by John Donlan
Luscard looked unhappy over the subtle reprimand, but not enough to hide the excitement in his eyes. “I will not disappoint you father.”
“When do you have to leave?” Torelle looked aggrieved at the thought of her father leaving. Darius had to remember that she was still young, and she had been sheltered from the outside world a great deal. She rarely left Marsh End, other than to go riding, and when she did, she was always and without fail, accompanied by a retinue of the castle guard. This would be the first time Gadmar had been away for any length of time while she had been alive. It would be a difficult parting for her. Gadmar was her rock.
“I will be gone for several months at the very least. In the meantime, I want you to be strong, my dear. Learn from your brother, but obey him as you would me. Perhaps you might even aid him in his investigation. I know you have a keen mind. The library rarely sees a day go by without you browsing the stacks.”
Torelle smiled at the compliment and her cheeks glowed. To Darius, it seemed as though she had almost forgotten that her father was leaving. She would remember quickly enough.
Their business concluded, they rose to leave. As Luscard and Torelle exited, Darius caught his father's arm and pulled him to a stop.
“Be careful in West Reach father. I remember well enough the stories you told me of your time there. Lords plotting against one another, metaphorical daggers waiting to plunge into unsuspecting backs. I suspect you will have enemies there that you are not even aware of, especially now. Those vultures will leap at the first hint of weakness. Many of them have been eyeing the Southmarsh for years, Duke Harrow among them. He may see this as an opportunity too good to pass up.”
Gadmar laughed bitterly. “More than you can imagine, my son,” he said. “But I will be wary. In the meantime, look after your sister. And find for me the butchers who destroyed our hopes for peace. If you find them, send me word. Do not worry about secrecy. By the time the truth is known, it will not matter anyway.”
“I will find them, father,” Darius swore. “I promise you.”
Seven
Vanesca was known as the Bronze City, and with good reason. Shuvani, peering out from the curtained window of her jostling palanquin, stared down into the desert valley and was blinded by the light of the sun shining from the gleaming spires and soaring ziggurats that dominated the city. Many of the most prominent sandstone structures in the city were topped and capped by bronze plates that radiated shafts of light outwards like beacons to the Gods.
Which was the whole point. Because once, long ago, Vanesca had been the religious heart of the empire. Though worship had faded in recent years, the temples and sanctums dedicated to the old pantheon still existed, and they were just as radiant and magnificent as they had always been, despite the long passage of time since their construction. In the very heart of the city was the biggest of all the ziggurats, a massive four-sided step pyramid of sandstone that had taken nearly fifty years to construct. It dwarfed the surrounding buildings and soared up like an artificial mountain to incredible heights. Almost the entire top third of the structure was plated in bronze and it was impossible to look at without risking permanent damage to the eyes. Even after the sun had set it still shone, radiating out the light of a thousand candles that were lit religiously every night by the devout priestesses of the temple.
It was the Hall of Tulvash, the Scorpion Goddess, known also as the Poisonous Mother. Once, she had been soul of the empire, and worship of her had been a requirement of all citizens, despite the religion itself being matriarchal in its leadership. She had brought prosperity and expansion to the empire, or so people had believed. But over a century ago, a new empress had rose to the throne, and she had despised religious devotion in all of its myriad forms. She had slowly ended the divine rule of Tulvash, and the people had fearfully turned from her worship, terrified of the Goddess' wrath but more fully afraid of defying the edicts of the empress. She was a living, breathing entity, something they could see and dread, whereas Tulvash was unseen and unfelt in any real and substantial way.
The empire had not fallen because of the fading worship, as many had believed. It had grown even stronger, crushing enemies on all sides until it controlled almost half of the continent. To the people of Vanesca, this was a sign that the Gods cared little about their mortal worshippers, and had never truly played a part in the empire’s rise at all. They had turned their backs on Tulvash and the rest of the Tho'reen pantheon.
But the temples remained, serving those few who continued to keep the faith. Shuvani's mother had been one such woman. She had hated the fall from grace of the once powerful Goddess, and she had refused to end her worship. She had tried to instil in Shuvani the same devotion of faith, but Shuvani had been wilful and disdainful of religion, even as a young child. Her eyes had not been cast towards heaven, but towards power in this life. She had gone to temple, as her mother had insisted, but she had not become one of the faithful in the way her mother had hoped.
At least, not then. Years later, however, on her mother's death, Shuvani had gone to the temple for the ceremony of passing to bear witness to the end of her mother's mortal shell. It was there that she had first encountered the priestess, and everything had changed.
Her palanquin descended along the sloping road to the enormous stone walls of the city and passed through the colossal arch that marked the entrance. It was a bumpy, uncomfortable ride, and it was slow. The four muscular slaves who bore her palanquin did so without complaint, but their faces showed the strain they were under. Shuvani could have reached her destination far quicker on foot, and with less bruises; even faster on horse back. But her status would not allow it. She was high born, and she had to show the people that at every opportunity, lest they forget.
