The Blackgod cotc-2

by Gregory Keyes

  In the morning he would dispatch a company of soldiers and Jik under the command of his nephew Nen She' to deal with the governor of Dangul, but there was no telling how well prepared the governor was, how good his spies were. Another reason to send Nen She'; he would be a capable enough ruler if the governor bowed to him without resistance, but if the mission failed and he was killed, no one would miss him, either—at least, not much. But then, of course, She'lu would have to send real troops, and that he did not relish doing at all. Wars cost money, and it seemed the Nhol had fought many wars of late. All small, all mere nuisances, but costly nevertheless.

  He walked out onto the polished, bloodred stone of the court, enjoying the measured, solitary clapping of his wooden soles upon the floor. Seldom enough was he alone; even now, guards were near, but he had laid a minor Forbidding on them, preventing them from approaching him unless he requested their aid or called out. So now, in the hour past midnight, he could pace, sleepless and finally, finally alone in this, his favorite of courts, the Court of the Ibis-Throated. It was small, much too small for grand ceremonies, not severe enough to convene the everyday matters of the empire. Indeed, since his father's day, the court had seen no official use. But after She'lu's accession—when his father had begun the withering, as often happened to the Waterborn when they passed their seventieth year—his father had brought him here, with Nyas, the vizier, and the three of them had stayed, long into the night, drinking plum wine and speaking of things they had never spoken of. There were many such things; after all, She'lu had barely seen his father until after his fifteenth year, and even when he moved down the Hall of Moments to join the family after passing the priestly tests, his father was distant, cold, the emperor. It was only after, when the crown came off, that the old man spoke of love, of his pride in his son, of his grief over the loss of his other son, L'ekezh. Even that last had touched She'lu; he had always been jealous of L'ekezh, but when they took his twin off, shrieking, to the depths below the Darkness Stair and left him to inherit the throne unchallenged—well, after that he could afford to be generous, to pity his brother.

  He had often met with his father and Nyas, secretly, the guards away and Forbidden, learning from the two of them how to be an emperor. Two years only, but he remembered them as the best years of his life. Young, excited by his role as lord of Nhol and its empire, touched by his father's long-hidden care. Then the old man withered and died, and his corpse was taken off by the priests while it was still warm, to be joined back into the River, and he had become emperor in earnest, learning the eternal, wearying drudgery that mingled with and eventually overwhelmed the excitement.

  He stroked his hand on a yellowed column, slender as the legs of a crane, gazed up at the stars showing faintly through the eye-shaped aperture in the domed roof.

  He had thought, someday, to bring a son of his own here. He would not have waited so long, until he stepped down and had only months to live. He would have shown a son affection the moment he ascended to the Hall of Moments, left childhood and its terrible possibilities behind. But the seed of the River had never produced for him a son. Of late he had turned his mind toward daughters—someone of his blood to share his stories, his secret thoughts, who would adore him as he had adored his own father. But with the two who had ascended, he had waited too long. Both were married, and like their mother they enjoyed the cloudlike wonder and oblivion induced by Nende'ng, the black snuff from Lhe, more than they did conversation. Hezhinata, who had been the youngest, was now slain by the Jik, but that had been necessary, and privately he would have rather had her slain than sent down to where L'ekezh still dwelt.

  She'lu paused in front of the throne but did not sit on its sable cushion. Instead, he lowered himself to the steps, as he had when his father was still alive. He had refused to let the old man sit below him; even though She'lu was emperor in fact, in the Court of the Ibis-Throated, he gave his father the throne. Yes, it was a shame he had never brought any of his children here, when they were young enough, even though they were daughters. He could at least have told them about their grandfather. Hezhi—if not the others—would have probably liked that. Though he knew little enough of the child, he did know that she had spent her last months in the library, that she had apparently enjoyed reading, relished learning of the past He smiled; secretly—very secretly—he was proud of his daughter. She must have had power, power rivaling his own. Her sisters had shown no sign of such. Hezhinata had killed priests, many priests, and a Jik. Of course, her bodyguard had killed some of those, but still…

  She'lu frowned. Certainly he felt pride, had felt it since the day Hezhinata was killed. But what he felt now was almost a glow, a silly sentimentality. He realized that all of his thoughts had been flavored with nearly lachrymose emotion, and a faint suspicion stole over him. Why had he awakened? Not that it was an uncommon experience for him to lack sleep. But it seemed to him that a dream had brought him out of bed, one of the simple-colored dreams the River sent now and then. More and more of those dreams had come of late, but rarely did they reveal anything to him that was of help in his policies. When he could remember them, he would discuss them with Nyas, and together they would try to sort them out, but this was different. He could not remember the dream itself, but it had left him thinking maudlin thoughts about his father and his daughters. No, not his daughters, but his daughter, Hezhinata, the only child of his to be born with power.

  Thinking of this now, he recognized the signs. The River wanted him to think of her—something he was not in the habit of doing. Certainly the thought of bringing her here had passed briefly, whimsically, through him, as had the fleeting joy that one of his seed had so frustrated and wounded the priesthood. But these feelings of love came from the River. At least, most of them did. He sighed. Should he wake Nyas?

