The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1)

by Karen Azinger

  The Pontifax invited his new counselor to move into the Residence, the official palace of the rulers of Coronth. Pleased by the invitation, Steffan nevertheless politely declined, explaining that he did not deserve the honor. In Steffan’s humble opinion, only the Pontifax and the Keeper, both the Chosen of the Flame God, were worthy to live in the palace. His refusal stroked the ego of the Pontifax while mollifying the jealous nature of the Keeper. Neither suspected his underlying motives of maintaining distance from the two figureheads while needing privacy to carry out the Dark Lord’s work.

  But keeping a room at the inn was no longer appropriate. Steffan noticed a mansion three city blocks away from the Residence that seemed suited to his needs. Understated in terms of size but rich in elegance, the mansion perfectly augmented Steffan’s image of the Lord Raven.

  Discreet inquiries revealed that the owner was a mid-level official who collected tithes for the temple. The mansion, like the family’s wealth, dated back to earlier times when a king ruled Coronth before the coming of the Flame God. It was the perfect profile for fear.

  Steffan chose the dinner hour to knock on the door. A liveried servant appeared. Steffan introduced himself and asked for a tour of the house. Staring slack-mouthed, the startled servant stuttered a string of apologies before disappearing into the depths of the mansion, presumably to get the head of the household.

  Steffan did not have long to wait. A short, squat man dressed in a well-tailored suit of green velvet, blustered into the marble entranceway. Bowing his way across the foyer, the man displayed a jumble of conflicting emotions, his face rigid with fear while his fawning posture signaled the desire to please. “M-my Lord Raven, you honor us with this unexpected visit. What brings you to my humble home?”

  “I was out for an evening stroll and was struck by the singular beauty of your home. I hoped to meet the man with such exquisite taste and to perhaps gain a tour of the house.”

  Perspiration gleamed on the man’s broad forehead. He stared at Steffan, indecision written across his face. Steffan remained silent, forcing him to choose between fear and fawning submission. To his amusement, the desire to please won out.

  The tax collector bowed low, gesturing Steffan into the house. “It is a great honor to welcome you to my home. My name is Simeon Balrax, fourth tithe collector under master Cellant. I would be honored to give you a tour of my home.” He led Steffan through the mansion, bragging about the more expensive pieces of furniture as well as his wife’s fine collection of porcelain vases.

  Satisfied with everything he saw, Steffan made his decision. “Master Balrax, I would be pleased to accept this home as a donation to the Flame God.” Towering over the small man, he added, “But I can be generous. I give you and your family one turn of an hourglass to gather your belongings and vacate the mansion.”

  The small man sputtered, his face turning purple.

  Before the man could do anything rash, Steffan said, “The Pontifax is well aware that your family gained this mansion through their connections to the heretic who styled himself as the king of Coronth.”

  The small man gasped, clutching his chest.

  “But the Pontifax can be forgiving to true believers. You and your family are being given this one chance to renounce your ill-gotten gains. Purged of your sins, you will become pious members of the faithful.” Steffan reached for an hourglass on the mantle. “The sands of time are flowing.”

  The man’s protest died on his lips, fear defeating outrage. He sprang to action, marshaling his family and servants to gather as much as they could in the allotted time.

  Steffan helped himself to the man’s excellent brandy. Leaning on the marble mantle, he watched as the family scurried about gathering belongings into sheets used as makeshift sacks. The children cried in bewilderment and the wife sent daggered glances in Steffan’s direction, but the husband understood. When the sands of the hourglass were depleted, the small man handed Steffan a ring of keys as he slunk out the front door with a last load of belongings.

  Locking the door, Steffan sipped his brandy as he leisurely explored his new mansion. Fine tapestries draped the walls and thick carpets covered floors of rare pink marble. Steffan laughed, even his father the baron had never owned a home this grand. Life was good in the service of the Dark Lord.

