Killingford: The Hieromonk's Tale, Book Two

by Robert Reginald

  “I disagree,” Nikolaí said. “As I’ve said before, the quicker that we move, the less prepared the enemy will be.”

  Each of the council members spoke in turn, dividing about equally on the question. Finally, Kipriyán spoke.

  “We will rest one day,” he ordered, “and begin marching again on the day after tomorrow.”

  “I suggest, sire,” Arkády said, “that we continue posting our scouts as widely through the surrounding countryside as possible, to avoid getting pulled into a trap.”

  “An excellent idea,” the king said. “Any further questions?”

  “Arkásha, just what do you know about this, uh, Falling River?” Nikolaí asked.

  “The Falling Water begins somewhat north of here on the Töklos Plain,” his brother said, “erupting right out of the ground from a large spring. South of Saint Paulinos, the river starts cutting a valley through the hills, just skirting the western part of the Läuterungs. After picking up a number of creeks coming out of the highlands, the watercourse deepens considerably and the river quickly becomes impassable. If we stay to the right of the gorge, we should have a clear road all the way to Balíxira, and we’ll be well protected on our left flank.”

  “Are we agreed?” King Kipriyán asked, looking around at each council member. They all nodded, one by one. “Very well, then. For God and Kórynthia!” he shouted.

  “For God and Kórynthia!” came the unanimous response.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  “WHY DO YOU CALL ME DAUGHTER?”

  In Paltyrrha on that same day the Princess Arrhiána, Regent of the Kingdom of Kórynthia, asked Metropolitan Timotheos, Locum Tenens of the Holy Church, to conduct a prayer service for the success of the expedition in Pommerelia, and for the safe return of the soldiers and their officers.

  Earlier that morning, she had transited to Kórynthály, and sought out her sister, Princess Sachette, to return her to court. When the Lady Dómnina, Abbess of Saint Exouperantia’s Convent, objected, Arrhiána overruled her, saying that the war had created hardships and demands on everyone, and that God would surely understand why she needed to borrow one of His chosen ones for a few months.

  “Oh, Rhie, I’m so excited!” Sachette said, almost babbling in her excitement. “I haven’t been to Paltyrrha in years and years. What’s it like now?”

  Arrhiána just laughed.

  “Overcrowded, dirty, chaotic, hectic,” she said. “And exciting, energizing, and full of life.”

  “I can’t wait,” her sister said.

  And so, when Timotheos began his service later that afternoon, the two sisters stood together in the front rank of Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral, representing the Royal House of Tighris before the multitude of celebrants. Arrhiána allowed her sibling to touch her hand throughout the ceremony, so that Chette could see the great icons and stained glass windows through her elder sister’s eyes.

  Oooh! Sachette exclaimed mentally. Such beautiful colors!

  Lovely, aren’t they? Arrhiána agreed. See Saint Konstantín and Saint Yeléna over on the right. And Saint Apollináry the Apologist, Saint Plautílla the Martyr, Saint Ksanfíppa, Saint Tíkhon, and oh so many others.

  But no Saint Sachette, her sister said.

  You’ll be the first, my love, Arrhiána indicated.

  Sachette blushed. I’m not good enough to be a saint.

  I think you’re the best of all of us, her older sister said.

  What’s that? Sachette asked, pointing mentally to a shadowy alcove on the left that housed a side altar.

  Where? Arrhiána inquired, looking around, but unable to penetrate the dark with her eyes.

  The metropolitan droned on with his service.

  There! I can feel someone over near the altar, the girl continued. He’s saying something to me about the war, that Papá must turn back before all is lost. I don’t understand, Rhie. Now, he says that magic started this war, and magic will end it. He says the Tighrishi are to blame for all the killing and the terror, that what we do to our own is what we feel compelled to do to others. He says we have warped what we were given. He says we have to change.

  I don’t see anyone! Arrhiána said.

  “Guard,” she called quietly to one side.

  “Yes, Highness,” said the nearest soldier.

