Fractured Throne Box Set 1

by Lee H. Haywood

  Emethius raised his glass. Malrich simply scowled.

  CHAPTER

  XIV

  THE COURT OF ATIMIR

  In the coming days, Emethius began to fully understand what Lillian meant when she stated Parius would see him when he was ready. Several times each day Emethius walked past the copper doors that barred his entrance to Atimir’s court. The doors never opened, and Emethius detected no noise from within. He began to wonder if the Sage was even there. His impatience grew, but Lillian insisted he had no other choice but to wait.

  Emethius and Malrich explored the palace complex to pass the time. There were many towers and high places from which to spy the surrounding land, but Emethius found the view disheartening. The Cultrator surrounded them on all sides. The only glimmer of hope lay to the west. In the distance, the sea crashed eternally against the shores of Cella, proving to be the one thing the Cul could not mar in this otherwise desolate land.

  Malrich spent most of his time alone atop a turret, staring out toward the sea. He appeared more troubled than ever before, his face always twisted in a scowl. Emethius let his friend brood. He supposed it was torture for Malrich to be so close to getting a cure, yet not know for certain what fate awaited his beloved wife.

  Emethius secluded himself to the palace library, spending his days lounging on a couch and reading through the substantial collection of books. The books ran the gamut of topics. There were multiple volumes concerning the order of nature and anatomy. Postulates about the movements of the heavenly bodies. Theories concerning the duality of the body and soul. Lengthy codes of laws dictating the governing of people. Emethius read one book after another. Some of the information was in line with classical teachings, while other theories were revisions of long held truths.

  There is enough information here to crush every dogmatic principle extolled by the Court of Bariil, thought Emethius. He found himself feeling somewhat conflicted by what he was discovering.

  Malrich regarded the tomes with a certain degree of disgust. “Not a single one of these books has a cited author. Have you wondered why that is?” he asked on the morning of their tenth day in Bi Ache. “I imagine these books, like all other things within this palace, are the manifestation of the Sage’s mind. You are reading the ramblings of a god. The pages are tainted by his beliefs and biases.”

  Emethius thumbed through the pages of the book lying before him on the table. “Biased? Perhaps, but these books contain hidden truths as well.”

  Malrich waved his hand dismissively. “You are learning only what the Sage would have you know, nothing more,” said Malrich.

  “It bothers you that the Sage and Sorceress turned out to be Calabanesi, doesn’t it?” pressed Emethius, getting at what he imagined was the source of Malrich’s foul mood.

  Malrich gave a dismissive shrug. “Had they turned out to be just about anyone else it would have been better. The truth is, I just don’t trust them. I can’t trust them. Whether they’ve renounced the title of Calabanesi is irrelevant — they’re gods, and there’s no getting around that fact.”

  Malrich ran his hand along the white stone wall then held up his finger for Emethius to see. His finger was black with grime. “This whole place is a illusion, Emethius. The flourishing gardens, the opulent halls, this library — it’s all a facade, a false vision created by the Sage. Whether the illusions are for his sake or ours I cannot say. Hopefully you will have your cure soon, and we can be rid of this place.”

  “I understand your desire to leave, but sadly, we’re stuck here until the Sage is willing to grant us an audience,” said Emethius, echoing the sentiment Lillian had already expressed half-a-dozen times. “We can’t barge into Atimir’s Court and demand a cure like a beggar. If we’re to have any hope of saving Meriatis and your wife, we need to be patient.”

  Malrich placed his hand upon Emethius’s shoulder. “A cure for Meriatis, but not my wife.” His voice broke as he continued. “I didn’t come on this journey to find Ali a cure.”

  “But why come all this way?” spurted Emethius in dismay.

  “For the truth,” answered Malrich. There was a coldness to his voice that had not been there a moment earlier. “I had to know for certain that the gods were responsible for the Blackheart.”

  “But you have been with me every step of the way,” blurted Emethius in disbelief. “This whole journey cannot have been about spite. You must have a cure, Ali deserves a cure.”

  Malrich shook his head. “Do you think Ali could live with herself if she actually understood what she did to our son? She couldn’t. I couldn’t. The woman I loved died long ago. What remains is just a husk, but that too will soon pass. When I return home I intend to give her the only peace I can. That will have to be enough for one cowardly man to accomplish in his lifetime.”

