Days later, they arrived in Ishara’s southernmost district. The main city had been turned into a veritable fortress with thick walls. A handful of surviving soldiers manned the watchtowers on the wooden stockade. Klovus thought they looked more frightened than confident.
Countless mining and logging villages had been massacred, the survivors fleeing to the main city to hide behind the high walls. The barbarians had ravaged the land, pillaging, thriving on destruction. The town leader and the troop commander had dispatched numerous scouts to monitor the Hethrren movements, many of whom never returned.
The city itself—little more than a wilderness outpost, really—was crowded to the breaking point with refugees from ravaged areas … refugees who should not have been there at all, if the soldiers and the Tamburdin priestlord had done their jobs properly.
Klovus knew what the barbarians were like. In his previous visit here, he had seen their loathsome leader Magda, a woman who had more in common with a shaggy forest beast than a human being. She maintained her rule by letting the Hethrren clans unleash their violence. Klovus wished all that destruction could be turned against a proper enemy. Ah, what a fine weapon these Hethrren would be if he could manipulate them! If not, their entire race should be eradicated, torn limb from limb.
As the army contingent entered the city gates, Klovus was most disappointed in Priestlord Neré. The local priestlord had the godling and she had the faith of her people. Given such power, Klovus didn’t understand why she allowed a single Hethrren to remain alive.
He would save them if their own priestlord could not do it herself.
He basked in the cheers as the people of Tamburdin celebrated his arrival. Several hundred Isharan soldiers flowed into the city, reinforcing their desperate defenses. Klovus would let the military commanders discuss strategy, review past battles and failures, and propose new attempts to control the outside threat.
Meanwhile, he had other business. He went directly to the rustic temple.
In Tamburdin, the hardy people lived close to nature, at the mercy of wild animals, storms, falling trees. Their temple was built from dark logs stripped of bark. Inside the worship area stood wooden carvings of fierce forest animals—a wild stag with sharp antlers, a roaring bear, a snarling wolf that could rip its prey open, a great eagle with talons spread. Blackened beams came from trees struck by lightning, and some of nature’s power remained within the wood. That power, combined with the faith of the people, manifested in the strength of their godling—a strength that Neré had failed to use.
The priestlord waited to receive him. She was thin and small-statured, her long brunette hair done in tight braids. Her brown-and-green caftan bore symbols from Tamburdin District. Neré’s expression showed clear relief upon seeing him. “You received my message, Key Priestlord. I am glad you came yourself.”
Klovus said with a bitter undertone, “Your failures demanded that I come.”
Ignoring her abashed reaction, he stepped to the heart of the temple floor and reached out with his mind, opened his heart. He could feel the throbbing power there, sensed the angry local godling ready to lash out.
“Your godling wants to destroy Tamburdin’s enemies,” he said to Neré in an accusatory tone. “Why don’t you let it fulfill its purpose?”
“I have! But it is so furious and uncontrolled that I could not let it range far. We defended our city, but Magda attacks our outlying villages and towns. I can’t let the godling range across the entire district and leave our city vulnerable.”
“You can and you should,” Klovus said. “The godling wants to be released. This is why the faith of the people created it! Their prayers and sacrifices gave it form for a purpose.” He brushed her aside. Against the far wall of lightning-struck logs shimmered the misty spelldoor. Klovus extended his palm to the crackling ant hive of energy that lurked just behind the magical membrane.
“I saved the city, Key Priestlord,” Neré insisted. She tossed her braids over her shoulders. “That was my mission. But if the godling were to get loose and rampage through the wilderness, how would we ever call it back? Nothing could stop it. How could we ensure that the godling would return to this temple and protect us again?”
Klovus scowled. “You are not a fit priestlord if you cannot control your own godling. It is not an unruly child throwing a tantrum—it is your partner. It is a product of your faith and the people’s faith.”
