Knight Redeemed: The Shackled Verities (Book Two)

by Tammy Salyer

  Slightly vindicated, she noted that by sheer surprise in their eyes that they hadn’t known this pale green enemy spy was behind them. Her companions were slipping, which in turn surprised her.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got this blaggard under control,” she assured them.

  “Let him go, Eisa,” Roi said calmly.

  “Not until he drops the—” Before she finished the sentence, there was a dull clunk from the man’s petard hitting the floor stones.

  “He’s one of us,” Roi continued and unexpectedly stepped up and pushed her blade hand aside.

  She held it in place stiffly for a moment, then let him. The foreigner, obviously a Himmingazian, quickly scuttled away from her toward the far door.

  “One of us?” She took a closer look and realized he was wearing Winter’s Bite. But the weapon quickly lost her interest. The mark on the man’s chin had stolen it. “Is that…is he a…”

  “Yes, a Himmingazian. And a novice Knight Corporealis.”

  Roi had barely finished the sentence when Stave lunged at her with his ax raised. The chamber was far too confined for her to fight with her glaive, so she’d left that just outside the door after slipping down the stairway from inside the tower, but she still held her dagger. As Stave closed the gap and swung, she spun inside his reach and would have tickled his ribs with her knife, but Roi cried, his voice more powerful than the scream of a bruhawk lunging at its prey, “STOP!”

  The sound of his raised voice was so rare that they both halted instantly. “You will not fight each other!” he commanded.

  “Roi, damn you! She’s a traitor,” Stave said.

  “No more than you ever were, you unworthy bastirt!” she hissed back.

  Stave had recovered from his swing and taken a step to the side, his ax still raised.

  “Lower it,” Roi demanded. “Both of you.”

  Eisa’s eyes hadn’t left Stave, nor his her. They stared each other down, once again repeating a habit that had become so worn it had lost its power to truly threaten either of them. One of Stave’s own ridiculous aphorisms came to mind: You can’t pull a man back from the lip of a cliff if he won’t let go of his anvil.

  Dismissing him, she sheathed her dagger and turned to Roi, gesturing at the Himmingazian. “How did this happen?”

  Roi glanced between her and Stave, waiting for the shorter Knight to follow her lead. Eisa didn’t care if he did. She’d do what was necessary to restore the Order to only worthy companions if he forced her to, but out of respect for Roi’s friendship with Stave, she’d hold back until that happened.

  Stave repositioned his feet and straightened out of an attack stance, but his voice lost none of its threat. “Why’ve you led the enemy to our door?” he snapped.

  “Enemy?” she scoffed. “The Dyrraks would have been the last people standing if Ivoryss had fallen. As it is, they remain loyal enough to Vaka Aster to have rallied their full might in her defense. They are here for Vaka Aster. Better to have them come through the catacombs than through the city where they’d have to slaughter anyone who got in their way. Or have you forgotten how the lesser kingdoms feel about them?”

  Roi kept himself between the two of them, and his voice lowered to its usual register. “Eisa, you need to explain yourself. Ulfric and Safran are at Aster Keep meeting with the Arch Keeper at this moment. What are the Dyrraks’ intentions?” In a tone that barely concealed an accusation—something she’d never thought she’d hear from her friend—he added, “And why did you take the Scrylle and leave us aboard the Vigilance to fight the usurper without you?”

  Though Roi hadn’t insinuated she was a traitor in definite terms, she knew the idea was there. They thought worse of her than she’d anticipated. It isn’t that surprising, though, is it? she asked herself. But this wasn’t the time to reflect on her mistakes. She had to explain the Dyrraks’ presence quickly to avoid a route and to, perhaps, find common ground. After all these turns, the Knights and Dyrraks will finally unite, as they should have from the beginning.

  Keeping her explanation brief, Eisa skipped discussing what had caused her to leave the Vigilance—there would be time for that later, when they were all convened—and recounted the moments since she’d returned to Vinnr. Using Wing Rekkr’s ship, she’d arrived in Asteryss this morning and discovered the Dyrrak forces approaching Asteryss’s largest harbor. She’d presumed they were preparing to storm the city, likely believing Balavad controlled it.

