“It is taller than Mount Cimmerii, though not deeper. On and on it stretches, from the south to the north. There are no passes that can be climbed, no paths to be hiked. Near a quarter of the way up the land there is a gaping maw, where the sands are always blowing and swirling. That we will pass—to our deaths as like.”
I do not like it either, but the other choices, less so. “These are desperate times. I have heard all the stories, same as you. I am prepared to meet it.”
“You have not heard all that I have.”
“You can spare me folklore.”
“It is not that,” Ashleigh began, staring out. “When I was just a girl, I lived in a small town in the south. Lisan, though it is naught more than rubble now. It was a bustling hub of trade and markets, connecting the southern outposts and villages to Isil. My father was a hawker of gems and jewels mined from the lesser mountains to the north and west. Every morning he would set out and shout and yell until his throat was hoarse. When he came home, he was drained, disparate. He sold enough to keep a humble roof atop our heads and food on the table. Naught more. I was… not the healthiest child.
“One day, my father came back and said he was going on a journey. My mother and father fought fiercely on the matter. I was outside, returning home, and I heard everything. My father he… he told my mother that there were the greatest jewels and gems to the east, and never again would we have to beg and plead; no longer would our daughter want. It was not often that my father had an unquenchable resolve, but he did in this.
“He went to the Desert of Death, the very place we make for now. My mother and I waited months and years. He never returned. My mother did unspeakable things to keep me fed, to have blankets over me. When I could, I swore my sword to the sentinels. That made my mother glad, right until the moment of her death. I lost both parents to that desert.”
“Your father was a fool,” Daniel said, unkindly.
“Yes, he was. Now we are fools together.”
“Is that what you have come to tell me? Is that why you were so eager to come?” Daniel needed her to come. None alive knew Isilia half as well as she did.
“I want you to know, my lord, that the desert holds no fear for me. I will not balk, not while we are in it. The realm does stand upon the edge of a knife, but I want to know what happened to my father. What happens to all men who cross it. If the Order governs life and death, then I—”
“I will cut your pretty little head off before you seek revenge upon them.” Ashleigh glared, but Daniel continued. “I cannot imagine what you have lost, what little you have to hold onto. Your lust for vengeance against Damian has held you together, aye, mine as well. Now he is beyond you, and you must trust to visions and prophecy to reach him again. You then turned to your own history, looking to a blood debt from when you were a child. Stay your blade in this, there is more at risk than you think.”
“You do not understand me, and you never will.”
“I will ne’er understand a woman’s heart, it is true, certainly not one as twisted as yours. I understand what is at stake. I will not let the realm crumble on account of your need for vengeance. Now go, think on what I have said, and go.”
Ashleigh went with a look of revulsion, grief, and sadness.
Did she really think that I would condone the only part that is left of her? There is so much in that woman, so much good, but she cannot see it past her grief. Am I much different? What is left for me when this is over?
It was another two days of endless sea, and another two days that Daniel heard and saw naught from the sentinel, save late at night. The crew was in good spirits though, and more than once he heard bold talk of what they should do about their Isilian guest before the journey ended. He knew it was just talk from tired men. If half the stories of the sentinel were true, she could handle herself against a band of boisterous deck hands.
It does not bear concern
He could not forget how different she was to him. The islands, Isilia, Dalia, none of those countries meant aught to him once, and only the counsel of state had any notion of where he was from.
I made a choice. Damian and I, we made a choice.
He recalled his childhood, under the shadows of Castle Marcanas. As a boy, he showed a disdain for books and letters, but was unparalleled in sword, shield, and horse. His father held him in contempt, and made no secret that his son was unworthy of an inheritance that would one day seem him attain the rank of lord, and with good fortune, see him as a counsellor to the king.
“I will not have all that I was passed onto an illiterate mongrel,” he overheard his father say one night to his mother. “We are proud but new. I will not have him embarrass us in front of the king.”
“Give him time,” Daniel’s mother pleaded, “he will learn how important it is. He knows how much this means to you, even if he does not admit it.”
“He has had time enough. It will go to another.”
Daniel was forced to forswear his inheritance—at sword point. He was a man of seventeen when it was done. Afterwards his father still looked at him askance, disgusted.
Shortly after his twentieth birthday, Daniel received a royal summons. He spent all his life in Trank, looking out at the massive castle with its stone towers. Once or twice he was taken into the castle proper, and was amazed at the rich red and purple carpets, the suits of armour and cased weapons that lined the walls, the immense ceilings and the wide passages.
Yet for all the wonder of his memories, he was disappointed when he reached the throne.
He was greeted by a bent old man, shadowed by an immense stone throne carved in the likeness of a lion. The balconies were empty and the knights in all their splendor could not be seen. He expected more; something regal. Not an old, done man who could not stay awake.
It took a moment for the old man to open his eyes, bestirring himself from day dreams. Daniel thought the man no more than a steward, clutching a rolled-up parchment in his hand.
“The king’s orders are law,” the old man had said, and four tall, strong knights in gilded green and gold armour came from behind the throne, hands upon the hilts of their swords. “These good sers will see you to your ship. Serve well, and return at the appointed time. Anything less and you will not set foot on these lands again.”
