“Follow me.”
Matthias growled as he was roughly woken up, jabbed in the side by the end of a staff carried by a Qingrenese guard.
“Get up!” the guard barked. “The Captain wants to see you and the pudgy one.”
Both Matthias and Magnus rose from their places on the floor, surrounded by other slaves. Others woke up as well to the commotion, and furious whispers skittered across the room.
“They’re dragging off the Hierophant!”
“What do they want with him?”
“Quiet!” the guard shouted, banging his staff against the ground, which spit out a flash of flame from the top. “The captain wants to see these two; do not let him find cause to see the rest of you!”
Matthias and Magnus were roughly shoved out the warehouse the slaves were kept in, and led into the more luxurious quarters of the consulate. “To what do we owe this pleasure?” Magnus asked in an acidic voice.
The guard did not answer, but as they grew closer to a smaller building across an ornate garden, Matthias saw the guard was stiff, and nervously glanced behind at the two prisoners, despite the manacles on their wrists. He had been in enough battles to realize when men were scared for their lives. Gruffly, the guard opened the door to a small chamber and ushered the two in. It was dimly lit, with only a small ball of magefire lighting up the Jaoren captain’s face.
“The two… prisoners as requested, Captain,” the guard announced.
“Thank you, Li,” the captain said softly. Matthias and Magnus gasped as he leaned forward, and saw the magefire was coming from the tip of a wand held at the captain’s neck. Behind him was Floriana.
“Now, run! Spread the alarm!”
Floriana gasped as the guard turned on his heels. “Matthias, stop him!”
The hulking warrior bolted, and before the guard could run back toward the barracks, Matthias leapt into the air, raising up his arms to catch Li with his manacles, and tackle him to the ground. With the help of the silent and stoic Inquisitor accompanying Floriana, the guard was dragged back inside, and knocked unconscious.
“An Inquisitor came with you?” Matthias growled.
Floriana quietly shook her head. “There’s no reason to be alarmed. He’s a… friend.” She turned her attention to the captain, whom she still had by the neck with her wand. “The keys to my friend’s manacles, Captain.”
The Jaoren glared up at the princess, but as the tip of her wand was pressed deeper against his throat, he silently slid the key ring across the table.
“You’ve been very helpful,” Floriana said. “Now, it’s time you slept.” A small spark leapt from her wand, and the Captain swooned, slipping into a deep slumber. Floriana moved around the desk, and began undoing the manacles on her friends.
“You came for us,” Matthias grinned.
Floriana returned his smile. “Didn’t you read the note?”
“Surprised I could?”
The princess chuckled quietly. “Not at all.” When Matthias’ hands were freed, she threw herself around the warrior’s middle. Gently, he lifted her off her feet, holding her tight. Floriana’s grin grew, as she brushed aside a strand of Matthias’ hair. “I was scared I’d never see you or Magnus again. When I saw you in the market, I did everything I could to get you out of here as quickly as possible. Father’s gone mad. The things he’s doing to the Prophet…” She closed her eyes and shuddered as Matthias set her down. “I put this plan together as quickly as I could.”
Magnus had been studying the Inquisitor, taking in the man’s blank stare and his stiff stance. “Is that why you have this man enthralled?”
Matthias looked back to his friend. “What?”
“Enthralled. It’s dark magic. Remember how Alfred controlled and crippled you in your fight?” Magnus gave Floriana meaningful look. “That’s what she’s done here.”
The princess bristled. “I did everything I could to free you! I didn’t exactly have a lot of time to plan this out.”
“And just what are you going to do from here, Floriana? He’s an Inquisitor. He sees and hears everything that’s been going on, and you have him trapped in immense pain, no doubt. We can’t let him go free, not after this,” Magnus argued.
“I’ve just saved you from a return to slavery! Why are you questioning my methods now?” Floriana hissed.
“Because this dark magic is what led Cyril down his path,” Magnus returned. The Jaoren captain stirred, and Matthias rolled his eyes, picking both Magnus and Floriana off the ground with each arm.
