Dark Immolation

by Christopher Husberg

  Every lord that met Daval’s gaze did so with terror-filled eyes. Daval knew that look well. None of them would look away; not until he was through with them.

  “I am Daval Amok. I am a High Lord of Roden; my family have ruled their holdings for centuries, with a fair, just, and shrewd hand. That alone gives me a strong claim to the throne. But I am also the Tokal-Ceno. I have been chosen, in the ways of our ancestors, to represent the Scorned Gods on the Sfaera. For too long have we tolerated this nonsense,” and here Daval waved a hand in the direction of the Cantic high priestess at the Ruling Council’s table. “For too long have we embraced the religion of our enemies. It is time for us to take our rightful place, and to usher in the era of the Scorned Gods. I will lead us into that era. I will lead us against Khale, and against anyone else in the Sfaera who stands against us. I will be your emperor.”

  Daval took a deep breath, then walked back to his seat at the back of the hall. He was conscious of the eyes following him. Daval sat down, but the silence continued.

  After a few moments, Mandiat stood once more. “We will begin another vote,” he said. “Let us go about it quickly. For the good of Roden and her people.”

  “For the good of Roden and her people,” the lords echoed.

  Mandiat slammed the gavel sharply, and the voting began once more.

  One of the High Lords who supported Luce was apparently swayed by Daval’s speech; he cast his vote for Daval, giving Daval ten and leaving Luce with six. But Daval was not hoping to change the High Lords’ minds; his success relied on who the lesser lords would now choose.

  Daval’s mood darkened as the first few still voted for Britstein, but then there was a change. One of the lesser lords, Grundst Odelins, cast his vote for Daval. And that, it seemed, changed everything. Every lord after Odelins cast his vote for Daval, and before Daval knew it, his receptacle was filled past the line.

  Murmurs rippled throughout the hall; the lords seemed surprised that they had actually reached a consensus. Mandiat stood, but despite his disheveled hair and drooping posture, he was smiling. “My Lords, it has been a long night, and day, and night again, but the vote has been counted, and we have a successor. Lord Daval Amok, please stand.”

  Daval stood, feeling strange. He had dreamed of this day for some time; he had wondered if it would ever really happen. Now that it had, he felt outside of himself. He felt as if he were watching another man accept the position as emperor of Roden. He felt as if—

  Out of the corner of his eye, Daval saw movement. Suddenly soldiers poured into the room. Soldiers wearing the green and gold colors of House Luce. At the Ruling Council’s table, Hirman Luce had stood up.

  The lords around him let out exasperated groans. After such a long time spent voting, this was adding insult to injury. The final vote had not even been close; Luce, with his six votes, came in third behind Britstein and well behind Daval. This was poor form on Luce’s part.

  But the groans quickly turned to panic as Luce swept around the Ruling Council’s table, pulling a dagger from beneath his robes, and stabbed Mandiat in the back, over and over again. Lords shouted in panic, called for their guards, huddling closer and closer together in the center of the room. More soldiers entered the chamber.

  “The emperorship is mine!” Luce shouted, as Mandiat’s body collapsed to the ground in front of him. Luce was splattered in blood from shoulder to knees, and held the bloodied dagger triumphantly above his head. Daval found himself fixating on a single red drop that had found its way onto the High Lord’s nose.

  “It should have been mine by rights,” Luce said. “Amok was right about one thing: this vote was a farce. I’m going to make it right.” He looked to his guards. “Kill everyone who voted for Amok or his bitch Britstein. But leave Amok and Britstein. I want to deal with them myself.”

  Daval was aware of the guards closing in on the huddled mass of lords in the middle of the room, himself among them. Then he had a realization. He was emperor, now. And he wouldn’t stand for this.

  A pity I couldn’t bring the tiellan girl.

  With the strength given him by the Fear Lord, Daval leapt onto one of the tables so he stood taller than all in the room. He turned to Luce. “Call off your men,” he said. “As your emperor, I command it.”