“My father—”
“These are the words of the king, not your father. Obey or be shackled in the dungeons for the rest of your besotten life.”
I still recall the words, writ by the royal hand of King Marcus Marcanas, impressed the king’s own seal: to learn and weaken, to subjugate and deceive. A day will come when our knights will descend. When they do, you will be rewarded for leal service.
Daniel began his service by visiting pubs and taverns, buying meat and mead for loose lips and drunkards. One day he would be a merchant, the next a deck hand, or even a captain of sellswords. He learned of Dalia’s Voice and Isilia’s imperator, of the Order of Light and the Sentinels of Umbrage, of the great mountains and religious fervor.
This is a land of piety and industry, of dark and light, of loyalty and betrayal, of mortal enemies. If the king wants this land weakened, they will do it themselves.
He sent birds and messengers to King Marcus, though little was returned in reply. Daniel felt more a spy than a loyal servant to the crown. The king sent him to weaken and subjugate, but he did not know how to go about that.
One stormy night he sat alone at a tavern in southern Dale, far away from the pious. It was near the pier, frequented by labourers and deck hands, gruff and hard. These men would have little to say, but it was not him that he awaited. There was a scant message from the king, with instructions to await and heed the arrival of a man in brown.
Hours seemed to come and go, and Daniel drained more mugs of ale than he rightly should have. An ordinary looking man approached his table, wet and bedraggled, shouting for meat and mead. He wore a draping brown cloak, and when he threw the hood back, long locks draped past his s
houlders that framed a hard and youthful face.
“Heh, the king is displeased with you, you know. It is why I am here, heh, seems like too tall a task was provided for a Baccan. What Baccans fail to do a Dannars will do in their stead.”
Daniel drained the dregs of his drink, searching his memory for the Dannars family, but he could not recall them. I must be careful, now, he may not be what he seems. “It will be done. Time is what I need.”
“Time you will not have,” the stranger said as he took a great mug of ale from the serving man. “The king does not wish to wait, but bugger him and all that. I am done as his lapdog. You are too, or I am a bloody fool in motley.”
The words were unexpected and grim. “I am a servant of the king, whatever you might be, I want none of it.”
The stranger sniggered at that. “Believe that tripe if you want, but I do not. Heh, you are here on account of a father who you have failed. Spare me the glare, I did not say it.” The man took a long drink before continuing. “That look of shock will not do either, Daniel. I have birds through here and the old kingdom. I need the right man, and you are it. Heh, even if you succeeded, your father would have naught to do with you.”
“My family is—”
“Your affair, doubtless. If you would have slain the old bastard, you would be free; but here you are, in a land of bleating sheep, whilst he is safe behind castle walls. Does that not bother you?”
Daniel was not the son his father wanted, but for all the scorn he could not bring his hand against him. “He is my father.”
“So he is, yet your king is not. I have oft wondered by what right does a king have a right to rule my life? None that I can see. Our good king is fat and must be carried in a palanquin from one place to another. An honour? A bloody disgrace. I say that we do not serve such a man, but become kings ourselves.”
“Are you daft?” Daniel asked, incredulous. “You would stand up to the imperium to the east, and a theocracy to the west? If they had a thimble of sense they would crush us.”
“Not if they cannot find us, and if they are too busy fighting our former friends…” As the words trailed off, the stranger bore a wicked smile.
I said yes that day. It was so easy to do that. Trecht did not come east for love of war or conquest, but on account of seductive lies that Damian and I had sent west. Neither the voice nor the imperator knew aught of it, and the counselors of the king were ignorant. Still all that bloody mess was on our hands.
“How long have they held you under their thumb, Damian?” Daniel asked aloud to no one. “How many have died for your dream of ruling over the dead and broken? This is not the future we coveted. This has to end. Do you not see that? Are you so far lost that you cannot see why I had to betray you?”
The sun had all but set. Daniel ate little, opting to retire early. Isilia was a hard, sere land, and what lay beyond it was death itself. He needed his strength.
Sleep did not come easy. It never did for him anymore.
Chapter Eighteen
Trysts of the Faith
Lutessa was vexed.
“Their patience is all but lost, High Priestess,” Counsel Anastasia said. “You must answer them. They will be a problem if you do not.”
Lutessa sighed. “Send them in.”
The Blessed Three walked into her solar together, hands folded behind their backs. They were garbed in their finest robes: long and draping, pristine white with a silver hem, with a caricature of Mother God emblazoned upon the chest, etched in gold, and three stars above Her head.
There will be no lack of formalities.
Father Dominic stood at the centre, tallest of the three, scowling all the while. Fathers Buchanan and Augustus frowned, deferring to their fellow priest.
“The clergy demands your presence, Lutessa.” No title—typical of Father Dominic in privacy. “Too long have we waited; this mummery must end.”
“I thought protecting the Faith was a noble endeavour,” Lutessa replied curtly from her seat, fingers steepled. She hoped the Blessed Three would be bold and audacious.
“The bloody work in the Chamber of Judgment must be answered for,” Father Augustus declared brusquely.
