Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle)

by Siana, Patrick

  “My sources have uncovered little in regard to any suspicious goings on in the court,” Josua said, “although Ogressa and Oberon have been seen skulking about together a little more than usual. Likely just their regular scheming, but it warrants keeping an eye nonetheless. Also, Oberon has recently bought a herd of Aradurian stallions and a handful of Aradurian mercenaries to bolster his household guard. Again, nothing all that out of the ordinary for him. Still, I don’t like it.”

  Eithne frowned. “Nor I. Uncle, I would like it if you used the entirety of your resources to look further into House Oberon and Ogressa’s maneuverings. I will give you a withdrawal note for the treasury. Spread coin around as you see fit to get the answers we need.”

  “If the two snakes are up to anything I’ll find them out,” Josua said.

  “Danica, how have you and Lar fared in your assignment?”

  “If any of the courtiers know anything about what happened in the banquet hall, then they are master thespians,” Danica said with a crooked half-smile. “Although everyone has a theory, each more hair-brained than the last.”

  Eithne smiled at the brazen young woman. “And what is the climate of the court like?”

  Danica’s expression turned serious. “Everyone is quite nervous, although you wouldn’t know at first glance, seeing how they carry on with their teas, luncheons, and soirees, but when they’re in their cups most let their guard slip and their tongues loosen. They’re in fear of another war and what it might mean for their coin purses, but also their hides. No one is inclined to trust in the innocence of the Ittamar, but most actually want them to be innocent because few can stomach a genuine threat of war. They like to perseverate about it, wear their bravado like a cape, but when the chips are down another conflict with Ittamar frightens everyone, save the Mycrum contigent.”

  “Huh.” The queen arched an eyebrow and leaned back in her chair. “I did not know that.” It seemed she had been wise in choosing Danica for her current assignment. She had chiefly made the decision to keep her occupied and out of trouble, but the cunning White Habit had easily earned the trust of the court where so many of her other informants had failed. “You have done well, Danica.”

  Danica beamed her crooked smile in response to the queen’s praise. “The problem,” she said, sobering, “is that they require proof that the Ittamar are innocent. Otherwise no one will openly come out in support of our position for fear of ridicule.”

  Eithne shook her head in disbelief. “Amazing—half the court wants to believe that the Ittamar innocent, but they won’t accept it publicly even though they have the testimony of Arcalum that the pawns that attacked us were under an enchantment. We’re lucky the Scarlet Hand’s minions failed in their attempt on my life, for if they succeeded you would be in the midst of a war that no one really wants but that would destroy two nations.”

  “We’ve been involved in the sordid political arena of Agia long enough to see how much evil can be done by this one’s slighted honor, or that ones ego-driven fear of losing face or being branded a coward,” Ogden said. “History has seen nations’ swords fall over a woman’s hand in marriage. Need I remind you of Antilla and Aquis of Erasteses?”

  “Your point, Ogden,” the queen said dryly, “is well taken. It seems that I’m not the only one that has found Danica’s report illuminating.”

  “I don’t know why people always think Elias is the smart one,” Danica said with an exaggerated sigh.

  Elias exchanged a smile with Danica, but his heart wasn’t in it as his thoughts cycloned. He couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something, something right under his nose. “We still don’t know how it was that King Mathias banished the seventh house, and how they plan on breaking the spell that has endured so long. Ogden, surely Sentinel Lore must have something to say on the subject?”

  Ogden opened his hands in a gesture that Elias had become familiar with as an expression of conciliation. “The Sentinel record of the day Mathias cast the geas has this to say:

  Mathias King bound them in iron

  and bound them in gold,

  bound them in the heart’s own blood,

  that shadowed seventh house,

  never to Agian soil return.

  “The account does not recount the spell or magic by which he cast the geas. It is generally assumed that the information was deemed too sensitive to keep written record of, for fear it might fall into the wrong hands.”

