The Eclipse of the Zon - First Tremors (The New Eartha Chronicles Book 2)

by R. M. Burgess

  Up close, the ruined nature of the city was much more obvious. Almost all of the buildings around the square had collapsed roofs. Most were just shells with one or more walls reduced to rubble. Choice stone fittings had been cut out and carted away. The wide boulevards that ran from the square were filled with debris.

  Of all the buildings in sight, the Mission House was in the best condition. Its walls were virtually undamaged and it still had much of its high roof. Its tall towers still soared heavenward ornamented with intricate carvings all the way up to their spires. However, the glass was long gone from the windows. A few smaller ones yawned open, but most were boarded up.

  “This huge edifice was a Yengar temple, built centuries before Thermad,” said Vivia. She pointed upward. “See, on the tops of the spires, you can still see the trident of the Yengar god, Moksha. Thermad himself supervised the slaughter of the Yengar priests here and oversaw its conversion into the first great center of his Mission.”

  “But, Mother,” objected Darbeni. “We were taught that the Yengars were allies of the Dhalian King Larax at the Battle of Rocky Scarp. He was a Thermadan. In fact, the Thermadan Mission became the official religion the Dhalian Empire.”

  “That is true, my dear,” agreed Vivia, nodding. “The Thermadan Dhalian kings did make alliances with the Yengars in the centuries after the prophet’s death. But these were always uneasy. While Thermad preached that anyone who accepted the Mission would feel the love of the One God, he explicitly excluded the followers of Moksha. He states quite clearly in Thermad Qura V: ‘Love of the One God can save all the peoples in this world, except those who worship Moksha, for they are steeped in evil’.”

  They passed through the portico of the Mission House and entered its dim interior. There was little left of the long rows of pews except for their stone bases. However, the long nave and faraway altar showed signs of more recent use. Darbeni put her hand on her mother’s arm and Vivia patted it.

  “Wealthy barbarians still organize religious ceremonies here from time to time,” said Vivia. “Devout Thermadans are keen to be married here.”

  As they approached the altar, they saw candles and dried petals on it.

  “This place is eerie, Mother,” said Darbeni, shivering.

  “Thermadans think that marriage vows taken here are particularly blessed,” continued Vivia, as calm as ever. “For it was here that Thermad married his fourth and dearest wife, Taniyah. She was eleven years old on her wedding day and bore him seven children.”

  On one side of the altar there was a pulpit and on the other there was a carved stone seat grand enough to be a throne. Three substantial iron spikes were embedded in the seatback. Vivia ascended the steps toward it and Darbeni followed her. The throne was clear of dust and polished to a high gloss.

  “This throne was made for Thermad,” said Vivia seating herself on it and crossing her legs elegantly. She tossed her kanjiam scarf over her shoulder in her habitual manner. “But he never sat on it. The three spikes stand for the Three Refusals—the three times he refused to accept the formal leadership of the Mission he established. On the third refusal, he appointed Abaid, his chief disciple, to be the first Red Khalif and dispense justice from this throne. He exhorted him to preach from that pulpit and spread the Mission with ‘the sword of peace’.”

  “How do you know all this, Mother? I don’t recall learning this at school.”

  “Just stories I picked up here and there,” said Vivia vaguely. She pointed. “Come and look at this stone by the right arm of the throne.”

  It was a cube of black rock about a meter high, elaborately carved with abstract, but symmetric shapes. The top of the cube sloped inward to a broad but narrow slit.

  “What is it, Mother?”

  “Thermad bequeathed his sword to Abaid. When Abaid left his mortal body, the sword was embedded in this stone. Every Red Khalif since then has taken the office with his hand on Thermad’s sword.”

  “Isn’t that sword in the Cathedral of Thermad the Divine in Dreslin Center?” asked Darbeni.

