“Ok, Pi’Vari,” I said, glad to have had a few hours to relax after our last argument, “what did you find?”
“Firstly,” he began, “the symbols we observed—those belonging to Targel, Targelian, Narcath, this ‘Colossus,’ and the Iron Butcher—were my primary research subjects. Unfortunately, our library is considerably more limited than the Imperial Archives but I believe I have found a connection between these entities, tenuous though it may be.”
I was shocked, but I really shouldn’t have been. In four hours, Pi’Vari had somehow managed to connect all of those dots using ‘only’ the resources of Antolin’s library.
“In fact,” he continued quietly after seeing my surprise, “it is possible that we were intended to find these passages in a timely manner.”
Now my eyebrows shot almost through the roof. “What?”
Pi’Vari gestured to the corners of the pages to which the dozen or so books were currently opened. “These pages are all folded over at the bottom corner in a precise fashion; a unique habit Antolin has when he wishes to mark a passage for later reading.”
I furrowed my brow in confusion. “Couldn’t Antolin have been researching these books himself at some point in the past, and the earmarks are left over from a long time ago?”
Pi’Vari shook his head. “I do not believe so Jezran, because many of these books are quite recent additions to the collection. I do not remember seeing some of them in the library before, and they were prominently located in positions usually held by other books. Antolin left them as some sort of message, I am certain of it,” he finished, and I was forced to agree with him. I didn’t know enough about the library’s previous catalogue or arrangement, but Pi’Vari spent every possible waking moment in here so if he said they were new books, then the only reason he would be wrong is if he was lying.
We needed to proceed quickly, so I gestured for him to continue and my herald took a deep breath. “I believe that Targel—who would become Targelian The Just, or The Hammer, as it was more commonly known—is responsible for the collection of vessels we found in the Chamber of Domes. It would appear you were correct,” he said with a nod to me, “that the chamber is some type of trophy collection, but likely not for the reason you assumed.”
“Go on,” I said, glad that we weren’t at each other’s throats for the moment.
“Targel’s first charge was seemingly benign, but torturous: to look after the life cycle of its fellow gods,” Pi’Vari explained. “This included collecting their remains, whatever those might be, and returning them for the purpose of some unknowable ritual which would recycle their essences. This would allow for the birth of the next generation of gods to take their respective places in their respective pantheons.”
“So those vessels, as you call them,” I mused, “really were the remains of long-dead gods and the Targel was the one who put them there?”
Pi’Vari nodded. “It would appear so, but clearly they were significant portions of the dead gods’ essences. Even if those vessels merely represented one or two percent of each god’s essence, the collection there is nearly three hundred in number…” he trailed off.
“Meaning,” I picked up where he left off, “that there is enough essence there for a handful of full-powered gods. What would be the purpose of doing that?”
My herald pulled a large, abused-looking tome carefully in front of himself. “I do not believe Targel knew what it was doing, or at the very least I believe it had no long-term designs for its actions,” he replied matter-of-factly. “I believe that Targel was being manipulated by Narcath, more commonly known as the ‘Mother of Nightmares,’ or sometimes the ‘Queen of Terror’—which title is interesting in itself since the gods rarely identified with a specific gender.”
Pi’Vari slid two smaller books toward me and turned the old, decrepit tome over slowly so I could see the contents of the opened pages of all three books and I immediately understood what he meant.
Illustrated perfectly in each of the books, complete with some of the chips and ancient scrawling I had already seen, was the black circlet we had recovered from Sherwyn’s vault. It was depicted in the oldest book as being worn by a woman with impossible curves and barely a scrap of clothing hanging from those curves, surrounded by a crowd of people who were either screaming in rapture or clutching their heads in terror.
In one of the smaller books, the circlet was shown to be worn by another woman who appeared to be sleeping, and in the final book was a drawing of a large man, wielding a hammer which must have weighed at least five hundred pounds, standing over a similarly impressive man he had apparently just defeated. Under his long, flowing hair was a glimpse of the same circlet.
“The first,” began Pi’Vari, “is an artist’s interpretation of Narcath as she brings her own particular version of ‘rapture’ to a group of her most devout followers. The second,” he pointed to the image of the sleeping woman, “is said to be an illustration of Narcath’s High Priestess while she communes with her goddess using the circlet as part of some greater ritual. And the third,” he nodded to the hammer-wielding badass, “is a rendition of the most famous depiction of Targel standing over its fallen ‘brother,’ whom Targel had just defeated in a pitched battle which had transformed an entire mountain range into a desert of boulders.” Pi’Vari snickered before adding, “At least, that is the story which the primitives told each other.”
I let the last statement go by, pretending not to notice. “The circlet’s details are too precise,” I mused, “maybe all of these images somehow have a common source illustration which would explain the uncanny similarities?”
Pi’Vari looked wounded, but I knew it was just an act. “Jezran,” he began, “I have verified that each of these artists—and the authors of their respective books—had no connection to one another. Sourcing information is a fundamental component of Imperial society, and I can with absolute certainty rule out any form of connection between these artists,” he paused and let that sink in before taking a breath. “The only image which must have come from another source is the third one, but that is also the first appearance of the circlet in local recorded history so it was most certainly not a derivation of one of the others.”