“Hear us, save us.” She bowed in surrender. “I can bring followers here, Key Priestlord. We have many urns of blood waiting, and the worshippers are ready to sacrifice, if we need more. I will join you in your mission.” She looked up at him, clearly subordinate. “Together, you and I will strike the barbarians.”
“We will not strike the barbarians,” Klovus snapped. “I will go alone. I do not need your distractions.”
* * *
The people maintained their faith, even if Priestlord Neré had been afraid to let the godling achieve its full potential. Klovus would not be so reticent. He would use the deity to knuckle under the remarkably strong barbarian tribes to do his bidding, but if his plan went badly, then the wild, unchained godling could still rage among the Hethrren like a dog in a henhouse. Either way, the problem would be solved.
No one knew where the barbarians had come from. The original settlers of Ishara were descendants of survivors from the wreth wars. The Hethrren were also human, as far as Klovus could tell. Were they a separate group of refugees who had come here from the old world? Or had they broken off from early Isharan colonists many centuries ago?
Two hours past midnight, after his entourage had bedded down in the main government house of Tamburdin City, Klovus went back to the temple. The streets were quiet except for patrolling soldiers, but the city slept restlessly. Only a few lantern-lit windows shone orange into the night. The key priestlord had already given instructions to the city guards, and at the right time they would clear a path and open the high wooden gates. An impatient godling should never be asked to wait.
At the temple doorway, Priestlord Neré greeted him with a bow, unsettled. “I wish you would let me fight at your side, Key Priestlord.” Her voice held no demand, no insistence. She seemed broken and accepting.
“I wish you deserved to fight at my side. I will tether the godling to my mind and heart, and we will achieve what you failed to do.”
Inside the rustic temple, smoke from burning torches added an acrid tang and a primal power to the air. The formidable animal carvings looked ready to attack.
At this time of night, with the population sleeping, the godling would be at a lower ebb, but its worshippers had made their sacrifices, prayed to it, chanted “Hear us, save us!” The entity would be strong enough to protect him when he issued his ultimatum to the main Hethrren camp.
Neré stood beside a bronze chute that fed into an opening in the wall. Two large urns stood on either side of the altar, filled with dark blood from the recent sacrifices.
Without bothering to chastise her further, Klovus lifted one urn and poured the thick red liquid into the chute, and Neré added the contents of the second urn. The blood, the prayers, the beliefs, and the unconditional need were exactly the power source the godling required. The spelldoor throbbed as the misty silver barrier folded and unfolded into an unseen realm, and the bright entity pushed behind it, eager to be released. Every drop of the blood drained down the polished chute, and Klovus felt his connection strengthen. The deity was ready.
“Release the godling,” he said, and Neré dissolved the spelldoor, letting the writhing mass of power, energy, and anger blossom forth like gouts of smoke. The Tamburdin godling drew energy from the dangerous forests, the unkind wilderness, and manifested with fangs and claws, sharp horns, and thick fur. A tornado of predatory instinct, it rolled out, leaving black marks on the wooden floor and pressing against the tall ceiling beams.
Neré flinched away, and Klovus grimaced in disgust at her weak reaction. No priestlord should ever fea
r her own godling! Her control had not kept up with the rising anger and desperation of the populace. The people of Tamburdin made their godling strong, but Priestlord Neré balked at using the weapon she had.
Klovus turned his back on the swelling, shapeless form that had been created by the worshippers. He did not doubt the godling would follow him. Neré remained in the temple watching her godling go, but Klovus didn’t give her a second glance.
Outside, he had arranged for one of the soldiers to saddle a horse, a sturdy chocolate-brown mare. The horse snorted, uneasy with the frenetic force of the godling looming behind, but Klovus patted its neck and climbed into the saddle. He settled himself, took up the reins, and nudged the mare off through the dark streets toward the stockade wall. The godling remained dark and formless, but it sizzled with occasional lightning flashes intermingled with red eyes like a wolf’s caught in the firelight. Klovus governed it, reeled it in.