  Elias produced a pad of paper from his breast pocket and wrote down the bit of verse. Danica snorted. “He’s always written things down, ever since he was in knickers,” she said.

  Elias ignored her with practiced nonchalance. “Is that exactly what it says?”

  “Yes,” said Ogden, “although that is the translation from the old Aradurian, which was the language used by wizards of that time. But why such interest in that old yarn?”

  “Sometimes it’s the smallest of crumbs that may lead one to the granary, as my father used to say. There may be a hidden clue or cipher in the lines.”

  Ogden’s creased face wrinkled in a smile. “If there is a hidden clue, the son of Padraic can find it, but I would be remiss if I didn’t tell you that some of the greatest minds in Agia have poured over those records looking for clues, and have found nothing of consequence.”

  “I don’t doubt it,” Elias said, grim-faced, “but we are running out of leads, and time. Agnar is growing restless, as I imagine will his King if he doesn’t receive word of his cousin soon.”

  “Our hands are tied, Elias,” the queen said. “We cannot release Agnar and his men. Our only choice is to hold them and delay until we can produce evidence or convince the court that the danger issues from a source other than Ittamar. You’re perfectly right—we are running out of time. Blame must be assigned, and quickly.”

  Elias again had that nagging feeling in the back of his head that he was missing something. “That is why I am thinking that perhaps we should try a different tact.” He leaned forward. “We’ve no leads other than a necromancer’s sigil on some rotting corpses, and our two encounters with assassins from the Scarlet Hand. We’ve combed Lucerne and Peidra for clues or conspirators but uncovered neither.”

  “What are you suggesting?” Ogden asked.

  “We must discover how the Hand plans to break the curse that keeps their masters from our lands. That must be why they are here. If we can discover that, we may be able to head them off.”

  Ogden exchanged a look with Phinneas. “Long has that been the ultimate goal of the Sentinels, for generations,” Ogden said, “but we simply don’t have any leads, though many have dedicated their very lives to answering the same questions that plague you.”

  “Of course,” said Elias. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn, I just have the strangest feeling that we’ve overlooked something, that there’s an answer hiding before us, in plain sight.”

  “I tell you what,” Ogden said, “I’ll lend you what copies of Sentinel record I have. Perhaps a fresh set of eyes will see something I’ve missed.”

  “Has anyone anything else to report or add?” Eithne asked.

  “Only this,” Ogden said as he drew a folded map from out of his coat. “In case the worst befalls us, and the Hand strikes for our heart, I want us to be prepared. I have drawn up an emergency plan.”

  Reassuming his role as the queen’s Steward, Ogden explained his plan in detail until he was satisfied that everyone knew their part.

  With that matter settled, Eithne brought the meeting to a close. “Very well, then,” she said, “Ogden, Phinneas, and Elias you handle the arcane sleuthing. Danica and Lar, I want you to continue your assignment as my eyes and ears in court. Bryn, utilize your contacts in the Red and Blackshields to keep us appraised of any unusual happenings in the palace and capital.”

  With that the company dispersed and went about their business.

  As the queen left her private audience chamber, she found herself possessed of a curiou
s happiness that slept with sadness. She feared for her kingdom and her rule, yet for the first time since her father died she had allies other than Ogden, Bryn, and Josua—scant confederates for a queen. More than that, she realized, she had friends.

  Chapter 23

  Calm Before the Storm

  “Elias, are you listening to me?”

  Elias blinked away his reverie and offered Ogden an apologetic smile. The wizard had been instructing him in the art of spellforms, but amidst studying the myriad geometric figures his mind had begun to wander, and it was no small wonder.

  “Are you thinking about your sister?” Ogden asked.

  Elias walked to the window. Far below horses raced along the outer courtyard, and guardsmen and courtiers, reduced to faceless whirs of color by the vantage, fenced idly and strolled along the granite causeways respectively, enjoying the temperate late summer afternoon. Elias wondered if Seven Winters was down there running Brand or Comet.

