The Lion of Senet

by Jennifer Fallon

  “Why what? Why he hasn’t killed me yet?” Johan turned to look at him accusingly. “There’s nothing mysterious in that, Dirk Provin. Antonov thinks I know something he wants to know.”

  “You mean how to navigate the delta into the Baenlands?”

  Johan laughed, genuinely amused. “Think about it, Dirk. How hard do you think it would be for Antonov if he really cared about that?”

  “Then what does he want from you?”

  “He didn’t tell you?”

  “No. Why would he tell me?”

  “Well, I just thought that seeing as how you were being so helpful in designing new and ever more imaginative ways of making people suffer, you were doing it because you knew what he was after. Was I wrong? Could you be doing this just because you can?”

  “I had nothing to do with those men dying.”

  “That’s not what I heard. In fact, Antonov was positively glowing in his praise for your diabolical plan.”

  “He’s twisting the facts,” Dirk objected. “He took something I said and made it into something else entirely.”

  “Antonov has a gift for doing that sort of thing.”

  “So what is it that he wants to know?”

  Johan hesitated for a moment before he answered. “He thinks I know where Neris Veran is.”

  “And do you?”

  “Neris killed himself during the Age of Shadows,” Johan told him with practiced ease.

  “Then why...”

  “Because Antonov doesn’t believe he’s dead.”

  “Didn’t he jump off a cliff, or something?”

  “A fall off a cliff won’t kill you, boy. It’s all those nasty rocks at the base that usually does the trick. Neris jumped off a cliff, certainly. Antonov thinks I had a ship waiting for him.”

  “And that you hid him in Mil? But he was mad, wasn’t he?”

  “What he did for Belagren drove him mad, Dirk.”

  “I don’t understand,” Dirk told him, more than a little frustrated with Johan and his cryptic answers. “I don’t understand what’s going on between you and Antonov. I don’t understand what some long-dead madman has to do with it, and I certainly don’t understand why everyone keeps trying to involve me in it.”

  Johan looked at him for a moment, then turned to stare out of the window. He pointed to the sun that was slowly climbing through the heavens, as the other sun sank down behind the western hills. “Tell me what you see, boy.”

  “The sky, the suns.”

  “And tell me how those suns come to be in our sky?”

  Dirk hesitated. He could imagine what reaction he would get from Johan if he quoted the Book of Ranadon. But he had no other explanation.

  “Don’t know the answer? That surprises me, Dirk. I thought you’d be able to recite the whole glorious epic about Belagren’s vision and Antonov’s majestic sacrifice of his baby son.”

  “I know the story.”

  “And do you believe it?”

  “I suppose. I’m not sure.”

  “Not sure? All this time under Antonov’s roof and you’re not sure? Well, let me enlighten you, my young friend. Those suns are in our skies because that’s what they have always done. They travel our skies at their own pace, and every now and then the second sun leaves for a time. We call this time the Age of Shadows. It’s a cycle that’s been going on since the beginning of time. This ‘Age of Light’ nonsense is simply the biggest confidence trick in history. The Sundancers fooled generations of people into believing that it was the will of the Goddess, until Belagren...when she raised blind faith and ignorance to an art form.”

  “But it was the Shadowdancers who...” He was going to say it was the Shadowdancers who brought back the light, but decided that was probably unwise. “I thought it was the High Priestess of the Shadowdancers who had a vision.”

  “Belagren and Neris were both Sundancers, Dirk. Insignificant in the scheme of things, and neither of them destined for greatness. Then, during the Age of Shadows, in a futile, last-ditch effort to make it appear he was doing something useful, the Lord of the Suns sent Neris to Omaxin to study the ruins there, and Belagren went along as the expedition’s... cook, I think it was.”

  “Is that where she had her vision?”

  “That’s where Neris learned the truth and confided it to Belagren. The rest, as they say, is history. She and Ella Geon and Madalan Tirov conspired to turn Neris into a drug addict to keep him quiet, and Belagren started having remarkably accurate visions. I believe they cooked up the whole idea of the Shadowdancers over a campfire and a large bottle of brandy.”

