“Where are you going?” Tarlak asked as Haern headed for the door.
“The castle,” Haern said, pulling his hood over his head. “The king cannot turn a blind eye to this chaos any longer, and no matter what it takes, I will convince him of that.”
“Are you sure it’s safe to go out there alone?” Brug asked, tilting back his chair so he could look over his shoulder at him.
“Safe?” Haern asked, pushing open the door to their tower. “No one’s safe, not anymore, and that’s why this must be done.”
Many times Haern had sneaked into the castle, and as on many occasions before, his message for Edwin would not be delivered to the king directly. No, there was another who was far easier to reason with, the one who truly controlled the city, tugging at whatever strings he must to make the frightened, immature puppet that was their king dance the proper dance. To his room Haern went, scaling the walls of the castle and crawling in through an open window, using extra care given the daylight.
Haern had expected guards to be posted at the door of Gerand Crold’s room deep in the heart of the castle, but he’d expected wrong. Pushing it open, he was once again surprised to find Gerand actually within, instead of hiding elsewhere or rushing about the city trying to make sense of the craziness.
“Do you have a death wish?” Haern asked the middle-aged man, who sat in a chair facing the door, a bottle of wine in his left hand, a glass in his right.
“I’ve come to certain conclusions over the past decade,” Gerand said, taking a sip. “If people like you, or Thren, or that Muzien fellow wish to have me dead … well, then I’m dead. After today, I thought I’d be getting a visit from one of you three. Must admit, I’m happy you’re the one to show.”
Haern shut the door behind him, then leaned his back against it. Arms crossed, hood low over his face, he stared at the king’s adviser, trying to get a read on him. The man seemed broken somehow, a far cry from the confident bastard Haern was used to dealing with.
“Why aren’t you at the king’s side?” he asked.
“Veldaren’s glorious king?” Gerand asked, pouring more wine into his glass, then lifting it in a toast. “You mean that cowardly, spoiled, infantile snot of a boy, whom Ashhur has ordained through the luck of being from the right set of testicles to be our lord and master? Fuck him.”
He downed half the glass, then set it aside.
“He’s hiding in his room,” he continued. “Possibly crying into a pillow, or maybe ranting and raving at whatever guard is stuck listening to him. He’s convinced he’ll be blamed for what happened at the city center, which means his paranoia’s about to go through the castle roof. Gods damn it, what I’d give for a good insurrection, so long as my head didn’t join Edwin’s on the chopping block.”
Under normal circumstances Haern would have been amused, but his exhaustion and anger kept the smile from his face.
“We don’t have time for this,” he said. “That display earlier should make it clear Muzien cannot be ignored. You’ve relied for too long on people like us to do your dirty work. It’s time for the city’s soldiers to attack the Sun Guild. Order the four-pointed star banished, and have your men sweep the city.”
Gerand laughed, first softly, then louder and louder, his shoulders rocking violently by the end.
“Ah, Watcher,” he said, rubbing a tear from his eye. “What city have you been living in the past few years? There’s a greater chance of pigs falling from the sky on a clear day than what you’re requesting.”
“I’m not requesting,” Haern said, letting an edge enter his voice.
“Spare me. You think your threats matter? The king is terrified for his life, and unlike the lions who have ruled before, he’s more of a turtle. He’s going to pull into his castle here, close his eyes, and pray that everything just goes away.”
Haern pulled back his cloak to show a hand resting on the hilt of his saber.
“Put down that glass,” he said. “You’re drunk enough, and I need you to listen. Either the king comes out of his shell, or he dies. Have I made myself clear?”
“As clear as this glass,” Gerand said, lifting it up to him in another toast. “But the moment he moves against Muzien, as you demand, Muzien will execute him. So you’re threatening to kill the king if he doesn’t go and voluntarily get himself killed. See the conundrum? And honestly, when it comes to which one he’d rather be killed by, well, Muzien pulls a more intimidating presence than you. No offense, of course, but you don’t seem the type to enjoy torturing a man. That elven bastard? Trust me, the king’s heard the story of his Red Wine. You’re not winning this competition.”
