by A. C. Ellas
“Why was the woman killed then?” Ioli asked, fingers flashing. “If it’s a net power loss, there must be some motive other than the raising of blood power.”
“I think that’s obvious, young Thezi,” Pajel replied, absently massaging his left shoulder with his right hand. “Someone wants S’Rak arrested, imprisoned or possibly executed.”
Rak moved behind Pajel and took over the massage. “Many people in this land no doubt want me dead, but how many have the ability to perform that act and clean up after themselves? The only mages I know of remaining in Koilatha are Ylion Forael and the sun priests Photas and Teson.”
Pajel leaned back into him with a contented sigh as Rak’s skilled hands worked the tension and knots out of his shoulders. “The only way I can think that the murder scene would be psychically clean is if the soul was sundered magically and held on this plane, out of reach of the gods.”
“Nothing can do that,” Rak protested, but then, he paused, reconsidering. “Wait. The chaos temple. It was full of sundered souls.”
“Yes,” Pajel agreed. “An entire nation of lost souls, bound to the stones of the temple they died to raise. What’s one more soul to the devourer? That temple is alive and aware, and it hates you, S’Rak. It has a chaos mage, Dienok. He is certainly capable of committing both the murder and the clean-up.”
Rak considered his friend. Pajel’s sect, the Kephi, were the spies and information gatherers of the dark servants. They were masters of disguise who dared go into the enemy’s very lair to learn of the Unmaker’s plans. Pajel was a Polemnic specialist; he’d come here specifically to investigate the chaos temple here in a land where no chaos temple should be. “I killed Dienok. Twice, now.”
“Better make it three times, S’Rak, because I swear to you, he’s alive and well.”
“We need to pay the chaos temple a visit,” Rak decided.
“Sir, you shouldn’t risk it. Nothing good comes from that place,” Tebber said from the chair he’d curled up on. He’d been held prisoner in the chaos temple, if briefly, and had been lucky to escape alive.
“I agree, but I am being accused of murder. S’Pajel is right; there is no foe, other than the chaos mage, who would have the ability to frame me so neatly. He is an excellent mimic, all chaos mages are—the lack of chaos at a scene that is, by definition, chaotic is almost a giveaway that the chaos mage was involved. He would have taken great care to disguise his chaos magic as something else.”
Rak considered how best to approach the chaos temple. If he rode his avtappi, he would be able to get a sense of the land nearby. The temple’s sphere of influence, while active, had been a full stadia in radius, and within that circle, not one living creature had moved other than the flies. He would expect that, if the chaos mage was dead, the active sphere of the temple would be decreased. But if it wasn’t, riding the avtappi might be dangerous, both for him and the beast.
He could go in on his dragon, which would minimize the issue of the flies, but would cost him in terms of how much he’d be able to learn about the active area, and that was the deciding factor. “Scorth, I want you to stay here but available to fly to my aid. I need to check how far the temple’s influence has shrunk.”
“I don’t think you should visit that temple alone. It’s dangerous.”
“Who would you suggest I take? My guards are not here, nor are S’Tyll or S’Liast. S’Ioli is only half trained, and the temple might recognize S’Pajel, which would be very bad for him.”
“Take Jisten. He’s your Valer. It’s his duty to help you.”
“Jisten thinks I murdered Kazia. And he is the captain of the palace guard. His duty is to the crown of this land, not to me. Besides, it is late watch and his duties require him to be awake during the day.”
Scorth crossed his arms over his chest and glared. “You can’t go there alone. I’ll tell Jisten.”
“Leave Jisten out of this. You are my dragon, not his. Start acting like it.”
“I will accompany you,” Pajel said abruptly. “I’ll risk the temple recognizing me—if it still stands. If it does, we’ll know for certain who’s behind all this, and you’ll need my assistance to fight him off.”
“I want to come, too,” Ioli told them. “I have battle experience, and my ayel is strong.” Ioli was a Dreamer—one of the Thezi who worked with the vranyxia. He had a very large pack of them answering to him, far more than any other young priest of his age and experience, his deep talent was one reason Rak had named him his assistant.