  With the information Wing Rekkr had given her, she’d landed on the Domine Ecclesium’s flagship to inform the Dyrraks of Ivoryss’s turn of events. During their meeting, his own news had been revealing. As she’d suspected, they had come to Ivoryss with the intention of stopping Balavad’s forces, and he’d seemed…disappointed when she’d told him the enemy had been defeated. She sympathized. Rallying an invasion force only to turn them back home without a single clash of blades was in itself a kind of defeat. The Dyrraks had been shunned by the rest of Vinnr for so long, she supposed they wished for a chance to once more be a force to reckon with in the realm.

  Then the Ecclesium had shared more disturbing news. Their spies inside the Ivoryssian court had reported that Arch Keeper Beatte had called a summit with the Knights and Vaka Aster. But it was a trap. Beatte’s intention was to seize the Order and charge them as traitors if they refused to comply with her demands or failed to produce Vaka Aster in her vessel form.

  As Eisa had taken in this information, the commoners’ thinking was all too clear to her. They hadn’t seen the living vessel in hundreds of turns around Halla. If, even after the fight with Balavad, they were denied her presence any longer, it was easy to see how they would assume the Knights were somehow to blame for the maker’s absence. In the simple minds of commoners, Verities could be that easily summoned and cajoled, or controlled. And, naturally, because commoners were powerless, a dangerous position for the weak, they needed a scapegoat, a villain they could blame all their troubles on and punish. If not a Verity—because how can you punish something as powerful as a celestial creator?—then the Knights Corporealis would do.

  Foolish commoners, ever incapable of embracing wisdom, even if it were rammed down their throats.

  Eisa had thought it over quickly and decided the Domine Ecclesium should continue the plans he’d laid—in part. She’d permitted him to march ground troops to Aster Keep and demand an audience with Beatte, but more importantly, provide the Knights backup if it came to that. Beatte had shown herself to be the Knights’ enemy, and Eisa thought it justified that the leader of the Dyrraks should look upon she who had thus made herself the Dyrraks’ enemy as well. If Ulfric had truly returned, Eisa was no longer Stallari Regent and didn’t speak for the Knights, of course, and she couldn’t force them to accept the Dyrraks’ assistance. But she thought Beatte’s reaction to the Domine Ecclesium’s unexpected visit might be all that would be needed to show Ulfric who the Knights’ true allies were. Because if Ivoryss was no longer safe for the Knights, it was no longer safe for the vessel. And because Yor had already fallen, that left one place, one empire, for the Knights to go. Eisa and the Knights Corporealis were leaving for Dyrrakium. She was going home.

  Once the Ecclesium’s troop had left for Aster Keep, Eisa had ordered a contingent to go through the catacombs to Vigil Tower while she came by scout.

  Roi and Stave listened to her story unfold, Stave reluctantly, and she wrapped it up with: “Now we must warn Ulfric and Safran what Beatte has in store for them, if they haven’t already seen it for themselves. The Domine Ecclesium leads enough warriors to put down any resistance, and they’ll be there shortly. They will escort Ulfric and Safran back here, and we must make for Dyrrakium. Today.”

  Her companions took in the news. When she was finished, Roi asked, “Why come back to the tower through stealth, Eisa? Why not face us as our confederate?”

  “My Mentalios was broken on Mount Omina, so I couldn’t inform you of my approach. And,” she added, for once a
ware of the coldness in her tone, “I had to see you first, see if you were still you. I watched the Vigilance get taken. How could I know you hadn’t been turned into a slave like Balavad’s others? We’ve been friends for many, many turns, Roi, but you know my first duty is, and will always be, to protect the vessel.”

  Roi nodded and stated as coldly, “There is more you must account for, Eisa.” He raised the Fenestros he’d been using to link with Safran. “But for now, I’ll warn Safran and Ulfric.”

  “Wait, you’re just going to believe her?” Stave gruffed.

  She sneered at him. “For what possible reason would I lie?”

  Stave’s lip curled like a mutt, but Roi, as always, stepped in. “I’ve known Eisa for three times the length of your life, Stave. She does not lie.”

  Stave and Roi locked eyes for a moment, and she got the sense they were speaking to each other through their wystic lenses. Damn that Wing for causing her to break her own. Losing the mindlink was like losing a sense.