  At that moment he felt something, the equivalent of a foot-scrape or a loud breath, but it was not sound. Someone was here, in this room, with power. She'lu pursed his lips. Not power like the priests, that annoying power of not that got progressively stronger with the rank of the priest. No, this had “sounded” more familiar.

  He flooded the room with force, filling it so quickly with his puissance that it would be impossible for the intruder to slip away undetected. If the intruder were Human, he would be dead or mindless in an instant, but She'lu already knew the hidden one was more than that.

  “Show yourself,” he snapped, as the air rippled with killing magics.

  Someone stepped from the shadows. He seemed to be shrugging off the attack, maintaining an admirable calm as he did so. She'lu could sense a sort of raw power that might be as great as his own, but it was artless, and he knew that his attack must be causing some pain. Despite this, his visitor walked out into the center of the floor, bent to one knee, and bowed deeply.

  More puzzled than ever, She'lu withdrew the spears and nets of his strength and laid them into a dike about himself, securing his person but still prepared to lash out if need be. Who was this man? Even the most powerful of the royal family would have been at least stunned by his show of force, and yet this man retained the ability to walk and kneel.

  “Thank you, my lord,” the man said, and so showed he could speak as well.

  “Who are you? Step closer.”

  The intruder did so, rising and moving close enough for She'lu to make him out. He was a well-built fellow with a thin, ascetic face. He was clothed simply in a black tunic and kilt, the signature dress of the Jik.

  “You are an assassin,” She'lu said flatly.

  “I am an assassin,” the man acknowledged. “But I am no longer a Jik. I do not serve a priesthood that does not serve the River.”

  She'lu stared at the man, more perplexed than ever. What was occurring here?

  “I recognize you,” he realized. “You were the one assigned to my daughter. The young one.”

  “My name is Ghe, Majesty, and I am your servant.”

  “You were killed, or so I heard, along wi
th my daughter.”

  The man paused for just an instant, and in that flicker his guard descended a bit, and She'lu could suddenly make out more than one web of heartstrands in the man. A sudden fear knifed into She'lu. He had heard, as a child, of such creatures, been informed of them as an emperor.

  “It is true that I was killed, Majesty. But your daughter was not. Of that, I pray to speak to you.”

  “My daugh—” No, damn him. First things first. “You say you died,” She'lu hissed. “But I see no ghost before me. You are a ghoul, or something very like one.”

  The man cast down his eyes and reached to his throat. He unwrapped the black sash that obscured it. She'lu could not make out what was thus revealed until he conjured a pale yellow glow to illumine the court. Then he could see plainly enough the thick ridge of scar encircling Ghe's throat.

  “A ghoul, I think,” Ghe said, “though I know little of such things.”

  “The River sends them,” She'lu said softly, wondering if it would do any good at all to call the guards. “When an emperor goes against the will of the River, he sends them to kill him.”

  The ghoul stroked his chin with his thumb, a remarkably Human gesture for someone who must have been decapitated and then given new, unholy life.

  “I cannot speak for other ghouls, my lord, but that is not the case with me. I think that you should consider what you have heard to be yet another lie of the priesthood.”

  “My spies have told me of a ghoul in the palace. The priests drove it from here.”

  “And I have returned, at great peril to my existence. It is true that the River gave me new life, but it was not to harm you. You are the Chakunge, the Riverson. Why should he wish to harm you?” The ghoul paced slowly across the floor, and She'lu opened his mouth to speak before he realized that he was bereft of anything to say.

  “It is the priesthood, my lord,” the man continued. “They keep your power in check, do they not?”

  “They are a nuisance,” She'lu admitted.

  “I have discovered that they are much more than that,” the ghoul told him. “They and their temple bind all but the tenth part of the River's power, and you are the most of that tenth part, you and your kin. Hezhi was his greatest hope.”

  “Hezhinata,” She'lu corrected.

  “No, Lord, Hezhi. She lives yet. She escaped with a barbarian and her Giant bodyguard. Think on it and you will know that you never saw her body.”

  “The Waterborn must be given back to the River in the crypts.”

  “Another lie. I have been to the crypts. They are prisons for your ancestors, dungeons where their ghosts are kept to fade into eternity, never rejoining the god. But that aside, even if they did take Hezhi there, what of her bodyguard, the barbarian? Were their bodies seen by anyone you trust?”

  “They were left in the desert to rot.”

  “But I repeat, did this information come from a source that you trust?”

  She'lu's head was awhirl. The things this man spoke of were incredible, but they were not preposterous; they were all things that he himself had considered, at one time or another. His own father had warned him of the priesthood, as had Nyas, countless times. They had always been a scratch in his eye, but to hear these things said, all at once—and of course he had been suspicious of the strange stories surrounding Hezhinata. Seven of his elite guard, killed by some “barbarian” at the docks? She'lu had always suspected the hand of the priesthood in that. In fact, the barbarian was said to have been nearly impossible to kill, bleeding from mortal wounds and yet still standing. Was that not a property ghouls were said to possess? How many ghouls did the priesthood control?

  “Enough of this,” She'lu snapped. “Babble no more. If you have come to kill me, do your best. If you come for aught else, tell me what you want.”

