Delil lowered to one knee and offered one of her swords. Andover looked to her, looked at the others around him and immediately dropped to one knee. The hammer was a heavy weapon but he offered it just the same, his arms straining from the awkward position he held it in.
Tarag Paedori towered above him and grabbed the weapon by the offered handle. He looked it over for a moment, his eyes quickly studying the shape, and then placed it gently back into Andover’s grip.
“You are Andover Lashk. You are now called Iron Hands. Truska-Pren offered you a great gift.”
Andover looked up at the man and nodded. “I have come to speak to you and to Truska-Pren, to offer my thanks for his gift.”
Tarag Paedori made a gesture with one hand and the people around him rose from the kneeling positions, putting away their weapons. Andover followed their lead, and forced himself to breathe.
The King in Iron lived up to his name. His body was covered in iron, from the plates of the stuff that covered his boot tops to the shell of the stuff wrapped around his body. His hands were bare and his face, but almost every other inch of his massive shape was covered. Over that armor the man wore a dark red tunic and a black cloak. On his face he wore a veil that matched his tunic, and on his head he wore a simple crown of black iron.
His eyes regarded Andover for several seconds and Andover had to resist the burning desire to fidget. He had a powerful suspicion that moving around would be seen as a sign of weakness.
Finally the man gestured with one scarred hand. “You will come with me. We go to meet Truska-Pren.”
Without another word the man turned and strode toward the side of the mountain. The Sa’ba Taalor parted for him, leaving a wide path that Andover followed as quickly as he dared.
Delil did not go with him.
***
The caravan was a compromise. The initial idea was for only a dozen or so people to head for the parley, but Nachia’s insistence in being along changed everything. Desh Krohan could not stop the Empress from coming, but he could decidedly make sure it was more challenging for her.
Fifty of the Imperial Guards rode along with the caravan, dressed in full armor and prepared for any eventuality. At least Merros expected them to be prepared. They were among the best-trained soldiers Fellein had to offer.
Seven wagons of supplies rode along, including cooks, serving staff and a few surprises that Merros did not feel the need to share with anyone else. Desh Krohan had one of the wagons as his own, and Nachia Krous rode with him. It was a wagon that Merros himself had once been a guest in and though he could not prove it he suspected there might be something of a magical nature involved. The wagon looked as pristine as it had since heading into the Blasted Lands, while everything else that had gone along had been scoured by the winds and debris until paint and finish were ruined.
They reached the designated site well before they had to be there, and Merros was surprised to find Goriah and Tataya waiting for them. The Sisters were dressed for the weather, meaning they had heavy cloaks and the rain washed off the well-oiled materials.
The Temmis Pass was nothing remarkable to see. Unless one knew what one was looking for the spot differed little from the rest of the vast edge to the Blasted Lands. In this area there was a good deal of grassland and in the distance the town of Hallis crouched. Hallis could only properly be called a town if one was feeling generous. There were seven buildings all told, and half of them were abandoned and falling in on themselves, but it was the closest sign of human life.
The people of Hallis – all eleven – stared with wide eyes when the caravan rode past. One old man – Merros could not remember his name – nodded and waved when he recognized Merros. The general nodded back but did not wave. Though he could hardly blame the man for charging insane prices for his supplies he still wasn't fond of anyone who charged that much for barrels of water.
This time they had plenty of water along with them.
Merros waved the caravan to a halt, and the Sisters looked in his direction and approached. He’d expected them to head for the wagon but instead they came to him. Goriah smiled softly in his direction. “You are earlier than expected.”
“I prefer being ready for when the Sa’ba Taalor arrive.”
“They are still well away. You have time yet.”
He did not bother asking how they knew.
“Excellent. We’ll have a chance to make a proper presentation for them.”
The Empress came out of Desh Krohan’s wagon and headed immediately for the edge of the land where it fell away into the Blasted Lands. The perpetual storm below them was lower than Merros has seen it in some time, and through the clouds holding below that edge the distant spires of the Seven Forges were visible, though heavily sheathed in clouds of their own making.
“It doesn’t seem that far to travel, does it?” Nachia’s voice was low and her eyes studied the distant forges.
“It’s deceptive. The storms within the area are constant and keeping any sense of direction is nearly impossible.” He looked to the Sisters. “I have no proof but I suspect the journey might well have been aided by these ladies.”
They offered no confirmation, nor any denial for that matter. Merros merely smiled. He was beginning to believe they’d be more likely to deny being able to do things rather than to confess what they might be capable of achieving. Like Desh Krohan, they preferred an air of mystery surround them. Rumors had their own sort of power.
Both of the Sisters bowed formally to Nachia Krous and she nodded her acceptance of the gesture.
From the third wagon in the caravan a head appeared briefly and then vanished. After several seconds it showed again, just peeping past the door of the wagon, and then finally a man slipped free of the thing. He was not a very tall man as it went. In fact he could be called short without stretching the truth in any significant measure.
If he was the scout for the party inside he barely showed it. A tiny gesture from his hand and he was heading for Merros and the rest, ducking his head again and again, as if he were practicing how to bow while only involving his neck in the effort.