  “I am pleased to see that you remember your history,” said Vivia. “When Queen Caitlin the Unforgiving completed the Brigon Conquest six hundred years ago, Bar-Dari had declined to a dusty shell. But it was still the headquarters of the Thermadan Mission. She flew down here and killed the sitting Red Khalif—she personally shot him down, right here in front of this altar. Then she appointed a more amenable one. She moved all the valuable fittings and Thermadan artifacts from here to the Cathedral of Thermad the Divine in Dreslin Center, making it the new Mission headquarters.”

  Darbeni looked around the interior of the shadowy Mission House. She now saw the vacant cloisters, empty display shelves, bare pedestals, and pitted pillars shorn of their gold filigree. She imagined what it must have looked like in its heyday: all the walls covered with heavy tapestries, an abundance of gold and gilt, everything glowing in the light of thousands of candles.

  “Thermad’s sword, his tooth and the hairs from his head…we were taught that Willum Shelsor moved them to Dreslin Center,” she said. “It says so in Caitlin Saga.”

  “That is one of the many lies that the d’Orrs inserted into our history,” said Vivia. There was the clink of metal on stone. “Ah, here they are. Finally.”

  A warrior appeared in the entrance, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the dimness inside. He saw Vivia at the far altar and disappeared. A moment later, he reappeared, accompanied by about a dozen men.

  Kimr ib Makhtoom led a group of his Chekaliga warriors, who kept their eyes down and carefully gave him precedence. They were all dressed for battle with dried blood on their faces. Nestar walked just behind Kimr, but looked straight ahead. His shaven head, full beard and paler skin were a contrast to the dusky, smooth-faced Chekaligas with their thick, black hair in braids. His light armor glinted in the dim light.

  “I can see you are frightened, darling,” whispered Vivia to Darbeni. “Return to the airboat and wait for me.”

  “But mother, what about you—” Darbeni began with a trace of panic in her voice.

  “Don’t worry about me.” Vivia’s whisper was soothing. “I know these men.”

  Darbeni tarried no longer, but hurried back down the nave. She saw the lust in Kimr’s eyes as she passed him and pulled her thin shawl more tightly around her shoulders. Vivia waited till her daughter disappeared from sight before speaking.

  “Welcome, Kimr ib Makhtoom,” she said in a conversational tone. She did not rise, but inclined her head imperiously. “I am pleased to see you. You have begun well.”

  Kimr looked around the cavernous chamber suspiciously.

  “High Mistress Lady Vivia,” said Kimr, speaking Chekaliga Daksish. “I have driven out the weak willed Pallian. As soon as I did so, his Kasar Chekaligas accepted my sovereignty. They see that I wear the amulet of the Grand Sab inherited from my father—and just as you predicted, they have bowed to me as their liege. And once they acknowledged me, all the other Chekaliga tribes followed. United, we men of the ravines are invincible!”

  “What of the mercenaries I sent you?”

  “They have done an excellent job. Taking Siggar with its extensive fortifications would have been impossible without them. They set up and operated the catapults, the rams and the siege towers. Once they got my men to the tops of the walls, those cowardly Daksin men turned tail and ran!” He paused. “No city, no matter how well fortified, is safe from us now.”

  “Good, good,” said Vivia. “Now you must march south and take Limpore and Sampore. Soon, you will be the master of all of Daksin and the Lion Throne will be yours.”

  She paused to look over at Nestar before going on.

  “It does my heart good to see you so successful, for I remember you as a little boy, playing with a wooden sword while I visited your father.” Vivia smiled, but her eyes remained cold. “Now you think that you no longer need me. That you can rule as King of Daksin and pay the mercenaries out of your plunder.” />
  Kimr could not suppress the guilty look jumped to his face. He glanced over his shoulder at his warriors and then turned back to Vivia.

  “That would be unwise, Kimr ib Makhtoom,” Vivia went on, adjusting her kanjiam scarf.

  Kimr felt her eyes boring into his. Candles on the altar spontaneously lit up. High up on the roof beams, hundreds more candles came to life, filling the chamber with a flickering light. A blue aura began to form around Vivia. It was faint at first, but grew steadily stronger till it radiated brightly in the Mission House. The aura seemed to magnify her size and stature. She raised her hand and naked fear showed on the faces of Kimr and all his warriors. Nestar had been detached, but now terror showed on his face as well.