Haern lunged forward, grabbing the man by the front of his shirt and yanking him to his feet. Struggling to control his anger, he flung Gerand against a wall, knocking over the bottle of wine in the process. The red liquid poured across their feet as Haern leaned in close, pinning the man.
“Have my years here meant nothing?” he asked him, seething. “How many bodies have I left in my wake? How many challengers and upstarts have I beaten down with my sabers? Muzien was the one who fled our ambush, not the other way around. Our boot is on his neck. We’ll break the Sun Guild if we keep up the pressure. You say the king fears him more? Then I will go to him myself, and let him see the fury in my eyes.”
He shoved Gerand once more, then turned to leave.
“Wait,” the adviser said, grabbing Haern by the arm. The act, while brave, was also stupid, and Haern whirled about on instinct, breaking his grip and ramming him back against the wall. Gerand let out a groan from the pain of the contact, but he did not relent.
“You don’t understand,” Gerand said. “You’ve been in our shadows so long, we know you. We know you protect this city. We know you’ll do everything you must to keep us safe. Even the king, in all his stupidity, knows it. That’s why you can’t win this through fear, nor through intimidation. You would protect us; Muzien would destroy us. He calls himself a god, and do you know what gods do to followers who turn on them? It isn’t pretty. It isn’t kind. Edwin will make whatever deal, and sacrifice whatever lives necessary, to spare himself that wrath.”
“You fear what Muzien would do to you if you betrayed him,” Haern said. “What you should truly fear is what this city would become if you served him loyally. We cannot let him win. Please, Gerand, you know that, deep down, you have to know that.”
Gerand looked down to the wine spreading across the stone floor. Letting out a sigh, he retrieved the bottle and set it atop his desk. It seemed his entire body sank as he turned away, fingers still clutching the bottle’s neck.
“I do know,” he said. “And though it’s tantamount to treason, I will order the city guard to no longer turn a blind eye to the Sun Guild’s dealings. It won’t be the war you want, Watcher, but after that debacle at the fountain, it is the best I can do.”
Haern reached out and put a hand on the man’s shoulder.
“You’re doing the right thing,” he told him.
“Perhaps,” Gerand said, looking over his shoulder and offering Haern a half-smile. “And we all know what happens to those who do the right thing in this fair city of ours. Now leave me to drink what’s left of this bottle in peace.”
Haern bowed low, offered his thanks, and left.
When he shut the door, he heard the bottle smash against its other side, heard the softest of sobs.
CHAPTER
16
The dreams had come every night, but this night, Nathaniel sensed they were different. As the world shifted and took shape around him, he felt a greater awareness to its movements, its textures, sounds, and tastes. The ground beneath him was hard and black, as if burned by a great fire. The sky above was a massive blanket of stars, with not a single cloud to mar the image. Wind blew from the west, sticky and hot like the breath of a giant beast. Spinning about, he saw only barren wasteland, no trees, no grass, no homes or walls or signs of life. Amid it all, a rumble shook the land ever so
slightly. It was the growl of a lion, of such size Veldaren was but a flea compared to a single claw on its paw.
The time approaches, spoke a voice like thunder. Panic spiked through Nathaniel’s chest, and despite spinning on his feet, he could not find the speaker. The dreams, no one had spoken to him through the dreams since … since …
“Since you asked how you might serve,” said another voice, deep, powerful, and directly behind him. Nathaniel spun, and his jaw dropped as he stared up at the enormous man. He wore black plate mail, and strapped to his side was a gigantic sword. He was unquestionably handsome, short hair a deep brown, skin like bronze, jaw square and firm. Emblazoned across his chest piece was a roaring lion reared up for battle, stunning in its minute detail. With every movement the light shifted, making it seem like the lion’s fur blew in the wind.
“Who are you?” Nathaniel dared ask.
“You know my name, yet you ask anyway,” said the stranger to his dreams. “Why do you not trust what you know to be true?”
