The princess looked doubtful. “Forgive me your majesty, but I don’t understand what you mean by a pattern.”
“That is precisely why you must learn by doing. It sounds simple, but few have the gift to see the patterns. Talk to the people involved in the making and selling of wine and we’ll discuss your findings. Together we will see if the gods have graced you with gift of multiplying golds.”
The princess turned back to her meal, a thoughtful expression on her face. The queen let her protégé eat as she finished her own bowl of broth. A companionable silence settled between the two women. Liandra was surprised by how much she enjoyed her meals with the young princess. In her mind, she considered the princess a worthy daughter-in-law, in her heart, she felt as if the daughter who hadn’t lived had been given back to her.
52
Steffan
Like flies to carrion, petitioners and supplicants began arriving in ones and twos at the gates of the Residence. Drawn by the absolute power of Coronth’s religious dictator, they sought to offer their services in exchange for crumbs of wealth. At first, the Pontifax granted them an audience, but the Enlightened One soon tired of the game. Hearing the Pontifax complain, the Lord Raven offered to shoulder the burden. Steffan knew there was always a chance of finding a skill or talent that could deepen his stranglehold on the cult of the Flame.
Sitting on a gilded chair at the left hand of an empty throne, Steffan received petitioners in the small but opulent audience chamber of the Residence. With vaulted ceilings and an abundance of gold leaf, the architecture served to intimidate the petitioners, separating the meek from the bold. Bowing their way across the marble floor, the bravos, alchemists, scholars, mercenaries, fortune tellers and hedge witches came forward one at a time to profess their skills. Steffan listened to their arguments and watched their demonstrations, bored by the endless stream of charlatans, mummers, and frauds. The procession of wastrels proved the old adage; like truly attracted like. He thought of the supplicants as ‘flocks of parasites’. The arrival of the parasites proved that the power of the Flame God was waxing, even beyond the borders of Coronth.
Most of the supplicants were frauds, but there was still a chance he could make use of their talents, after all, the business of growing a religion was all about seducing the emotions and fears of the common people and who better to do that than a troupe of mummers and con men. Sifting through the supplicants, he managed to find a few that could be of use.
One that stood out was the giant, Olaff. Seven-foot tall with a bald head and a bushy black beard, the giant presented Steffan with a small scroll. The scroll explained that his name was Olaff and that he sought service as a bodyguard. Olaff started his demonstration by opening his mouth to show off the stump of an amputated tongue. Steffan had heard rumors that noblemen of Ur excised the tongues of their guards but he’d never seen proof of the practice. Intrigued, he gestured for the giant to continue.
Taking up an inch-thick iron bar, the giant easily bent it into a v-shape. He next drew a scimitar and proceeded to cleave imaginary opponents with vicious strokes of the curved sword. Impressed, Steffan offered Olaff a position as his personal guard and doorman for his manor house, tossing a purse to the giant to seal the bargain. From the widening of the man’s eyes, it was clear the offer far exceeded the giant’s hopes. Deliberately generous with his golds, Steffan put his trust in the avarice of his servants, providing wages that far exceeded potential bribes from other masters. As a dedicate of the Dark Lord, he valued obedience over loyalty. Loyalty, after all, was really only a matter of price. He’d never been disappointed by overpaying and he expected the results to be the same with his new guard.
The other find was the pyromancer, Alan Jellikan. A tall, skinny, rat-faced man dressed in outlandish robes of purple, Jellikan claimed to be a failed alchemist who’d unlocked the mysteries of fire. Carrying a small brazier to the foot of the dais, he used a flint to strike a modest blaze in the stacked charcoals. “Fire is a magical element, controlled by the arcane.” Muttering incantations and waving his arms, he flung handfuls of powders and splashes of liquids into the brazier. “A flame becomes a bonfire!” Flames belched toward the ceiling, expelling a fierce heat. “Heat becomes color!” Another handful of powder and the fire spat sparks in a rainbow of colors. “Color becomes scent!” Jellikan flung more ingredients into the flames. A pillar of smoke evoked the pine scent of a mountain forest followed by the noxious brimstone of hell.
