Sanctuary 5.5 - Fated in Darkness

by Robert J. Crane

  “I don’t know,” Terian said casually. “I’d need to know what you have, where you have it, and what you truly want before I could offer a decent assessment of what should come next.”

  “I have armies around Reikonos,” the Sovereign said, “and in lesser numbers along the Perda.”

  “How many?” Terian asked.

  The Sovereign stared at him with harsh, glowing eyes. “I do not trust you to know.”

  “So you’re not going to kill me?” Terian asked, resisting the urge to smirk.

  “I called for your return to me once before,” Yartraak said, “before the outset of this war. You and the other traitor, J’anda … I called you before me to answer, to prove your loyalty to me, and you did not hasten to my call, did not respond to my offer to betray your fellows—”

  “As compelling as it was,” Terian said, “I was in exile—”

  “At my behest,” the Sovereign rumbled.

  “—and I despise Dagonath Shrawn,” Terian said. “I assume he’s still your chief advisor?”

  “He is one of a few,” Yartraak said roughly. “But you cannot hang your betrayal, your steadfast refusal to come back to me at the rise of the tide, upon Dagonath Shrawn.”

  “I could hang a lot on Dagonath Shrawn if I tried,” Terian said. “Have you met him? I mean, I’ve met some treacherous sons of bitches in my time, but that guy—he can tell you what you want to hear like no one else. Honeyed words couldn’t come any sweeter if you dipped them in the comb and let them soak for five thousand years. Has he ever delivered ill news to you that didn’t come with personal benefit to his house attached?”

  “You cannot explain your failures so easily,” the Sovereign said.

  “If I may,” Malpravus said, easing forward once more, “I do not believe that Terian Lepos has attempted to explain away any of his past failures. I believe he is presenting a compelling case for a slightly wider circle of advisement.”

  The Sovereign’s throaty voice whispered over them. “Have I not already broadened my circle by including you and yours, Malpravus? And in spite of your attacks on our shipping with the accursed goblins, no less.”

  “I gave you the excuse for war that you sought,” Malpravus said with a bow, “and my guild continues to make restitution for that indiscretion through our loyal service to your cause.”

  “Yes,” Yartraak said, and his claws returned to his mouth. “I have received the better bargain from you in this dealing, Malpravus, this is truth. Your eternal service in exchange for some convoys dealing goods to foreign powers and the ability to make this war on justified terms … yes. It was well bargained, your parole.” That’s a steep price, Terian thought. “But this does not excuse the disloyalty of young Lepos.”

  “I serve who I pledge my loyalty to,” Terian said, shrugging. “If I just flipped about like a carp in a boat, going from loyalty to loyalty, I think that would make me a mercenary. You turned me loose of my leash, my Sovereign, after your loyal servant Shrawn betrayed my house and crushed us underfoot with no more concern than you might give to a single slave being flogged to death by an overseer. You wanted me gone to pain my father, and I went. But the world is not kind to exiles without money, without lord or land, and I did what I had to in order to seek power. I swore my loyalty, and I didn’t merely renounce it as soon as the moment was convenient and you asked me to come answer to you. If I had, you could be assured that were I to give it to you again in the future, it would be worth less than any of your current advisors’ strategic plans.”

  “And what makes me think I should attach any weight to your strategic plans?” the Sovereign asked.

  Well, Terian thought, now’s as good a time as any to see if I’m right … because this is either going to throw him into a rage, or save my life. “Because I learned much in the way of these things in my absence, Lord of Night,” Terian said, drawing a subtle flinch from the Sovereign, “from Cyrus Davidon … and Alaric Garaunt.”

  The Sovereign’s expression was a strange one, his inhuman features difficult to read. Oh, the obvious emotions were there, and more plainly stated in his voice than anywhere else, least of all his face. But this time, Terian could have sworn he saw a flicker of rage behind those eyes, one that was swiftly replaced by … desire.

  “I will give you rope, Terian Lepos,” the Sovereign said at last.

  “The better to hang me with, no doubt,” Terian said.

  “I will let you walk a path for a time,” the Sovereign said. “To prove yourself my tamed servant.” His eyes snapped to Malpravus. “You brought him to me. Does this mean you wish him to join your army?”