  Having claimed a home, Steffan was quick to install both himself and his servant, Pip. As a part time beggar and a part time pickpocket, Pip was turning out to be an excellent servant. Quick with both his fingers and his mind, the redheaded lad made it clear to Steffan that he considered himself fortunate to be the servant of the Lord Raven. For his part, Steffan was pleased with the boy’s ability to learn and his innate attention to detail. It was easy for Steffan to mold the orphan to his needs. He even considered taking the boy with him when he finished his work in Coronth; after all, good servants were hard to come by.

  Steffan instructed Pip to hire a cook and a pair of maids to service the house on a regular basis without actually living in the mansion. Steffan liked his privacy and he preferred to keep the staff to a minimum. With his domestic arrangements settled, he was free to focus on the will of the Dark Lord.

  Having gained the confidence of the Pontifax, Steffan’s first priority was to restructure Coronth’s army. Neither the Pontifax nor the Keeper were interested in managing the details of the military so Steffan took it upon himself to shoulder the burden. During his first turn of the moon as counselor, no less than five generals perished in the Test of Faith before he found the right replacement. Promoted from the rank of captain, General Caylib displayed a harsh ruthlessness, a man who believed in discipline and training. More importantly, where other candidates insisted on confirming their orders with the Pontifax, Caylib was quick to implement Steffan’s orders without delay.

  With the right man wearing the gold braid of general, Steffan gave the Army of the Flame its first task: the capture of the fleeing heretics. This had the added benefit of persuading more commoners to bend the knee to the Flame God, once they realized there was no escape. Put a lid on a pot and it will come to a quicker boil. With the army sealing the borders, Coronth was set to boil.

  To provide the army with added incentive, Steffan ordered the captives to be fitted with iron collars and sold as slaves in the temple square. To the Dark Lord’s displeasure, slavery had been all but eradicated from the kingdoms of Erdhe. Despite the taboo, the people of Coronth quickly took to the use of slaves. Everyone benefited. The merchants and tradesmen gained cheap labor, the upper class gained another sign of wealth, and the common people gained another spectacle. Slave auctions soon became another form of public entertainment, competing with the ever-popular Test of Faith. With benefits for many, slavery became a way of life in Coronth.

  Proceeds from the slave auctions were split between the soldiers involved in the capture, the general, the counselor, and the Pontifax, with the lion’s share going to the Enlightened One. A steady flow of golds poured into the treasury of the Pontifax, adding further proof of the value of Lord Raven’s advice. As a reward, the Pontifax gave Steffan formal control of the Army of the Flame, tightening the Lord Raven’s control yet another notch.

  In addition to restructuring Coronth’s military, Steffan also worked with the Pontifax to extend the Enlightened One’s use of the ruby amulet. Given the extreme rarity of magic in the kingdoms of Erdhe, knowledge about the use of magical focuses was almost non-existent. As a result, mastering a focus was largely a matter of trial and error. At Steffan’s suggestion, the Pontifax worked to extend the “divine protection” of the ruby amulet to a second person. Trials were conducted in private prayer services held in the chapel of the Residence.

  Every morning, Steffan made his way to the Residence to oversee the trials. Shackled with heavy chains, convicted criminals were poked and prodded at spear-point, herded into the Sacred Flames while the Pontifax walked beside them, his hand gripping the sinner’s shoulder. Most of the criminals became human torches.
Screams echoed through the small chapel, shaking the resolve of the attendants. Even the Pontifax was affected. Sharing the flames with a victim was a new experience for the holy man, but the Pontifax persevered, driven by a deep hunger to master the full power of the amulet. The prisons were nearly empty by the time he succeeded.

  Elated with his success, the Pontifax was keen to demonstrate his new power to the people but Steffan urged caution. Control of the people depended on the Pontifax’s ability to safely walk the flames. Failure in the public arena would be catastrophic, even if that failure involved a second person.

  Further trials proved that taking a second person through the flames drained the power of the amulet. The Pontifax needed to wait at least three days between attempts in order to succeed. Although limited in the frequency of use, the success of the trials gave the Pontifax a new way to extend his power. To celebrate his new abilities, the Pontifax invited Steffan and the Keeper to a lavish dinner in the Residence.

