“Ah, so there is the question.” Ferrus jumped to his feet a little too eagerly and began to pour a pair of drinks from a crystal decanter. “I think a stiff drink would serve us both well if you truly intend to have such a treasonous discussion.” He laid a glass before Leta, which she left untouched, and then sat unwelcomed beside her on the couch.
She scooted away from him.
Ferrus acted like he didn’t notice and sipped at his glass nonchalantly. “The rebellion has no center,” said Ferrus. “But that was always the point. When your brother built his base of support, he did so by sowing the seeds of truth amongst the people. But wisdom can only travel so fast, and lies are often preferable to facts. Thus, stubborn and ignorant men have conspired to undermine your brother’s message.”
“And what message is that?”
Ferrus smiled and placed his glass upon the table, covering the island of Elyim. “I would like to show you a different map.” He jumped to his feet and began to rummage through a bin filled with nautical maps. He returned with a rolled piece of parchment that was almost as long as he was tall. “I’ve heard you’ve been asking around for this,” said Ferrus, as he unrolled the map — it was so large its edges hung over the lip of the table. At first glance, it looked like any other map of Eremel, showing the political boundaries between Merridia, Emonia, and Dunis. Then Leta noticed that there were multiple sets of numbers written next to every city, town, and village. Lengthy calculations were scribbled anywhere there was open space on the map.
Leta’s eyes went wide. “This is Meriatis’s census.”
Ferrus nodded. “The first set of numbers beside each location are the results of the Peltir Census, which was performed fifty years ago. The second set of numbers are the results collected by your brother. Even an untrained eye should note a trend.”
“The population has decreased.” Leta only needed a few seconds to realize this was true in nearly ever major city on the map.
“Correct. What other patterns do you see?”
Leta squinted at the map, trying to detect what other secrets were hidden within the hundreds and hundreds of scribbled numbers. “The closer a city is to Mount Calaban, the greater the population drop.”
“Right again. The population decrease is almost thirty percent in Etro and Burrowick. A little less in towns a bit farther away. Estri was in the mid-twenties. Mayal actually experienced growth, but that’s only because of the influx of refugees out of Dunis. For a more accurate figure, look at Caore. Caore and Mayal are nearly the same distance from Mount Calaban, and Caore experienced a population drop in the high teens.”
“Caore? Meriatis got population numbers from the Emoni?”
“King Clement was happy to share the information,” answered Ferrus. His glass was already half empty, and at the rate he was drinking the remainder wouldn’t last long. “The Emoni performed their own census and saw the exact same trend. When all of the numbers are tallied, the total population drop averages out to a little over ten percent.”
“Ten percent doesn’t seem like much.”
“It is when you consider where the population should be. This is the first census to show a drop in population since the founding of Merridia.” He sighed. “This is a slow bleed, Leta. It’s not the type of change anyone would notice over the course of fifty years. But I think there is a trend we have all felt. The number of children has plummeted. It’s not that people aren’t having children, it’s that children aren’t surviving to adulthood.”
Leta’s own son was part of that awful statistic. “You’re saying the Blackheart is to blame.”
Ferrus nodded. “Meriatis consulted several Ilmwellian Arithmetics. The calculations have been confirmed many times over. If these trends continue, the population of Eremel will be cut in half within a hundred years. A century after that, there will hardly be anybody left.”
Mayal was full of half-sane priests who regularly proclaimed that the end was near, but Leta had never met someone who actually had numbers to back up their claim. A chill worked through her body. “What does the proximity to Mount Calaban have to do with it?”
“Meriatis’s census revealed a simple truth — the closer one resides to Calaban, the more likely it is that they will get sick. The Blackheart is oozing from the monolith of Calaban like a cancer. This is not, as your father insists, a test from the gods to measure our faith and resolve. This is a plague sent from on high to drive us into extinction.”
“Has my father seen these results?”