Servants at the far end of the hall muttered exclamations of awe.
Steffan smiled at the intrusion, more proof the pyromancer had possibilities. His outlandish dress and clumsy arm waving screamed of fraud, but the man had a true gift for manipulating fire. His gift could be of great value, but only if his nature proved compatible with the religion of the Flame. A test of character was in order. The Lord Raven invited the pyromancer to join him for breakfast the following morning. Clearly overawed by the invitation, the pyromancer almost tripped and spilled the brazier in the process of bowing his way out of the chamber.
The next morning, at the appointed hour, Olaff, resplendent in his new uniform, showed the pyromancer into the dining room of Steffan’s manor house. The Lord Raven sat at the head of the table while Pip stood waiting to serve the morning meal. Exotic delicacies crowded the long table, a sumptuous feast fit for the wealthiest men of Balor. With a negligent wave Steffan invited Jellikan to join him.
The pyromancer’s jaw dropped as he surveyed the feast.
Steffan stifled a smile.
Once the pyromancer was seated, Pip presented a host of dishes. His guest accepted a serving of each, but it was the outrageously expensive caviar that caught and held the pyromancer’s attention. Despite a plate loaded with food, the man took three servings of caviar.
Pleased by the man’s gluttony, Steffan asked, “So how did you come to be a master of fire?”
Between bites of food, Jellikan answered, “I started as an apprentice to an alchemist. The idea of converting ordinary metals into gold seemed like the easiest way to wealth. For three years I slaved under the old fool grinding powders and collecting rare elements yet in all that time I never once saw the sweet gleam of gold in the bottom of the crucible.” Leaning across the table, the pyromancer helped himself to more caviar. For a skinny man he had the appetite of a starving wolf. “I never transmuted iron to gold, but along the way I noticed that certain powders caused the flames to give off beautiful colors or strong scents. Disillusioned with alchemy, I perfected my mastery of the flame. When the terms of my apprenticeship ended, I took my hoard of powders and began visiting the homes of wealthy nobles, reading their fortunes in the colors of the flames.”
Steffan signaled Pip to refill the pyromancer’s wine glass. “Could you do the same sort of thing in a large fire pit?”
Using a crust of bread, Jellikan scraped the last of the caviar from the bottom of the serving bowl. “I would need a lot more powder but the results should be even more spectacular.”
“Could you time the effects, so the color changes were delayed for a set amount of time?”
“It could be done.” Warming to the subject, he finished his goblet of wine. “The easiest way is to throw powder into the flame when you want the effect to occur. The second, more subtle way, is to construct the fire pit with layers of fuel and powder so the fire would have to burn through each layer before the flames reached the powder. It would take some experimenting to get it right, but it could be done.”
Steffan came to his final question. “So what brought you to court of the Flame God?”
A cloud of fear passed across the man’s eyes.
Steffan waited, slowly sipping his tea. His actions gave the man the chance to see the gold ring with the blood red ruby the size of a pigeon’s egg. Jellikan’s stare followed the ruby ring. The display of wealth proved enough to conquer his fear. “My talents were wasted on the nobles of Radagar. I thought my skills would have more value to the rulers o
f Coronth.”
Leaning back in his chair, Steffan considered his guest. The pyromancer had expensive tastes and a gluttonous nature. These were traits Steffan could work with, but it remained to be seen if the man could accept the true nature of the Flame God. “After such a filling breakfast, I often find the need to take a walk. Join me in a stroll and we can continue our conversation.”
The pyromancer gaped, his plate half full, but Steffan did not wait. He rose from the table and swept into the foyer, the skinny man rushing to catch up. Pip handed Steffan his black wool cape, the blood red raven badge prominently displayed on the right breast. Settling the cape around his shoulders, he accepted a silver-tipped walking stick. Steffan rarely walked the streets of Balor as the Lord Raven, but today it suited his purpose. With a nod to Pip, he led the pyromancer out into the cobblestone streets.