  Guards snapped to salute and servants bowed low as the Lord Raven strode through the marbled hallways of the Residence. So much had changed since his coming to Coronth. Steffan need only to make the smallest gesture and servants leaped to obey. Such power was intoxicating. Steffan struggled to bury his enjoyment under a mask of humility. The Lord Raven played the part of the valued adviser; he could not afford to be seen as a rival or a threat. Composing his face, he followed a vanguard of servants to the dining room.

  Dressed in shimmering robes of gold, the Pontifax greeted him with open arms, but Steffan insisted on maintaining his carefully crafted charade. Bowing to the Keeper, he knelt to kiss the hand of the Pontifax.

  Once the greetings were exchanged, the three men took seats at a small round table. A flock of servants offered platters heaped with savory delicacies. For three turns of the hourglass, the men sampled rare dishes from every corner of Erdhe. The feast was an outrageous display of wealth, far exceeded anything that Steffan had yet experienced. Clearly the Pontifax was pleased with his new counselor.

  Replete with fine food and wine, the men ambled from the dining room to a cozy sitting room where three comfortable armchairs waited in a crescent before a roaring fire. On a table next to each chair was a glass and a decanter filled with expensive liquor. Servants stoked the fire and filled glasses, bowing their way out of the chamber.

  The three men settled into the armchairs. As a rule, they never said anything of importance in front of the servants; the mysteries of the Flame religion were a closely guarded secret. Steffan sat quietly swirling a fine brandy, waiting for the Pontifax to start the conversation.

  A fire crackled in the hearth, adding a warm glow to the effects of the liquor. Lifting his glass in salute, the Pontifax turned toward Steffan. “Lord Raven, I commend you for your brilliant advice. The convict trials were distasteful, but well worth the effort.” Leaning forward, he added, “I am keen to demonstrate this new power to the people, but first I would hear your thoughts on the matter.”

  Trying to keep a smile from his face, Steffan used a thoughtful voice to reply, “Enlightened One, your new powers are extraordinary. The people will be stunned to witness someone other than the Pontifax survive the Test of Faith. New converts will flock to the temple and the belief of the faithful will deepen. An event with so much raw emotional power must be handled delicately.”

  Caught up in the vision, the Pontifax sat in a near daze, staring into the fireplace. The loud snap of a burning log brought him back to the room. “Yes, I can see how this new power will excite the people. But how do I make the most of this new miracle?”

  “The question of who is more important than the question of how.” Steffan sipped his brandy, watching shrewd understanding dawn across the face of the Pontifax. Hiding a smile, Steffan posed the question. “Who will be the first to prove the purity of his soul by surviving the Test of Faith?” He let his gaze settle on the burly Keeper. “The obvious choice is the Keeper of the Flame. The sight of the two most powerful clerics of Coronth taking the Test of Faith will surely solidify your stranglehold on the kingdom.” Steffan stole a sideways glance at the Keeper; the ruddy man had turned ghost-pale. Having watched the convict trials, he’d seen way too many human torches to take the risk.

  Clearing his throat, the Keeper said, “It would certainly be a great honor, but why take the risk when the people already accept me as second only to the Pontifax? Better to choose someone else, someone we want bound to our will.”

  Steffan was quick to agree. “You make a good point. But if the Keeper does not walk in the flames then we cannot chose someone with religious power. The Pontifax and the Keeper can have no rivals for the love of the Flame God.” Staring at the two men, Steffan fell silent, letting them stew in their own thoughts.

  Steffan sipped his brandy, watching the puzzled expressions of the two charlatans.

  Stymied, the Keeper eventually asked, “So do we just choose someone at random?”

  “No, this is far too important to trust to random luck.”

  The Keeper scowled, squirming in his chair.

  Steffan sipped his brandy, appearing to contemplate the flames. He let the two priests stew, giving them a subtle reminder of their limitations. When the tension in the room was ripe, Steffan broke the silence, pretending the idea had just come to him. “The solution has been right in front of us all along!” Steffan stared at the blank faces of his comrades. “Think of the relief worked into the brass doors of the temple. It is the perfect solution. The Pontifax should walk through the Flames with a child!”

