Carym scowled at the dark irony; Qra’z was in fact well known for accepting sacrifices.
The bishop stalked angrily back to the first prisoner, Thrayador Bruahn, and spoke in a menacing tone meant for him alone. Carym was relieved to see that the old druid, whose advice he had leaned on as a young man, had escaped. But he was concerned about the safety of the others.
“Where did he go, Thrayador? I can make this easy for you,” the bishop’s glinted dangerously.
“I know not, Holiness,” he replied. “He and I do not serve the same queen.”
“Bah! You are all the same no matter what you would deceive yourself into thinking. Repent! And I will permit you to tell me where he went; else you will be the first to die.”
“If I should ‘repent’ as you demand, will I not just as soon find my head parted from my neck and my soul on its way to serve Qra’z, Your Holiness? No, I will die faithful to my queen and my soul will serve her in the afterlife. Regardless, I know not where Dryume has gone,” Thrayador said loudly and proudly from his undignified position in the stocks.
The bishop stepped back and smirked at Thrayador, then he turned to the crowd.
“I fear that Thrayador Bruahn, the leader and the blackest soul among these men, is beyond my abilities to reach. Only our great Lord Qra’z may save him, as even now he speaks heresy. The rest of these men will have seven days to reconsider.
“Bring Thrayador Bruahn to me!” he ordered as he returned to the platform.
“This doesn’t look good!” said Zach, worriedly.
“What can we do?”
“Nothing,” growled Zach.
“They are going to kill him, Zach!”
Carym seethed with anger knowing in his heart that this bishop was about to murder a kind old man who had been a spiritual leader of his people for many years. It was all he could do to maintain control of himself. If he and Zach tried to save him they would be labeled heathens and criminals, certain to suffer the same fate, helping no one in the end. The Chevals looked on and cheered along with the bloodthirsty Arnathians, while Willam watched with sad determination.
The young men watched in horror as the captain forcefully pulled Thrayador’s head back, exposing his throat. The bishop removed a dagger from inside his robe, the blade gleaming in the morning sun. The hilt of the dagger was shaped like the body of a golden dragon, its wings were the crosspiece and its tail, the blade, glowing white as though it had just been pulled from the forge.
“May Qra’z have mercy on your soul heathen!”
Carym turned away as the bishop stabbed Thrayador in the chest.
CHAPTER TWO
Lord Cannath.
An Offer.
As the guards dragged away the lifeless body of Thrayador Bruahn, Carym and Zach turned from the bloody spectacle in sadness and disgust. It was all Carym could do to control his emotions; the stakes had been raised and he knew that any slip here could cost them both their lives. He forced a straight face as one of the temple monks approached them. It was all he could do not to plant his sword in the man’s chest.
“Good afternoon gentlemen, I am Brother Roderious. I apologize for the delay in receiving you, but I was engaged with our god’s business. May Qra’z bless you on this day.”
Carym cast a fierce look at the monk, but Zach jabbed him with an elbow. The monk’s cheerful demeanor was unsettling to the men.
“I see by the looks on your faces that you are troubled by what has happened here today.”
Carym wondered briefly if the man had overheard their criticisms.
“Have no fear; the infidel’s soul is no longer in torment. He is with Qra’z now,” Roderious said solemnly.
“Brother,” Carym began, Zach raised an eyebrow at him.
“Yes?” he said with a kindly smile.
“Perhaps we are not the right choice for your project. We would not want to trouble you or the bishop or waste your valuable time.”
Zach gave Carym a meaningful glance; the possibility of making a tidy sum of money was winning out over Arnathian loathing.
“Oh, I am quite sure that you are the proper choice for this task,” chuckled the oblivious monk. “Qra’z has a way making these things work out for the best. Besides, the bishop has delegated the management of this task to Lord Cannath. He is quite eager to see you gentlemen.”