Ferrus frowned. “Meriatis showed anyone who would listen. Your father concluded that the results were fake. As did Praetor Maxentius and Herald Cenna. Only Herald Carrick believed your brother’s findings; we both know how that ended for the good Herald.” He drew his finger across his throat in case she missed the point. “Your father and the people who surround him would rather be complacent and compliant to the gods than do a damn thing to save their own people. They gave your brother no choice but to rebel. Meriatis died to reveal the truth; if need be, I will do the same.” There was genuine grief in Ferrus’s eyes, and he was grasping his drink glass so hard, it looked ready to shatter in his hands. Leta placed her hand atop his, and he relaxed his grip.
“Are there others who are like-minded?”
“More than you would guess,” said Ferrus. “I see the worry in your eyes — we are not your enemy. The armed rebellion died with your brother. We win now through the perseverance of our message. The people want to hear the truth, and slowly but surely the truth will spread, whether it be through a pamphlet someone finds discarded on a street, or a private discussion at a family dinner. And when a million voices rise up and cry for change, what will the gods be able to do but acquiesce to our demands?”
“They are gods,” scoffed Leta, in disbelief at his forthrightness. “The Calabanesi will do as they always have; they will guide and prod and whisper, but they will never directly intervene. They will not break the Covenant.”
“Meriatis intended to force the Calabanesi to take action.”
“Then Meriatis was a fool.” How could her brother have possessed such hubris? The gods told mortals what to do, not the other way around. She felt like she needed a stiff drink to partake in such sacrilegious talk. She took a sip from the glass Ferrus had given her; the pungent alcohol burned her throat like fire and she curled her nose in disgust. This brought a smile to Ferrus’s face.
“United we are their equal, divided we don’t stand a chance.” Ferrus took her hand within his own. “You are in danger, Leta.” The smell of drink wafted on his breath.
Leta scoffed and wrenched her hand free. “No more than you are, admiral.”
“Maybe quite a bit more, in fact.” His face hardened. “There is a saying amongst sailors; sharks always circle blood.”
“How do you think it is that I came here? I followed General Saterius; he has marked your scent and is circling even as we speak.”
Ferrus dismissed the notion with a wave of hand. “They know what I am, and still, they don’t dare touch me.”
“Why?”
“Because I give them peace when I could as easily give them war. My ships control the arteries of trade. I could bring famine to the hinterlands. I could harry the coast. I could blockade every port from Mayal to Henna Lu. But I do none of this. My father was a wise man, and he taught me only to fight the battles I can win. I have ships, yes, but I do not possess the soldiers necessary to win an armed rebellion.”
“At least not yet.”
He smirked. “Each of us is in a precarious position, Leta, but I have a grand fleet at my back, while you have...” He looked over her shoulder, as if someone might be there, and then shrugged. “There are people in this court who would rather let the Line of Benisor fall than allow a woman atop the throne. The lack of an heir breeds uncertainty, and uncertainty causes people to make rash decisions. Your brother’s death has awakened the ambition of a hundred households. Many men would happily kill to h
ave a chance to sit upon the Throne of Roses, and more than a few of these men can trace their lineage back to House Benisor, no matter how crooked and branching that path may be. I promised your brother I would look after you. It seems fortunate that you have come to me now — perhaps the Weaver is sending us a message.”
“I will not fear the future anymore than I do the present. Praetor Maxentius, Lady Miren, Herald Cenna, even General Saterius, they have all demonstrated absolute loyalty to my household.”
“Do you truly believe that, Leta, or do you confuse loyalty with the polite words they whisper in your ear? Lady Miren’s own son burned Estri to the ground. Tell me, how did that serve your household?”
“How do you know this?”