A light fall of snow gave the capital city a pristine appearance. A short walk brought them to the temple square. Despite the snow, a crowd swarmed the square waiting for this morning’s Test of Faith.
The blood-red badge of the Raven was enough to part the crowd. Commoners cringed away, opening a path to the fire pit. Steffan watched the pyromancer out of the corner of his eye. The man was visibly impressed by the subservience of the crowd. Hiding his smile, Steffan led his guest to the very edge of the pit. “Have you ever witnessed a Test of Faith?”
Stuttering, the pyromancer replied, “I-I’ve only been in Balor for a week. Out of curiosity, I attended one ritual…but it was difficult to see from the edge of the crowd.”
Steffan smiled. It was one thing to stand on the edge of the crowd, it was quite another to experience the ritual at the edge of the pit, to see the agony of the sinner, to feel the full force of the crowd’s emotions. This was going to be interesting. In a smooth voice, Steffan explained, “The Test of Faith is central to the worship of the Flame God. If you are going to serve the Pontifax, then you need to understand the nature of our religion.”
The pyromancer gave a grim nod.
As it always did, the Test of Faith started with the booming of the temple drums and the procession of the Flame. Steffan positioned himself to study the pyromancer’s reactions as the rite progressed.
The slow chanting of the crowd thundered around them, rising to a fever pitch. Raw emotion pulsed through the faithful becoming a palpable force. They stood in the heart of a human maelstrom. Steffan watched as the pyromancer succumbed to the ecstasy of the massed believers. Jellikan swayed to the seductive rhythm of the drums, becoming one with the crowd. When it came time for the soldiers to prod the sinner into the Flames, Jellikan leaned forward with the rest of the throng, eager to witness the gruesome death. His face twisted into a mask of ecstasy when the sinner’s clothes burst into flames. It was only when a whiff of charred flesh came their way that the man turned away, his face turning pale. Steffan was impressed; the pyromancer managed to hold down his meal despite the stench. The man must have a cast-iron stomach. When the ritual was over, Steffan led his dazed guest back through the dispersing crowds.
Steffan walked in deliberate silence, letting Jellikan reflect on the Test of Faith. Ritualized death was a powerful spectacle, especially for the uninitiated. Instead of returning to his home, Steffan led Jellikan to the Residence, the palace of the Pontifax. Guards snapped salutes and servants bowed low as the Lord Raven and his guest walked through the marbled halls. Jellikan gaped at the grandeur of the Residence. Steffan took the long way, letting the luxury further seduce the pyromancer. Eventually, he led Jellikan to the private chapel in the rear of the Residence.
Crowned by a domed ceiling ornate with gold leaf, the small round chapel reeked of wealth. A pair of red-robed acolytes tended a central fire pit. Light from the flames danced within the golden dome. Dismissing the acolytes, Steffan turned to study the pyromancer. “Master Jellikan, with my patronage, I believe you could be of value to the Pontifax, but first you must pass a final test.” Gesturing toward the fire pit, Steffan said, “I want you to arrange a demonstration for the Pontifax using the chapel’s fire pit. I want the color, odor, and other changes to occur at predicted intervals without the obvious addition of any powders or fluids. I leave the choice of effects to you, but before the fire is lit, you must predict in advance exactly what effects will occur and in what sequence. Do you accept the challenge?”
The man was clearly tempted yet he hesitated. “I will need to experiment in order to get the sequencing down.”
“You will have access to the chapel for your experiments and acolytes will serve as your assistants. I give you two weeks to prepare the demonstration.” He handed the pyromancer a bulging purse of golds. “This is merely a token of my goodwill. You will find the Lord Raven is very generous to those who serve him well.”
Greed gleamed in the pyromancer’s eyes. “It will be an honor to serve you.”
“One more thing, your work must be done in total secrecy.” Steffan gave the pyromancer a menacing smile. “It would be a sin if word of your work leaked to the people…and in Coronth sinners walk the Test of Faith.”
