Knight Redeemed: The Shackled Verities (Book Two) Read online

  “Stop,” Beatte cried. “Vigil Star, the people of Dyrrakium are traitors, usurpers. You…cannot show them your favor.”

  The Domine Ecclesium stood and growled at Beatte almost predatorily. “Do you dare to speak to your creator that way?” He looked to Ulfric. “Vaka Aster, I will happily—”

  Ulfric cut him off. “Lead the way, Ecclesium. There will be no bloodshed here today.” He took Beatte in with a glance as well. “None.”

  The Domine Ecclesium stepped beside the entrance and bowed his head. His assembly of troops stood and parted down the center, leaving a path for Ulfric and Safran. Safran looked at the Arch Keeper sadly, seemed about to say something, then began pacing toward the main doors.

  Let’s hope things did not go this poorly at the tower, she sent as she exchanged a glance with Ulfric, who followed.

  Let’s hope.

  The Dyrrak fighters closed ranks behind the two Knights, keeping their weapons trained on those within the meeting chamber.

  As they moved down the outer hall, Ulfric heard Beatte say, “Ivoryss will remember this, Dyrrak. This is not over.”

  And the Ecclesium’s response: “We shall meet again, unworthy.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Safran conferred with Mallich as Ulfric and she made their way through the keep’s main courtyard. Afterward, she quickly explained to him what Mallich had learned from Eisa on her return. While he listened intently, Ulfric’s stomach soured from both what he heard and what he saw. In every direction, Dragør Marines stood guarded by more Dyrraks, their weapons at their feet. He saw no one injured, which slightly soothed his stomach, but only slightly. The Dyrrak forces had overcome the keep’s defenses so swiftly and with such stealth it seemed none had even had time to put up any kind of fight. What kind of force this large can do that? he wondered. It was almost incomprehensible.

  He and Safran were guided back through the city on the same streets they’d walked to Aster Keep. Everywhere Ulfric turned, he saw Dyrraks, hundreds of them, guarding every intersection and lining rooftops with weapons and crossbows in hand. Most disturbingly, overhead the sky teemed with Dyrrak attack craft. They ships were similar to the dragørfly scouts that had originally been Ulfric’s design. But he’d come up with it only approximately fifty turns ago, and the Dyrraks had been exiled over seven hundred. Where had they acquired the designs?

  But he knew, didn’t he? Eisa. He was beginning to question his assumptions about her loyalty. Had she never given over her ties to Dyrrakium completely?

  During his and Safran’s brief audience with Beatte, most of the city’s remaining residents had arrived at the keep and begun preparing for the mourning ceremony by setting up chairs or simply scouting somewhere to wait. Unlike during his last visit, no one had booths or stalls to sell drinks and food. The people of Asteryss had lost that sense of celebration. They simply stood in wait for the Arch Keeper to come before them and speak.

  Now, these men and women watched both aghast and awed as the procession of their longtime assumed enemy the Dyrraks led a member of the Knights Corporealis and himself, a being who could no longer be referred to as simply a man, away from Aster Keep. He couldn’t imagine what they were thinking.

  And the way his skin now glowed along with his eyes—he knew this not as a mark of celestial divinity but as a symptom of becoming a vessel. In some turns—tens, hundreds? who could say?—he would cease to be a man at all and his spirit would dissipate little by little to rejoin the Great Cosmos, leaving his no-longer-a-man shell completely to their maker. To the world, he’d be a martyr of sorts. To his wife and daughter, he’d be as good as dead.

  He still had time, though, and he shook this new fear off. Wishing he’d refused to visit Aster Keep altogether and remained anonymous, he watched the Ivoryssians as they marched through the city. One thing was clear. The people of Asteryss could not take another battle. Neither their hearts nor their minds were strong enough to endure more strife and destruction. Ulfric could see it written on their faces, their obvious fear—until they looked upon him. When that happened, he watched their shock turn to awe, then, to his dismay, even greater fear.