  Luce laughed. “You know the funny thing about all this?” he asked, spinning his bloodied dagger in his hand. That spot of blood on his nose was smeared, leaving a thin line of crimson. “You couldn’t command a goat if you wanted to, and yet here you are, expecting me to obey your orders.”

  Daval turned to the soldiers around him. “I am your emperor,” he said, his back straight, his voice firm. “I command you to stand down. There is no need for further bloodshed here. If you stop now, you will not face my wrath.”

  A few of the soldiers hesitated; if they had been outside in the hall, they had surely heard Daval’s election to the office of emperor. And while they knew their purpose, while they knew they were here to mount a coup, many hesitated.

  “If you bloody kill him, I’ll be emperor, and you’ll all be rewarded for your loyalty,” Luce shouted from the front of the room. Daval could almost hear the man’s eyes rolling as he spoke. He had not realized how insane Hirman Luce was until this very moment. A critical error on his part.

  Those soldiers who had hesitated glanced at one another, at Luce, at Daval, and then advanced once more.

  Daval sighed. He had already demonstrated his power once tonight. He supposed there was no harm in demonstrating even more of it. He snapped his fingers. There was utter and complete darkness. He heard Hirman Luce’s deranged screams above the shouts of confusion and alarm.

  “Daval, you son of a bitch! Your petty tricks will not stop me! You’ll die for this, you bastard!”

  Daval only shook his head. “These are not tricks,” he whispered, although his voice was now magnified, filling the room, merged with another voice—a deep, rolling voice, wreathed in flame. “These are not petty.”

  And then, all around him were screams, and beautiful, unfettered terror.

  26

  Tinska

  CINZIA EYED THE CITIZENS of Tinska as she and Jane walked through the main street of the town. She tried not to feel suspicious of them, but recent events had not made her very confident in how she or anyone from the Harmoth estate might be treated here.

  First, there had been the men who had followed the tiellan woman Ocrestia back to the estate, pestering and threatening her. Knot had handled the situation, and sent the men packing. Then there was the nighttime attack, but so far no officials in Tinska had acknowledged the event, despite the men Knot had killed. Nevertheless, antagonistic feelings towards Jane’s family and the Odenites had only grown since, and not just against the tiellans. Almost every one of Jane’s followers who entered the town now complained of ill treatment by the townspeople—even those who had come from Tinska themselves. Most reports consisted of name-calling and rude gestures, but one man—a human—had been cornered in an alley by a group and beaten quite savagely. He had barely made it home.

  Knot, upon seeing what had happened to the man, had wanted to go into town and find the people responsible. It had taken a great amount of coaxing from both Cinzia and Jane to remind him of his duty. He had reluctantly agreed, but Cinzia worried he still might seek out those responsible. There was a part of Cinzia that also wanted that revenge. But starting an all-out war with the population of Tinska would be disastrous on all fronts. It was one thing to defend oneself against violence; quite another to go on the attack.

  “Here,” Jane said, stopping in front of a dry goods store. Cinzia followed her sister inside, a bell clinking as they entered. They had nearly run out of parchment paper for their translation, and were running low on candles and ink as well. Cinzia had suggested that they ask someone to go into town for them—she did not relish the idea of facing persecution, especially when people might recognize them as Odens. But Jane had insisted they go. Just b
ecause they were leaders of the new Church did not mean they could take advantage of their position.

  “Can I help you?” asked the young man behind the counter, a smile on his face.

  Jane returned the smile, and proceeded to tell the young man the materials they sought.

  Cinzia felt a pang of… what? She was not sure how to describe the feeling, other than to say that she missed being a priestess. She missed being recognized by the white-and-red and the Trinacrya. She missed being served, sometimes even feared. It was selfish of her and she knew it, but she did all the same.

  The young man scribbled down a list of the items Jane requested: candles, parchment, bottles of ink, quills and a box of candies.

  “What are the candies for?” Cinzia asked, one eyebrow raised, as the young man went off to fetch the items.