“Follow me,” he said under his breath. “Soon you can do what you were made to do.”
In the houses along the streets, shadowed faces pressed to the windows of darkened buildings as they passed. The mare’s hooves clopped on the main street, an even pace. When dogs began to howl, crouching in alleys or doorways, the godling instinctively lashed out, but Klovus pulled it back. He called ahead, feeling the mare restless beneath him. They needed to be outside, soon. “Open the gates!”
The guards swung the barricade wide and sprinted out of the way. The key priestlord pushed the horse into a trot and rode out of the city with the godling at his heels like a monstrous hound.
Klovus headed down the road, leaving the stockade walls behind. He rode for hours and miles into the forested hills, where he knew the Hethrren had their primary camps. He would find the barbarians, or they would find him. It didn’t matter which; the end result would be the same.
The godling simmered after him, wavering back and forth and leaving a smoking path in the grasses. Though he was alone in a land infested by bloodthirsty barbarians, Klovus felt no fear, no vulnerability. The godling was tethered to him, always at his beck and call, even as it stretched away to explore its boundaries. The horse continued along, and the godling rushed into the pines, rocking the boughs, creating a storm in the high trees.
Klovus traveled all night. Near dawn, as deep red light seeped from the east, he heard shouts from the forest and the approach of horses. His mare snorted. He was alone on the road, a pudgy bald man in a blue caftan. He halted his mount at a wide clearing and waited, hearing the hoofbeats grow louder. Soon enough, fur-clad warriors galloped toward him bearing clubs and swords. They let out a wordless howl upon seeing their victim.
Keeping his uneasy horse under control, he faced them and shouted, “I demand to see Magda.” He felt the powerful godling lurking in the trees.
The Hethrren rode up, hideous-looking men with some teeth crooked, some sharpened. Their long hair was braided and knotted beneath metal helmets. “Magda will eat you alive,” one of the men growled.
With a thought, Klovus summoned the godling, letting the thing show itself. “She would find me an unpleasant meal.” He needed to clench the barbarians in his iron grip, and thus he had to terrify them.
The entity flowed back to him, crashing through the boughs. The pines shook with a rushing sound, intimidating the riders. Their dark horses pawed the ground, backing away. His own mare trembled but remained under control.
With his heels, he nudged his mount into motion, making the barbarians accompany him. He didn’t know how far away their main camp was.
After he spoke with Magda and learned what the Hethrren really wanted, then he could determine how best to use them.
55
HIDDEN beneath her palace after the assassination attempt, Empra Iluris lay motionless and pale, but safe for now. Cemi and the hawk guards made her as comfortable as possible. They had no doctor with them in their secret, sheltered place, but none of the court physicians had been able to help anyway. Cemi could not tell if her own care helped at all, but she did it for Iluris regardless.
She, Captani Vos, and six hawk guards remained inside the camouflaged chamber, though searchers must be trying to hunt them down. Tense days passed, and Cemi, feeling safe for the time being, wondered what would happen next. The hawk guards stood vigil, ready to give their lives to protect the empra and her designated heir.
At first, Cemi didn’t let herself think beyond mere survival, but now they had to consider a larger plan. How long could they simply cover themselves in shadows? What would happen if the empra never awakened? Palace guards had participated in the assassination attempt, and killers had infiltrated the serving staff. They had no allies and didn’t know whom to trust.
“We cannot hide forever,” Cemi said, her words startlingly loud in the silent chamber. “We have to prepare for what to do next.”
“I know,” Vos said. The two had grown very close in their enforced isolation. When Cemi looked at the captani, she noted the crooked shape of his once-broken nose, which added a counterpoint to his otherwise handsome face. “My hawk guards and I will fight, as will you, but our little group is not enough to stand against the key priestlord and his forces. If they find this place, they will kill Iluris, kill you, and dispose of all loose ends.”
Cemi looked to the masked chamber opening and felt a thrill of macabre mystery. “We aren’t entirely alone.”