  “Yes,” Elias said. “Danica, and The Hand, and Agnar…and there hasn’t been any word of Bryn’s father who was due home almost a week ago from the consulate in Phyra. And I’ve poured through all the Sentinel records and haven’t discovered a single clue.”

  “Son, you can’t fight all the battles of the realm yourself, and especially not all at once,” Ogden said, not unkindly. “You must focus on the task at hand. One thing at a time.” The aged wizard laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  “I know. I am trying,” Elias said without turning from the window. Ogden, of course, had struck the heart of the matter: Despite everything else he had to consume his attentions, Danica occupied the foremost of his thoughts. Her night terrors—if that’s what one could call them—had only grown worse. To all appearances she was capable of making it through the day without ill effect, save for some fatigue, but one glance at Lar’s face after his encounter with her while in the grip of one of these terrors had been enough to give Elias pause and keep him awake at night. Phinneas had been working with Danica extensively, both as her physician, using hypnotherapy to help her cope with her repressed memories of the torments she endured under Slade, and as her mentor teaching her how to use her intuitive gifts and skills as a healer in tandem. After the midnight battle at the Inn in Abbington, however, Elias knew that Danica’s arcane gifts had ample application beyond that of a healer.

  Then, there was the matter of the Ittamar. Agnar and his companions remained in the palace as household prisoners, although they had been afforded more liberty. Court and Council wanted justice and were more than happy to hold onto Agnar and his men until Elias could offer up other suspects, which left the queen with the unenviable task of writing King Rachman and explaining why she held his cousin and heir.

  Elias had begun to lose hope of ever exposing the true conspirators and rooting out the necromancer responsible for the assassination attempt. They couldn’t very well name the culprits to be a centuries-old secret brotherhood, steeped in shadow, enigma, and fell magic.

  “Why don’t we take a break from your exercises,” Ogden suggested. “I have some exciting news. It’s about your sword, which is of Eurinthian design, and is called a Dashin in their tongue.”

  Elias turned from the window, his interest piqued. “What have you discovered?”

  Ogden produced a small leather book from a sleeve in his voluminous robes. The wizard normally garbed himself in the courtier fashion of the day—a doublet and a linen or silk shirt with barrel-sleeves, and close fitted breeches of spun wool or cotton—but in the privacy of his own rooms Ogden donned the garb of his order, the simple robes that seemed synonymous with his vocation. “I borrowed this book from a colleague at Arcalum. It is a treatise on Eurinthian magic and forging techniques. It has been difficult to translate for it is an old volume penned in archaic Erastean. I have not been able to determine the precise meaning of the runes branded into your arm and etched on your sword, but I am reasonably sure, based on comparison to similar symbols, that they are indicative of warding magic.”

  Elias glanced at his forearm. “Warding, eh?”

  “Any protective magic falls into the warding school. The Eurinthian crafters of old folded their steel hundreds of times and they cast spells directly into the molten metal. They also added a mystic powder of unspecified origin to the ore that was said to lighten and increase the durability of the steel, which also gives the blades their unique blue tint. It was their usual habit to etch characters onto the base of the blade either as an identifying mark or inscription. Sometimes though, these runes were arcane symbols containing additional enchantments. These runes, I believe, indicate a special kind of warding magic that protects the wielder by absorbing magical energy directed at him.”

  “I was right!”

  “Indeed. However, the brand on your arm is where we depart from conventional knowledge of Eurinthian crafting technique. This book contains no such precedent, and my colleague, who is something of an Eurinthian historian, has never heard of such a thing either.”

  “Well, what’s your best guess?”

  Ogden closed the book. “For one it means that sword is no run-of-the-mill magical weapon, but we knew that. What I think is that in some way we don’t yet comprehend you and this sword have been linked. This may mean that the warding magic bound to the sword has been bound to you as well and will protect you even if you are not wielding the weapon. Or it could mean that you have the ability to unlock this artifact’s true potential.”

  “Artifact?”