  After a moment, the two seemed to have concluded their conversation, and Stave turned his glare to her, burning through her like fire. But she was Eisa. She was ice, and fires lit by unworthies could do her no harm. She’d never wanted to admit Stave Thorvíl into the Order. He hadn’t cared a whit about Vaka Aster before joining the Conservatum, and he’d only done that because he’d fallen in love with Safran, not because he’d found a higher calling, not because Vaka Aster had summoned him. He’d been a blaspheming, drunken blacksmith from the rustic alleys of Magdaster before, but Ulfric had refused to listen to Eisa’s objections when he’d accepted him into the Knights. She’d insisted that an unbeliever could never truly have faith, whereas Ulfric had argued that those who found their faith late were the strongest with it. Overruled, her last assumption had been that Vaka Aster would deny him ordination, but about that, too, she’d been wrong. So now, though they may both be Knights, they would never be equal, and she would never treat him as such.

  Her disdain didn’t leave her expression as they glowered at each other. Finally, he growled and stepped aside.

  She said to Roi, “I’ll let in my kinspersons in now.” Sparing a glance at the Himmingazian, who had said nothing during their exchange and stood with eyes as wide as the Verring Sea, she commented, “Keep that one out of the way or he might get hurt.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  In the moment it took those present to comprehend the arrival of the Dyrrak force, Ulfric jumped off the table to join Safran and now stood back to back with her.

  Care to fill me in? he sent through their Mentalios link.

  Eisa has returned. She is with Roi and Stave within Vigil Tower. Apparently, she’s negotiated with the Dyrrak people to take the vessel to Dyrrakium. Their full military force, some fifteen thousand ground fighters as well as water and airships have arrived by sea.

  Ulfric was speechless, his mind teeming with hundreds of questions competing to be the first asked. More pressing, however, was the danger posed by the Dyrraks, who were trained from birth in the arts of combat. Are the commoners in danger?

  Only if they take up arms. Roi tells me Eisa commanded the Dyrraks to spill no blood.

  Ulfric had little confidence in the frightened people of Asteryss. The Ivoryssian forces are already dangling by a thread. If they initiate a fight, they will be slaughtered.

  Yelling came from outside the meeting chamber, but it stopped short. The guards in the room scrambled to take up a defensive position to protect the Arch Keeper from both the Knights and whoever was coming.

  Ulfric looked over his shoulder as a sepia-skinned man wearing a red irregularly-shaped gem the size of a child’s fist around his neck entered the chamber. Dozens of armed Dyrrakium warriors flanked him on each side, their numbers stretching outside the doors beyond the limits of Ulfric’s sight. Then the sound of boots above him drew his attention to the balcony, teeming with more Dyrrak fighters.

  “Which of you is the Arch Keeper of Ivoryss?” the Dyrrak leader said in Elder Veros.

  Ulfric turned and stood beside Safran. They both waved their klinkí stones to hover around them, interlinking them to create a protective shield not even another Knight could penetrate.

  Safran sent: If a skirmish breaks out, let me stay ahead of you, Stallari. You should not engage if you can help it.

  The truth of this grated on Ulfric. He was a senior warrior and had been in more of these types of rumbles than he could remember, but his first duty was to Vaka Aster, which meant his body was not his, not really, to put in jeopardy. With clenched teeth, he held steady, waiting.

  Fergus had risen and grabbed a set of eating knives, brandishing one in each hand. He stood at the ready, staring at the newcomers as if he meant to turn them into the main course. The rest of those assembled at the table had scattered, finding nowhere to go but to put their backs to the solid walls. The assembled Marines looked from Beatte to the Knights and then to the Dyrrak troops, at a complete loss about what to do. Without direction from Beatte, their own captain held up a hand and motioned for all to stay in place.

  From where she still stood at the head of the table, Beatte demanded in Ivoryssian, “How dare you, Dyrrak. Your exiled and dishonored people have not been invited to Ivoryss. Leave immediately or—”

  The Dyrrak leader cut her off. “Do not speak to me in that sullied language, unworthy. You demean yourself when you set aside the first gift of our maker for your lesser tongue. No Dyrrak will hear it.”

  This isn’t going to go well, Ulfric began. Safran, speak for the Knights. Ask the Dyrraks why they’ve come to Ivoryss. Perhaps their answer will help assuage the fears of the Ivoryssians.