“Both of you! Quiet! We’re not free yet.” The warrior pushed them all back outside. “Do you know a way out?”
“There’s a servant’s entrance in the back. It empties out into an alleyway,” Floriana explained.
Matthias nodded. “I need my sword and shield. Did you see it anywhere?”
“No. Forget it for now; my father is going to kill the Prophet. I'm going to take you two back to our estate, you're going to free Stefan, then you're going to hide. Just until I figure something out.” She squeezed Matthias’ hand. “Please? Can we just go?”
The warrior thinned his lips, and sighed. “Fine. But I will get them back.”
The four of them darted across the garden to the kitchens; they were long since empty for the night, save for a lone kitchen boy curled up by the empty and dark hearth. As they passed into the larder, Matthias’ eyes lit up as a stream of moonlight poured out of an open doorway. “There!” he declared, charging for the door.
“Wait!” Magnus hissed. “Matthias!”
Just as the warrior reached the door, it slammed shut. The room was suddenly illuminated by a great globe of magefire as Bai Feng revealed himself and four guards in full armor. “Leaving so soon, Princess?”
Matthias growled, looming over Bai Feng. “Let us pass, Ambassador. A chance to save my father is just beyond that door, and I’ll tear all of you apart before I let you rob me of that chance.”
Bai Feng smiled. “No, I don't think you will, Matthias. Wouldn't the job be easier done with this?” He stepped aside, revealing the shimmering bronze of the huge man’s sword and shield.
Magnus narrowed his eyes. “What do you want, Bai Feng?”
The Jaoren bowed his head respectfully. “Hierophant, I must first commend the princess. This was a valiant first attempt at espionage, but my dear, you must remember that I've been playing this game since before your father was born.” He held up his hands in defense as Floriana’s look soured. “I'm not gloating, understand. I actually wish to propose an alliance.”
Floriana stepped forward, resting a gentle hand on Matthias’ chest to keep him calm. “What would be the point of such an alliance, Ambassador?”
Bai Feng pursed his lips, his long, pointed ears twitching. “The deposition of your father as king. Now, please,” he met each of them in the eye. “I ask you hear all that I have to say. A late night missive arrived for me; the Hegemon is sailing for Fosporia with a fleet of thirty thousand men. The vanguard of the fleet arrived two days ahead of the main force. He means to make war, and crush Fosporia underfoot.”
Magnus’ face darkened. “To what end?”
“Hegemon Kazan’s goals are not conquest, Hierophant. Fosporia is too far-flung to be a province of the Empire, and the last thing he wishes is millions of more humans under his domain. His goal is to humiliate King Cyril, then force him to pay tribute and accept the rebelling humans to come to Fosporia.” Bai Feng sighed, massaging his forehead. “It may be too late even for that. But understand this; many will be killed, and I will not underestimate your kind as my countrymen do. Tens of thousands will die, on both ends. The results will be a crippled Fosporia and a weakened Qingren still contending with a slave rebellion. I want to stop the bloodshed, here and now.”
“And how do you hope to stop this from happening?” Floriana demanded. “Offer my father up as a sacrificial bull?”
Bai Feng scoffed. “Your companions would do it in a heartbeat, Prince
ss. All I ask is that you free your Prophet and bring him back here; if that wolf is really Stefan, we can help him. Kazan is many things, but he is above all a warrior that respects honor and results. I am willing to risk my reputation and career and trust that you are telling the truth about that wolf. Come with me to Qingren; our libraries are the largest in the world, with four thousand years of magical knowledge stuffed inside their walls. If there is a way for Stefan to regain his human form, it is there. If the Prophet that freed humanity can end the slave rebellions and force Cyril to abdicate the throne in the name of a worthier candidate, then Kazan will have no cause for war.”
The three were silent for a moment. Matthias was the first to step forward, locking eyes with the ambassador and holding out his hand. “I agree to your terms.”
Bai Feng took Matthias’ hand, then winced as the warrior’s iron grip clenched his fingers. The large man leaned in, glaring down at the Jaoren. “Do not cross us.” He pulled out of their handshake. “Now, give me my sword.”
