by L. M. Roth
“And I know you will do what is right,” she assured him. “Dominio’s hand will be seen to have been in all that has taken place, you will see.”
Marcus merely stared moodily at the wall opposite and said nothing. But something he had said about the Emperor’s motive for stealing Logos was nagging at her, and she could not immediately put a finger on it…
And then she remembered something that Xenon had told her, which she related to Marcus.
If any received a word from Logos, yet did not obey it, the result would be as if they had been stabbed by a two-edged sword. It would pierce them to the heart, and they would have no peace unless they obeyed it. If they disobeyed it outright and did exactly the opposite of the instruction of the word, it would result in their own destruction.
She told Marcus of this and saw the astonishment her words had produced. But it was her next words that gave him further cause for alarm.
“It is clear that the Emperor has no idea of the true power of Logos. It is not a toy to be used for entertainment as Lucius discovered. And if he treats it as a weapon against the Alexandrians, I fear it will only be turned back on him, and he will bring about his own downfall.”
Chapter XXXIV
A Father and Son
Cort arrived at last in Valerium. He had taken the sea route from Annick to Potentus, which saved him time. It also allowed him to pass the guards at the wall. He carried with him in a pack several wood carvings that he had whittled in his spare time, in the hope that he might pass himself off as a merchant. The ruse worked, and he was permitted to enter the city unmolested.
He did not have even the glimmerings of an idea of where to search for Dag, yet knew he would have set out for Potentus. With that in mind, Cort made his way to the city square where the men still congregated for the news of the day on the morning following his arrival. Here he would be sure to hear anything of interest or controversy. He could not imagine Dag, that great bear of a man, entering Potentus unnoticed by someone.
He heard news of him, however, much more quickly than he anticipated. Nor was it good tidings.
“There is much uproar at the Palace today,” said one man, a wealthy aristocrat with a red bandeau wound around his white hair, and an air like that of a well-fed cat that suns itself smugly after a good meal.
“What do you mean? Are you referring to the prisoner who escaped last week? What news of that, have you any?”
The first man nodded with narrowed eyes, and an obvious attempt to make the most of his moment of attention from the others. It was clear to Cort that here was one who considered himself of great importance, and wished others to remember that.
Another man chimed in with obvious impatience.
“Well, tell us, do not keep us in suspense! It is the talk of the city. I wish to know more of it.”
Other men around them affirmed this response with the nodding of their heads and the raising of their voices.
The first man smiled in satisfaction and at last imparted the news he had been eager to relate all along.
“Well, there will be heads rolling at the Palace,” he smirked. “It seems that Justus Lucius was helped in his escape. They do not yet know who aided him, but one of the Palace Guards disappeared the day following his escape. The conjecture is that he helped the prisoner and then took off before the Emperor discovered what he did.”
“Who! Who was the Guard? Who would be so bold?”
From all around the questions came: the aristocrat held up his hand for silence and satisfied their curiosity.
“It was Odelius, an old Guard who served the Empress Aurora and her father before her. He is not one of the Guards who have dealings with the prisoners, but he has not shown up for duty. His fellow Guard, Iosephus, is certain that it indicates his guilt.
“But the Emperor has said that if Odelius is ever found, it will be the death of him for helping a prisoner to escape the sentence of justice.”
He folded his arms over his chest and looked around him at the others to gauge their reactions. Cort noted the fear that each face reflected, and a stifling of it lest it be visible and their manhood undone. One of them found the courage to put what they all felt into words.
“But if the Emperor could imprison Justus Lucius, one of the leading men of the Council for many years, then he could find some fault with any of us and do the same.”
This sobering statement was received in silence, but did not fall on deaf ears. It was true; if a man of Justus’ stature could be held prisoner, then none of them were safe.
“What was Lucius imprisoned for? Does any know? I never did hear what the charges were?”
“I can answer that question,” the aristocrat hastened to answer, lest he lose his status as tale bearer. “He was found guilty of abetting an Alexandrian. He said the man was a mere acquaintance, an old friend of his son. But Lucius did not inform the Emperor that the man was an Alexandrian. It was the man himself who blurted it out during an interview with the Emperor!”
“Who is the man?” one of the others inquired curiously.
“I do not know the man’s name, but he was intercepted crossing the border at the wall and arrested by the Guards. He came through from that outlandish place to the north: Eirinia.”
Cort stifled a gasp at these tidings. Who else could they be referring to but Dag! It was true that Justus Lucius knew him as a friend of Felix’s. And Justus had been imprisoned for helping him, and Dag was still in prison.
The question now was: how could Cort get him out?
He had left Eirinia before the arrival of Maelys with Kyrene and Lucius, and so was unaware that Dag had been imprisoned. He had set out with some reluctance, knowing that Melisande defied him and continued to live in the village, and exerted an evil influence on Nolwenn. But a talk with Dirk two days before he left reassured him that his young brother was aware of even more than he knew regarding their sister, and that he had already taken strong measures against her.
