Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones

by Vox Day

  “There are a lot more than six men and women still out there on that field, Marcus Valerius.”

  “And none of them need die. Unless I miss my guess, the Solactae are about to return Dardanus and the others to us. As soon as their bones are safely stowed in that wagon, we’ll march the captives back to the castra and leave them there when we depart this afternoon. The rest of the legion will be ready to march by the time we return.”

  “We’re leaving today? I thought we were going to stay here for two more days.”

  “So did I.” Marcus shrugged. “There are ten thousand armed Larinii marching this way and those are only the ones of which we know. I don’t plan to be here when they arrive. Trebonius and the others can grumble all they like, but it’s not their decision. The first priority is to get to Montmila and see how much of Vallyria is still loyal to its House, if not Amorr. What we learn there will determine our next march.”

  The priest turned back to look at the prisoners shivering miserably on the snowy field. Behind them, the twelve gruesome standards had disappeared from the wall tower. “Tell me truthfully, Marcus: What would you have done if the Solactae hadn’t given in and agreed to return the remains? Would you still have spared the young ones?”

  Marcus shook his head and smiled. “I believe I’ve confessed to enough sins that I needn’t admit any hypothetical ones, Father. Let us just be grateful that the cup was taken from me.”

  THEUDERIC

  Lord Silvertree smiled at Lithriel and Theuderic, but it was a cruel and arrogant smile, the smile of a wolf that finds itself cornered by rabbits. “I have heard so much about the unusual abilities of these Michaelines—how fortuitous it is to have the chance to test them for myself! Had I only known the occasion would present itself, I would have devised a number of experiments. But, even as it stands, this is an opportunity that shouldn’t be missed.”

  Theuderic rolled his eyes. “You may be more capable of defending yourself than we are, but I don’t think it would be wise to to fight the Amorrans in Amorr. It won’t be long before you’ll find yourself fending off half the Order of Saint Michael.” The high elf appeared to be listening, so Theuderic continued. “You suggested before that we leave. Why don’t we do that? I have some money with me, as well as my sword. Are there any of your possessions at the palace that you simply can’t abandon, Lithriel?”

  The elfess shrugged. “Just some clothes. But you can always buy me more.” Then, to his surprise, she asked about the two nuns with whom they’d come to the city. “Do you think the Watcher will revenge himself upon the other Savondese who came with us?”

  Silvertree laughed. “It’s highly unlikely. Insofar as I understand their peculiar perspective, doing so would be akin to revenging oneself upon a pile of rocks. No, little cousin, your acquaintances should be in no danger once the two of you depart.”

  “Well, what do you think, my lord comte?” Lithriel asked him. “Do we run, or do we take our chances and return to the palace? And if we run, how do you propose to help us escape, Lord Silvertree, since our horses are at the palace stables and I saw no sign of any stables here on the premises when we arrived.”

  Theuduric smiled at his lady elf. “One of my favorite things about being a royal mage is that we have been given a standing order to preserve ourselves for further service to his majesty at all costs. If there is reason to believe the danger is real, and I suppose there is, then I have a solemn duty to take every measure to preserve mon vraiment peu de derriere. To say nothing of the aesthetic responsibility to preserve your much more beautiful specimen, my lady.”

  “So chivalrous.” She smiled at him, and he had the sense that, had Silvertree not been there, she would have stuck out her tongue. No, he thought with a mild frisson of pleasure, more likely waggled the specimen referenced. “So, we run!”

  “Only because duty demands it,” he said. “Naturally. Now, about those horses that apparently don’t exist? It would be a shame for you to sneak us out of here, Lord Silvertree, only to see us caught before we reach the outer wall.”

  “You won’t be sneaking out, nor need you worry about either the inner or the outer walls,” the high elf responded. “I chose this manor for a very specific reason. Not only is it right on the inner wall, but it also has excellent access to the roof via a staircase. This evening, once darkness falls, your transportation will arrive. It seems you are not alone in your affection for the race of man, Lady Lithriel, as one of the high king’s household has struck up a peculiar friendship with a consul’s son. She is coming here tonight at my request, as a favor to the consul.”