The Jaoren shook his head. “Not yet.”
Matthias glared, crossing his arms. “Why?”
“Because you’re a warrior, like Kazan. And I know that you’ll be tempted to use that sword if I give it to you. I appreciate the princess sparing my men, I will afford Cyril the same courtesy. If there’s a path of bloodied Inquisitors’ corpses leading to the wolf’s cage, that affords us nothing. Come back here with the wolf, then I will return your weapons to you.”
Before Matthias could argue, Bai Feng stood aside, waving his hand as the door opened. “Go. There is no more time to argue. Either we work together, or none of us get what we want.”
“Thank you, Ambassador,” Floriana bowed her head, then darted out with her enthralled Inquisitor in tow. Magnus left without a word.
“Why are you doing this now?” Matthias demanded of Bai Feng.
A small smile spread across the Ambassador’s lips. “Winter is almost past. Spring is usually the best time for one to begin sowing crops again, no?”
Matthias returned the grin in spite himself, and nodded his goodbyes as he passed into the moonlit alleyways of Torinus.
The streets were mostly deserted. They had come to the cleaner parts of the city, where beggars and the riff-raff were not tolerated. Long shadows were cast over empty, broad avenues, as the sprawling, ancient estates of the Magisters and nobility of the city loomed over Matthias and his companions from behind high stone walls. The twin moons hanging overhead looked like a pair of eyes staring down at them, making the warrior feel paranoid. There were still guards about, but they were far from hardened warriors, judging by their rusted armor and the poor state of their weapons. Most of them appeared drunk, stumbling through their patrols. They had little reason to fear intruders in the Inner City; after three thousand years, the people of Torinus knew their place.
Floriana led them to the back entrance of one palace; furnished by the Magisters of Torinus, King Cyril’s black sun banner flew from its parapets, and Inquisitors were posted at its front gate, appearing far more formidable than the besotted guards of Torinus. The palace itself was a tall, stout structure, its walls lined with arches built with red, gray, and tan stone in intricate patterns.
They crept to a back entrance, which was the enthralled Inquisitor’s post. Floriana turned to her friends. “Go. The Prophet is being held in a cage just off the kitchens to the right, in the cellar.” She glanced back to the Inquisitor. “I’ll stay behind for a minute to ensure you aren’t followed. Then I’ll take care of him, and return to my chambers before I’m missed.”
Magnus gave her a hard look. “You put yourself in this position, Floriana.”
“I know, Hierophant,” she snapped.
The small man lingered for a moment, then disappeared into the dark hallway.
Matthias frowned, looking down at the princess. “Floriana… you don’t have to do this.” He took her hand and bent down, so they were face to face. “Don’t kill if you don’t have to. Don’t be like me.”
Floriana touched his cheek, and they stared into each other’s eyes. She leaned in, planting a kiss on his cheek. “I wish I was more like you, Matthias. If I had stood up to him earlier, perhaps my father wouldn’t have…” She wrinkled her face, then sighed, pulling out her wand. “This is my task. Please. Leave me to it.”
Matthias slowly rose and nodded. He remained silent, then passed under the archway leading inside. He heard the faintest sound, like a hiss of steam, then he heard Floriana shudder and sob. The Inquisitor had been dealt with.
“You shouldn’t have been so hard on her,” Matthias growled, prodding Magnus as they crept past the kitchen.
Magnus bristled. “You haven’t seen what that magic leads to. It twists the mind. If Alfred has been indulging in such things all this time, you should be glad you are not there to see him destroy himself,” he sighed. “I want her to remember she’s better than that. Please, can we talk about this another time?”
Matthias nodded curtly, and they continued on their way. They passed into the cellar, and the warrior instantly felt a familiar tug in his mind.
“My son!”
Matthias gasped sharply, nudging Magnus. “He’s here!” he hissed excitedly.
“My son, you must leave me. Go! You’re not safe here!”
Matthias scoffed inwardly, hardening his resolve. He was not leaving without his father. Pushing forward, he found his father’s cage. The wolf was lying down on the base of the now filthy cage, his breathing haggard. His white coat was stained with splotches of blood and refuse.