Nathaniel swallowed, throat so dry he had to fight down a cough. The man’s eyes … there were stars shifting within the eyes, spinning, twinkling …
“Karak,” he whispered. “You are Karak.”
The god smiled.
“I am, child. Come. Sit with me. We do not have much time.”
Nathaniel was about to ask where they might sit when a slab of stone tore up from the cracked ground, dirt slaking off it. Its surface was wide and impossibly smooth, and when Nathaniel put his hand on it to climb atop, he was surprised by the chill it had despite having just come from beneath the ground. Granted, he was in a dreaming land, so why should he expect it to make sense?
Karak sat down beside him, and he lifted his divine gaze to the heavens.
“It’s peaceful here,” he said.
Nathaniel looked about the wasteland, held back a shiver.
“It’s so empty,” he said.
“Aye, it is. But when you look up at the stars, child, does it matter? Stare at their beauty, and then let your ears listen, and your heart feel across the void. Do you sense it? No neighbors curse one another. No man seeks to take what belongs to his friends. No woman seeks to poison her enemies. There is no hunger. No suffering. Close your eyes, and feel the comfort that comes from belonging in a place of proper Order, a place free of chaos, pain, and sadness.”
It felt as if the world were glassing over. Nathaniel stared at the stars, seeing them for the first time, and not just them, but things shimmering behind the stars, colors and shapes and whole worlds beyond his understanding. His awareness expanded, and for the briefest moment he felt himself one of thousands, in a land full of men and women soaking in the beauty of the heavens, without need for sleep, or food, or warmth. No movement, no drawn breaths, just statues of thought and wonder. In the soft silence, Nathaniel felt the faintest touch of that peace Karak offered, a place without fear or doubt or failure. In that tide of humanity, he was like all others, neither greater nor worse. His future responsibilities weighed nothing, for no longer did faceless, nameless men and women circle his family like vultures, seeking to tear away everything that might be his. A painless existence. A hateless future lost in the void of an eternity that stretched on and on, promising something new with each shift of the sun.
“This is what you want?” he asked. Before his eyes the stars whirled past, as if he were hurtling into the deep black skies, and lost in wonder, he watched a swirling nebula of red collapsing into a burning yellow orb of such a size he could never comprehend.
“It is,” Karak said. “Life leads to sin. Humans are broken, their failure inevitable, their flaws built into the very core of their souls. There will be no perfection, not in their current forms. I merely seek to offer them the closest resemblance they might ever achieve before the collapsing of the days. To do that I need your help, child.”
“My help?” Nathaniel asked, and he felt himself pulled back down to the blasted heath, and to the god sitting beside him. The fields of men and women were gone, and he wondered if he’d ever truly seen them. “Why do you need my help?”
“Because I am imprisoned,” Karak said. “There are cracks, tiny and fleeting, that my strength might slip through, and to my faithful I deliver all the power I can. Through servants I must act, Nathaniel, through the faithful and the brave. One such servant comes for Veldaren, and you must help him. I catch glimpses of the future through my prison, and I see the importance you will play, if you would only obey.”
It seemed so strange to be asked to carry such a mantle. Karak was a god. He could surely see how young he was, how frightened and helpless. What could he possibly do? But as another warm wind blew, he glanced to the stars, and in them he saw moons dancing, saw giant orbs each surrounded by a dozen rings that revolved in perfect synchronization. Breathtaking, truly breathtaking.
“What must I do?” he asked.
Karak’s giant hand settled onto his shoulder.
“The gems of the chrysarium,” he said. “You must find them, and keep them close. They once adorned the hem of my cloak when I walked the land of Dezrel centuries ago, and my power still dwells within them. They will keep you safe, and should you cry out my name in faith, they will strike down those who would do you harm. Do you understand?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“I do,” he said.
“Good. Now wake, child. Your life is in danger.”
Nathaniel’s eyes snapped open, and despite the depths of his dreaming, he felt wide-awake. Scanning the darkness of his room, he saw nothing, heard no one, but there was no denying the pounding of his heart in his chest, nor the warning Karak had offered.