  “I would have him as my adjutant, yes,” Malpravus said, stooping in a low bow that Terian was surprised the old skeleton pulled off without collapsing into a pile of bones. “Unless you require him elsewhere.”

  The Sovereign gave it a moment’s consideration. “I can think of many uses for Terian Lepos. He has proven himself versatile and candid in a way that few are in my presence but that all are outside my company. Very well, Lepos, you will live to serve another day. Do not test my resolve or betray me, or you will find the rope that I give you wrapped tightly around your throat, and—”

  “Yes, I know, you’ll torture me slowly to death,” Terian said. “I’m very familiar with how the Sovereignty works, having done my share of this for you in the past.”

  Yartraak’s eyes followed him. “Go on, then. Find your place in my graces once more, and prove yourself more than a facile user of fragrant words. Go to your home, tend to your house—” The Sovereign smiled unnaturally. “Take up with your wife once more.”

  Terian felt his jaw tighten. Kahlee? Good gods, I would have thought they’d have granted her an annulment by now. “As you would have it, my Sovereign.”

  “I think you will find House Lepos in a most curious position,” the Sovereign said, and his gaze swiveled to the servant still kneeling by the arm of his throne. “It is, at least, not where you left it.”

  Terian looked sidelong at Malpravus, who seemed to incline his head in acknowledgment. They moved in the Shuffle? “I’m sure I’ll find them where they deserve to be,” Terian said simply.

  “Undoubtedly,” the Sovereign said. “Perhaps you could raise their fortunes … help return them to the path. Otherwise, I suspect this will be the end of House Lepos.”

  Exactly how far have they fallen? Terian merely managed a perfunctory salute. “I’ll do what I can.”

  “See that you do,” the Sovereign said, dismissing them with a wave of the hand. “Oh, and Terian?”

  Terian, already beginning to back out of the throne room alongside Malpravus, turned his attention back to Yartraak. “Yes, my Lord?”

  Yartraak’s hand moved subtly; so subtly that Terian almost missed it. The claws on his left hand only seemed to twitch for a second from their place on the arm of his throne, but the servant kneeling next to him balked at the motion, and Terian realized that the Sovereign had lashed out in some small way.

  It was not until he saw the bloody line across the servant’s neck that he realized exactly what form that lashing had taken.

  “Do not speak to anyone else of what you saw over the sea,” Yartraak said, “nor of the threat you faced in that place or from Mortus. Do we understand one another? It is a secret I wish kept.”

  Terian watched the servant fall to the floor, a puddle of navy blue blood seeping out onto the hardwood. “As you command,” he said.

  “Good,” the Sovereign rattled, then turned his head to look at the servant’s fallen body. “Get my steward in here as you leave. I do not wish my floor to stain.”

  Terian froze in his retreat, the inhumanity of the Sovereign driven home to him once again. You are a cold and worthless sort of bastard … and I guess I’ll be serving you. Again. “As you wish, your Grace,” Terian said, and bowed as he joined Malpravus once more, and they left together.

  5.

  Aisling

  “So this i
s the house of the man who would be the Sovereign’s own right hand,” Aisling said, loud enough that she knew Verity could hear her. She said it with that in mind, in fact, knowing full well that anything she repeated in the presence of one of Shrawn’s servants would doubtless make it to his ears eventually. She had seen it happen enough times with others to realize that Dagonath Shrawn’s greatest strength was his ability to overhear things that no one else seemed to. She pictured him as a spider in the center of a web of lies and flies, listening to the twang of his threads as others moved around him, always aware of where his prey was located.

  “Indeed,” Verity said as they stood in the rich wood parlor. The smell of varnish hung in the air, as though the surfaces had recently endured a refinishing. Other than hints of amusement at her own self-importance, Aisling had little read on the elf. The light in Shrawn’s manor must have been dim indeed for someone such as Verity, used to life in the outside world, but the elf seemed to have little trouble seeing.