The streets were packed with a heaving mass of humanity. Bare chested slaves toiled beneath the commands and the whips of their owners, and free citizens pushed through the unwashed crowds, headless of those around them, intent only on their own small, insignificant lives. Shuvani hated them all. They were nothing but mindless insects, passing each day with the same pointless activities and toils as they had the last. Their lives were like the small and pitiful flame of a candle, burning down constantly until there was nothing left. It was why they needed to be ruled, to give their lives purpose.
The crowds parted before the palanquin as if by magic. When they were too slow, Shuvani's soldier escort used their whips, lashing out at commoners and slaves alike. Even so, their progress was slowed to a crawl through necessity. The streets of Vanesca were at overcapacity, and it was impossible to move any faster.
Shuvani sat back and fanned herself slowly. The heat was unbearable. She would not have been surprised to the see the capped bronze on the buildings melting and running down the ziggurats like blood. But then, it was always hot in Vanesca. The desert was nothing if not consistent. Shuvani was used to it, having been born and raised amongst the blistering sands. But there were times when she could almost envy the people of Losarn, far to the north, where the climate was cooler and the air did not burn ones lungs.
Her destination was the Hall of Tulvash. The priestess was not expecting her, but Shuvani doubted the woman would be surprised by the arrival. She must know by now that Shuvani was aware of what the empress had done. She had to know that Shuvani would come for an explanation, and likely her life.
That was what puzzled Shuvani the most. Why would the priestess lie? What could she have hoped to gain from the deception? If she had wanted to see Shuvani fall from power, she would have needed to try much harder, and what little joy she might glean from this betrayal would be very short lived. But the woman had never shown any hint of hatred towards Shuvani. In fact, the reason she had come forward in the first place was because of her apparent respect for Shuvani's mother.
Which put her back where she started. Why lie, when nothing would be gained?
Shuvani always thought in such terms. Every action she took was weighed carefully a
gainst all other options, calculated to benefit her and bring her closer to her eventual goal. She often wondered why everyone did not think the same way, why the masses of the empire were apparently so content with their lot. And then she remembered that they were inferior. Meaningless. They had to know that themselves. Some were born to rule, others were born to serve.
The palanquin slowed and came to a stop, before being lowered carefully and with whatever grace her slaves could muster. It touched the floor, but Shuvani remained where she was until the door opened. One of her slaves leaned in and helped her out.
She was standing on the great plaza at the heart of the city, and the ziggurat rose up before her, its tip almost scraping the sky. It was a product of the early days of the empire, when such incredible feats of construction were seemingly in abundance. Back then, slaves had been streaming into the empire from conquered lands, and resources and manpower seemed never ending. When the empire’s expansion had come to a grinding halt, so too had the ambitious building projects. Nothing so huge and dominant was ever built these days, which was a pity, as far as Shuvani was concerned. Even the palace of the empress, built less than one hundred years earlier, was subdued when compared to this. But Shuvani had vowed that when she ascended to the throne, she would bring back the glory of those old days. Her palace would rival even the homes of the Gods themselves.
Palanquins and slaves were forbidden on the grounds of the temple, despite the decline in worship. It was an edict that had never been revoked. Shuvani's position was such that she could have defied it without fear of repercussions, but she saw no gain in doing so, and would only call unwanted attention to her presence here. Instead, she waved to her retinue to wait with the palanquin and then started up the broad sandstone steps that led to the cavernous doorway of the temple alone.
She was wearing a floor length dress made from the finest cotton. It was a deep crimson in colour, with a neckline so low it would have made a whore blush. Her dusky skin was on full display. And yet for Shuvani, this was modest. She would have preferred something lighter, less flowing and tighter against her body, but such things were not suited for a visit to the temple. It would have drawn too much attention, and when she came here, attention was the last thing on her mind.
Shuvani swept into the dim, torch-lit interior of the temple and then paused on the threshold. No matter her thoughts on religion, she had to admit, even if just to herself, that the massive hall of sandstone and chiselled artistry was a work of incredible devotion and zeal. It was imposing, while maintaining an air of welcome and quiet contemplation. A person entering could not do much but pause and consider her insignificance within the world. Every inch of the place was designed to inspire faith and worship.
Huge sandstone pillars supported the ceiling far above, and each one was etched with images depicting the great Goddess in all of her terrible and awe-inspiring grandeur. She was always depicted as having the torso, head and arms of a beautiful, desirable woman, with long black hair woven into dreadlocks, and dusky, dark skin. Her powerful lower body was that of a scorpion. Chitinous legs and a long segmented body ending in a long, thick, curling tail tipped with a poisonous stinger. Protruding from the front half of that terrifying lower half was a pair of huge pincers. The carapace was a deep crimson in colour, and it radiated fortitude and strength.
Shuvani had always been fascinated by the image of the Goddess. Even as a child, when her belief had been non-existent, she had been inspired by the mix of confident femininity portrayed by the human-like upper body, and by the raw strength shown in the scorpion. Tulvash was meant to represent the two halves of womanhood – sensuality and power - and it did so in such a profound manner as to have helped shaped Shuvani's growth as she became a woman. In ways that she did not like to admit, she had modelled herself after Tulvash, her outward appearance that of sublime femininity, while inwards, she was a coil of raw power and focused, determined purpose. She could crush her enemies with one hand and caress her friends and lovers with the other.