  “I say artifact, because this sword may very well have functions beyond that of a weapon—magnificent a weapon though it is. I’ve been thinking a lot since thumbing through this book. I thought about how you told me that you believe Slade’s primary reason for ambushing your family was to get his hands on that sword. Why would he go through such trouble and risk exposing himself and his sect for a sword, even an enchanted one? The sword that your father carried was worth all that, which must mean it has qualities we haven’t even guessed at.”

  “You know, I never really stopped to think how Slade tracked the sword to my father. I figured that Slade meeting Macallister like he did was a coincidence for the greedy bastard, but maybe it wasn’t a coincidence at all.”

  Ogden shrugged his eyebrows. “Perhaps Slade’s quest for the sword led him to believe it fell into the hands of a Marshal and he used Macallister to confirm the fact before setting out to Knoll Creek.”

  “Come to think of it,” Elias said slowly, “my mother used to keep my dad’s coat and sword on a rack in the den, like some people put antique suits of armor on display. When I was a child Macallister was visiting and offered to buy the sword as a decorative piece. My father refused and that very night locked the sword and his coat in a footlocker where they had remained all these years until I opened it.”

  “Curious. Your father may have suspected the blade’s true potential after all, but he didn’t have brands on his arm like you do. Now your father knew more about the arcane and enchanted items than you did, but the sword activated for you, not him. The question is why. I believe that it’s because your father was not an Innate, but you are.”

  “Is that even possible?”

  Ogden let out a sigh. “I don’t really know as there is no official documentation of anything like this in our libraries, but it makes sense to me. History suggests that there was a greater percentage of Innates in antiquity and this sword is very, very old. This artifact may have been designed to respond to an Innate. The magic bound to it recognized that you are an Innate and thus in turn bound its magic to your own.”

  Elias grew a bit alarmed. He rested his hand on the pommel of his sword. “Are you saying this thing is alive?”

  Ogden snorted. “Not hardly, son—but in a way the magic bound to it is. Energy in some sense is alive, and the law of attraction, which states like attracts like, is one of the ultimate laws of science and of magic. The Eurinthian, for one, believe that the human consciousness is itself a form o
f energy, which leaves the body when we die. Considering their views on the arcane and the cosmos, it makes sense that they would use magic in this way.”

  Elias looked at his blade with a newfound respect. “What does this mean for me?”

  “If my deductions are correct, it means that a kind of energetic loop exists between you and the sword. Thus, you may be able to use the sword to augment your own power, or vice versa. Since this sword is capable of absorbing and storing magical energy you may be able to siphon off that magical energy and use it to your own ends, or even store a spell of your own in it to utilize at a later time.”

  “When I used it against the assassins though, I cast the same spell Macallister used on me.”

  “Yes,” replied Ogden, waving his hands animatedly, “but perhaps that is because it was what you thought would happen. You expected that result, and so you got it. Using your powers as an Innate you shaped the magic to fit your will.”

  Elias smiled at the erratic old man that he had grown to love dearly in his few weeks at the palace. “You’re making it sound like this is the discovery of the century.”

  “It may very well be! At this point we have my conjecture and more questions than answers, but who knows of what this sword is capable.”

  Elias eyed his blade and wondered. Since taking it up it had come to feel a part of him, an extension of arm and will, and not once had he taken it for granted, but Ogden’s research indicated that this Dashin may not be just a formidable sword but a potent magical artifact as well. “In that case,” Elias said with a shrug, “perhaps we should try it out.”

  Ogden offered him a wolfish grin. “My sentiments exactly.”

  For their first experiment Ogden flourished his hands and spoke a handful of vowel laden words. Bolts of yellow energy lanced from his fingertips and struck the blue-tinted steel of the Dashin’s blade. Elias felt the sword push against him as it recoiled slightly from the bolts, but he was able to maintain his hold on it with relative ease. Ripples of energy coursed along the length of the blade and took on the color of the steel. Elias hazarded a touch to the blade after the undulating currents of energy ceased. “It feels warm to the touch,” he observed.