  “I expected grander things, I suppose,” Aisling said, again calculating the time it would take for her simple proclamations to reach Shrawn’s ears. She’d learned to play the role, to curb her thoughts around others. Cyrus Davidon proves that well enough, she figured. He has no idea. And if Shrawn had any inkling of what he himself has failed to realize about me …

  She suppressed a shudder. It was second nature to her by now, burying those feelings within and reviving them later for some occasion when she needed them for purposes of acting in the manner expected. All the world was her stage, and a simple thespian’s job seemed so easy to her now, acting only during a performance. My performance is always, and the stakes are my life—and the life of Norenn.

  “I suppose we’ll need to wait until Shrawn can accommodate me in his schedule,” Aisling said without judgment.

  “He is a busy man,” Verity said with a little snap.

  “Of course, of course,” Aisling said, playing the role of one who did not wish to give offense. “I only mean to say that my use to him is going to be much reduced if I’m found to be a spy in Sanctuary. And the longer my absence—”

  “You overcalculate your own importance to them,” Verity scoffed. “No one will know you’ve left. And even if you were asked, you need merely say that you wished to visit family that you have missed whilst away.” She shook her head and made a pfft! noise out of the corner of her mouth. “Foolish girl.”

  Aisling stood standing in the middle of the room. Her stomach rumbled, her tongue tasted of the bile born of that hunger. How long has it been since I’ve eaten? What day is it, actually? Her head swam slightly, fatigue rippling through her muscles. I may need some sleep as well …

  Verity snapped to attention in the moment before the double doors at the parlor’s entry clicked to open. Aisling listened to the lock mechanism move. She’d assessed it when she came in and found it wanting. Not many people want to rob the second most powerful person in Saekaj, I suppose. Dangerous business, that. A trace of sadness rippled through her, soul-deep. Only the most careless would do something so foolhardy.

  People like me, then. Or at least how I used to be.

  The double doors swung open, guided by a dark elven woman in heavy armor. She clanked slightly as she moved, but she did so with much more grace than most of the armor wearers that Aisling had seen. I didn’t even hear her in the hallway, she realized. A dark knight? A female dark knight? In Saekaj? The woman’s faceplate was up, her armor curved in harsh ways, a hole in the back where her ponytail spilled out of the top of her armor. The white hair snaked down her back and her red eyes surveyed the room, Aisling, and Verity in swift order, apparently trying to determine seriousness of threat posed.

  She settled her gaze on Aisling. “I’ll need your daggers,” the woman said coolly.

  Aisling thought, just for a moment, of resisting. If they want me dead, I’m dead anyway. She plucked both blades from their sheaths on her belt and handed them over without question, blade-first.

  The woman eyes flashed in annoyance, but she kept emotion off her face as she took the daggers by their blades, burying the steel in her own armored palms with only a subtle noise to mark her grasp upon them. She withdrew them and held one in each hand, prompting Aisling to raise an eyebrow at the tactic; it left the woman’s hands filled, unable to draw her own sword, which hung at her belt. Aisling’s eyes swept over the curve of the scabbard, which was broad and long, considerably larger than Cyrus Davidon’s sword, which was the gold standard by which she judged all blades. The weight on that thing must be terrible. It almost looks like a meat cleaver rests on her belt, and one with a curve like a hunchback’s spine.

  “Nice sword,” was all that Aisling said with the woman caught her looking.

  The woman gathered both the daggers in her left hand, the sound of blade on gauntlet clanking in the quiet room. She watched Aisling impassively, withdrawing to stand a few feet away. “His Grace will be along momentarily.”

  “Then I will wait, I suppose,” Aisling said, bleeding any sarcasm out of her reply through careful practice. Sanctuary had been a place where she’d often let her thoughts bubble forth, because so many of them did not require her to keep her own counsel. A curious place, in that regard. I was a freer prisoner there than here, where I am required to keep even more of my self hidden. More even than the place where I am a spy. How strange is that!

  She did not have long to wait. Dagonath Shrawn appeared in the open doors within a minute, his belly sagging over his belt, even larger than when last she’d seen him. His jowls seemed to have grown larger as well, like flaps of flesh hanging upon his cheekbones, sagging under his withdrawn eye sockets. His white hair was longer as well, skin wrinkled as though he had pruned in the time since last she’d seen him. His walking stick did not tap the wood floor as he went, however, and she knew that he only used it in public, to make himself seem weaker. Though she couldn’t be certain, the affectation had just enough resemblance to a spell-caster’s stave that she wouldn’t have wanted to challenge him in a battle, despite his advancing years and infirm appearance. He’s a spider, she thought, of the worst kind. The kind that makes play that they’re a fly, as helpless in the web as anyone else.