He came closer and kept his eyes on Merros. In his defense the general was the only one of the four carrying a weapon, but in truth all three of the women he was with were far deadlier.
Nachia turned her head and regarded the man for a long moment and as she did, Merros watched the subtle transformation in her demeanor. Her shoulders shifted a bit, straightening, and she lifted her chin. The lines of her face seemed to harden and the warm expression he was used to seeing grew as cold as the Blasted Lands.
The man came closer still, looking toward Nachia as if he were seeing her for the first time, and then remembered that he should bow to the Empress. Had a man ever looked more wretched? Not that Merros could remember.
“Your Highness….”
“Elder.” Oh, how cold the woman’s voice.
Teagus was an Elder for the Church of Etrilla. Near as Merros could figure it, Etrilla was the God of Cities. Wherever people gathered to live, the god was supposed to hold sway.
Merros gestured to the Sisters. “Teagus, this is Goriah and Tataya, two of the Sisters to Desh Krohan.”
Teagus managed what should have been impossible. He simultaneously cringed and sneered at the two women. From what Merros had seen that was his expression with all females.
“I am pleased to meet the both of you. May the gods always be kind to you.”
Tataya, who normally managed to be pleasant and formal with everyone, made the barest nod in the man’s direction and promptly ignored him.
Goriah smiled frostily and offered a formal bow.
Teagus then promptly ignored both of them and looked to Merros. “Is this the place where you are to meet with the Sa’ba Taalor?”
“It is. We appreciate your agreeing to join us on such short notice.”
The cringe-sneer came back. “We were not exactly given a choice.”
“Of course
you were. You were given the choice to attend to her Majesty or to be brought along in irons. I feel you made the wiser of the two choices. I’m sure by now that two of your number would agree.”
The cringing aspect of his demeanor grew more pronounced and the Elder wrong his hands. “Yes, well, that is why I am bothering you. They were wondering if they are to be kept in irons throughout the entirety of the trip.”
Merros kept his stern expression despite the powerful temptation to laugh. There were eighteen members of the eighteen different churches present now and with the exceptions of the Deiber, the head of the Church of Lalos the Wanderer and Ellish, the head of the Church of Vendahl, the leaders of the churches had all come willingly enough when the Empress invited them along. Merros had taken the liberty of extending his own invitation to the reluctant duo.
“You may tell Ellish and Deiber that they will be allowed to move about after I have had a personal discussion with each of them regarding the proper response to invitations from the Imperial Throne.” Merros shrugged. “I should be there within the next hour or so to have that discussion. Any who wishes to participate in the conversation is welcome to state their opinions at that time.”
The Elder cringed and bowed and backed away as carefully as if Merros were aiming a crossbow at his testicles the entire time.
When the man had disappeared back into his wagon Nachia relaxed back into herself.
Merros resisted the laugh that kept creeping around the edges of his demeanor. “Honestly, Nachia. You’re a cold one. I thought he would wet himself.”
Nachia shook her head. “Do you know when I was younger I went to his church for one ceremony or another and he did his very best to bed me.”
Merros felt his blood surge at the thought. “I do have extra leg irons in my supplies.”
She chuckled and waved the thought away. “Mostly I just wanted to see if he’d remember me.”
“I wonder how he feels about the city being evacuated.” Tataya’s voice was low and conversational.
Merros eyed the wagon and contemplated the leg irons. He was not fond of people who abused their position and that especially stood for anyone who would attempt to use that position to get between a child’s legs. Nachia was the Empress, true enough, but a few years back she would have barely qualified as an adult. “I should imagine it’s an affront to his position within the city. I can’t imagine wherever he eventually relocates that the Elder in that city will appreciate the competition.”
Nachia responded, her voice carrying an edge, “As I understand it, the Elders of the Church of Etrilla must stay in the town where they are in charge. His being here is pushing the limits of what his faith permits. He must stay in Tyrne, even if the city is evacuated completely.”
“Even if the Empress demands he leave?” Tataya asked the question in an offhand way, but her voice also carried an edge.
“The dictates of the church. He will leave when the time comes. I won’t be giving him an option.”
Merros looked from Empress to Sister. “Why do I get the impression there’s more about this man that neither of you are telling me?”
Nachia let a smirk play across her face and then grew sober. She said, “Teagus has a long reputation for attempting to influence the youths of his faith. He even tried to seduce me once. That did not go well for him or for his church. Pathra nearly demanded his head.”
Merros ground his teeth. “And has nothing been done about it?”
Goriah answered for the others. “There is a long standing tradition of allowing the churches a certain amount of leeway in their actions. It leads to less trouble between the Empire and the faithful.”
Merros looked Goriah and shook his head. “Is that only within Tyrne?”
“No. The churches work throughout the Empire. They are a power to be considered, Merros Dulver. You would do well to remember that when dealing with them in the future.”
He was not even aware of his hand resting on the pommel of his sword.
“The churches have their place. I’m not quite sure where that is, but I intend to find out.”