  Emethius suddenly felt ill. “You can’t give up hope, Mal. There is still a chance...”

  A chill breeze suddenly flowed through the room, choking off the words in Emethius’s throat. He turned to discover that the door was ajar, and there, standing in the portal, was Lillian. “You believe Lord Parius can cure the Blackheart?” said Lillian.

  Emethius looked to Malrich for support, but his companion’s assertiveness had vanished. Malrich stared grimly at the floor, his eyes hot with tears.

  “Ftoril promised me the cure,” Emethius finally replied.

  “There is one,” said Lillian. She entered the library and walked a circuit about the space, looking over each of the books Emethius had pulled from the shelf, casting judgment with her shifting gaze. “But what Lord Parius can do and what he will do are two different things.”

  “The sooner I meet with Lord Parius, the sooner I will have my answer,” said Emethius. “Does he not know that we have traveled through the land of the great enemy to see him?”

  Lillian’s response was cold. “Your enemy is not his enemy. During the past few days Lord Parius has faced trials of his own. You fail to understand that you have led the Calabanesi straight to the door of our home. For years we have remained hidden here at Bi Ache, but now we are known, and it will only be a matter of time until the Calabanesi arrive in force.”

  Emethius bowed his head. “I have nothing to say, I have already shamed myself.”

  “Indeed you have, and you would be wise to learn from your mistake before you converse with the master of this house.” Lillian turned to depart from the library. “Lord Parius will speak with you tonight, Emethius. This journey was undertaken at your behest, so only you will be granted an audience. I am sorry, Malrich, but this was Lord Parius’s decision. Think long and hard about what you intend to say. You have only one chance.”

  • • •

  Lillian was waiting for Emethius in front of the twin copper doors that led to Atimir’s Court. He tried to read her face, hoping to discover a hint of what lay in store, but it was an emotionless mask.

  “I say this so there is no confusion,” began Lillian, as she set her hands on the handle of the door. “Lord Parius knows infinitely more than you. It would be foolish to try to convince him of anything that runs counter to his own opinion. Your duty tonight is to provide him with the limited information he does not know. Keep your questions to a minimum and answer anything he asks in full.”

  “I didn’t come all this way simply to be a messenger,” said Emethius. “Meriatis needs a cure. Ftoril promised...”

  “Ftoril’s promise means nothing,” snapped Lillian, “at least not to the master of this house.”

  “Then this was a waste of time.”

  Lillian sighed, and her demeanor softened. “You have a strong heart, Emethius, but this court is no place for pride. Lord Parius sees himself as a defender of the lesser races, and he has sacrificed much for this title. Any thoughts of your own wants and sacrifices will mean little to him. Humility is your best approach. Remember, mortals demand nothing of gods. It may not be fair, but it is the way the world works. Are you ready?”

  Emethiu
s nodded and took a deep breath.

  Lillian thrust open the twin doors and called into the court, her voice echoing in the expanse. “Lord Parius, I present to you Emethius Lunen, son of Lithius, Captain of Merridia, and Soldier of the Faith.”

  The moment Emethius saw the splendor of Atimir’s court, his breath caught in his throat. Never had he beheld such an opulent room. The court was a terraced amphitheater; each level housed a row of marble chairs. The chair backs were carved to a triangular point, and as Emethius descended through the levels, he couldn’t help but feel that he was entering into the gaping maw of a shark.

  A waist-high marble frieze adorned the base of the semi-circular court, graven with the images of masted ships and armored men on horseback. Pressed against the rear wall of the court stood a tall dais that rose many times Emethius’s height. Upon its summit rested the throne of Atimir. It was set with yellow gemstones and wreathed by a series of cascading chevrons; their golden points flared skyward like the rays of the setting sun.

  Emethius shuffled forward with his head bowed, doing his best to demonstrate the humility Lillian had insisted was so important. Reaching the foot of the dais, he knelt. Only then did he dare look up at the Sage, who was seated upon the throne at the top of the dais.