  “But surely the Lord of the Suns must have been suspicious?”

  “Who? Paige Halyn? You’ve not met him yet, I take it. He’s half the reason Belagren has so much power. The Lord of the Suns is a weakling. He lets Belagren ride roughshod over his whole religion, redefining it to suit herself.”

  “So what are you implying? That there is no Goddess?”

  “I don’t know if there’s a Goddess or not, Dirk, but I do know that the Age of Shadows had nothing to do with her displeasure. I think what makes Belagren and Antonov so heinous is they know the truth. At least Belagren does. Antonov’s faith is genuine, I fear, to the point where he is completely blinded by it.”

  Dirk was silent for a long time. The revelation did not surprise him as much as it should. On some level, Dirk’s logical mind had rejected the accepted version of events some time ago, but in lieu of another explanation, he had no choice but to accept it. But if what Johan claimed was true...

  “That’s heresy,” he said finally.

  “I went to war over it,” Johan reminded him. “Did you know that during the last Age of Light, the scholars at the university on Grannon Rock were on the brink of discovering the truth themselves? The heresy of logic, Belagren called it. When the sun vanished, earthquakes rocked the whole of Ranadon and Nova was all but destroyed. Belagren claimed it was proof that their theories were heresy, and then she destroyed every telescope in Dhevyn and Senet. She killed anyone who spoke out against her vision, and she got away with it—because it was dark, and the people were cold and hungry and looking for a scapegoat.”

  “So the sacrifice of Antonov’s baby son was performed at a very specific time, because Belagren knew when to perform the ritual to gain the best effect,” Dirk surmised. “But I still don’t understand why a dead man is so important. If what you claim is true, then the damage is done.”

  “Neris told Belagren when the sun would return, Dirk. He never told her when it was due to leave again. Belagren would kill a thousand innocent men to discover that.”

  “Does Antonov know the truth?”

  “Of course he knows. I told him myself.”

  “He claims his sacrifice was an act of faith.”

  “I know he does. To this day I cannot believe a man would so blindly follow his mistress to the point of murdering his own child, without at least checking the facts.” Johan looked at Dirk and smiled bitterly. “I believe Belagren’s creed is that if you have a king by his balls, then the hearts and minds of his subjects are bound to follow.”

  “I think he genuinely believes that he did what the Goddess asked of him.”

  “Stop defending him, Dirk.”

  “I wasn’t trying to. I think what he did was monstrous. I think that the way he condones the slaughter on Landfall Night is equally monstrous. But I also think he honestly believes that he brought back the Age of Light. He’s a true believer.”

  Johan shook his head. “He knows, Dirk. Otherwise, why is he so interested in you?”

  The only other possible answer to that question was one Dirk didn’t even want to think about. Johan mistook his silence for agreement.

  “I notice you’ve not questioned my revelation. You don’t even look surprised.”

  Dirk shrugged. “That doesn’t mean I believe you. Why are you telling me this?”

  “I thought you should know why they’re using you.”


  “Nobody’s using me for anything,” he objected.

  “They’re using you, Dirk, and the tragedy is that you don’t even realize it. They want you because Neris left the job only half completed. He was able to predict the return of the sun, down to the very hour it was due to arrive, but Belagren doesn’t have a clue about when it’s due to leave again. She needs you to solve the other half of the puzzle.”

  “That’s absurd!”

  “If you don’t believe me, go downstairs and tell Antonov what I’ve told you. By rights, he should arrest you and have you put to death for heresy. But he won’t. He wouldn’t dare kill you. The Shadowdancers need you too badly.”

  Dirk was silent for a moment, a little daunted by the revelation Johan had laid before him. Then another thought occurred to him.

  “If what you say is true, then the knowledge of when the sun was due to leave again . . . whoever held that information would have immense power,” he mused.

  “You are a smart lad.” Johan turned his back on the sunset and the sunrise that accompanied it. He studied Dirk closely in the rapidly reddening light. “I wonder: suppose you are as clever as Neris? Suppose you discovered what everyone is dying to know? What would you do?”

