was much aged, and brought with her two young men; youths in seeming in every way but the burnished gold of their eyes. And one was born of Reymaris, the Lord of Justice, and he was Reymalyn the First. His brother, younger, was born of Cormaris, the Lord of Wisdom, and he was Cormalyn the First.
“Then the Queen went to the Holy Sister and bowed low, speaking as if she had been silent for decades. ‘Holiest one, I come to present these, my sons, to you.’
“The Priestess looked long at the two who stood proudly before her. ‘Ah, Veralaan, what have you done? For I see that these two are of the god-born.’
“‘Yes. God-born indeed, but they are of my blood as well. They will rule what I cannot, and hold it in strength and justice. This is Reymalyn, justice-born, and this is Cormalyn, wisdom-born. Both are of the royal blood. They are the kings that will set this land aflame with all that it has sought to bury and defile.’”
Evayne fell silent as the last of the words died away.
“And?” Stephen said.
“And,” she replied, gaining her feet slowly, “I believe that it’s time that we were on our way.”
“But what happened?”
Zareth Kahn grinned, for he knew the story well. “It’s obvious that it worked out well, Stephen,” he said as Evayne smiled. “Because there are still the Twin Kings, and they rule from the city of Averalaan.” He pulled his pack up and tied it shut. “You, Lady, have a touch of the bard in you.”
“I?” Her smile faltered, and then she regained it again, holding it tight to her lips. “No, it’s just the influence of a friend in Senniel.”
“Senniel? A talented friend indeed.”
Kallandras, Stephen thought, remembering his first Sacred Hunt. But he did not mention
the name aloud. Instead he wondered whether or not their sojourn into the city at the heart of the Empire would bring them together again.
• • •
“But I don’t understand how it works. I mean, there are two kings and there are two queens—how does anything get decided?”
“Stephen,” Evayne said, as the fire began to die in the grate, “it’s a pity that you don’t have a spark of the mage-born in you. You’d have made a wonderful mage. You could,” she said, standing, “still join the Order of Knowledge. It exists for those who can’t stop asking questions when the time for questions has long passed.”
“Which means you don’t know.”
“Which means,” she said, laughing, “that I don’t understand it either, no. The god-born have spines of steel when it comes to the traits of their parents—I can’t imagine either of the Kings being willing to compromise when it comes to those areas that most concern him. But I know there are situations in which wisdom and justice are not easy allies. I’m just happy I’m not either of the Queens.”
He lifted his glass and drank the remnants of the oddly flavored drink that she had brought for him. He was happy for her company, although he could feel that Gilliam was not. This eve she was the same woman that she had been this morning, which was rare. “We’re almost there, aren’t we?”
“Yes. A few days and we’ll be in the outer fields that surround the city; a full day more, and we’ll be at the city itself. It’s not walled in any real way, but there is the half-wall to mark its boundaries. You’ll understand the lack of the wall when you see it.” She smiled. “And you’ll see the ocean for the first time, Stephen. I just hope that I’m here to see it with you. It has a feel and a call that is quite unique.”
2nd Corvil, 410 A.A.
Averalaan
It was huge. It lay across the horizon like the scattered manors of giants, or the halls of the Gods beyond the half-world. At first, before the rising sun burned the misty gauze from the morning air, Stephen thought that he was looking at an unexpected mountain chain; he knew a moment of panic—what if they had taken a wrong turn? Followed the wrong road?—and then he realized that he was seeing the towers of Averalaan and the hills upon which they were built.
As they followed the wide road, wagons joined them in a longer train than Stephen or Gilliam had ever seen. Gilliam said nothing, but Stephen turned to Evayne. She was not quite the same woman as yesterday. He knew she was almost the same age, but whether younger or older, it was hard to tell.
“Is it festival season in Essalieyan?”
“No. Why?”
He looked over his shoulder, to his side, and then to the road that stretched, crowded as a market street, ahead of them. The wagons were of a different variety than those that were common in Breodanir—the wheels seemed thinner and the bases higher. They carried all manner of things—in fact, he thought he saw one that carried horses, and he could not understand why they were not made to walk.
Evayne tried not to laugh. “It’s—this is normal for the time of morning, Stephen. Averalaan is the capital of trade along the seacoast; no city in Annagar can boast such a market, or such a selection, as Averalaan does. The merchants arrive by wagon and by ship. There.” She lifted a hand and pointed. “Do you see the light flashing? Beside it, there are sails.”
But her eyes were better than his, a fact which did not surprise him at all. His steps were quick and light. A situation of gravity and urgency had brought them to the heart of Essalieyan—but all wisdom and all knowledge could be found in Averalaan, or so the tales often said, and he could not help but be excited. Very few indeed were the Hunter Lords who could afford the time away from their demesnes that would have allowed them to travel to the city. Fewer still were those who would have any such inclination. And a huntbrother rarely left the side of his Lord.
Gilliam looked back and mouthed the word “Cynthia” and Stephen frowned. He took better care, thereafter, to conceal his enthusiasm.