  Lord Parius was cloaked in a simple black robe, and his frame was largely obscured by the dark fabric. The god’s face stood in stark relief, or more specifically, the porcelain mask he wore to conceal his face. The mask was white, inlaid with silver and gold that outlined the lips, nose, eyes and brow. Only the god’s ears were exposed, but all that remained of them were shrunken husks of knotted scar tissue. Parius’s excommunication had clearly come at a terrible cost.

  “The dragoness Ftoril Batomason was sent on an important mission,” said Parius, his voice echoing from behind the mask. “It seems that the completion of Ftoril’s task has fallen to you.”

  “It has, my lord,” said Emethius. He felt a knot rise in his throat. He swallowed hard and picked his words carefully. “Ftoril told me that Prince Meriatis took something from you that was of great importance — a sword known as Shadowbane.”

  Parius nodded the slightest of nods, but said nothing in response.

  “I saw this blade in the prince’s possession,” continued Emethius. “But after the battle at Imel Katan the blade vanished. When I questioned Meriatis regarding the sword’s whereabouts, he could not provide a sound answer. He has become very ill, my lord, stricken by the Blackheart it would seem. From his account, I would deduce that the Calabanesi stole the blade from him. But it could just as easily be locked away in High Lord Valerius’s vault or in the possession of a soldier who claimed it as a souvenir after the battle.”

  The information clearly displeased Parius, and his grasp upon the throne stiffened. “This is as close to the truth as you can recall?”

  “It is, my lord, but this causes me confusion,” answered Emethius. “Doesn’t the Covenant forbid the gods from directly interfering with the lesser races? If the Calabanesi actually took the sword from Meriatis, wouldn’t that be a violation of the Covenant?”

  “That is how things should be, but not always how they are,” answered Parius. “You can attest to this first hand, no doubt.” As he spoke he cast his eyeless gaze upon Lillian.

  Lillian stared back unapologetically. “I saw no choice but to intervene when you were attacked by the Calabanesi in the forest,” said Lillian, speaking up in her own defense.

  “That was you who drove away the Calabanesi?” Emethius remembered the blue flame that seemed to fall from the sky like a bolt of lighting.

  Lillian gave no answer. Emethius suspected she had already disobeyed some rule of Parius’s court.

  “In their efforts to track us down, the Calabanesi have broken the Covenant twice,” said Parius. “Once against Meriatis, and once again in the forest when they attacked you and your companion.”

  “It’s not just that. The Calabanesi have mobilized the Perim Lu, my lord,” added Lillian, confirming for the first time that the men who had chased Emethius and Malrich halfway across Emonia were in fact the descendants of Fenis’s yellow-eyed sons.

  “If all of this is true, the Calabanesi are desperate,” said Parius.

  “What would make the gods so desperate?” pressed Emethius. Lillian had warned him against asking too many questions, but he had risked his life to get here, and he didn’t intend to leave without some answers.

  When Parius didn’t respond, Lillian did. “The Calabanesi are desperate because they are afraid of what we will do.” Parius looked at her, clearly displeased that she was speaking out of turn. She continued anyway. “As you have probably already surmised, we are rebels, Emethius. Our plan is two-pronged. Meriatis served as our agent in Mayal, plotting the overthrow of the religious establishment. Meanwhile, Lord Parius and I worked amongst the Calabanesi, building an army of like-minded gods.”

  “Like-minded? What is your final goal?”

  “To destroy the Shadow and end the scourge of the Blackheart.”

  Emethius felt his knees go weak. “I thought the Shadow was a false god,” said Emethius. “Revered by the ignorant and evil, but no more a threat to the living than a ghost.”

  “Valio, Paseran, the Shadow, call the spirit what you want, but do not mistake him as a false god,” said Parius. “If anyone should bear the title of fraud it would be the Calabanesi. The Shadow is a true god, one of the original three. Within him lies the greatest portion of the Sundered Soul. At the close of the last era, the Calabanesi imprisoned the evil spirit, making him their slave.”

  Lillian nodded gravely. “But the Shadow creeps as it ever does. So while Valio’s physical form is imprisoned within the stone crag of Mount Calaban, the tendrils of his evil spirit reach all across Eremel. One by one he is claiming souls into his dominion.”