Goriah brushed some of the blonde hair from her eyes. “Have you been studying the faiths your entire life, Merros?”
“No. I’ve been studying the military laws of Fellein. I have acquainted myself with the churches on the last few days. I’m still trying to understand the full hierarchy of the faiths.”
She smiled at him, her eyes holding his attention as she stepped closer. “The hierarchy is uncertain at the best of times. The churches have come to a respectful accord. The differing faiths started throughout the Empire. Plith and Tyrea to the east. Kanheer to the south and east, where the Brellar often came in and took what they wanted. Kanheer is a war god. He is used to demanding sacrifices.” She gestured toward the City of Wonders. “Vendahl and Luhnsh from around Canhoon.”
The gods of wealth and beggars respectively. It made sense that they would be best known in Old Canhoon, where the two resided within the same walls as often as not.
“There are eighteen known gods and they come from all over the Empire, Merros. There is no hierarchy. The churches agree only to tolerate each other. And sometimes they do not do so very well.”
Merros sighed. “Well, we have their gods outnumbered. I suppose that should be good for something.”
Tataya looked toward the Blasted Lands. “Let us hope they feel the same way.”
Nachia shook her head. “I will talk with the priests tomorrow, after the sun rises. Until then I prefer not to think about them more than I have to.”
Merros nodded his head. “As you wish, Majesty.” He did not feel completely the same way about the situation. At the very least he would be having a conversation with the reluctant duo and with Teagus. Of the three he suspected Teagus would like the conversation the least.
Nachia looked to the distant Seven Forges, their lights clearly visible through the heavy clouds that hid most of the Blasted Lands from this vantage point. She looked older than her years as she studied the reputed homes of the gods.
Merros turned away from the Empress and called to his soldiers. It was time to start preparing for the coming meeting.
***
Andover stared the Iron King’s city and shook his head. Prydiria was vast, a massive gray city built into the side of a gray mountain. Where the dwellings in Tusk’s city were relatively new, these were ancient. Tarag Paedori continued his long strides and Andover did his best to keep up, taking deep breaths and fast steps to make up for the man’s pace.
“I was to be the ambassador between our people, your Majesty.”
The King in Iron looked his way and regarded him with eyes that offered no hint of kindness.
“I have spoken with your people before. I have talked with Merros Dulver and Kallir Lundt. You are not the first of your kind here, nor the first favored by Truska-Pren.”
Favored? He looked down at his hands.
“Yes. Kallir Lundt was here before you and healed by Truska-Pren.”
He had never heard the man’s name mentioned before.
“He was given iron hands as well?”
The king turned to face him and slowly shook his head. “Kallir Lundt did not need new hands. It was his face that was ruined.”
“His face?” There was a note of horror that Andover couldn’t quite keep from his voice. He remembered the pain of his hands being ruined, and the even greater pain of having them replaced by the living iron hands he had now and shook his head.
“Like you, Kallir Lundt decided he would rather be complete than dead.”
“Of course. I did not mean offense.”
“There is no offense in simple truths, Andover Lashk.” The man stopped and faced him. “You will meet Kallir Lundt. He has been waiting to meet with you for a long time. And then you will meet Truska-Pren. Be prepared for these things.”
“Yes, of course.” He said the words easily enough. But as his father had said more than once, wo
rds were easier to say than they were to obey.
Had there ever been a place with so damned many stairs? Climbing the side of Durhallem had been a harsh challenge, to be sure, but Prydiria seemed harder still, with endless runs of staircases and level after level of hard angles and carefully carved stone. They climbed for a long while and Andover did his best not to show how tired he felt while the king continued to walk at a pace that would have shamed a few horses Andover had seen in the past.
Finally they moved into an area that forced Andover to stop. The opening they moved through was as tall as any of the others – tall enough to easily accommodate even the King in Iron – but when they passed through it opened into a cavernous area. The space was vast indeed, but like everything else was carved meticulously and filled with hard angles. They were inside the mountain. They had to be. It was the only possible explanation that made sense to Andover. Light filled the area from dozens of stanchions lit with burning torches. He could not count the sheer number of lights that filled the area but it seemed nearly as many as there were stars in the heavens.
“This is Prydiria. This is my kingdom, Andover Lashk of the Iron Hands. And as long as you make yourself known to Truska-Pren, you are welcome here.”
Andover nodded his head and swallowed. “You are most gracious, Majesty.”
Tarag Paedori let out a sound that could have been a snort of laughter and nodded. “Come. It is time for you to meet Kallir Lundt.”
Andover followed him, his heart beating too hard in his chest. The sense of wonder he felt as he stared into the amazing structure was offset by a growing sense of dread. He was to meet another god and once again time he wondered if he would be found wanting.
Down another hallway that could have led almost anywhere and then the king opened a door, speaking softly before entering. A moment after that, he gestured for Andover to follow.
The room had little by way of decorations, save for a bed and a long table. At the table a man sat drawing meticulous maps, carefully filling in as many details as the paper would allow. Andover knew what maps were, of course, but couldn’t have guessed if one were accurate.
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