  Before Beatte could respond, Safran held out her Fenestros and stepped forward. “Esteemed Dyrrak, I am Knight Corporealis Safran Glór and this is Stallari Ulfric Aldinhuus. Please state your business in Ivoryss.”

  The Dyrrak leader looked to her. “Knights Corporealis of Vaka Aster the Creator, I am Starkas Nazaria, Heir Regent of the Sixth Line of Dyrrakium, Domine Ecclesium of the Dyrrak people. We have come to offer our protection to Vaka Aster in this time of strife and war with the usurper called Balavad. I request you take me to our creator.”

  Nazaria, sent Safran. That is—

  Yes, Ulfric answered. Eisa’s Line.

  The clean-shaven, middle-aged man still had dried salt in his black hair and the creases of his unusual clothing, clearly having come straight from a long sea voyage. He and most of the others were built like Eisa, rangy and thickly muscled. The leader’s tunic flared open at the chest, displaying raised and vicious-looking blackened scars representing runes and images that matched ones Eisa also bore. His head was shaved along the sides and his bared forearms resembled ropes made of beam-thick iron. A warrior priest, then.

  He spoke again: “The Dyrrakium fleet awaits Vaka Aster’s command and will rid the realm of any derelict and blasphemous army that attempts to thwart her will without hesitation if our maker so desires it.”

  The Dyrrak leader’s statement could not have been further from what Ulfric had hoped he would say. The Ivoryssian soldiers in the room brandished their swords more threateningly, preparing to sacrifice themselves in futility if Beatte commanded it. They had no chance against an army the size of the Dyrraks’. Surely Beatte would know that.

  A quick glance at the Arch Keeper caused Ulfric’s stomach to roil in dread. She was looking to her guard captain, her face a rictus of rage. Would she truly give an order to attack this greater force? The Arch Keeper could not be that vindictive, that willing to die and take her kingdom with her, could she? All Ulfric could think of were the harried and frightened commoners throughout Asteryss, already beaten almost to death by a monstrous Verity, now about to be undermined by their own leader’s foolishness.

  He had to act. The Dyrraks had come prepared for battle, but he didn’t wish to see any more Ivoryssians slain, not in Vaka Aster’s name. Stepping clear of the klinkí stone shield, he spoke loudly, his barit
one resonating throughout the hall, “Vaka Aster does not condone such actions.”

  The Domine Ecclesium’s lips tightened. “And do you speak for the creator, Knight?”

  “No,” he responded. “I am the creator.”

  Dropping any further pretense, he pulled the eye shields from his head and let his eyes’ wystic colors, the colors of the Cosmos, fall on those assembled. A moment later, the high ceiling of the chamber burst alight with a glow of thousands of dragørflies, the susurration of their wings a subdued cacophony that filled the room. Those who’d seen his eyes gasped, and the rest did when they dragørflies appeared, swooping and buzzing throughout the chamber.

  The Domine Ecclesium along with the entire assembly of troops dropped to their knees in deference. “Vaka Aster, your Dyrrak servants submit themselves most humbly to you.”

  Ulfric was momentarily distracted by a strange tingling sensation that covered his skin from head to toe, as if he’d just traveled through a starpath.

  Safran’s voice came to him, slightly hesitant. Ulfric, your skin…

  He glanced down at his outstretched hand that controlled his klinkí stones. The dark skin seemed to emit a bluish cast of pale light. That’s…something, he thought.

  We need to put a stop to this, now, Safran sent. The Ivoryssians can’t handle a new threat to their sovereignty.

  I agree. We’re done here, for better or worse. The Dyrraks will come with us back to Vigil Tower.

  “Arch Keeper,” Ulfric said in Elder Veros, facing Beatte. Once he had her attention, he realized he had no idea what to say to her. Who was he? A Knight or a Verity? The absurdity, and enormity, of the role that had been forced on him chilled his guts. But he had to say something. “Your city has served Vaka—me well for these long turns. It would now be wise to see to your people. Rebuild, care for each other. Heal your wounds.” He turned back to the door. “Domine Ecclesium, the Knights Roibeard, Thorvíl, and Nazaria await us at Vigil Tower. We welcome your escort.”