  The ghoul scratched his chin again, a gesture that She'lu was beginning to find annoying. “I want to find Hezhi and bring her back to Nhol. I want you to help me.”

  She'lu could not speak for several moments, but the ghoul did not go on. The emperor vaguely realized that this “Ghe” had done what he commanded: told him only what he wanted and then stopped.

  “What?” he whispered.

  “I told my lord that—”

  “Yes, yes, I understood you. She really is alive?”

  “My lord, I cannot be certain. But I did not kill her, nor did the priests or the soldiers. She escaped into the desert, where the River has no power to see, and she may have been killed there, though, knowing her, I doubt it. But she is in danger; I know that to be true. The priesthood knows she is alive, and they will not rest until she breathes no more. There may be others.” The ghoul's voice dropped lower, and She'lu heard the deep sincerity in it. “My lord, the River brought me to life for this purpose, and this purpose alone: to find your daughter and return her to the River, so that she may fulfill the destiny of you and all your family. Can't you see how carefully the priests control you? They keep you from your children, slay or bind captivé all but a few who have power…”

  “My brother was one so bound,” She'lu interrupted. “He was insane, and would have destroyed all. There is good reason for that binding.”

  “In some cases. I do not doubt that the power drives many to madness. But Hezhi was his chosen, as you are, and yet they would have disposed of her. You, they keep tranquil with lies.”

  “Have a care how you speak of me!” The ghoul seemed to be getting bolder, less respectful by the moment. She'lu tensed, expecting attack but unwilling to launch his own. Despite its insolence, this creature was making a sort of sense. And the River had prepared him for this, he realized, sent ahead thoughts of his daughter, fond memories. Behind all of that lurked his ever-present knowledge that the empire was losing its form at the edges, the persistent nagging feeling that power was somehow slipping past him, that his reach was not what an emperor's should be.

  “I'm sorry, Lord,” the ghoul amended, “but I believe it to be the case. The priesthood has labored for centuries to check your power in a thousand subtle ways. Even your ghosts are kept chained.”

  “You mentioned this before. What do you mean?”

  The ghoul suddenly began shivering, power tightening around him like a cocoon, and She'lu raised his hands reflexively. But no thrust of potence came, no claws stretched to strike at his heart. Instead, the ghoul spoke again, but in a very different voice. Not merely in timbre and intonation; the very language was different, the ancient tongue of his ancestors.

  “Thou knowest this be the truth, Chakunge my descendant. We are trapped in the tombs, starved to nothing, until such time as we amuse them. Then they may take us out, command us to speak, to sing, to blaspheme. We are their library, their drama stage. They play with us, grandson of my grandsons.”

  “What?” She'lu sputtered. “What?”

  “They keep us there, in their temple. The Chakunge himself, the First Emperor, they keep on a leash like a dog!”

  She'lu knew that this was no trick; he could see the soul image, and it was not the ghoul's. Though he could not tell who it was, this was certainly one of his ancestors. His skin crawled like a bed of ants.

  “Who are you, Lord?” he asked.

  “I am Lengnata, fourth to the throne of the Nas Dynasty. Your ancestor.”

  “The First Emperor is in chains?”

  “As I said. You, too, will be chained when you die. Only a few escape, and them the priests destroy. I myself departed only in the heart of this ghoul, and now I am slave to him. But it is better, better. For through the ghoul, I see the River has a plan to destroy the priesthood, and that is good.”

  “Lord Ancestor, I…” But the ghoul was the ghoul again.

  “Pardon, my lord, but I have only recently entered into this power of mine. My control over it is growing but still imperfect.”

  “You admit your weakness to me?”

  “If I had no weakness, I would not beg for your aid. I was made to go where the River cannot go
, Lord, and where the power of his true children thus cannot go. I cannot bear his strength as you can, cannot become him as Hezhi can; he has given me the strength to find my power as I go along, that is all. But to go where Hezhi is, I need help. Your help.”

  “If this is all true …” He grimaced. “I must speak to Nyas.”

  The ghoul shook his head. “My lord, the Ahw'en and the Jik seek for me everywhere now. I have killed many of them and invaded their temple. I have their secrets and I have stolen one of your ancestors back from them. I have seen the Chakunge of our most sacred legends on a leash like a dog. I have power, but the priesthood can kill me. If you do not ally yourself with me, help me, all will be lost. All And it must be now, quickly—this night.”

  “Why did you not approach me sooner?”

  “I did not know. We are taught that the emperor and the priesthood are warp and weft in the same cloth. Only as a ghoul have I found the truth.”

  She'lu drew a deep breath. This was very sudden, but if it were true, if Hezhi still lived, if she could bring back the real power and glory of the throne… if even an emperor must eventually suffer a fate like that of the Blessed, a fate he believed he had escaped…

  “What do you want of me?”

  The ghoul knelt again. “A fast ship, to sail up-River. Horsemen and swordsmen, as many as you can spare. But most, most of all, I need the librarian from the archives.”

  “Ghan? The old man?”

  “He knows where Hezhi is. I know he does.”

  “How do you know this?”