  “I’m not sure I understand you, sir.”

  “If you knew when the next Age of Shadows was due? Who would you share it with, if you owned that power, Dirk? Who would you tell?”

  Dirk thought for a moment and then answered Johan honestly. “I would tell my queen.”

  “Rainan? You’d be wasting your breath.”

  “But surely, if she knew the truth...”

  “She knows. I hate to keep disillusioning you, Dirk, but a surprising number of people know the truth, including your father. It just suits them to ignore it.”

  “You make no allowance for faith,” Dirk accused. He couldn’t bear the thought that Wallin Provin might be a willing participant in such an appalling conspiracy of silence. Or that Alenor’s mother would willingly subjugate Dhevyn to Senet for reasons she knew to be a sham.

  “There is no such thing as faith,” Johan declared. “There are only the power seekers and those who follow them. Which one are you, I wonder?”

  “I’m neither,” Dirk told him emphatically. “And I’m not interested in your games or your theories. I came here to tell you that I’m sorry about what Antonov ordered, but that I had nothing to do with it. The rest of it is not my concern.”

  He turned his back on Johan and walked toward the door, sorry now that he had come. It seemed that everything he did just dragged him deeper and deeper into the quagmire of intrigue that surrounded Johan Thorn.

  “Why?” Johan called after him.

  Dirk turned to look at the exiled king. “Why what?”

  “Why do you care what I think about you? You’re the son of the man who stole the woman I loved. You’re the favored pet of my worst enemy. Why do you care about my opinion?”

  Because I’m your son, Dirk wanted to say.

  But the words wouldn’t come, so he said nothing, just turned on his heel and slammed the door behind him.

  PART FOUR

  THE BUTCHER OF ELCAST

  Chapter 54

  Belagren’s mood was ugly when Ella and Madalan bowed before her in the small audience chamber in the Hall of Shadows, which was normally reserved for more formal meetings with visiting dignitaries. The High Priestess always used formalities when she was angry, Marqel had quickly learned, and the angrier she got, the more formal the occasion.

  Each of the acolytes took turns serving the High Priestess. It was considered part of their training. Today it was Marqel’s turn to stand at the High Priestess’s left hand, ready to do her bidding. The earlier rain had cleared, and sunlight flooded the room through the large arched windows that lined the western wall, making the Shadowdancers squint as they tried to focus on the High Priestess. She usually met with them in her office, but today she was trying to make a point, Marqel thought. The High Priestess was extremely displeased, and she intended to make certain that her underlings knew it.

  Marqel had not been sure what to expect when she arrived in Avacas. After they had docked, Marqel, the High Priestess and the other Shadowdancers who had traveled on the Calliope had made their way to the Hall of Shadows, on the outskirts of Avacas. Ella Geon had returned to Antonov’s palace with Misha.

  Her first view of the Hall of Shadows took her breath away. Some five miles outside the city, the palace sat high on a narrow promontory that jutted into the ocean and made the building appear as if it had sprouted out of the sea of its own volition. It was built of a smooth white stone that Marqel could not name, which blushed pink in the light of the evening sun, its eight evenly spaced and elegant spires tipped with the red-and-gold pennons of the Shadowdancers, and one solitary yellow flag, acknowledging the Church of the Suns. That Belagren and her cult of Shadowdancers were merely a subordinate branch of the Sundancers didn’t seem to matter much to either side.

  They were welcomed into the palace by Issian Lore, the housekeeper. If Issian was curious about Marqel’s inclusion in their party, she gave no sign. She merely assigned a servant to show her around, and then ignored her.

  The room to which the servant led Marqel proved to be a long dormitory in the north wing that housed another fourteen young women, all of whom were training as Shadowdancers. The other girls, for the most, ignored her, except for a tall blonde named Caspona, who spent a great deal of time complaining to her friends that the High Priestess must have lowered her standards considerably if they were now allowing Dhevynians to join the Shadowdancers.