“I’m a rebel, remember?” said Ferrus bluntly. “Lord Fennir’s men went from estate to estate like a band of assassins. The houses of Mannus, Atius, Proxis, they are all gone, dead and buried beneath the rubble of that city. Why, I ask you? Was it to crush the rebellion? No, those men took no part in our plot. So why? Lord Fennir burned Estri because you can get away with terrible things during a time of war. Horrors are visited upon so many households it becomes difficult to gauge which were targeted and which were simply casualties of war. And if House Benisor has a few less allies to bolster its claim to the throne when the war draws to a close, who will notice? Thus, the noose grows tighter.” He made a wrenching motion with his hand. “Who do you think it was that received those lands as recompense for their service?”
Leta didn’t need to hear the answer. The fate of House Proxis was well known to her, as it was the household of her late husband. Her father-in-law, sister-in-law, three nieces, and two nephews all died in the rebellion. With no living heir, the lands of House Proxis defaulted to the Throne of Roses. As to House Mannus and House Atius, Leta had sat in her father’s court and watched as their ancestral lands were divvied up between General Saterius and Lady Miren, a kingly reward for their service to the throne.
“Why are you telling me this?”
“Because you are surrounded by cold and calculated people who are willing to bide their time and wait. But they won’t wait forever. They have stacked the deck, and when your father dies things will move swiftly.”
“To do what? Remove me from power?” Leta held up her left hand. “I am marked by the gods. The Calabanesi favor me and my household. To act against me would be to act against the gods.”
“You are mistaken to believe that the gods hold your household in high esteem.”
“Please, enlighten me,” said Leta, rolling her eyes.
Ferrus leaned forward and lowered his voice, although there was no one else within earshot to overhear their conversation. “Your brother was convinced that there was a gray prophet in Mayal working hard to undermine your father’s authority and enforce the will of the gods.”
“Now you are really succumbing to paranoia,” said Leta with a laugh. Throughout history, there had been a number of self-proclaimed gray prophets, men who swore they could hear the voices of the gods in their heads. The desperate were prone to flock to such men, and the Throne of Roses was quick to round up these self-proclaimed prophets and put them on trial. Almost all proved false, madmen and religious zealots who communed with the gods no more than a fisherman communed with the fishes.
Only on very rare occasions did one of these gray prophets actually seem capable of communicating with the gods. Ulfric Leonius, for example, eventually gained enough legitimacy to serve as high lord for a few years before he was displaced by a member of House Benisor who had a stronger claim to the throne.
“Don’t laugh until you hear me out,” said Ferrus, still speaking in whispers. “Your brother had dozens and dozens of houses sworn to the rebel cause, but when the rebellion actually started only a tenth of those who promised support showed up with aid.”
“They got wise.”
“No, they got scared. Someone was working very hard to undermine every oath of fealty Meriatis received, and to poison every trusting relationship Meriatis won. Mysterious letters were delivered to the estates of sympathetic lords, declaring the men heretics long before Meriatis’s plan was common knowledge. More than a few lords sworn to our cause died suddenly. The deaths always appeared to be the result of an accident or natural cause, but a wise man knows better. Healthy men don’t drown in the bathtub or trip and fall down a flight of stairs and break their neck. A few notable lords even became afflicted with the Blackheart. This didn’t feel like the Court of Bariil trying to undermine Meriatis’s heresy. This felt like an act of the gods. Needless to say, people got scared, and a great many of our supporters backed out precisely when we needed them the most.”
“Let’s say it’s true. Why should I care?”
“Because if it is true, that means your father is no longer the one pulling the strings in Mayal. That makes your father little more than a figurehead. And after he dies there will be no one left to stop the wolves from coming after you.”
Leta felt a shiver work down her spine.
Ferrus stood and helped Leta to her feet. “Despite all of my bluster and self confidence, things are getting a bit too risky here in Mayal. It seems I have a few less friends than I supposed, and I’d prefer not to end up before your aunt’s splendid tribunal. I rather like my head on my shoulders, you see. I’ll be departing for Elyim next week. I would like you to come with me.”
For a second all Leta could do was blink her eyes in surprise. “I... ah... have duties. There is my monastery, and those afflicted with the Blackheart...”