Rak started to shake his head then thought better of it. If Ioli was with them, they could cast a much stronger shield against the katrami flies. “Very well. We should go now. There are not many hours remaining of the night, and I would prefer not to face that temple in the light of day. Why give it an unnecessary advantage? S’Ioli, I think it would be wise to wear armor; I certainly intend to.” Rak stalked into the bedroom to don his armor. He wasn’t about to approach that temple otherwise.
I’m coming with you, too, Scorth told him telepathically.
Oh, really? replied Rak. And how will you manage that? Tyll took Vrema with him and she is the only avtappi who is willing to bear you.
I will ride Pondiki.
You are assuming that she will let you on her back. Or that I will wait for you.
I’m your dragon. You will convince her to carry me and you will wait for me.
Rak resisted the urge to sigh and roll his eyes as he shrugged the chain mail shirt into place. Tebber helped him lace the armor up beneath his wings. He replaced his black tunic, checking the blades of his twin short swords before returning them to their sheaths. He walked out of the bedroom and nodded to Ioli, who had taken his advice and was also wearing chain mail beneath his silk tunic. Scorth placed a bookmark on the page he was reading and closed the book before standing off the couch.
At this time of night, only every third gaslight remained lit, leaving the palace corridors shrouded in shadow. Rak found it restful, but as a priest sworn to the Lord of Night, he was blessed with the ability see in darkness. Ioli and Scorth flanked him as he led them to the extensive, sprawling collection of barns called the palace stables. Even here, all was quiet, and Rak collected the saddles for the two avtappi and carried them to their stalls. It didn’t take him as long to saddle the two beasts as it did to convince Pondiki to let Scorth ride her.
Vyld had been his mount since he’d been a novice, but the beast showed few signs of age. Rak saddled him quickly but left off the bridle. It was useless where an avtappi was concerned, and Rak didn’t feel like pandering to Koilathan expectations. The mind link between priest and avtappi flowed in both directions, enabling the stallion to know what Rak wanted of him. And the sight of an avtappi with his head free of visible controls was chilling.
Next, he saddled Pondiki, a mouse grey with dark points, and again, he neglected to add the bridle. Scorth was not bonded to the mare, nor was he a very good rider. If there was any trouble, the first thing Rak expected would happen was that Scorth would fall off the mare. Pondiki would take her direction from Vyld. As a result, there was no need for reins. He led the pair of avtappi out of the barn and joined up with his assistant. Ioli had saddled his own mount, Gun, and a spare for Pajel, who certainly didn’t have his own avtappi here in Koilatha. Rak made a mental note to see if Pajel’s mount could be summoned for him, but it would have to wait for now.
Scorth walked out of the palace as Rak led Pondiki over to the mounting blocks. Scorth required that aid to clamber gracelessly onto the avtappi’s back. The mare snorted her unhappiness, releasing a small cloud of smoke in the process. Rak soothed her with a mental caress then swung up onto Vyld’s saddle. Pondiki took position beside Vyld, Gun formed up on Vyld’s other side with Ioli in the saddle. Pyrrh loitered in the stable yard. He would translate to Vyld and Rak when called. Rak didn’t want to be seen riding through the gates with a saddled but riderless mount, it might jeopardize Pajel’s cover. The Kephi had left at
least twenty minutes ago, on foot and by the kitchen gate, feigning drunkenness.
Chapter Eight: Approaching the Temple
Rak and Ioli rode out the main palace gates with a cordial nod to the gate guards, who did not return the friendly gesture. Scorth glared at them but kept his mouth shut.
As soon as they were out of sight of the palace guard, Rak sent out a mental summons. A few paces later, the temperamental Pyrrh translated to their side. The stallion was a wild-bred grey with black stripes. He was neither a racer nor a warrior but something of a mix of the two types. Rak swiftly checked Pyrrh and his tack, but everything seemed in order. Pajel slipped out of an alley. Ioli had bridled the spare avtappi with the standard tooled leather hackamore, so Rak handed the reins over to Pajel with a smile and a nod.