  “Please check that small altar on the left and see if there’s anyone hiding there,” Arrhiána ordered.

  “At once, Highness,” he said, and headed off into the alcove.

  He returned a moment later, shaking his head. “Nothing, Highness,” he mouthed silently.

  “Thank you, Gilár,” she softly replied.

  Then, mentally to Sachette: Is he still there?

  Oh, yes, the girl stated. He’s praying with us.

  Who is he? Arrhiána asked, trying to contain her terror.

  He’s one of us, Sachette said, I’m sure of it. He’s...

  But Arrhiána could wait no longer, and surged into her sister’s mind without waiting for permission, forging a link with the presence that she too could now sense hovering in the shadows.

  Who are you? she asked. Why do you threaten us?

  Arrhiána suddenly was filled with a sense of great wisdom and sadness and compassion, as the being gently connected with her mind.

  Are you...He? she asked.

  Oh, no, daughter, hardly that, came the reply. Not even a saint. She had a feeling of loving humor envelop her. Just a humble servant of the Almighty.

  Then why do you call me daughter? Arrhiána asked.

  When you can find the answer to that question in your heart, dear Arrhiánakicsi, the presence whispered, then come and see me, and we will talk again. Now, I must go. Do not despair, my daughter, even when the darkness seems to ’whelm you. Good will yet prevail.

  Then he was gone from their minds, just like that, and they both felt an immense sense of longing for his presence.

  In front of the altar, the Metropolitan Timotheos finished the last of his prayers.

  “Amen,” he chanted.

  “Amen,” the two women replied.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “BRUGA!”

  In Neustria, the time of birthing had come at last. The Princess Brislaine, at full term, had begun her contractions some eight hours earlier. Cheerfully, she had announced this fact to her ladies-in-waiting, adding, “Well, if it’s no worse than this, I just don’t know what all the fuss is about!”

  Adèle had merely raised her eyes ceilingward, chuckling inwardly at her daughter’s naïveté. She then set about notifying Mirza and the royals, and making the necessary household arrangements.

  The princess was soon ensconced in the large comfortable suite in the royal palace set aside for this purpose. She sat propped up in bed, gaily ordering people about, determined to make the most of her moment of glory. Her ladies and their maids scurried to and fro, making sure that the linens were fresh, the water scalded, and that all was prepared for the great event.

  The female members of the royal family set themselves up in shifts, taking turns all day long. They walked back and forth with their young charge, catering to her whims, encouraging her and keeping her calm.

  Later in the day, as the dull aching sensation in her lower back became more pronounced, she began to understand just what “all the fuss” was about. She moved inexorably toward the final phase of the struggle which would bring forth her firstborn son into the world.

  “Push!” the midwife Mirza was demanding. “Is close, now. Push it you must right out of zere, child,” she added with a sinister smirk, “or it vill stay inside you and fester.”

  “I’m trying to push!” Laine gasped in frustration, tears filling her lovely eyes. “Granny, where are you?” she cried out, as yet another spasm rolled over her.

  “I’m right here, love.” Brisquayne shoved Mirza aside, glaring angrily at her. She had insisted on staying in the room from the very beginning, refusing all other offers to spell her. She had been wa
tching Mirza carefully. Now she was prepared to interfere with the proceedings, if she deemed it necessary.

  “Hold on to me and relax just a moment,” she whispered. “Ignore her. You should wait until the next pain comes before you try pushing again. Let me know and I’ll help you.”

  She wrapped one of her granddaughter’s hands in her own, touching rings and pouring her strength through the quickly-established link.

  Laine’s contractions were harder and lasting longer now, and the dowager queen knew from years of experience that the final stage of labor was close at hand.

  Suddenly she became aware of a subtle change taking place, deep within her granddaughter’s body. Something was delaying the force of nature! She looked up and caught Mirza smiling down at her triumphantly.

  “Bruga!” she breathed, and surged angrily through the link into her granddaughter’s form and mind, striking out at all the foreign interference that was threatening the birth.