I wasn’t convinced. “You’re certain?” I pressed, and Pi’Vari rolled his eyes.
“Yes, Jezran,” he said in exasperation, “I am certain.”
Finally, we had something concrete to go on. I leaned back in my chair and rubbed my eyes. “So somehow, this Narcath is involved in our little conflict. How did she escape the last Purge?”
Pi’Vari shook his head. “According to Imperial Records, she was destroyed long before the Purges,” he said with finality.
I lifted my eyebrows in surprise. “Another example of Imperial misinformation, perhaps? We already have proof that at least one wizard has escape Imperial control,” I reminded him.
“I cannot say for certain,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I believe it bears repeating that Narcath was reported destroyed nearly two centuries ago, long before the Great Purges which cleansed these lands of their superstitious enslavement to the gods.”
“And yet it looks like she’s behind the attacks on Coldetz,” I countered.
Pi’Vari shook his head adamantly. “I do not believe that is the case, as we are in possession of her Kor’Degar circlet, without which she is unable to manifest her powers directly in any meaningful way.” I had never heard the term ‘Kor’Degar circlet’ before, and at my obvious confusion, Pi’Vari continued, “Kor’Degar artifacts are usually granted as a boon to the most devout follower of a god,” he explained. “Each god was only given one such artifact, created at the same moment of its own ‘birth,’ supposedly. The reason for limiting the number of such devices to one per god was likely related to maintaining a balance of power within the pantheons, since the normal restrictions limiting a gods’ manifestation in our world are significantly lessened when a devout follower employs a Kor’Degar dev
ice.”
Realization dawned on me as he explained the limiting number of these artifacts. “Narcath has more than one of these things,” I said with certainty.
Pi’Vari shook his head. “That is impossible, Jezran,” he lectured, “the secrets of their creation were lost long before humanity walked the world.”
“Narcath has more than one of these things,” I repeated firmly. “I saw it in the time echo, when I killed Mistress Tyreva in the dome chamber.” I winced at the sudden memory of seeing her body strike the stone wall with that sickening crunch. “It was a little bit different in appearance,” I continued after a moment’s pause, “but there is no doubt in my mind that she has at least two of these things, including the one we have in our possession.”
Now Pi’Vari was intrigued, and his eyes seemed to shine with anticipation. “What was different about its appearance?” he asked excitedly. “The chance to document the simultaneous existence of two such devices would be an unprecedented discovery!”
I shook my head slowly as I recalled. “The geometry of the other one seemed a bit more precise, but the largest difference between the one from Sherwyn’s vault and the one I saw in the echo were the intricate etchings,” I traced my finger along the complex patterns covering the surface of the circlet represented in the most detailed drawing. “The one Tyreva wore was perfectly smooth, while every inch of this one is covered in these patterns. Other than that, it was a perfect match for the one we left in Coldetz.”
“Intriguing,” mused my herald, “I do not know the significance of the differences you describe, but I must insist that Imperial Lore adamantly states that only one such device is known to exist for any god, no matter how high or low their station may be within a given pantheon.” He turned the oldest book around carefully and studied the drawing carefully. “It would seem we have yet another mystery before us,” he said thoughtfully.
I nodded. “Did you find anything else that might help us?” I asked hopefully.
Pi’Vari nodded. “Indeed I did,” he answered as he opened another book. “Aside from various sources confirming my memory that the creatures known as the Iron Butcher and the Colossus are not truly gods in the traditional sense—and that they were believed destroyed at least half a millennia ago,” he thumbed through the pages before stopping on yet another earmarked spot, “I also see that Antolin was researching rather…complicated aspects of aura compatibility.”
I furrowed my brow. “Aura compatibility? You mean like how some wizards are more adept at casting healing magics, while others are better at Summoning or Divinations?”
“Yes,” he replied hastily, “but I cannot decipher what he meant to tell us. There seems to be some connection between this,” he pointed to the circlet, “and this,” he pointed to the book outlining some theoretical differences between the various auras, which had been classified according to their color, hence my (or Jezran’s) middle name ‘Cobalt,’ referring to the specific color of the aura he had been identified as having before enrolling in the Wizard’s College. “Unfortunately,” he continued with a hint of despair in his voice, “there are only a handful of people in the city who I believe could connect the two subjects given our time constraints, and none are likely to assist us without our providing complete disclosure as to the purpose of our inquiry.”
“Well,” I decided after a moment’s consideration, “we have to take these books with us then. Make sure you find every single book Antolin marked in this fashion,” I instructed, “and prepare them for transport after tonight’s banquet at House Listoh. We need to finish this research, even if it’s in Coldetz.”
Pi’Vari nodded his assent. “I agree. Antolin clearly is trying to give us a clue of some kind, and it behooves us to decipher that clue as quickly as possible,” he replied.
I stood from the table. “Good work, Pi’Vari,” I thanked him with a respectful nod, “your research skills and knowledge have once again proven invaluable,” I said pointedly.
Pi’Vari stood and bowed, but I couldn’t tell if he intended the gesture to be mocking. “I live to serve House Wiegraf,” he replied just as pointedly.