“You must do what you must do, Cort,” Dirk stated simply. “You promised Father you would come back for him, and you did. Now you must be the one to go in search of him while I stay here. It should be me to rescue him; I am his eldest son although you have always been as one to him and a brother to me and Brand. But you can not remain here with Melisande or one of you will kill the other. And as I am an Eirini and you and Father are foreigners, it might yet be possible that the women of Leith will listen to me when I protest.
“I just need to find the courage to do it when the occasion arises,” he muttered.
Cort felt tears sting the back of his eyes. Dirk was right: he was Dag’s eldest son. He had always been aware of that, but now he knew it. Dirk was going to be exactly like his father, strong, stalwart, and steady of purpose. No son could have been more like a father.
And yet, he knew also that he would always hold a special place in Dag’s heart as a native of his own land, one who had shared the same awe at seeing the Lights of Rainbow Hue, who knew the cold of the long, dark winter nights, and rejoiced at the Long Day when the sun never set, but danced overhead in the rhythm of the dance of the great Bear. That bond was unbreakable, but it was time for Dirk to take his rightful place in Dag’s heart; it was time for Cort to take his family and move on.
With that view in mind, he decided to take Siv and Brit with him as he set out. He would first find Dag, and then find his destiny.
Chapter XXXV
A Miraculous Rising
Cort stood in the antechamber, waiting to be admitted to the Emperor’s presence. He shivered inwardly at the cold and unwelcoming aura that the Palace retained, the one he remembered from the days when Aurora sat on the throne and ruled as a tyrant over the Empire. Her lovely face was one that still visited his nightmares, recalling the way she had killed Valerius Maximus with the knife that had been intended for his son. Had Valerius not jumped between them it would have been Marcus lying on the floor in a pool of blood. Cort had not been in the Palace s
ince, and hoped he never had to visit it again.
At last a Guard came to conduct him to Iacomus. Cort was amazed that he had consented to see him at all. But perhaps the message he had sent had been too intriguing to brush aside…
“I have news for you,” the message had stated, “news that will change your life if you will but receive it. Shall I come personally and deliver it to you?”
Would anyone, he thought, be able to resist solving the mystery of such a message?
It was his first glimpse of the Emperor, and Cort was amazed at how tall the man was, with a regal bearing that, truth to tell, excelled that of Emperor Urbanus although he had been of noble blood. This usurper hailed from an aristocratic family in Lycenium it was rumored, but it was also rumored that they had disowned him for his vices long ago.
Was it little wonder then that the man turned out so cruel? Cort wondered as he studied the man covertly from the corner of his eyes.
Iacomus studied Cort with a mixture of amazement and amusement that left him speechless. It was evident to Cort that the Emperor was mystified that a rustic such as himself had been able to persuade the mighty monarch to an interview with a complete stranger. Most unsettling to Cort was the knowledge that he could not tell which was greater: the Emperor’s amazement or amusement.
At last the Emperor spoke.
“You wished to speak to me? Who are you? From whence do you come?
Cort bowed deeply before replying to the questions put to him.
“Yes, I do wish to speak to you. My name is Cort Adalbart. I am from Eirinia. And you hold my father prisoner.”
Iacomus stared at him blankly. Then comprehension dawned on his face and his eyes lit up.
“Ah! You are one of those Alexandrians, are you? And I have your father prisoner. Yes, you are one of those Alexandrians, as is he.”
He appeared to be taking his measure of Cort, weighing his motives and attempting to divine the intentions of his heart. Cort found himself growing uncomfortable under the examination, and felt his palms grow sweaty. He decided it was time to reveal his purpose in requesting an audience.
“Yes, it is true. I am an Alexandrian, and so is he. He did not mean any harm in entering Valerium, and he is wrongfully imprisoned. I have news to tell you, but only after you agree to permit me to see my father, here in your presence, to assure myself that he is well and in good health.”
Iacomus snickered mockingly. He turned his attention to another man who stood just behind his throne, a man that Cort had not noticed until now.
“He is quite amusing; do you not think so, Decimus?”
Decimus! This must be Decimus Hadrianus that Marcus had told him of, the man who had been his rival for Tullia and had killed Felix so long ago…
Cort restrained himself from flaring up with anger. He had loved Felix like a brother, and rage could still engulf him at the sight of the man who had snuffed out his life as heedlessly as if he had been but an insect beneath his sandal.
Decimus glanced at Cort with obvious indifference. The stranger did not stir either his curiosity or excite his amusement. He was but another provincial visiting the capital city, and therefore beneath his notice.
Decimus shrugged his shoulders, but discreetly answered the Emperor in a deferential tone of voice.
“If you say so, Your Grace. But I am a poor man to ask, as I lack humor and fail to get the point of most jokes.”
Iacomus laughed at this sally in appreciation. He turned his attention back to Cort, his eyes alight with interest. If nothing else, Cort was unusual enough to entertain him, and perhaps that might succeed in winning his interest long enough to hear him out.
“So, you wish to see your father, eh? Well, I do not think there is any harm in that. And perhaps it will serve to remind your father that he has a family who will miss him dearly if he does not comply with his Emperor’s wishes!”