  The following morning Marqel was escorted to the Library with the others. She was tired from a restless night spent in an unfamiliar bed surrounded by the various snores and grunts of her roommates, and was still yawning as she finished her breakfast in the vast dining hall. Afterward she followed the other girls through the bewildering network of corridors that led to the Library.

  The Library was massive. Everywhere she looked there were shelves and shelves of books; more than she could count, more than she could guess at. She stared at them, open-mouthed, until one of the girls poked her from behind.

  “Goddess, you look like somebody’s just murdered your favorite aunt! They’re only books!”

  Only books. The size of the place terrified her and, for a dreadful moment, Marqel wondered if she would be expected to learn everything here.

  “Ah, you must be the new girl, Marqel.”

  Marqel blinked and turned to the man who had spoken. He was a Shadowdancer, younger than she expected, his cheerful face and unruly fair hair unable to hide a pair of bright, birdlike eyes.

  “How do you know who I am?”

  “You walked in groaning. The High Priestess said you’d only just learned to read.” That was news she didn’t want broadcast, but the Shadowdancer looked away before she could voice her displeasure. He turned and led the way into the Library through the islands of long, polished tables that filled the center of the room, then stopped and glanced over his shoulder. “I am Fraken. I’ll be responsible for you for the time being.”

  “She’s probably overwhelmed by her surroundings, being so young and all,” Caspona suggested tartly from behind them. “And she is foreign.”

  The scholar smiled. “I’m glad to find you so understanding of Marqel’s feelings, Caspona. Perhaps she should study with your group this morning.”

  This was obviously not the outcome the blond acolyte was hoping for. Sunlight streamed through the high windows as Caspona shot Marqel a look that could have been bottled and sold as liquid venom.

  “What is the boy doing?” Belagren demanded of Ella, dragging Marqel’s attention back to the meeting. “I charged you with bringing him to me as soon as possible.”

  “If you couldn’t get Antonov to release him, my lady, what makes you think I would have any more luck?”

  The small, low-backed throne on which Belagren sat was on a podium b
uilt up high enough to ensure nobody ever looked the High Priestess in the eye. She chose this room because she can look down on everyone, Marqel noted with a touch of admiration. She had learned much from the High Priestess in the weeks since she arrived.

  “Prince Antonov is quite taken with the boy,” Madalan added. “I believe it amuses him to make a friend of Morna Provin’s son.”

  Morna Provin’s son? Dirk Provin? Marqel thought she must be hearing things. Why would the High Priestess care about him?

  “Surely, if you asked Prince Antonov again, my lady...” Ella suggested, her voice fading to nothing as she visibly withered under the High Priestess’s gaze.

  “And what should I give as a reason for my interest in the boy, Ella?”

  Marqel listened to the discussion with no real idea what the Shadowdancers and the High Priestess were talking about, but her curiosity was piqued.

  “Perhaps we worry unnecessarily,” Madalan suggested. “Perhaps Antonov will be able to extract the truth from Thorn about Neris? If we could find him alive...”

  “I’d have a mindless madman incapable of telling me anything,” Belagren snapped. “What is so damn difficult about that maze, anyway? For the Goddess’s sake, all we need to do is work out a few calculations, surely.”

  “It’s not that simple, Belagren, as well you know,” Madalan reminded her. “Neris has rigged that tunnel into the ruins with some truly fiendish devices. You’ve seen the results yourself. The only way past the gates without somebody dying is to solve those puzzles—puzzles he devised, puzzles beyond the understanding of normal minds.”

  Marqel studied the High Priestess out of the corner of her eye as the Shadowdancer spoke. She had never had a reason to doubt that the High Priestess was responsible for the return of the Age of Light. This was all quite extraordinary. Ella noticed the direction of her gaze, and looked at her sharply.

  “It seems our new acolyte isn’t as fully briefed as I thought,” she remarked.

  “You’d do well to worry about finding a solution to this dilemma, rather than worry about my acolytes,” the High Priestess retorted. “This whole nightmare wouldn’t be happening at all, if you’d done what I told you. If you had been able to control Neris as well as you claimed you could, I wouldn’t need Dirk Provin.”