  “I’m surprised the high king permits any such friendship.”

  “He doesn’t know about it. And anyway, it is not a friendship of the sort the two of you appear to enjoy. The Lady Shadowsong knows Mael would have both their heads before permitting anything of the sort.”

  “I don’t understand,” Theuderic was puzzled. “How is this Shadowsinger going to get us out of Amorr?”

  “Shadowsong, my dear magician. And she’s going to get you out the same way she’s going to arrive: on the back of her warhawk.”

  “You’re jesting!” Theuderic looked at Lithriel, who shook her head. “You’re not jesting? We’re actually going to fly over the walls?”

  “It’s that or dig under them, and dwarves are rather hard to come by in these parts. She’ll fly you out to a place I have prepared against the need for our own retreat. Then she will leave you there, and in the morning, you can walk due east to the nearest town. It will take some time to get there, as it will probably be close to noon by the time you arrive, but you’ll be able to acquire horses there and you won’t need fear anyone pursuing you.”

  Theuderic felt a little ill. It was bad enough that they weren’t going to have the chance to go back to the palace for their things, or even rest after their long journey south. He’d anticipated several months of relaxing, being able to share his bed with Lithriel on a regular basis, and perhaps even indulging in the famously decadent Amorran baths before having to travel all the way back to Savondir again in the spring.

  The idea of an immediate return in the middle of winter was horrific enough without the thought of having to actually fly through the air, on what would have to be the most precarious of mounts. He’d heard of the elven warhawks before, certainly. That was why he’d pursued the spell used to tame them. But he’d never truly laid eyes upon one. Did they have saddles of some sort? They must have. But what if one fell off?

  “You can’t simply start throwing fire in their midst to see if they can stop it.” Theuderic didn’t have much sympathy for the Amorrans, but he knew enough about elven inhumanity from the last year with Lithriel to realize that the high elf was likely capable of slaughtering every human in the near vicnity out of simple curiosity. “You’ll burn down the bloody city! Half these buildings are about one brick away from collapsing already!”

  “Would you rather I permitted them to remove you from my protection? They have no quarrel with me, magician. And it is going to be some time before nightfall.”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Very well then.” Silvertree pointed at the books and scrolls scattered around the table. “Miroglas, please see that all of the various codices and documents are safely stowed for travel, then bring them to the roof. And lay out our travelling clothes as well, since we should depart tonight. I intend to go above myself now, and then we shall see if we cannot arrange to disperse our unwanted visitors.”

  He indicated that Lithriel and Theuderic should follow, then he led them to a circular staircase that culminated in a door that opened out onto the roof.

  The sunlight was dazzling as there were only a few clouds interspersed throughout the blue sky, and while the wall blocked the view to the west, the view of the city to the other side was nothing short of spectacular. The Sanctiff’s palace, rising on its hill in the center of the city, could be seen in all its alabaster splendor, almost blinding as
it reflected the bright rays of the sun. There were many other wonderful buildings throughout the city, built of the fine white marbles that were quarried to the south, but none of them were quite as splendid as the one that held a dark cancer at its heart.

  Below, the Curian guards were easy to see in their distinctive red cloaks. There appeared to be twenty or thirty of them, including one with a tall horsehair plume that Theuderic guessed denoted their captain.

  It was even easier to spot the Michaelines, all five of whom were gathered in a circle on their knees and appeared to be engaged in either prayer or some ritual of their order. Wondering how their famous anti-magic worked, if it indeed was not some sort of Amorran sham, Theuderic summoned his power and caused flames to erupt from his outstretched fingers before banishing them again a moment later. He shrugged, feeling perversely disappointed by the ease with which he’d done so. Whatever the Michaelines were doing, it didn’t seem to interfere with his magic in the slightest.