“Come with me to Elyim,” repeated Ferrus, this time with more certainty. “Take my hand in marriage. We can be wed in the Court of Attia. It is a splendid temple, not quite to the measure of Bariil, but its golden dome is the envy of the world. You and I will return to Mayal husband and wife, and between us we can raise an heir. With your family’s claim to the throne and my family’s wealth we could finish what Meriatis started. Even the gods won’t be able to stop us.” The words came gushing out of his mouth in one long frantic proposition, and when he was finished he stood breathless before her, clutching at her hands with sweaty palms.
Leta thought of how General Saterius had looked at her, like a wolf sizing up its prey. Then she considered how Ferrus regarded her now; not quite like a hungry wolf — but his eyes aren’t innocent either.
Leta withdrew her hands from his sweaty grasp. “I will be returning to the palace, and I intend to be there tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after.”
Ferrus bowed. “And there you shall remain until your enemy’s plans come to fruition.”
He led her from the ship, and at the end of the dock he bowed low and long, then laid a kiss on each of her cheeks. “Think about my offer, Leta. I know your brother would have given it his blessing.”
Leta smiled in response. “May the winds blow ever at your back, admiral.”
“Yes, of course,” said Ferrus. She thought she detected a hint of genuine sadness in his voice. He turned and walked back to his ship. Dejected as he was, it only took a few steps before that cock-sure strut returned to his gait.
Leta hurried toward the palace. The night had grown late, and the streets were barren — this was no time for a woman to be walking the streets alone. Unanswered questions raced through her mind. Were the census results accurate? Were the gods truly to blame for the Blackheart? Was Meriatis’s rebellion actually justified? And what about Admiral Ferrus’s unexpected proposal?
A union between House Benisor and House Leair, thought Leta. The idea was foreign, something she would have never considered on her own. In truth, Ferrus would make a good and kind husband. But was he meant for her? Moreover, was Leta ready to move on, and if so, was this remotely the right reason? She had married once for love. Maybe she could marry again to save her family’s throne. Maybe she could marry again to save her people from the Blackheart.
She wondered what her late husband would say. Thalus would probably tousle
her hair and tell her she was over thinking the matter. If it felt right...
Leta heard the soft chink of steel-toed boots padding in her wake. She spun around and gasped. At the end of road, standing between her and the dock, was a lone figure. The figure was only a black silhouette in the darkness of night, and it was impossible to discern whether the figure was facing her or the dock.
“I will fear no one in my own city,” said Leta, mustering up her courage. She took one bold step toward the figure and then another, balling her hands into fists. “You! Who are you?”
The figure slowly turned, for a moment casting a sidelong silhouette. His head transformed into the black outline of a fanged-snout. The wolf! A low hissing laughter broke the silence of the night, and then the figure took two long strides and disappeared from view, slipping down the wooden walkway that fronted the harbor.
Leta stopped dead in her tracks. She was shaking. “I will fear no one in my own city,” she repeated. The words did nothing to stop the cold creeping sensation of dread from crawling over her body and pimpling her skin.
Follow the wolf while he is on the prowl, Herald Cenna had advised. But what am I supposed to do if I’m the one being hunted?
CHAPTER
V
THE BARREN TRACKS
Malrich spent the early morning hours atop the gatehouse, staring impatiently into the slowly thinning fog in a vain hope that Baylilly somehow survived the night. There was no sign of the horse, although there was a crimson stain near the gate — Malrich couldn’t remember if the stain had been there the night before. He felt disgusted with himself for not fighting harder to bring Baylilly into the city. Given the grim demeanor of the Dunie they encountered, he doubted his efforts would have borne any fruit.
“Still, I should have tried,” muttered Malrich to himself.
“Out here at the edge of civilization, trying might be the best a man can do.” Emethius leaned wearily against the parapet wall, his eyes focused on the gray mountain crags that were just beginning to materialize out of the misty gloom.
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