  Trembling, Kimr went to his knees. The Chekaliga warriors all followed their leader and knelt. Nestar hesitated, frozen on his feet for a moment. However, when Vivia turned her gaze on him, he slowly sank down to his knees as well.

  “I accept your fealty,” said Vivia, her gray-green eyes glittering. “Now rise. All of you.”

  They got to their feet with a creaking of leather and chinking of metal. Vivia’s blue aura slowly pulsed like a living thing. The look on her face remained harsh.

  “Fear me,” she said. “And obey me. For I am Malitha’s consort. Our instruments are positioned throughout the One Land. In Briga, in Utrea, in Daksin and even within the Sisterhood. The Thermadan Mission does our bidding. Soon, very soon, no one will be able to stand in our way. We will reward our adherents and crush our enemies.”

  “I thought you were Zon,” Nestar mumbled. “But I see now that you are so much more. You are the overlord of my liege, King Shobar. Vasitha is our common enemy—”

  “Yes, Vasitha!” Vivia snapped. “The traitor of Rocky Scarp! Who turned on his ally, King Larax, seduced by the wiles of Simran d’Orr. It is he who opposes the order we seek to create. Now he has created a new instrument of his own. If it is allowed to grow to maturity, it will destroy everything we stand for.”

  “Command me, Lady Vivia,” said Kimr, mesmerized by Vivia’s pulsing blue aura. “How can I serve you?”

  “Vasitha’s instrument is still young and weak,” she said, her voice becoming a low hiss. “She is being brought here, to Bar-Dari. You can destroy her in this city, where Abaid raised the Mission to greatness.”

  “It will be done,” said Kimr.

  “It will be done,” repeated Nestar.

  She looked from one to the other. She smiled and her aura grew even brighter.

  “Kimr, Nestar, do this and you will each receive a boon. Your most fervent desire will be granted.”

  Kimr hesitated. “High Mistress, I beg to reveal my most fervent desire. For it burns in my breast and unspoken it stifles me.”

  “Then speak, Kimr.”

  “I sent my brothers, Ghor and Tamr, to take the Serat Oasis in the Southern Marches of Briga. But in the battle, my youngest brother, Tamr, was killed.”

  “An honorable death for a Chekaliga,” said Vivia. “You should be proud.”

  “Would that it were so, your ladyship!” Kimr clenched and unclenched his fists. “Alas, he died shamefully, begging for his life before being struck down by a woman. He has become a laughing stock, bringing shame on my family. I seek vengeance.”

  “Who was this woman? A victim who turned on him?”

  “No, Lady Vivia. She was a socercess and struck him down with a magic sword.”

  “A swordswoman? Do you have more details?”

  “Yes, your ladyship. I have brought Tamr’s body-aide with me, he saw his master struck down. He was right by him, but managed to escape the sorcery.”

  Kimr beckoned and one of the Chekaliga warriors stepped forward diffidently.

  “What can you tell me?” Vivia asked the warrior in fluent Chekaliga Daksish, her Zon accent barely noticeable.

  “She…was…tall,” faltered the warrior. But he gained confidence as he spoke. “She was surely a sorceress for she had the green eyes of a snow tiger and hair like flame! What’s more, her sword blazed in the sunlight and had a spell engraved into its flat.”

  “Describe this spell.”

  The warrior went to his knees at the dusty base of the altar. He worked quickly, tracing out a pattern. They all watched as complex runes began to take shape. When he was finally done, he rocked back on his haunches and looked up at Vivia.

  “That is what it looked like, your ladyship,” he said.

  It was only a fair representation, but Vivia saw immediately that the two sets of runes were in the ancient Artha-Pranto script. The barbarians could not read them and even Vivia had difficulty with the archaic letters. But after mentally sounding them out twice, she was sure. The two words were “d’Orr—Nasht.”

  “Kimr,” said Vivia. “Our causes converge. Serving me, you will have your vengeance. Vasitha’s instrument is the spawn of this green-eyed sorceress.”