  Jane shrugged. “I don’t know, I thought the children might like them.”

  “The children? You mean Sammel, Ader, and the triplets?”

  “Well, yes, but there are dozens of children on the estate, now. I mean all of them.”

  Cinzia nodded. She never would have thought to bring candies back for the Odenite children. Perhaps that’s why Jane was the one in charge, Cinzia mused. Which was fine with her. She was not fit to lead, in more ways than one.

  “Have you thought any more about my latest candidate?” Jane asked.

  “I have,” Cinzia said. Jane had suggested that the tiellan woman, Ocrestia, become one of the nine disciples. At first Cinzia had been shocked—a tiellan as one of the nine disciples? Tiellans were only allowed to be the lowly disciples in the Cantic Denomination; they couldn’t hold any form of the priesthood.

  But the more Cinzia thought about it, the more it made sense. They were not seeking to create another Denomination; they were seeking to create the Church of Canta the way She had meant it to be, something that harkened back to what the Goddess Herself created when She walked the Sfaera. Why not include the tiellans? Why not give them positions of leadership?

  “And what do you think?” Jane asked.

  Cinzia sighed. “I have some reservations. Some humans will not like the idea of a tiellan being called as a disciple, put in such a prominent position.”

  “If my disciples are to bring Canta’s teachings to our followers, then yes, that is exactly what it would be,” Jane said.

  “There will be humans who don’t take kindly to that. And if we are truly trying to build a following, I fear that might deter people from our cause.”

  “We are trying to build a following,” Jane said. “But we are not trying to lure people in. If people choose to follow us for what we are, we will gladly take them in. We don’t want those who can’t embrace our ways wholeheartedly.”

  Cinzia nodded. It was the response she had hoped to hear. “Then I think we should do it,” she said. “If anything, her selection might help improve relations between the tiellans and the humans. Or, at least, show that intolerance is not acceptable.”

  “That is my hope,” Jane said. “Then we shall speak with her as soon as we return, and ordain her if she accepts.”

  “Why the rush?” As the one who would do the ordaining, Cinzia had her reservations. She had reluctantly taken on that responsibility, acknowledging that no one else could, but it still weighed heavily on her shoulders.

  Just then, the young man returned, his arms full. “Here you are, my Lady. We found everything except for the feather quills, but we should be getting another shipment of them in the next few weeks.”

  “Wonderful,” Jane said. “And no matter about the quills; I believe we have enough to last until you get more. How much do we owe you?”

  “Follow me,” the young man said, nodding his head toward the counter. “My father will do the reckoning.”

  The young man walked to the counter where an older man now stood, having appeared silently while Jane and Cinzia were talking. The older man, who looked very much like his son—both had dark, thick hair, bushy eyebrows, and both were short, shorter than Cinzia—examined each item before passing it to his son, who packed them in a box.

  “Very well,” he said, looking up, meeting eyes with Cinzia and Jane. “Your total comes to…” His voice trailed off.

  Cinzia swallowed hard. This couldn’t be good.

  “You’re the two elder Oden girls,” the man said. It was not a question.

  “We are, sir,” Jane said.

  “You two and those ruffians you’re attracting to your estate are causing a lot of trouble around here.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jane said, “but the people gathering on our estate are not ruffians. They are normal people, like you and me. If they have caused any harm, it has only been to protect themselves.”

  The man snorted. “That’s not what I heard,” he said.

  “I don’t care what you’ve heard.” Jane’s voice was stern and Cinzia nudged her; they did not want to cause any more trouble than necessary. “Any trouble caused has been by ruffians from Tinska. We have done nothing to provoke them. I assume you didn’t hear about the gentleman from our estate who was cornered in an alley and beaten within an inch of his life a few days back?”

  The man glared at Jane. “No, I’ve heard nothing about that.”

  “That’s no surprise,” Jane said. “I don’t know who is provoking the people of your town to hate us, or who is spreading misinformation, but I suggest you learn about us before you persecute us.”