The monk turned and began leading the men through the vast temple complex, big enough to be its own small city. Being a faithful devotee of Zuhr, like any good Cklathman, Carym had never been inside the temple compound before and he was awestruck by its immensity. However, his anger did not allow him to appreciate the quality craftsmanship and ingenuity that went into the construction of this place. He did not know how old it was; only that it had been completed long ago during the early occupation. He knew that Old Lady Mailey would have given him a solid slap across the shoulder with her cudgel for even thinking of what the inside of that temple looked like. That forced a wry smile to Carym’s face. Many of the children of Hyrum had come to know her bite, and the sting of her cudgel.
Curiously, he did not see any buildings under construction that might require their skills. Then he realized that as they were walking the monk had been giving the men a visitor’s tour, pointing out this or that item of interest; Carym wasn’t interested. They had walked far longer than they ought to and he was eager to see Lord Cannath so that he could convince the lord not to hire him.
The main temple was an immense structure of marble and granite with rows of columns lined with silver and gold. The front of the main temple opened on Temple Square. The rest of the buildings in the compound lined the sides of Temple Square; a heavily guarded gate stood menacingly at the front of the square, opposite the temple. Monks in scarlet robes with gold sashes walked slowly with their hoods pulled low over their faces and their hands clasped in front of them. Priests in their golden robes walked here and there and a few temple-goers, all of them Arnathian settlers entered the Temple. At the center of the square in front of the main entrance was a statue of the Golden Dragon, the symbol of the Arnathian Empire and of the Church of Qra’z. The air was thick with foreboding.
“This way, gentlemen,” the monk said cheerily as he ushered the two through the Temple Square.
“What will we be building for you, Brother?” Zach asked.
“It is a small but important job, you may be sure. You may be wondering why you were specifically chosen,” the monk stated.
Carym nodded but said nothing, keeping his tongue from getting the better of him.
“Both of you are loyal veterans of the Imperial Fleet, and you are skilled carpenters,” the monk paused as he opened the door to a small outbuilding next to the main temple. The symbol of the Golden Dragon of Qra’z was etched in gold on the door. Carym and Zach looked at each other uneasily, each recalling their service in the Arnathian military had been compulsory; certainly neither of them possessed a shred of loyalty to Arnathia. Brother Roderious knelt down and made the sign of Qra’z in the air before entering the building.
“I’m told that you are both faithful servants of Qra’z,” he said, waiting for them to perform the same ritual.
Carym cast a perplexed look at Zach.
“That is a trait difficult to come by in these parts, though we appreciate the risk of violence you would endure for openly practicing your faith. The prejudice against the faith of Qra’z is troubling, and the lack of faith of your fellows is disturbing. Your people have been very resistant to our ways and that has proven most disturbing to the Emperor. Assimilation is necessary and the Emperor’s patience has been exhausted. Now we resort to the old, tried and true ways of conversion.”
Satisfied that the pair had showed the proper respect, Brother Roderious entered the small building. Carym and Zach followed with trepidation, disliking the superior look on the monk’s face, knowing that there was likely no turning back. Carym felt like a cornered rat and fought back his anger at having allowed himse
lf to be forced into this predicament. The only way out of this now was to go forward and find out what Lord Cannath had in mind. Silently, the pair descended a narrow staircase that spiraled into darkness below.
At the bottom of the stairs was a large wooden door with an iron ring. The monk knocked three times and the door opened from inside. A beautiful young woman in a royal blue robe with auburn hair spilling out from the hood, opened the door. From the depths of the hood green eyes caught the light reflected from the wall-torches, giving Carym a glimpse of her face.
“Rashel!” exclaimed Zach, with a bit too much emotion.
Carym was indeed surprised to see Rashel Cheval here on the Temple Grounds. He considered the rumors he had heard lately of the division within that family, and Rashel’s choices became a bit clearer. If Lord Cannath was indeed working behind the scenes to thwart the Arnathians, it was logical that Rashel would ally herself with him; if her intentions were sincere. Although he suspected the Arnathians were just as well informed of the rumors about the Chevals as everyone else in Hybrand.