Clutching the purse of golds, the pyromancer turned slightly green. “I understand, my lord. I will work in confidence to serve the Pontifax…and the Lord Raven.”
“See that you do.” Steffan left the pyromancer alone in the chapel. Walking back through the snow-dusted streets, he considered the value of his new servant. Assuming the demonstration proved successful, his ability to manipulate the Flames offered almost limitless possibilities for new miracles to further twist the beliefs of the people. He’d soon have the people dancing like puppets on a string. Religion was such a joy. Steffan felt the Dark Lord’s pleasure. After all, one lifetime was not enough.
53
Katherine
Holding the whetstone at the proper angle, Kath scraped long sure strokes along the edge of her sword. Stretched out on the rug in front of the fireplace, she inspected the blade. The sword didn’t need sharpening, but there was something comforting about the simple motion of using a whetstone against good Castlegard steel.
Feeling lost in the grandeur of the Rose Court, she’d decided to spend the afternoon sharpening her weapons and burnishing her armor; something familiar for her hands to do while her mind wondered what she was doing in Pellanor. If truth be told, she was really hiding. The queen’s court was all about political intrigue and the power of gold, no place for a princess dedicated to the sword. The problem was Kath really didn’t know where she belonged. Essentially banished from Castlegard by her father, she couldn’t return home and Pellanor was turning out to be nearly as bad as she’d expected. Staring at the glint of firelight reflected on the keen edge of steel, an image of the broken tower sprang unbidden into her mind. Kath felt an intense sense of longing for that other time. The irony was she’d felt more at home in that brief vision of the past than she’d ever felt in the present. And then there was that strange incident on the parapet. The dark-haired man had invaded her dreams yet she did not even know his name. Perhaps she was losing her mind. She shook her head in defiance. Better not to think about a past that was nothing but dust. She needed to focus on finding her way in the present. Stroking the whetstone across her sword, she stared into the flames of the fireplace searching for answers that weren’t there.
An abrupt knock intruded on her thoughts. The outer door opened and a tall leggy woman with short-cropped sandy hair stepped into the sitting room. Dressed in simple leathers, the young woman wore a short sword belted to her waist. A sword! Kath blinked, wondering if she was imagining things.
The mysterious woman smiled. “I assume you’re Princess Katherine. The guard said I’d find you here.”
Kath stared, too stunned to say anything. She’d never seen another woman with a sword.
Undeterred, the woman offered her hand in friendship, the way a man would greet another man of equal status. “I’m sorry, I should introduce myself. My name is Jordan and I’m the official welcoming committee from Na
varre.”
Rising, Kath shook the woman’s hand. The grip was firm and sure, the palm lined with calluses. “Thank you for the kind welcome, but who are you?”
“I’m a princess of Navarre. I’m here in Pellanor with two of my siblings, Justin and Jemma. Jemma is spending her Wayfaring, a kind of fostering, in Pellanor with the queen. The queen mentioned to my sister that a princess from Castlegard had arrived and I volunteered to greet you.”
Confused, Kath just stared.
Jordan laughed. “The Rose Court can be overwhelming. I’ll do my best to explain.”
Kath gestured for the young woman to be welcome and then sat cross-legged on the carpet, the naked sword cradled in her lap. Jordan stretched her long legs toward the roaring fire. “I have to admit I’m surprised to see you with a sword.”
“Not half as surprised as I am to see you! I’ve never met another woman who carried a sword. I thought I was the only one.”
Jordan gave her a conspirator’s smile. “I know what you mean. But I thought Castlegard didn’t train women?”
“They don’t, that’s why I’m stuck in Pellanor.”
“But…you’re a princess of Castlegard?”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve always wanted to wield a sword, but my father forbade it. A year ago, I convinced one of the knights to secretly give me weapons training; only we were discovered. My father was furious. He sent me to the Rose Court for fostering, hoping that the queen would ‘turn me into a lady’, but the journey only deepened my dedication to the sword. I will not give it up.” Kath saw understanding in the other woman’s eyes.
The Steel Queen (The Silk & Steel Saga Book 1) Page 35