  “You can’t feel anything?” the high elf had noticed his little experiment.

  “No, nothing at all. I can’t imagine you’ll have any problem casting whatever you like upon them. May I ask what sort of spell you have in mind?”

  “I don’t know if I can answer that question in your tongue. But wait and see what happens, then perhaps you can explain it to me.”

  But before the high elf could do anything, the captain of the Curian Guard spotted them atop the roof and first waved to get their attention, then cupped his hands around his mouth to call up to them. “Greetings, my lord ambassador. I trust you will forgive our indiscretion in visiting you in such numbers.”

  The high elf placed his hands on his hips and affected an indignant pose. “Who are you and why in the name of all that is clean and purified are you surrounding this embassy? Must I remind you that, for all intents and purposes, by treaty between consul and high king and by Amorran law, this residence is to be considered Elebrion itself? You, sir captain, are very nearly engaging in what could be considered an act of war and an offense against the high king himself!”

  “I am aware of that, and I sincerely apologize for any offense or inconvenience we have caused,” the guard captain shouted insincerely. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am called Nonus Sulpicius Deodatus, and I am captain of the third Curian century. May I enter the residence so that we may discuss this matter in a less public fashion?”

  It was little wonder that the captain of the church troops didn’t wish to continue the shouted conversation, Theuderic thought. The mere presence of the troops had been enough to attract a crowd, and now that their captain was shouting at one of the only elves—in fact, now one of the only foreigners—in the city, more and more people were beginning to stick their heads out of windows or join the crowd that was aimlessly milling around the soldiers. But not very closely, as many of the Amorrans appeared to be aware that the elven ambassador was a sorcerer and none of them looked as though they wanted to get too close to his most obvious targets.

  “Let your deeds be done under the clean light of the sun, Sulpicius Deodatus, and you need fear no evil of man or beast,” Silvertree answered the captain. “Is it not written? Now, state your business or begone. I have neither the patience nor the inclination to give an audience to those who arrive at my doorstep in the company of armed men.”

  Theuderic could clearly see the expression on the captain’s face, and he didn’t appear to be the least bit surprised or frustrated at the elf’s recalcitrance. “I have been ordered to escort your recent visitors, who are guests of the Sanctiff himself and under his protection, back to the palace. I am here in force because there is reason to believe they may be in danger, and the Most Holy and Sanctified Father wishes to assure himself of his safety. My orders were given by the Sanctified Father himself, who also wishes you and your colleague to come to the palace as well.”

  “If my guests are in danger, I assure you, Captain, I can guarantee their safety. They need fear no injury here in the elven residence. But I have had many visitors. Which of them concern you?”

  “The Comte de Thoneaux and his paramour. Unless I miss my guess, he is the man standing beside you.”

  “I am not inclined to play puzzle games, Captain. Now, lest I be forced to encourage your departure, I suggest you return to your master and inform him that my guests are beyond his reach and will be staying with me for as long as they wish. Nor do I, or any of my staff, intend to accompany you anywhere!”

  There was a long moment of silence. Theuderic could see that most of the crowd, which now amounted to more than three or four hundred people, were staring at the captain, waiting for his reaction.

  Deodatus puffed out his cheeks, looked down at his feet, then finally shook his head before addressing the three of them on the rooftop again.

  “This isn’t a game, my lord ambassador. I regret to inform you that if you and your visitors will not come with me, I shall be forced to enter your residence with or without your permission, as your appearance before the Sanctified Father is not a request. My orders are clear on this matter, and before you attempt to characterize this unfortunate intrusion as an act of war, let me remind you that I am in the service of the Church, not the Senate or the People.”

  “The offense to his Illustrious Majesty is the same, Captain, whether you do it in the name of your god or your government. But as you will, enter by force if you can. If you wish to do so, you will have to do it over my objections.”