“You will answer for the transgressions of these Faithsworn.” Father Buchanan said the word with so much revulsion that she was surprised he did not throw up in his mouth.
“I owe the clergy much and more,” Lutessa said solemnly. “There is work to be done—work that I will finish for the priests and the humblest child. I will be answerable to them when the overlord’s ships are rudderless, his men put down, and he hangs from a gibbet.”
“Not enough!” Father Dominic declared with heat in his cheeks. “What good is the Faith without its soul? You have forsaken Mother God in our eyes. Let the clergy judge you—and if they should forgive you, then act!”
She remembered when another man had stood in her chambers and accused her of soulless devotion. It drove him to madness and an early grave. Have you lived a full life, Father Dominic, to walk down this path?
“You mean to remove her from office, fathers?” Counsel Anastasia asked pointedly.
The faces of the Blessed Three did not lie. They were strained and pained as the slightest hint of red flushed their cheeks. “It is not for us to decide,” Father Dominic replied grimly.
“Yet that is what you would do,” Lutessa said, looking at each man, weighing and measuring their resolve. “I will be blunt: you have been conspiring against me e’er since the matter of Ser Elin Durand’s return was first broached. To a man, you would name my actions heresy, even if they were but the will of the clergy. Years have come and gone, and still you whisper and lie. Our mortal enemy stood in our halls, bared steel, and all you can do is prattle amongst yourselves of my faith in Mother God. Let me be clear: it has never wavered. I will see this country to a new dawn, and then you will judge me, and not before.”
“You will call the clergy to the Chamber of Judgment,” Father Buchanan demanded.
“I will not be spoken to like this!” Lutessa pronounced, rising from her seat in wrath and resolve. “I am the Voice of Mother God. You will cease this prattling and be gone from my sight.”
“There will be a Council of Choosing then, as is our right,” Father Augustus offered.
“She is not dead,” Counsel Anastasia put in. “It cannot be done.”
“It can,” Father Dominic was quick and calm in his retort. “If two-thirds of the clergy feel the Voice is unfit to interpret the words of Mother God, Her faithful servants may call to the heavens for one worthier. Do not think we would come here lest we had just that.”
I have not been the only one reading.
Lutessa was familiar with the rite; ‘twas a shield that the clergy tucked away, rarely used. In the days that followed the founding, a small group of priests—though grateful for the wrath of Justine the Indomitable—feared that her bloodlust may turn to those most devout. Decades passed after the death of the first Voice, but the Question of the Ascent was soon enacted into Dalian law, blessed by the Faith.
I will not be the first to be removed by it. “If you have come to threaten me, fathers—”
“We simply warn you of our intent, Lutessa.”
Titleless, again. Father Dominic, you have crossed a line you cannot return from “You leave me no choice but to call upon the Protectorate of the Faith. You saw the overlord and his vow to return. I will have little trouble calling upon the holy magistrates and convincing them of the threat to all of Dalia, not just the Faith.”
“In such a time,” Father Buchanan mused, “there needs be a lord protector who must swear that the Voice is fit to take up his offices jointly. Lest you have granted the office to another man, Ser Johnathan is most unfit for the task. Your words are vain, Lutessa.”
“Neither the Voice nor the Holy Council have charged him with any offense; nor has he been stripped of right and rank,” Counsel Anastasia explained. “The holy magistrates will have no choice
but to accept his plea—upon the Voice’s endorsement.”
“It is a play that will only bring you down the harder…”
Father Dominic’s voice trailed off as the solar door opened. Lord Protector Ser Johnathan Falenir stood in the doorway, clad in his crystalline armour, round helmet held under his arm, the longsword Light of Day upon his left hip in its silver scabbard. Though there were half-healed gashes on his face, his beard was trimmed and tidy, eyes piercing and strong, and his presence commanded her solar.
This was the man who stood so boldly against me not a year before. That pleased her, odd as it felt.
“I did not mean to intrude, fathers,” Ser Johnathan intoned. “You lot were not exactly quiet, and seeing as you were speaking on the very matter I had just returned from, I am sure you will forgive my abruptness.”
“You are looking well,” Lutessa complimented him, and she received a beaming smile in return. “May I see the decree?”
Ser Johnathan handed over a single white parchment, wrapped and sealed by the mark of the holy magistrates—hands in prayer with scales of judgment behind him—and she read the words. She thought all was in order. When her eyes met the Blessed Three, she did not know what was more satisfying: the looks of shock or revulsion. “Would you like to read it yourselves?”
Father Dominic snatched the parchment from her hand, and they all huddled together, reading it three times over.
You have no cards left to play.
The father simply threw the parchment back, and stormed out of her solar, the others in tow.
“This is your doing, I assume?” Lutessa said, handing the parchment to her counsel. “I would have liked to be consulted on it.”
“My regrets,” Counsel Anastasia said. “We had little time.”
“It is why you suit this office well.”
Lutessa giggled, falling into the embrace of the counsel, who burst out in turn. Ser Johnathan harrumphed, breaking the embrace. “Seeing as how we have kept you on the Crystal Throne for a little longer, might be that I trouble you on some matters of state?”
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