  The two clerics exchanged conspiring grins.

  Noting their agreement, Steffan elaborated, “There will be no rivalry from a child and the public will be taken with the idea. As an added benefit, the Pontifax will be grooming future generations to worship the Flame. We need only choose a child whose parents are dedicated to the temple. Surely the Keeper can choose a faithful family worthy of the honor.”

  The Pontifax nodded. “I like the idea. I like it very much. But does it matter how it is done? Surely there should there be a special ceremony to mark the event?”

  Steffan nodded. “The people must understand that this is a blessing from the Pontifax. We will need to devise a special ceremony where the Pontifax blesses the child, perhaps something with incense to make the ceremony more dramatic. Once blessed, the child and the Enlightened One can walk safely through the Sacred Flames.”

  The Keeper leaned forward, his face eager. “Before the miracle with the child, we should send a sinner into the fires just to prove there is no trick.” Grinning, the Keeper added, “Death and Life all in one spectacle! The new miracle will be on everyone’s lips!”

  Steffan nodded. “After holding a few ceremonies with children, we can start to select adults who we wish to bind closer to the temple.” Addressing the Pontifax, Steffan said, “On your progresses through the countryside, you should select local priests or officials to walk with you through the Sacred Flames. Those who survive will be elevated in the eyes of the people. If handled correctly, the ceremony will bind a cadre of provincial leaders to the Pontifax. With one new miracle, you will gain an unshakable grip on all of Coronth.”

  The room fell silent, pregnant with possibilities. With a wolfish grin, the Pontifax said, “I like it! The plan is excellent.” He turned toward the Keeper. “Select an appropriate sinner and a child from a faithful family. I want to hold the ceremony this week.”

  Steffan added, “May I suggest, we leak word to the people? Rumors about something special, something that should not be missed.”

  The Keeper nodded. “I can use the acolytes to spread the word. The temple square will be overflowing with the faithful.”

  Steffan smiled. “All the better. The ecstasy of the experience will be multiplied in a densely packed crowd.”

  The Pontifax rose, putting his back to the hearth. “Our plans are set.” Raising his glass, he said, “I propose a toast, to miracles and the spread of religion!”<
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  Drunk on power, the clerics drained their glasses, hurling them into the hearth. As the other men saluted their own cleverness, Steffan secretly praised the Dark Lord. Everything was going according to plan.

  39

  Samson

  Samson worried about his mother. Pelting rain and chilly nights only made her fever worse. It didn’t help that they’d both had the runs for two days. Their last meal had been a pumpkin stolen from a farmer’s field. Samson sliced it open with his sword and they both gnawed on the pulp, eager to fill their stomachs despite the bitter taste. Now he knew why no one ever ate pumpkins without cooking them first. Strange, the things you learned when you were a fugitive.

  His mind was wandering again. He had to do something to help his mother or she’d never make it to Lanverness. Yesterday, they’d buried themselves in the autumn leaves, both for warmth and to try and hide during the daylight hours. Without warning, soldiers wearing the red and gold tabard of the Flame descended on the woods, brandishing swords and poking spears into bushes. They flushed a dozen heretics from the forest, marching their catch off in chains. Huddled in the leaves, Samson and his mother escaped notice. Surely the gods meant for them to survive. His mother couldn’t die on him now.

  They trudged south, always south, always walking at night, his mother leaning on Samson’s arm. Forests gave way to tilled fields. A barn glowed silver in the pale moonlight, tempting after so many days under the cold rain. Samson decided to risk it.

  Shouldering the door open, he gasped at the sudden warmth of cows and the sweet smell of hay. Except for five milk cows, the barn proved empty. Samson settled his mother on a stack of hay and covered her with their only remaining blanket, adding a second layer of hay for warmth.

  Racked with hunger, he searched the barn, discovering a half eaten apple discarded near the door. He pounced on the treasure. Rejoining his mother, he settled into the straw, savoring each crisp bite. With milk cows for company, the barn was warm and the hay made an inviting bed, funny how his idea of luxury had changed. Burrowing into the hay, Samson decided to rest his eyes for just a few moments.