  Emethius envisioned Herald Carrick’s map, and the lines radiating from Mount Calaban. Then he remembered the reaching tentacles from his nightmare. It was only a dream, he reassured himself. Even so, he looked down at his feet, half expecting to see tentacles creeping up his leg.

  “Your people are mistaken; the Blackheart is not a disease,” continued Lillian. “It is merely the symptoms of the Shadow taking possession of a mortal soul. The Sundered Soul wants ever to converge, and with each additional soul Valio claims, his power grows.”

  “That is why the affliction rates are rising,” said Emethius.

  Lillian nodded. “Soon, the Calabanesi will not be able to keep Valio imprisoned. Despite the warning signs, the gods refuse to believe this danger exists. We took matters into our own hands, and conspired to slay Valio with the fabled blade Shadowbane. But just as we were about to set our plan in motion, we were betrayed by one of our fellow conspirators.”

  “His name is Tyronious,” said Parius. “He is a lesser god amongst the Calabanesi, but brutal and clever. By betraying us, he hoped to raise his status.”

  “Tyronious is the same god that attacked you in the forest,” added Lillian. “He was responsible for seeing to our execution. Obviously he failed, and he is now desperate to correct his mistake.”

  Lord Parius nodded. “When it became apparent that Tyronious had betrayed us and that our capture was nigh, I ordered Meriatis to hide Shadowbane. The Calabanesi couldn’t force him to reveal its whereabouts without violating the Covenant. What I failed to see until it was too late, was that the Shadow had crept into Meriatis’s heart. Whether Valio claimed Meriatis’s soul on purpose, or it was pure happenstance, I cannot say. Either way, the end result is the same.”

  “Does that mean Meriatis is a puppet to Valio’s will?”

  “Valio cannot take control of a body until after the soul has fully turned,” said Parius. “This can take years, and one of your headsmen typically intervenes before this comes to fruition. Even so, the Shadow’s taint enlivens every vile thought and dark ambition.”

  “We believe the affliction is what led Meriatis to rebel,” sai
d Lillian. “His mind became clouded and unsound, and he foolishly thought he could defeat the gods all by himself.”

  “Meriatis’s rebellion was a complete disaster,” said Emethius. “Thousands died; nothing was accomplished save death and destruction.”

  “Then you underestimate the power of an idea,” said Parius. “Meriatis sowed the seeds of discord like few ever have. A doubt has been planted in the minds of many. Are the Calabanesi truly gods? Can the Blackheart be cured? Can the Calabanesi be overthrown? These are dangerous ideas, even if they originated from a madman. As we speak, the Calabanesi have agents in Mayal plotting to discover Meriatis’s whereabouts so they can murder him. They will not rest while Meriatis lives. Under no circumstances will they allow a heretic to sit upon the Throne of Roses.”

  “Then I need to get back to Mayal,” said Emethius, feeling a sudden urgency. “High Lord Valerius must be made aware of the threat to his son’s life.”

  “Lillian will see that you arrive home safely,” said Parius. “Thank you for your effort, Emethius. The information you have brought me was at great personal peril. Now, if you will excuse me, I must consider our next step.” Parius stood, signaling that Emethius was dismissed.

  Emethius didn’t budge. “I have traveled halfway across the world to provide you with this information,” began Emethius, scrounging up every bit of courage he possessed. “I request a favor for a favor. Meriatis deserves a cure.”

  “Then you have come here in search of a gift I cannot give,” said Parius. All hint of hospitality slipped from his voice, and his tone shifted to a grating growl. “You have brought nothing but trouble to my private sanctuary. Since Lillian rescued you, I have been in a near constant battle with the seeing eyes of Calaban. They search everywhere, through walls, and roofs, and earth, testing the limits of my enchantment. It has taken all of my strength to keep us hidden these past few days. This morning, the Calabanesi departed, granting me a short reprieve. But they will return, stronger than before and in greater number, and then our defeat will be certain. So while you have eaten my food, rested in my bed, and read my books, growing strong in the assertion that you understand the gods, I have waged war. Now, I have heard enough. I forbid you to utter another word in my presence. Go!”