Their strange guardian had remained in place, hiding them. If she focused, Cemi could peer through the hazy illusion, but outsiders would see only solid rock. She still didn’t understand what the entity was.
Only old Analera and a handful of trusted servants knew where the empra and her protectors were hiding. They had sworn their loyalty, and they understood that the smallest accidental revelation could mean the life of Iluris. Loyal Analera came every day smuggling food, water, plentiful candles, and chamber pots. An empra deserved far better conditions, but they were safe until they could develop a strong plan.
Cemi recalled what she’d endured on the streets in Prirari, the dark and filthy places she had hidden when pursued by gangs. There had been a ruthless one-armed man named Lero, who kidnapped street children and forced them to rob drunkards. Once Cemi blossomed into womanhood, men had wanted to force themselves on her, but she still kept her virginity, despite the efforts of one aggressive man who tried to tear off her skirts in an alley. Cemi had found her knife in time and castrated him. He wouldn’t be taking anyone’s virginity.
Cemi was good at surviving, and she would do so now. But Empra Iluris would want her to find a way to save the throne, too.
After two weeks of relative quiet, the mysterious guardian dissipated, fading into the air and leaving only a filmy shimmer across the opening. The tunnels outside were silent, and no one came.
Taking turns, hawk guards ventured out as scouts but did not let themselves be seen. Since they were the empra’s personal protectors, they would surely be targeted. Cemi could not guess how extensive the plot was.
She went over to sit by the pale, fragile woman. She said to Vos, “If Iluris awakens, she can stand before the people and reclaim her authority. But they would never accept just me.…”
“You are stronger than you know,” he surprised her by saying. “When the assassins came, I believe that you were the real target, Cemi. Not the empra.”
She looked at him in disbelief. “Me? I am nothing. The attack was meant to finish the job and kill Iluris.”
Vos slowly shook his head. “Oh, they would have killed the empra, to be sure, but right now you are more important. Everyone knows you were Iluris’s chosen successor. You are a much greater threat to Key Priestlord Klovus.”
Cemi sat down on a water barrel, feeling the weight of what he had said. As she considered the idea, she knew his words were true.
Vos continued: “If Klovus felt he could manipulate you, he would put you on the throne right now. But he knows you would not be his puppet.”
“Never!” C
emi said.
“Therefore, you must be eliminated. Without you, Klovus will be the obvious mouthpiece for the empra.” He leaned closer, his face filled with worry for her. “The key priestlord benefits from having Iluris alive but incapacitated, because then he can make all the decisions in her name. You are the one he needs to be concerned about.”
Cemi swallowed. “That’s why he killed Chamberlain Nerev.” If it came to a direct challenge of leadership, could a sixteen-year-old street girl ever command the loyalty of an entire land? She didn’t think so. Not against a powerful and ambitious man like the key priestlord.
Suddenly, two hawk guard scouts hurried into the chamber, alarmed as they passed through the faint field. “Searchers are coming through the tunnels again. We may have to kill them.” The men looked at the thin camouflage over the opening. “They will probably find us.”
Vos and Cemi rose from the empra’s side. If they were merely casual searchers, the hawk guards would make swift work of them, but then the searchers’ absence would be missed, and more would come. Cemi got ready to fight. The other tense guards fell into a hush.
Cemi suddenly felt a lurch in her heart, a fire running through her veins and her thoughts. The air shimmered and thickened in the chamber at the same time as a ripple of self-contained energy thickened across the entrance to the chamber. The entity hardened, shifted color, and once again became a perfect mask of a stone wall. Then, on the inside, it shifted to blurry and transparent, so that Cemi and the others could see out into the corridor.
Within moments a party of Isharan soldiers strode along, clearly hunting for something. The suspicious men poked into alcoves, giving a cursory search. The protective presence remained in place, shielding the refugees, and the soldiers walked past the camouflaged stone wall without a second glance. Vos and the guards let out a quiet sigh of relief when they were gone.
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