  Maybe us leaving is what is best for the people of Ivoryss, and even of Yor, he considered. To have Vaka Aster out of their lives for a time. Let them get on with things without a false hope that their maker will somehow come to their aid. Let them relearn reliance on themselves and each other, grow strong again on their own, so they will remember that they are.

  For a moment, he was buoyed by the idea of the people of Ivoryss, a kingdom he regarded as home, returning to its resilience and glory. Yet, his thoughts soon darkened. Beatte, though—is she capable or too jaded? Too power greedy? Will she lead them astray?

  Don’t think too much on it, he told himself. There is nothing you can do for them now. Staying would only make them resentful. By leaving with the Dyrraks, and by showing it is my choice, or rather Vaka Aster’s, perhaps they will come to accept that the Empire of Dyrrakium is not an enemy. It is a part of Vinnr, accepted and even included by the maker herself. This could be the first step to mending the divisions sown so long ago. Surely they will not continue their hostilities knowing the Vigil Star doesn’t wish them to. I’ll have to find some way to begin to mend this rift if I can—once we’re away.

  The thought of this added burden made him wish he could put his mind in a cage like a bird and throw a sheet over it. All I want is Symvalline and Crumb home safe. Why has this, all this, fallen to me to resolve?

  Shortly, Safran broke into his thoughts. Ulfric, this isn’t right. It looks as if the Dyrraks have completely taken over the city. This is an occupation force, not a simple rescue.

  He agreed. We should have answers soon, he sent. Eisa has a great deal to explain.

  Safran said nothing more, and they continued their journey.

  Soon they reached Vigil Tower, and Safran rang the cord to announce them through the pillars. Jaemus arrived at the tower’s door to let them in. As they stepped into the main hall, only the Domine Ecclesium and two others followed. The rest of the Dyrraks remained outside, and Ulfric caught a glimpse of them setting up a guard as the doors closed.

  “Welcome back, Safran, Ulfric…decorative newcomer and friends,” Jaemus said, nodding to each, but keeping his eyes on the Ecclesium. “Glad to see you made it safely.”

  Opting for private communication, Safran sent, Jae, where is Stave?

  Jaemus answered aloud. “The rest of the, erm, team, including the new one—Eisa, is it? real charmer she is—are waiting for everyone in one of the meeting chambers. They asked me to come for you.”

  But Ulfric knew better. Stave and Roi were likely ensconced on the balcony, crossbows in hand, waiting for any need to use them. Jae was likely the decoy, his unusual visage a ploy to throw the Dyrraks off in case their intentions were nefarious.

  Jaemus began to turn away, but the Domine Ecclesium stopped him. “What is wrong with you?” he asked, or demanded.

  “This again,” Jaemus muttered, but Ulfric jumped in.

  “He’s a Himmingazian, from the realm of the Verity Lífs, and Knight Corporealis of Vinnr. My guest.” Silently, he sent to Roi and Stave, We are all well here, and I don’t believe we have much to worry about. Join us.

  Safran, speaking through the Fenestros, said to the Ecclesium. “Perhaps we should all assemble before discussing any further matters. Domine Ecclesium, please follow me. We’ll sit under the statue of Vaka Aster. Jaemus, please go and collect the others.”

  Seeming to understand their need for subterfuge, Jaemus made a show of dashing off.

  From behind him, Ulfric heard: “Stallari, I’m glad to see you again.”

  Still bare of the eye shields, Ulfric turned to catch Eisa in his wystically enhanced gaze. She stood with her glaive in her hand beside the door, flanked on both sides by several more Dyrrak warriors, their backs to the wall. They were so quiet, Ulfric hadn’t even known they were there.

  Wh
en Eisa saw him, her face showed her surprise. What… she sent.

  She wore a new Mentalios lens that had come from a variety he had stored among other tools specifically for the Knights’ use. Somewhere during these last few days, she must have lost her old one. One of many stories she needed to tell. I have the same question for you, he sent, and many, many more. But not now.