This last statement made Cort turn cold all over. He did not know which chilled him more: the words themselves or the utter indifference in which Iacomus could pronounce doom on a man…
Dag stood before them. He had walked into the room fixing his eyes on a point on the wall just behind Decimus, and was thus unaware of Cort’s presence. The Emperor bade him to come closer, and he obeyed, yet refused to look directly at Iacomus.
“Ah, still the strong and silent sufferer, are we? If only you saw things my way I might have use for you in my Empire! I am certain that I could use a big strong savage such as you to help keep the peace among the populace. One look at you and they would hasten to obey my wishes with no argument or suffer the consequences! However, I brought up from your dungeon because you have a visitor. Did you not notice when you entered?”
Dag still refused to look at him, and it was only Cort’s cry that finally succeeded in capturing his attention.
“Father!” Cort exclaimed.
Dag’s head whipped around in his son’s direction, and sudden tears sprang to his eyes. His face was split nearly in two by the huge grin that adorned it.
“My son!” he said in a tone both joyful and accusing. “What are you doing here? It is not safe!”
“Father, I promised I would come back for you; and I have. And that is all that matters,” Cort said, with such love shining in his eyes that they dimmed the radiance of his smile.
A small sound came from the direction of Decimus, quickly stifled. He cleared his throat suddenly, and shook his head. Iacomus turned to stare at him.
“Nothing, Your Grace,” he stammered with lowered gaze, “just a sudden tickle in my throat; nothing at all.”
The Emperor gave him a long measuring look; Decimus stared him down and Iacomus was the first to drop his eyes.
He turned back to Cort.
“Well, what is this news that you promised to tell me. I am waiting. And it had better be worth granting you this audience!”
Cort turned from Dag and took a step forward.
“It is this, Your Grace: I came to tell you of One who loves you, One who has given everything that you may have life, and have it more abundantly, if you will only open your heart to Him.”
The response was not what Cort had hoped. The Emperor stared at him as though he were a member of a strange species, the like of which he had never been exposed to, and was not certain that he wished to acquaint himself with.
“Ah,” he murmured. “Ah, indeed. Well, that is..”
Suddenly Iacomus erupted in howls of laughter. It began as a snicker, then the snicker became a giggle, the giggle became a chortle, the chortle became a laugh, and the laugh became a guffaw. Iacomus snickered and giggled and chortled and laughed and guffawed until his face was so red it deepened to purple. He bent over double, helpless to stop his laughter, pounding his hand on the royal knee, and his feet flew up to meet his face. So violently did he laugh that he slid from his throne and lay still on the floor.
So still was he that the air rang with the silence after the storm of laughter, a deafening silence that seemed to permeate every fiber of Cort’s being. And only then was he afraid…
It was Decimus who hastened to the Emperor’s side and examined him. It was Decimus who pronounced it.
“Iacomus is dead; the Emperor is dead!”
Dag and Cort exchanged identical looks of awe and fear, and it was uncertain which was greater. They stared at one another, and suddenly Dag nodded his head.
He strode forward to where Decimus stood shocked and frightened, standing guard over the Emperor’s body.
“If I may,” he began.
Decimus turned a bewildered gaze on him.
“What?” he said in a monotone that was drained of all expression or feeling. “What do you want?”
Dag swallowed hard and proceeded.
“I may be of some service to the Emperor,” he answered.
Decimus responded to this effrontery with a slight laugh.
“I think you can see that the Emperor is beyond earthly service,” he said, as irony dr
ipped from his voice.
The look he cast on Dag was withering in its scorn. But Dag was not to be deterred.
“Please, let me help him.”
Decimus flung out his hands from his sides in a gesture of futility, but allowed Dag to approach Iacomus. Cort waited with apprehension, hardly daring to breathe. He had an idea of what Dag proposed, and knew it had happened before, but now?
Dag knelt over the body of Iacomus. He took up one of his cold lifeless hands, and held it to his own heart. He bowed his head and was silent; but only for a moment.
“Please, Dominio, please grant life to this one, that he may know that Cort’s words were true, that You are the One who gives life abundantly.”
No one spoke or moved; indeed, no one would have known what to say.
They looked at Iacomus, so white, so still on the floor. And they stared at Iacomus.
His eyelids flickered. A shallow breath escaped his lips. The hand held by Dag twitched, and suddenly a moan emanated from him. He opened his eyes and stared into those of Dag.
Iacomus gasped and sat up abruptly, and looked around the room in bewilderment. Then he motioned for Dag to help him stand.
Dag obliged and the Emperor stood on his feet, swaying uncertainly. Dag put an arm around him and Iacomus motioned for the throne. Dag led him to it and placed him on it. Behind the throne Decimus Hadrianus observed these proceedings with a face the color of chalk and a mouth that was slightly ajar. His eyes bulged as he looked at Dag.
“What happened?” he gasped at last. “He was dead; I know he was dead! There was no pulse, not even one beat from his heart!”
Dag nodded his head.
“Yah,” he agreed. “He was dead. And Dominio restored him to life.”
He stated this as casually as if stating that it was about to rain. Cort was thrilled at the miracle he had just witnessed, but realized that neither Decimus nor the man who had received it had the slightest comprehension of what had just happened.