  Sorcerous wards suddenly swelled to life, and the crowd gasped as, even in the daylight, the eldritch gleam of them could be seen by the naked eye. It wasn’t so much the power involved that was astonishing to Theuderic as the intricate skill they revealed. There were delicate layers upon layers, illusions piled upon magical reality, but very material traps that would kill as surely as any sword. It was like looking upon a deadly war machine that was made miraculously from the most expensive lace.

  The elven wards were impossible, and yet they surrounded him to the right and the left, above and below, and shielded him on every side. It was a tremendous working that would have taken every Immortel of L’Academie their cumulative lifetimes to construct, and weeks to enact, but Silvertree had erected it in a matter of seconds. Theuderic would have bet his life that it would kill every guardsman it didn’t send fleeing in fear as soon as the captain triggered the first one.

  The people surrounding the soldiers in the street saw them. They were meant to be seen, to be feared. All of them, excepting only a few young boys and three or four of the most intrepid observers, drew away from the guardsmen for fear of what the captain’s attempt to enter the residence might unleash. The soldiers saw them too, and they began to exchange nervous glances at each other, looking as if they wished to join the crowd and put some distance between themselves and their foolhardy officer.

  Only Deodatus and the Michaelines appeared to be unconcerned. One of the warrior-priests rose to his feet and conferred briefly with the captain before stepping forward and raising one hand toward the building as if in blessing.

  And then, as quickly as they had risen the wards disappeared.

  Theuderic staggered. He felt as if the air had suddenly grown heavy and thick, falling like a weight upon his shoulders. He tried the same spell he’d used just a little while before, but this time, the fire did not come to him. It was as if they were fish that found themselves caught in a huge invisible net, tumbling helplessly and inexplicably unable to swim away. He could barely here the astonished cries of the crowd as they reacted to the unexpected vanishing of the elven spells.

  He heard Silvertree saying something in a shocked and angry voice, and he guessed the high elf was cursing in his native tongue. “You can feel it too, magician?”

  Theuderic nodded, unable to speak. The sensation wasn’t painful, but it felt distressingly like being pinned under a heavy wool blanket, running out of air as the heat rapidly rose around you. The harder he tried to call upon his power, the
more the stifling, heavy weight seemed to press upon him. He wondered if the elf had it worse, or if his greater power allowed him to resist the priestly anti-magic more strongly.

  “What can I do, my lord?” Lithriel rushed to the high elf’s side and was helping him stand.

  “I can’t maintain them,” Silvertree gasped. “I never thought…Bessarias once said…it is too much!”

  He doubled over, and a severe coughing fit racked him.

  Theuderic winced and wouldn’t have been surprised to see blood on his lips when it ended.

  “Let it go,” he urged the elf. “Are you still trying to hold up the wards?”

  The elf nodded, his face uncharacteristically suffused with red and twisted with the strain of his effort.

  “Let it go! You have to drop them! The more you fight it, the more the spell grips you tighter.”

  “Not a spell,” the elf hissed. “Not possible!”

  “Please, my lord, do as he says,” Lithriel begged. “If you die, the wards will fall anyway and then your king will remain in ignorance of what these strange priests can do.”

  Pride warred with duty in the ambassador’s strange green eyes, until finally he sank to his knees and lowered his head.

  Barely a moment later, the terrible pressure disappeared so unexpectedly that Theuderic nearly lost his balance. Overcome with relief, he could do little more than place his hands on his knees and breathe deeply, a little of his strength returning to him with every breath he took.

  “I see you have lowered your wards, my lord ambassador,” the captain called up to the high elf. “Will you now permit us entry, or will you come out to us?”

  Silvertree looked at him, and Theuderic swallowed. They both knew there wasn’t anything more they could do.

  “I’ll go out,” Theuderic said. “Without magic, we can’t hold them off. They’re too many, and they can easily send for more. Perhaps they’ll be content to take me first and come back later for you and the others.”