I turned to Dancer, who had listened intently to the entire conversation, but I had no way of knowing how much he understood. “It looks like the next step’s up to you, little man,” I said with a grin.
Dancer flashed his teeth in a savage grin. “Dancer ready for new steps,” he answered with every bit as much relish as I had expected.
I shook my head slowly. “I need you to only use old steps, Dancer,” I admonished him. At his look of almost shocked confusion, I continued, “I don’t want our enemies knowing our full strength. You’re strong enough to deal with any Champion that might challenge us,” I said confidently, “we don’t need you using any new powers, or ‘steps,’ you may have learned since accepting that mark,” I explained with a gesture toward his forehead.
His expression changed from outrage to resignation. “Master say, Dancer obey,” he said through gritted teeth.
I clapped him on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, Dancer,” I assured him as cheerfully as I could manage, “I’m guessing you won’t have to wait very long to try out your ‘new steps’.”
Chapter XXV: Knights and Tempo
We left Wiegraf Estate a little over an hour before sundown, which I knew might be cutting it close if we ran into the kind of trouble I expected, but I didn’t have a choice. We needed as much information as possible before forming of a plan, and our research had yielded plenty of new info that I needed to process.
Listoh Estate was only ten minutes’ brisk walk from Wiegraf Estate, and we were no more than halfway to our destination when trouble found us.
A magical, floating craft—which was smaller than the patrol skiff but still the size of a four door pickup—came to an abrupt halt in front of us where it hovered just a foot or so above the ground, and out climbed an unfamiliar cast of characters.
The first to set foot on the ground was clearly a High Wizard, but I didn’t recognize him. He wore yellow and black robes, and had a small rod in his hand instead of the more commonly seen wizard’s staff. He had blond hair and a medium-large physique, but was otherwise nondescript.
Behind him was an arrogant-looking man with a beautiful, wicked sword like they used for duels between noblemen in old Europe. The basket hilt was covered with inset gemstones the color of the rainbow, and the man himself had a large yellow and black cape bearing an emblem bearing the head of some animal that looked like a cross between a wolf and a boar.
“Jezran Wiegraf,” came the voice of the swashbuckler, which was so shrill and high-pitched that I actually winced reflexively, “you are charged with the unlawful reproduction of magics which rightfully belong to House Urkalia!”
Now I recognized the patterns of the wizard’s robe; House Urkalia was a well-known lackey of House Tyrdren, and Pryzius Tyrdren had counted Urkalia’s Selections in our draft class as ‘friends’ during his time at the College. I assumed the wizard standing before me was one of those men.
But I had no idea what he meant by unlawful reproduction of magics belonging to House Urkalia. I was about to open my mouth to answer when Pi’Vari stepped forward and amped his own voice up to maximum, which once again made me wince.
“Who dares to hurl accusations at my Lord in the street, like some common urchin throwing rotten vegetables at his betters as they pass?” my herald demanded.
The man with the sword stepped forward threateningly. “My Lord, the distinguished Kaven Urkalia, has made such a claim. If your Lord were not such a coward,” he spat, “he would have answered these charges in private when they were first presented! My own most gracious and patient Lord has been left with no choice but to demand your Lord,” he snorted derisively, “answer these charges before he once again disappears under whatever rock he has chosen for his hiding hole!”
“Kaven Urkalia,” said Pi’Vari, tapping his finger to his chin emphatically, “would tha
t be the same Kaven Urkalia who graduated three years after my own Master, Jezran Wiegraf, despite having enrolled in the same class?” he stopped with a look of obvious confusion before perfectly miming a revelation. “Ah yes, which class saw my own Lord and Master Jezran Wiegraf selected First?!” The swashbuckler looked enraged, but Pi’Vari ignored him and continued, “Not only is there such disparity between their respective worth to Veldyrian—as established during that same Selection process—but unless I am mistaken, your Lord,” he spat in a perfect emulation of the other man’s earlier attempted insult, “is merely an Apprentice, and has thus far failed to make his proper respects to the Journeyman standing before him!”
Pi’Vari paused, and I folded my arms expectantly. I was glad to see my herald going after someone else for a change, and it didn’t hurt that he was clearly enjoying the situation as well.
The High Wizard now identified as Kaven Urkalia stepped forward and bowed exaggeratedly. “Journeyman,” he said flatly.
I nodded my head. “Apprentice,” I replied after a pregnant pause.
“Now that formalities have been satisfied,” hissed the swashbuckler, “what is your Lord’s reply? Will he make all due recompense or shall we bring the case directly to the Magisters?”
Pi’Vari turned to me and I shrugged my shoulders as if to say I had no idea what they were talking about. Not that it really mattered, since I had known Pryzius would come at us somehow and now that it was here, we had to step up and deal with the challenge.
My herald grinned wryly as he turned to face the swashbuckler. “My Lord suggests that your Lord return to his usual post beneath his Master’s robes before he loses more than his dwindling dignity,” Pi’Vari said, his voice as smooth as silk.
Revelation (Seeds of Humanity: The Cobalt Heresy) Page 29