Pajel had taken the time to change—he now wore the black and amber of his sect. Like the two Thezi, he had chosen a long tunic over pants, with a hooded cloak atop that. Rak actually preferred to wear tunics and pants to the more traditional robes, but the robes presented a certain formality and familiarity to those he had to deal with diplomatically. The robes subconsciously reminded those who saw him that he was a priest.
Rak gave Pyrrh’s shoulder a pat then turned to Pajel. “He is solid in a fight, should it come to that, and fast enough to keep up.”
Pajel held his hand out, a chunk of meat on his palm. Pyrrh lipped the treat from the man and took a step closer, bowing his head in acceptance. “Thank you,” Pajel murmured to the avtappi as he stroked the arched neck. “You’re a fine fellow, I can tell. I would be honored if you’d permit me to ride you.”
Pyrrh bobbed his head then pushed Pajel toward his saddle. The Kephi thanked the steed once again before he set his boot in the stirrup and mounted easily. Once Pajel was settled, Rak told Vyld to continue. His black stallion snorted, blowing out two puffs of smoke—one from each flared, red-rimmed nostril—and broke into a canter. At this time of night, the streets were almost deserted. A few laden wagons were creaking down the streets to deliver their goods, but there wasn’t any foot traffic or even mounted traffic for the dark servants to contend with.
They headed first down the broad Palace Road, which lead straight from the palace to the city gates and the trade road that led out of Koilatha. This was a pleasant boulevard with grassy medians between the two parallel roadbeds of fitted golden-brown stone. This close to the palace, the manors of the nobly born lined both sides of the road, until they reached an intersection with another road equally as broad as the one they rode. To one side was a huge open plaza, notable for the fountain in its center.
Four gleaming ochre and russet hippocampi statues shot jets of water into the air. The rearing gryphon that composed the central statue was also carved from the yellow stone, but the russet streaks on the wings lent a semblance of reality to the beast. Beyond the plaza was the enormous Temple of Light. The golden dome glittered even in the moonlight.
The avtappi swung onto Temple Road, still traveling at an easy canter that resembled a lope. Both sides of the road were now lined with the temples of the various deities of the House of Day. The Temple of Justice wasn’t found here, but elsewhere, next to the gaol, and the Temple of Death was just up the street from that. Those were the only temples in the city which honored any deities of the House of Night. Rak’s own God had no temple anywhere in this land.
They passed the last of the temples and reached the district of warehouses and trader’s concerns, for Temple Road paralleled the Otla River, and the river was the main trade artery of the land. The warehouses thinned out once they passed the docks, and then, they turned again, crossing the river on an elegant stone and metal bridge. The Otla Bridge was a marvel of engineering. Koilatha might be isolated and insular, but they had produced some truly fine minds. Despite its problems, Koilatha was a scholars’ paradise.
On the other side of the river, farms dominated the landscape, with a few scattered villages that mainly served as collection points for the produce, which fed the city. They continued to ride east along the river road for a time. Rak kept his attention on the northern side of the road, looking for a particular trail that connected to this road, one of the few inlets into the dense undergrowth that lined the edge of the road. On the other side, there was a grassy embankment leading down to the wide, placid river. Rak estimated the river to be over a half-stadia wide at this point.
Rak turned Vyld onto the faint track that would lead to the chaos temple. As far as he knew, this trail was the only way in through the thick undergrowth—by land. Flying over it, however, didn’t give him the time to prepare or to sense what lay about him. They rode single file, for the path was too narrow to permit them to ride abreast. Wet, cold leaves brushed over them unpleasantly, the branches stiffly resistant to motion. Rak checked each tree almost obsessively, but there was no chaos to be found. For all the unpleasantness, it was merely natural in origin, and once more, Rak found himself missing the dry, treeless vistas of home.
“The underbrush looks like it is reclaiming this trail. That is a positive sign, it might mean the temple’s influence has faded,” Rak said quietly to the others.
“Or it means the chaos temple is trying to keep us out,” retorted Pajel.