At the far end of the enormous chamber was a long, smooth stone platform that could be reached by means of several steps etched into the sandstone. At the top of this platform was the altar of Tulvash. It was cut from volcanic black stone into a smooth mirrored surface. In ages past, sacrifices had been performed almost daily on that altar, but such practices were long over with. Now it was nothing but a ceremonial artefact, used by the priestesses of Tulvash to offer praise to their Goddess. It had not seen blood in over fifty years, perhaps longer. Sacrifice had been outlawed by past empress’ and it had never returned.
Standing at the altar and looking away from Shuvani towards the massive statue of the Goddess at the very end of the temple was the high priestess, a woman named Thursa. She had been the head of the temple for as long as anyone could remember. She was as old as the hills, and she looked every day of her age, even if her actions seems to suggest otherwise. She was as agile as she had ever been, and the glint in her eyes betrayed her keen intelligence, along with the fervour and religious zeal that characterised her very being.
Shuvani walked forward quickly, eyes locked on the back of the priestess. She could feel her anger building again and she had to force it down. She would hear the woman out first, and then, if she was not satisfied with the answers she was given, she would bring her wrath to the fore.
As she drew close, Thursa – who's arms had been raised in supplication – turned her head ever so slightly. “I have been expecting you, my child. I know why you are here.”
“If you know, then you already have an answer to my question,” Shuvani said. She came to a stop a few paces behind the woman and took a deep, calming breath. “Why did you betray me?”
Thursa was silent for long moments, and for an instant, Shuvani wondered if the woman was even going to deign to answer the question at all. The lack of a response made Shuvani’s blood boil with anger. At last, Thursa lowered her arms to her side and turned to face Shuvani.
She was dressed in long, intricately woven robes that covered every inch of her aged, wizened body, save for her head. Her hair, once lustrous and black, was now greyed and limp. It hung down over the shoulders of her robes, framing her wrinkled face. The skin was sagging around the priestesses eyes and mouth, pulling her features downwards and making it seem as though she was in a state of perpetual sadness. That was perhaps true, considering the worship of her Goddess had faded almost to nothing. But her eyes still sparkled with vigour and vitality.
“I did not betray you, Shuvani Maraat.”
“LIAR!” Shuvani almost spat the word. Her anger had risen swiftly to the surface, overriding her instinct to remain calm. She took an enraged step closer to the woman. “The empress is brokering for peace. She has slid the blade of the dagger beneath my ribs and laughed as she did so. And you! You told me a lie! You told me that war was inevitable, that I should build my army and prepare the soldiers for the conflict to come. You told me I was destined to sit in the throne, so long as I followed the will of Tulvash.”
She wanted to reach out and throttle the old woman. Strangle her and leave her body lying atop the altar for anyone to find. Her head felt as though it was about to split open like a cracked egg, and the only way to ease the pressure was to give in to her anger. She struggled to push it back.
“It is true that the empress has sent her finest diplomats to negotiate a treaty with the Losarn. It is also true that I told you that you would sit the throne and rule our great empire. Nothing has changed, my child. One thing does not negate the other.” She smiled. “Though the empress may not wish it, war is still coming. I have seen it. I have had the truth whispered in my ears from the lips of Tulvash herself. Blood will cover the sands. Blood will spill across the forests and plains of the kingdom. All of the blood you could ever wish for, Shuvani. Our Goddess has willed that it will be so.”
Shuvani felt the anger start to drain away. The woman was not lying. She could see it in the priestesses eyes
and in the fervour of her expression. Every word was true. But it made no sense.
“How can it be?” she hissed. “What should I do? My army sits idle.”
“They will not remain so for long,” Thursa said. “Already the gears of fate turn, guiding the world towards bitter conflict. The delegation that our beloved empress sent north is dead; butchered within hours of crossing the border. It was not the doing of the king, nor even of his subjects. But that will not matter when news of the deed reaches the empress. What do you believe her response will be? To shrug her shoulders and send fresh negotiators? To resign herself to the loss and move on as if it never happened?”
Shuvani sucked in a breath and held it. Was it true? Were the delegates all dead? She had spies in the royal court of the kingdom. She had ways of finding out. But it would take time. If it was true, however, then it changed everything. The empress would have no choice but to declare war for the treasonous actions of king Tomar. Even if he was not responsible, nobody would believe it. The people would call for blood and for vengeance. Especially if Shuvani helped it along by spreading news of the failed peace attempt. But to do that, she would need proof. She was certain that the delegation's mission had been kept secret, even from those most loyal to the empress. Shuvani would make sure that it did not remain so for long, and in so doing, she would force the hand of the empress.
“Do you have proof of your claim?” she said. “How do I know that this is not just another lie?”
“I do not have evidence yet, but you can find the proof you require, if you follow my instructions. Already the news travels south. You are not the only one with spies in the kingdom. Before long, the empress and all of her court will know what has happened. But there is one from the delegation that lives yet. A young woman; a slave. Find her, and you will have your proof before any other. You will have the upper hand. Prepare your army. Have them ready to march north. Prepare them for the winds of strife that will soon break over all the land.”