  The man’s eyes narrowed. “You’re Jane, aren’t you?” he asked.

  Jane nodded. “I am.”

  The man’s eyes turned to Cinzia. “And you’re the oldest? Cinzia?”

  Cinzia’s throat was dry, but she managed to whisper a soft, “Yes.”

  The man’s stern expression softened. “Bah. I remember you both coming here when you were girls. You were harmless back then.” He met Jane’s eyes. “Are you harmless now?”

  And, just like that, Cinzia remembered the man, remembered the store. She had come here with her father as a child.

  “I don’t know about harmless,” Jane said. “But we are the same girls you knew all those years ago. We have no ill intentions, let alone towards Tinska.”

  “I shouldn’t serve you,” the man said, gruffly. “If townsfolk knew I did, they wouldn’t like it. Might be consequences.”

  Jane nodded, seeming to understand. “We don’t want to cause you and your family trouble,” she said. “While we may disagree with the reasons behind it, we will leave.” Jane turned, and Cinzia made to follow her sister out the door.

  “Wait.”

  Cinzia and Jane stopped, and Jane looked over her shoulder.

  “I don’t know what’s going on, but I don’t believe you mean us harm. Take the box and go, quickly.”

  “Thank you,” Jane said, smiling. “We will not forget your kindness.”

  “I fear I might not, either,” the man muttered. Jane paid him in silver coins. The son, wide-eyed, had remained silent and staring through the whole exchange.

  “Good luck to you and yours,” the man said as they left the store. “I hope all this dies down soon.”

  “As do I,” Jane said.

  That may no longer be a possibility, Cinzia thought.

  27

  Cabral residence, Turandel

  ASTRID LOOKED UP AT the large double doors of Olin Cabral’s tower-house, which sat on the Sea Road, just north of the Slice, the road that cut the Five Fingers in half through the center of the city, running west to the sea. The doors were heavy things, oak, painted black, twice the height of a man, and studded with vicious-looking iron spikes. Unnecessarily vicious, in Astrid’s opinion. No one would be storming the city of Turandel any time soon, let alone an obscure tower-house. Cabral’s little fortress was all for show. Of course, there had been a time at the beginning of the century where the people had begun to suspect what Cabral was. His residence had almost been stormed, then. Perhaps the spikes weren’t completely superfluous.

  Sa
ndea had arranged the meeting. The woman had contacts in every corner and class of the city, and Astrid had spent her first few days in Turandel asking Sandea’s contacts about the Storonams under the guise that the noble house had once been acquainted with Lucia Oroden’s parents. But nothing she had found would lead her to the Nazaniin or anything that might help Knot. Finally, fearing her silence towards Cabral might offend him, Astrid had asked Sandea to arrange the dinner.

  And, now, here she was. At Olin Cabral’s doors. Astrid took a deep breath. She had hoped to find out something that would help Knot and get out of Turandel before her silence toward Cabral became suspicious, but things hadn’t happened that way. If she fled the city now, Cabral would likely find out and track her down. Astrid was fast, and good at covering her tracks, but Cabral had taught her much of what she knew, and had a few hundred years’ experience more than her besides.

  And she couldn’t leave without finding something that might help Knot. Cabral might have information; if there was anything worth knowing in this city, Cabral would know it. Even though the information would likely come at a price.

  Slowly, the doors creaked open, leading directly into the tower-house; there was not space enough in Turandel for anyone to have curtain walls, except for those surrounding Castle Storonam. Like the other tower-houses in the south of the city, Cabral’s was a large stone structure, with thick walls, strong doors, and arrow slits, but Cabral’s house was particularly large, taking up almost an entire block of the city, towering six stories into the sky, and the stone had been whitewashed and then painted black. The paint had chipped over the years, so while most of the exterior was dark, it was scattered with pale spots.

  The whole thing was very extravagant, but if Cabral’s business was anything like it had been when Astrid was last in Turandel, he could afford it easily. A successful merchant was often more wealthy than a noble these days.