“Hello, Zach.”
Carym was amazed at how beautiful and vibrant the somber young girl had become. He hadn’t known her very well, but in a small town you knew a little bit about everyone. He resolved to discuss what her motives might be with Zach later.
“Hello, Rashel.”
Rashel turned to face the monk, avoiding eye contact with Zach.
“His Lordship is expecting you,” said the young woman. “Please follow me down to his chambers.” Roderious entered the stairwell first behind Rashel, followed by Zach and Carym. What was most surprising to Carym was that Zach appeared to be staring daggers at her back. At the bottom of the narrow stair was a large open hall decorated with tapestries and fanciful carpets. Swords, odd pieces of armor, ancient battle flags, and other mysterious artifacts were displayed with the decor and flair fit for a royal palace, out of place in an otherwise dank cellar. At the far end of the hall a fire was burning in a hearth, heating the chamber nicely.
Carym was loath to walk past any of these historical treasures without inspection, however Rashel led them quickly to a door. The pair followed Roderious into the chamber where a man was seated behind a large desk.
“My Lord, the carpenters are here as you have requested,” he turned to Carym and Zach. “Gentlemen, your liege lord.”
The pair exchanged glances and bowed low to Lord Cannath.
The office was well lit, and there were numerous Cklathish paintings and foreign tapestries on the walls. Laden bookshelves vied for wall space with intricate tapestries, and a wonderfully designed carpet covered the floor. The beauty of the lord’s brightly polished desk struck Carym. He gazed at his reflection in its glassy surface and noted the Hybrandese Royal Coat of Arms skillfully carved into the front. The moment he saw his reflection, the memory of why he was here came crashing back. He felt his temperature rising, that familiar tightness in his chest, as his blood began pounding in his ears; he exhaled slowly, knowing that only an imperturbable demeanor would see them through this trap.
“Gentlemen,” spoke the man seated at the desk. “Your reputations precede you.”
He paused and eyed them both intently. Lord Cannath was a handsome man by all accounts, yet his bloodline was not wholly Cklathish. Lord Cannath was descended from the bloodline of his grandfather, Prince Hydase, the traitor who arranged for the assassination of the royal family so many years ago. This act of treachery ensured that Hybrand would fall under control of Imperial Arnathia. The much-slighted youngest brother of the Hybrandese thayne felt himself an outcast. With little hope of gaining the throne, Hydase’s family made little of his choice to marry an Arnathian woman over a Cklathish noble. Cannath’s slightly darker skin, large brown eyes, and his stature were gifts from his grandmother. It was those features that earned him the ire of his countrymen from the moment he was born and it was that which he hated most about himself.
Cannath was a complicated man. He never truly felt part of Cklathish society, and thus was he viewed by his people. Similarly, Cannath did not feel himself to be part of Arnathian society and most Arnathians felt the same way. Cannath struggled with his identity throughout his childhood and into his adult life. Cannath’s father was a very bitter man, having dealt personally with his own father’s treachery firsthand as a small boy. His father died a very bitter man, never quite able to find the courage to stand up to Arnathia. After his father died, Cannath and his mother went to Arnathia proper where she raised him among the Arnathian elite. But the young Lord Cannath secretly vowed to return to find a way to expel Arnathia from his homeland, hoping to bury a brutal and dark chapter in his country’s history.
When the day of his mother’s own passing came, the grieving boy had been serving abroad in the Arnathian Imperial Army. Due to his mother’s station, the now battle tested young man was granted a discharge and allowed to return home to tend to his family holdings in Arnathia Proper. The emptiness of his heart and the callousness of his Arnathian peers made him decide, irrevocably, that he was not Arnathian. Cannath and his longtime friend, Hugh Renaul, an Arnathian provincial, decided to find their fate in Hybrand, for better or worse. Although Hugh haled from the Arnathian Empire, he was from a region that detested Arnathian rule and largely disassociated themselves from their countrymen.