The chrysarium, he thought. As he slid from his bed, he felt certain he must find it, the collection of gems the most important thing in all the world for him to protect. But where was it? It’d belonged to his grandmother, so where might it have been put? In her room? Padding across the carpet to the door, he paused, hand on the knob, and felt paralyzed by indecision. He must find it, he knew he must find it, but where?
An idea came to him, and it felt troubling to even consider it, but what else was there? Doing his best to remember the way his grandmother had prayed, he closed his eyes, bowed his head, and whispered the words.
“Karak … I am your servant. If … if you would, if my dream wasn’t just a dream, then show me where it is.”
Nathaniel jerked backward as if a needle had stabbed his forehead. For the briefest moment he felt he could not breathe, and flooding the space before his eyes he saw flashes of images: Victor stumbling to Melody’s dead body, her fingers curled about the chrysarium, her blood leaking over it—then Victor taking it from her—then Zusa demanding it be destroyed, her voice warbling and distant. The last image was of Victor promising his mother she would never see it again.
As suddenly as they’d come, the images vanished, and Nathaniel let out a gasp as he recovered.
Victor’s room, he thought, and he felt so certain he might as well have been the one to put it there. Given how they’d yet to bury him, they’d not decided what to do with his possessions. Pulling open the door, Nathaniel stepped outside, and was immediately stopped by the guard positioned there.
“Whoa there, little master,” said the guard, a friendly man named Argus who’d been guarding his room for the past several nights. “What are you up to at so late an hour?”
Again he felt a moment of panic. No one could know of the chrysarium. He knew that as he knew the sun was yellow. But what excuse could he use to wander the mansion unescorted?
“I’m hungry.”
Argus lifted an eyebrow.
“You’re hungry?”
It felt like such a lame excuse, but Nathaniel nodded anyway.
“I just wanted a snack from the kitchen, that’s all.”
The tall man shrugged.
“I probably shouldn’t, but I’ll tell no one if you don’t,” he said. “You’re not going alone, though. Follow me
.”
As the guard led the way, Nathaniel felt his mind at odds with itself.
Tell him, he thought. Warn him you’re in danger!
But to do that would mean explaining himself. That would lead to questions, perhaps losing the chrysarium, and he felt a gut panic at the idea of his mother’s learning of his dreams of Karak. Fear paralyzed his tongue, and fear kept his feet moving. Maybe if he got there quickly, everything would be fine. Maybe simply leaving his room would save him from whoever would dare break into their mansion.
But what about Mother? asked his pounding heart. She’s in danger, too!
Karak’s face flashed before his eyes, that peaceful smile, but accompanying it was the earth-shattering growl of the lion. He felt it in his belly, felt it rattle his bones, and he pulled his arm across his chest, clutched the stump of his other arm, and shivered.
“You need a blanket or a robe?” Argus asked, keeping his voice low as they turned a corner. “I’m hot as the Abyss, but I’ve got all this armor, so it’s not right for me to judge.”
Nathaniel’s teeth chattered, just once before he could clench his jaw tight.
“I’m fine,” he said, and he offered no further explanation beyond that. They were just passing by the door to Victor’s room, and it cried out to him like a wailing child.
“Wait,” he said, halting. Argus took another step, then turned about, confused.
“This is hardly the kitchen,” he said, raising an eyebrow.
Nathaniel’s fingers drummed across the stump of his arm. What to do? Lie? Pretend he had some sort of authority and demand to be left alone? Swallowing down a growing lump in his throat, he decided to appeal in the only way he knew: with honesty.
“I … I need something from Victor’s room,” he said.
“Do you now? Should I ask what it might be?”
“No, you shouldn’t. And I don’t want you telling my mother, either. This is really important.”
Argus frowned, and Nathaniel endured his stare as he waited for the man to reach a decision.
A Dance of Chaos: Book 6 of Shadowdance Page 18