“Prophet!” Magnus hissed, joining Matthias. “What have they done to you?”
“You must go, Matthias! I gave myself willingly for you. Don’t throw it away, now!”
“I wasn’t worth it!” Matthias growled, grabbing the bars of the cage and attempting to break them, tensing his powerful arms as he threw all his strength into it.
Just as the bars bent and buckled under the warrior’s strength, the metal suddenly became red hot, causing Stefan to yelp in pain as he scrambled to his feet, jumping to get away from the heat. Matthias howled in pain as he relented, angry burns running down the palms of his hands.
“I was warned I hadn’t seen the last of you.”
Matthias felt the end of a wand press deep into the small of his neck, and Cyril’s voice hissed in his ear. “Slavery, it seems, was too lenient. You wish to be with your father? Very well. You will stay with him until he breathes his last.”
The warrior turned his head, just enough to be met with the grinning face of a gray-furred creature. “Vocendi,” Matthias spat. “Does the disciple of the Prophet ally himself with demons, now? That is who that creature represents, isn’t it?”
Cyril scoffed. “The Vocendi has given me more foresight, more answers, than I have been given from the Creator in twenty years.” A subtle burst of magical energy connected with Matthias’ neck, and the huge man collapsed in a heap, unconscious. “Whether he is uncaring, or simply dead, it is no concern to me anymore.”
Chapter 23
Sins of the World
Matthias was thrust back into the waking world with a bucket of cold water. He had been chained in the cellar alongside Stefan, and Cyril was taking no chances; every limb had been manacled, and the chains that bound him to the wall were of the same make that held anchors to their ships. The weight alone would crush weaker men, but it only prevented Matthias from escaping.
Gasping and shivering from the shock of cold water, Matthias glared up at his captor. Cyril loomed over him, flanked by two Inquisitors. The Vocendi was nowhere to be seen. He glanced over to the cage, to see that Stefan was gone.
“What have you done with my father?” Matthias demanded, tugging at his chains.
Cyril offered a bleak smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll be reunited soon enough. I want you to see this, Matthias. You are a savage who thought he was worthy of leading the faithful, but I will show you today what true power look
s like.” He turned to the two Inquisitors. “Unchain him and take him to the basilica. Oh…” He gave one last glance down at Matthias, and his smile faltered, his eyes gaining a haunted look. “And shave off his hair. Let the world see his Jaoren blood.”
Matthias snarled, struggling against the chains, but the Inquisitors had procured their wands. The warrior glared at them, but his shoulders dropped, and he hung his head. Even so, his captors were nervous to approach him. Matthias had no reaction left as they sheared his long locks, thick strands of his copper hair piling up on the floor. When the deed was done, the great anchor’s chain was detached from the wall, and he was forced to bear its weight on his own, marched through the halls of Cyril’s palace.
He was paraded out into the blazing sunlight, making him squint until his eyes adjusted to the light. His thoughts were with his father, with Magnus, and with Floriana. He cared little for himself now, even as the chains weighed heavy on him. Four, then six Inquisitors watched over him, prodding him down the streets of Torinus. The people of the city cast him the same wary, disdainful looks, but they were also watching the Inquisitors. King Cyril had made an impact on the locals, it seemed.
The hulking man was ushered toward a gigantic building, sitting on a broad, stone square. Here, the wealth of ancient Torinus was on full display. Colossal statues of robed men and women surrounded Matthias, all peering down at him with proud and haughty glares. Some had the features of animals, with horns, fangs, and snouts, while others were painfully beautiful to behold.
The great building itself cast a long shadow over them, a dizzyingly tall structure with stone walls lined with arches and statues, and a monumental dome, wrought in gold and silver, that had seen better days. A sizeable chunk was missing from the dome, like a great crater in the otherwise impeccable facade. As Matthias was pushed inside along with a crowd of citizens, more statues loomed overhead; soldiers and warriors, their spears pointed directly at the onlooker, ready to crush the unworthy underfoot.
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