From the moment he decided he was a Cklathman, Cannath’s life changed for the better. The typically sullen young man found that he was much happier on the road and away from his conniving upstart peers and the drama of the Imperial elite. Cannath had been ill received by the Arnathian rulers in Hybrand and his countrymen both, although this was not unexpected and the intelligent young man vowed to change this. Cannath slowly won the favor of the Hybrandese by connecting with his murdered Great Uncle, a true Cklathish hero, and adopting his attire and demeanor while rejecting the blood that tied him to his treacherous grandfather.
Eventually he became fast friends with an Elvish merchant named Gavinos. Gavinos shared tales of the grandeur of the Hybrand of old, for he was old enough to remember it. Gavinos often brought news from Brythynburr, the capital of a Cklathish thaynedom to the north, and Cannath was wistful for that which he had never known. Officially, there were no ties between Cannath’s family and that of Thayne Connor Anuryn III, ruler of Brythyn, due to the stained honor of his family. Cannath vowed to change this too, and the mechanism of this change had recently revealed itself to him.
“We have need of your skills to build a grand monument to Qra’z in the temple square. The Emperor has mandated that every temple square in the Empire shall have a monument befitting our god. You have seen the Golden Dragon in the temple square. It is an old monument not fitting for the Arnathian god.”
Carym and Zach both noted that the word “Arnathian” preceded god. What could this portend?
“You have been brought here to build a new Golden Dragon in the temple square that will serve as both an altar and a monument. It shall be made from the wood of the Arnathian Oak harvested from the groves of Blackthorne Forest, and it will be gilded with gold blessed by the Patriarch himself. The Patriarch will use this to give his sermons when he blesses us with visits from time to time.” Cannath smirked as though remembering some private joke.
“But this monument will serve a dual purpose.”
Lord Cannath rose from his desk, regaining his solemn bearing, and peered intently at the men. Then he placed some building plans on the desk and turned to examine one of his paintings.
“As you know the Church has instituted a ban against false religions, and conversions are underway across Arnathia. The people of Hybrand need to know that treason and heresy will not be tolerated.”
By the tone of the lord’s voice, Carym was not sure that Cannath actually believed what he was saying.
“We are part of the Empire and yet many of our people refuse to accept this fact. For this reason, the Patriarch has ordered a gallows to be built as part of the monument to Q
ra’z; the gaping maw of the Golden Dragon. The Patriarch wants the church hierarchy to oversee the public execution of all infidels.”
Carym had the feeling that his liege was, in fact, trying to convince himself.
“There are many Arnathian carpenters that could accomplish this task, but it would not have the same uplifting effect on the spirit of our countrymen. Both of you however, have served in the Imperial Fleet and you are faithful to Qra’z.”
Carym wondered how he and Zach had gained reputations as followers of Qra’z.
“Your seal will be boldly emblazoned for all to see so our people will know that Cklathmen have embraced Qra’z as their own. You will each be paid one hundred Holy Imperials per day.”
Zach spoke first, “Why does it take the use of gallows and stocks to convince our brethren of the right path to follow, My Lord?” He asked boldly, his lust for money now overcome by his sense of hatred for the man who represented Arnathian oppression in Hybrand.
The monk gasped and Cannath glared at him with his angry brown eyes, calculating the meaning behind the brash question. He was intimidating; he was every bit of six and a half feet tall and his jet black hair was kept short in military fashion. Cannath wore his traditional Cklathish leather armor and a great Cklathish sword lay across the desk before him. He had long ago forgone any adornments that bore resemblance to Arnathian tradition.
In a very low and menacing voice the lord replied, “We do not question the motives of the Emperor and the Patriarch.”
Although the lord did appear angry, Carym wasn’t so certain they weren’t being played to.
Zach bowed low. “Forgive me, my liege. I meant no disrespect.”
Carym was glad Lord Cannath had not noticed his friend’s sarcastic edge. After completing his military service, Zach had become very resentful of authority and challenged it frequently; he was lucky it had not yet become his undoing.
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