  Mirza was caught off guard, and almost lost contact. Then she fought back even more savagely. Laine nearly lost consciousness, but on some primitive level of her being, the mothering instinct asserted itself. She knew something was terribly wrong now, and she gamely held on, aligning her own waning strength with that of her grandmother. Together they began the struggle to save her child and herself.

  The next half hour was a nightmare, as the two older women pushed and pulled around and through Laine’s pale form. Small advantages were gained and lost, and wars were waged unto the bitterest of ends. No one else in the room seemed aware of the desperate battle being fought right there in front of them.

  Brisquayne was on the verge of exhaustion when she remembered something she had forgotten about, something from her distant past. It just might work! She flashed a mental picture of someone else she had once known at court, someone Mösza had known, too.

  The midwife suddenly reeled back as if she had been struck. Abruptly, her rings flaring, she broke off all physical and psychic contact with both Laine and her grandmother.

  “I, I don’t feel vell,” Mirza muttered. “Must get air,” she added, rushing from the room.

  “Well, I’ll be...!” Adèle looked after the woman, shaking her head. Glancing back at her daughter, she gave a little squeal. “The child is coming,” she said. “Hurry! Help me!”

  The attention of everyone in the room was drawn back immediately to the drama being played out before them.

  Prince Chilpéric, third in line to the throne of Neustria, was born a few moments later, red and squalling. He let out a lusty yell as he was examined and pronounced hale and healthy. His mother smiled in relief as she bared her breast to his greedy little mouth.

  “Thank you, Grandmamá,” Laine whispered. “I knew something was wrong. I don’t know what you did, but I suddenly felt a great burden lifted from my soul.”

  “Dearest child,” Brisquayne said, gazing at the nativity scene with tears of joy in her faded old eyes. “I would never let any harm come to you.”

  She kept tight hold of her granddaughter with one hand, and made a sign against the Evil One with the other.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “‘THE ROAD TO HELL IS LITTERED WITH GOOD INTENTIONS’”

  That evening, the Princess Regent Arrhiána transited to the private alcove maintained in King Kipriyán’s tent outside Saint Paulinos’s Abbey, after waiting her turn for an hour in a line of couriers coming and going to Pommerelia. She refused to insert herself in front of anyone else who was waiting, saying that they had as much need or more than she, that they were all serving on the king’s business.

  Kipriyán himself had quarters in the monastery with the other royals, save Prince Arkády, who was using the king’s tent as a command post.

  “Sister!” the prince said, obviously happy to see her.

  “Kásha,” she responded, giving him a quick hug. “What news?”

  He smiled down at her.

  “We’re in our usual state of organized chaos,” he said. “However, both armies are now here, and we’ll be ready to move forward again in two days. And sometime in the next week, Rhie, a battle will be won or lost on the road to Balíxira, and we’ll know then who will be king next year in Pommerelia.”

  “I worry so much about you and Papá and our brothers,” she said. “And there’s nothing I can do except try to keep our spirits up in Paltyrrha as much as possible.”

  “Have you heard about Pulkhériya and Minérva being here?” the prince asked.

  “Yes,” Arrhiána said, “but I still don’t understand why.”

  “Pankratz allowed them to trail along behind him,” Arkády said, “so now’s there a big debate about whether to send them back or not. Of course, Cherie refuses to go, and Humfried is undecided what to do about it, as usual. I think Papá will at least insist that they remain here at Saint Paulinos’s.

  “How’s everyone back home?” he added.

  “As well as can be expected,” she said. “You heard about Ari’s most recent attack, I know, but he seems much better now. Doctor Melanthrix left some medication with us, and that’s helped. Rÿna has become quite attached to the calling bell, which Dúra has allowed her to keep. Oh, and I’ve brought Sachette back to court for a while.”

  “I’m glad to hear it,” he said.