A few minutes later, they passed the invisible boundary of the chaos temple’s area of influence. As far as Rak could tell, it hadn’t moved at all. He paused, sending out his senses, and as before, there wasn’t a single living animal to be found within the temple’s boundaries. That wasn’t a positive sign at all. Nightstone amulets, blessed to repel the katrami flies, hung from the tack of their avtappi in strategic locations, but Rak still mentally prepared himself to cast a larger shield. Without animals to create the background noise of a living forest, they rode through a deep silence. Never had the creak of leather tack or the muffled thud of hooves seemed so loud.
After a ride that seemed far longer than a mere half stadia, they broke out of trees and onto the battle plain that encircled the chaos temple. Tall, saw-toothed prioni grass was broken only by the slender, pale stalks of flowers—symaia, sacred to Lord Pehroz, the God of Death. The skull flower only sprouted in soil that had been soaked with blood. Finding one here and there in the wilderness was not uncommon, for any blood could cause the tiny star-shaped seeds to sprout. The seeds were able to float incredible distances on four feathered tufts that resembled a pair of crossed bones. Most people were ignorant of the flower’s meaning. The fact that it was the only flower that was pure white also escaped the notice of most.
The grassy circle had once been a battlefield, and to this day, thousands of years later, bones and rusted equipment lurked in the roots of the hardy grass. Rak squinted toward the center of the plain, but he couldn’t make out any signs of the building that should be there, or rather, the ruins of that building he expected. And thus far, they hadn’t seen a single katrami fly. The others came up beside him, and they started across the plain together, maintaining silence more out of paranoid caution than real need.
Rak remained alert, eyes and senses roving. Where were the ruins? Where were the flies? He mistrusted the silence and lack of activity. They crossed the battle plain without incident and reached the center where the chaos temple had once stood. Rak frowned as he surveyed the remnants. Grey blocks were tumbled every which way, half hidden by the tall grass. Not one stone stood atop another, but the edges of the fallen blocks were still crisp, untouched by time. He dismounted and walked inside the grouping of stones.
The sense of chaos was there but faint, far less than it had once been. Rak looked for the hive of the flies, though if it still existed, it should be perfectly visible. The last time he had seen the hive, it had been a red wax and bone structure that was taller than he was. There was no sign of it now, nor any hint of katrami flies. Rak was frustrated. “This is impossible,” he said via fingertalk, not wishing to make any more sound than necessary.
“There’s not enough chaos here,” Pajel signed back. “But
the sphere of influence is unchanged.”
“Not enough chaos and yet, too many katrami are plaguing the city. Where is their hive? There is nothing here.” Rak cast his gaze over the ruins once more but still found nothing but the lingering, fading traces of chaos. “We might as well leave. This was a waste of time and clearly a dead end.”
“Perhaps,” said Scorth, aloud. “Or perhaps, like last time, the chaos temple is hiding from you.”
Rak glanced around the barren plain. “That is possible, since the area of influence has not changed. But if that is so, it is doing a much better job of it than last time.” He turned Vyld back toward the forest and the narrow path out; the others fell in beside him once more with Pondiki and Scorth bringing up the rear.
Chapter Nine: The Plans Flies Lay
A low buzz, more felt than heard, was their only warning. From the grass all around them rose the flies. Rak had never seen so many flies, had not thought that so many katrami flies could exist. They filled the sky in a solid mass of flashing metallic red and matte black, like a wall blocking the way out. Scorth tumbled off Pondiki immediately and Pajel and Ioli drew in closer to his sides, but thus far, the flies weren’t attacking. They were being held back by the power of the repellent amulets. Rak knew the power of those stones was finite, and given the number of flies, it would not be long before the flies overcame them.
Rak concentrated, focusing himself on pushing the flies away. He sensed Ioli’s power adding to his, deepening and strengthening the shield. The avtappi went from a sedate walk to a flat run in the space of two strides. The only way out, at least for the avtappi, was through the wall of flies, and the longer they waited, the worse it would be. Behind them, Scorth transformed, shedding his human seeming to revert to his true form. The black dragon powered into the sky, pursued by half the flies in the field. Rak winced as he sensed the flies scoring hits on the dragon, their razor-sharp mandibles more than a match for hardened scales.