• • •
The demiwalls that Evayne spoke of came into view, and as they did it became clear that they weren’t walls at all; they were like the stone work fence that surrounded a few of the more pretentious manors in the King’s City in Breodanir—but they stretched out to the horizon on either side, a thin, pale line whose division of the landscape faded quickly from view.
“We approach the city of Averalaan,” Evayne said. “It is the city of the Kings, and the laws here are complex and more strictly enforced than anywhere else in the empire.” She smiled wryly. “Of course that doesn’t mean that you shouldn’t keep an eye on your purses in at least half the hundred.”
“Half the hundred?”
“The hundred holdings.” Her eyes widened slightly. “The city is divided into a hundred holdings of theoretically equal size. No, they aren’t visible divisions. In the King’s City, there are different circles, and within those circles there are areas like the warrens.”
“What do you mean by complex?”
She shrugged. “Actually, what I mean is be polite, don’t steal, don’t kill anyone who isn’t trying to kill you first, don’t run a horse to death and leave it in the road, and keep a tight grip on your dogs.”
“Doesn’t sound that complicated.”
“Well, with luck you won’t have to run into the complicated parts.”
“Are there no guards and no gate?”
“No; they aren’t deemed necessary. It’s hundreds of miles to the border of Annagar, and hundreds to the free townships that buffer us from the kingdoms to the west. There are guards, but they watch the three bridges that lead to the Isle, and they man the ports to which the ferries travel with their goods. If Kalliaris smiles, we won’t have to deal with them either.”
“You don’t think Luck is going to smile, do you?”
“This is what I think she’ll do.” She turned to him and made the most extraordinary face that he had yet seen her make. Then she laughed at his expression, sobering slowly. “No, Stephen, I don’t think she’ll smile, but if she doesn’t frown, I’ll make offerings to Reymaris for the rest of my life.”
A horn sounded at their backs, low and loud, the captured voice of a cow. Evayne pulled them hurriedly off the road as four horses galloped down the stretch of road to the farthest south. There were no wagons along it, and the people that were there did not tarry either.
But the dogs barked angrily at the passing intruders and stopped only when Stephen made it clear to Gilliam that their anger was not acceptable. Gilliam’s reply was subvocal, which was just as well. He was ill at ease on the road and the closer they got to the city itself, the more uncomfortable he became. Stephen had never felt such a lack of ease from Gilliam—not even when the most marriage-minded of ladies were attempting to ally their houses with his through their daughters and he was forced, by Elsabet or Stephen, to sit, smile, and endure. He could also tell that Gilliam was doing his best to subdue what traveled between them, but subdued or no, it grew strong, and stronger still, until the half-walls were at their backs and the heights of the city buildings began to cast shadows upon them.
It was hard to ignore it, but ignore it he did, although it took much of his concentration. Perhaps that was why he did not notice the shadows that crossed their path and stopped, weapons raised in swiftness and silence. Or why he did not notice, until he felt Zareth Kahn’s sharp shove, the tall, pale stranger with eyes of fire behind four men in a foreign uniform.
But whatever it was that had webbed his mind and turned his thoughts so much inward that he did not notice his surroundings well was removed in that instant. As was Gilliam’s unease—replaced by something akin to excitement. Excitement.
Zareth Kahn stepped forward. “May we help you, gentleman?”
“I believe you can. The young men you are with are wanted in connection with a murder that occurred yesterday.”
Zareth Kahn’s dark brows rose a fraction, and then he smiled. “Well, I can assure you that they could not possibly be involved in the commission of any such crime; they’ve never been to the city before they crossed the demiwalls today.”
The man sneered; there was no other word for the expression. “I’m afraid that we’re going to have to go to the magisterial holding courts, where the magisterial truthseekers involved in the rest of the investigation will decide that for themselves.”
“Very well,” Zareth Kahn said, with a snort that easily matched the sneer for contempt. “If you will insist on wasting our time in such a petty fashion, we’ll follow.”
“We will do no such—”
“Lord Elseth.” Zareth Kahn touched his shoulder with the appearance of gentleness. It was only appearance; his grip was solid. “The customs of Averalaan dictate a certain amount of cooperation with the magisterial guards. We will, unfortunately, be brought to a hearing in which these charges will be summarily dismissed. At that point, we are well within our rights to question the competence of the truthseeker involved in our arrest.”
Gilliam brought the dogs to bear and then stopped. “Stephen?”
Stephen was staring at the man that Zareth Kahn had called truthseeker. The man’s uniform was not completely unlike those of the guards who surrounded him, but he did not wear the chain and plate that they did, and his insignia, that of two crowns above a crossed rod and sword, covered a white field, not a gray one.
“Stephen, what is wrong?” Evayne’s voice was strained but oddly pitched; her words were a tickle in his ear.
“His eyes,” Stephen whispered back. “Can’t you see his eyes?”
The truthseeker leveled his gaze at Stephen, and then he smiled, and the smile was that of an executioner who revels in his work. “These men are attempting to escape. Kill them.” His voice had the echo of a power that Stephen had only heard once before, upon his first Sacred Hunt.
The Sacred Hunt Duology Page 63