  “Well, that’s really what I wanted to talk to you about,” she said. “We had a prayer service this morning, and Chette saw something there that has greatly unsettled me. Perhaps I can best give you the nuances by sharing the experience with you directly. Link with me, brother.”

  She held out her slim hand, and he folded it within his larger, tanned, callused one, touching rings with her. Then she let her mind go blank, and began moving toward that state of sublime contemplation that signified a Psairothi mind at one with itself and the universe. It was like floating in a sea of serenity, a place where the self was enwrapped in an otherworldly glow, a sense that everything and nothing was possible at one and the same time, a feeling that there were greater things at work in the cosmos other than one’s own petty concerns.

  Arrhiána reached out through the leys and touched Arkády’s soul, merging her senses with those of her older brother. Then she opened to him her memories of the encounter in Saint Konstantín’s Cathedral. For a very long moment, the prince considered what he had seen.

  This presence, for want of a better word, he said to her, seems beneficent, even supportive of us, but I do not understand some of what he is saying. And yet, his “voice” seems familiar to me somehow, not in any direct fashion, but as something I’ve heard or seen or experienced peripherally, perhaps as a memory related to me by someone else. I can’t place it yet, but I will. If we can trust him, it means we have an ally in our fight against our unseen killer.

  I’ve gone over the conversation time and again throughout the day, Arrhiána said, and I believe very strongly that he wishes us well. I don’t think that attitude could possibly have been faked, and Chette agrees with me. She had a much more prolonged encounter with whoever it was. Of course, what he thinks is good for us may not be the same as what we think. As the old saying goes, “the road to Hell is littered with good intentions.” So I think we have to be cautious. And, of course, I don’t know how to re-establish contact again. His reference to “coming to see him” is all well and good, but I still don’t understand what he was talking about, and I certainly haven’t figured out where “where” is yet.

  “Well, Rhie,” Arkády said out loud, before adding mentally, I’m sure you’ll puzzle through it in your own good time. We’ve both been just a little busy with other matters these past weeks. Often, when I’m bedeviled by this kind of problem, I just let it simmer in the background, until the answer finally appears out of nowhere. The Lord will provide in His own good time.

  She abruptly kissed him on the cheek.

  “So He will, dear brother,” she said, “so He will. Now, I must get back to my duties in Paltyrrha, and I’m keeping you fro
m your generals here in Pommerelia, whom I know need your direction. Arkády, please take care. I don’t think I could bear the thought of living my life without you there. All of us need you. Kórynthia needs you. Come back home to us safe.”

  “That’s not in my hands, Rhie,” Arkády said. “But I’ll try not to do anything more foolish than usual. You also be careful, sister. There’s a madman loose among us. Don’t let him catch you by surprise.”

  Then they hugged again, and she departed.

  Lord Rónai, who had been waiting patiently in the vestibule, entered and saluted, simultaneously watching the princess exit.

  “So what do you think, general?” Arkády asked.

  The startled officer replied spontaneously, “She’s quite a handsome woman, Highness.”

  Then, realizing what he had said, Rónai tried to apologize, but was cut short by the prince.

  “Never mind,” Arkády said, chuckling. “She is a handsome woman, and a handful, too, I suspect, for any man lucky enough to entrap her. So what do you have for me tonight?”

  They worked long into the evening, going over troop dispositions and supply rations, while the candles burned down to merest nubs, and the lights began slowly going out around them, one by one, until none remained left to hold back the darkness.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  “I HAVE SEEN THE FACE OF HELL ON EARTH...”

  THE HOMECOMING

  “I have seen the face of Hell on earth,” he said, gazing around at the rapt faces of his audience, “and it is called Killingford.”

  Three days earlier, the women working in the furthest fields of the Lordship of Ézion in Kosnick had noticed an aged, ragged pilgrim plodding slowly down the road from Kosnicksberg. He was bearded, dirty, and walked with a pronounced limp. His clothes were tattered, and he had a stained rag tied around his head to keep off the sun. A makeshift staff helped him make his painful way along the ruts of the dusty wagon tracks.