  Until he grows hungry.

  “So there you are,” Shrawn said, in a husky voice. “Returned after your little sojourn across the seas.”

  “Just the one sea, really,” Aisling said, unable to keep from politely barbing him. “I would have gone farther for my mission if needed.”

  “And what do you have to report?” Shrawn said, slipping into the room and eyeing the woman in armor to his right. “Sareea … you may go.”

  “She’s dangerous,” Sareea said. Aisling mentally filed her name away.

  “She is as a kitten,” Shrawn said, not taking his eyes off Aisling. “Her claws hold no fear for me. Verity, you as well.”

  Verity stiffened, but nodded in a bow. “As you wish, your Grace,” and she promptly withdrew from the room.

  “It’s all right, Sareea,” Shrawn said, shifting his walking stick from one hand to the other in a subtle motion designed to remind the other woman of who he was, Aisling figured.

  “I will be right outside,” Sareea said with a bow, her red eyes flashing hard warning to Aisling. “In case you need me for anything.” She, too, withdrew to the hallway and shut both doors behind her, her eyes the last thing to recede behind them.

  “Sareea Scyros,” Shrawn said, pointing the walking stick toward the door, “the first female dark knight in the kingdom.”

  “Oh my,” Aisling said, strangely indifferent. So I was right about her. Things are changing in Saekaj Sovar. A lady knight? How peculiar for this place.

  “Soon enough women will be on the front lines, the way the elves do,” Shrawn said, bringing his walking stick back to the fore. “Personally, I find the thought distasteful, but we are in a war and fresh blood is needed, from whatever vein it need be drawn.”

  “Indeed,”
Aisling said, holding back a choice comment about what kind of blood she thought needed to be let.

  “What do you have to report?” Shrawn said, tapping the end of his stick against the ground.

  “I was able to enter the affections of the subject,” Aisling said, matter-of-factly. “I was in his confidence for a time.”

  A line stitched itself down Shrawn’s brow, like a scar dividing his forehead. “‘For a time’?”

  “Cyrus Davidon does not trust with greatest ease,” she said simply. “He has been … distracted.”

  “Distract him further,” Shrawn said, the crease deepening. “Get into his undergarments and do not relinquish your hold. Do I truly need to instruct you on how to go about this?”

  “I think I have a sense of what’s required by now,” Aisling said, tossing a blistering dose of resentment down the pit inside where she threw all her excess and deadly emotions. “The man’s mind is clouded, though. He has much upon it.”

  “Make yourself the most pressing thing,” Shrawn said, dropping the staff to his side once more, utterly caught up in what he was saying. “By pressing, I mean—”

  “Yes,” Aisling said. “I understand.”

  “I don’t think you do,” Shrawn said. “A man in his position has weight upon him like few in the world. You are to be his soothing balm, the thing that cures his ache at the end of the day. From that place, you could hear everything of import to us, from the great to the trivial.”

  “I have tried,” she said. “He resists.”

  “Try harder,” Shrawn said, countenance darkening. “Go to him, this very night.”

  “I suspect he’s tired—”

  “You have just won a dual campaign,” Shrawn said coldly. Aisling let slip a small measure of surprise, calculated to stoke his ego. “Yes,” Shrawn said with great satisfaction, “I have heard where you have been already. About the bridge, about the siege. He mourns your guildmaster’s loss, but he has just saved your hall and destroyed one of our great armies. He is alight with feeling at this moment, I guarantee. If ever there was a root ripe for the harvest, this is it. Go to him, tonight, immediately, as soon as you return, and seduce him. Worm your way into his graces and,” Shrawn reached out and grabbed hold of her leather gherkin and tugged her off balance. She let him, reluctantly, even though she saw the motion coming from a league off. “Never let him go again.” He released her from his grasp. “Do you require a reminder of what is at stake here?”