  In that moment, she’d taken in not only his strange eyes but the rest of him, too. The way his skin now shone like the wings of a dragørfly gave him away completely. In response, Eisa lost her composure for the first time Ulfric had ever witnessed. “You…you are…” she stammered.

  The Dyrraks on either side of her suddenly seemed to realize who he was, and each of them dropped to a knee, their eyes downcast and heads bowed, the noise of their metal weapons on the stone loud enough to echo throughout the hall.

  Yes, Eisa, I am the vessel. He could see her wrestling with this news, and after a moment, she followed the Dyrraks’ in dipping her chin and dropping her eyes, though she didn’t kneel. Ulfric suspected her response was less about reverence and more to do with her having to grapple with the realization that the man she’d recently accused of having lost his faith in their maker had, in a manner, become their maker. He turned away, letting her come to terms with it on her own. Internally, he was thinking, It isn’t what I expected—or wanted—either.

  In a matter of minutes, Roi and Stave had surreptitiously left their sentry posts and arrived to meet them beside Vaka Aster’s statue on its dais. Ulfric’s heart twinged thinking of the last time he’d stood before the simulacrum. When he’d given Crumb the memory keeper.

  Though the Himmingazians had brought benches and chairs here, the light from nearby windows making the spot perfect for quiet respite, the only person who sat down was Jaemus. As soon as Ulfric stopped walking, the Dyrraks knelt with their heads bowed again. Not going to get used to that, he thought.

  Jaemus’s neck swiveled as he looked to the Knights, then to the Dyrraks. Apparently thinking he was breaking some kind of etiquette, he rose again and stepped backward toward the dais. As the only person moving, he drew everyone’s attention. Even a couple of the overly reverent Dyrraks glanced up to see what he could be doing. After a second, he leaned against the dais awkwardly and pointedly looked away, as if his mind were on other things. So out of his element, Ulfric thought, sparing him a moment of compassion. He noticed that Eisa, too, stood away from the group.

  Unused to, and definitely uncomfortable with, the deference given by the Dyrraks, Ulfric said, “Stand or sit as you prefer.”

  Once they’d all risen, he looked to Safran, and she quickly introduced the Knights to the Domine Ecclesium. Instead of introducing the Dyrraks in return, the Ecclesium waved to a more ceremonially clothed Dyrrak woman.

  She stepped forward. “I am Seldeg Aoggvír, Heir of the Third Line, Chancellor of the Dyrrak Phalanx. We Dyrraks are at your service, ever faithfully, Creator.” She then stepped back with the rest of the Dyrrak group, leaving the Domine Ecclesium to speak.

  “The Dyrraks have kept our word to escort yourself and this Knight safely to your fortress,” he said. “What now, Creator, can we do for you?”

  Ulfric shared a glance with each of the Knights, and Roi gave him a tiny nod. With an internal shrug, Ulfric decided to keep things simple. “Passage to Dyrrakium, Domine Ecclesium, for both this vessel and my ordained Knights. We—I shall now honor the Dyrrakium Empire as my new residence.”

  The weight of the decision settled on his shoulders suddenly. “And one more thing,” he added. “We have other-worlders, Himmingazians, among us. Will Dyrrakium welcome my favored guests as well?”

  Though the Ecclesium’s demeanor didn’t change outwardly, Ulfric could almost feel the excitement that radiated from him. “It is done.” He raised his head, though his eyes never rose higher than Ulfric’s chin, and seemed to think about what to say. “Creator of All, the Dyrrakium people are prepared to walk your ordained path. We offer your vessel an eternity of sanctuary behind the impregnable walls of Dyrrakium. We shall unerringly follow your guidance and teachings and spread your dominion throughout Vinnr.”

  I don’t like the sound of “spread your dominion,” Mallich sent. What does he mean?

  Stave barked, Means they Dyrraks’ fanatical zealotry hasn’t abated a single bit since their exile, it does.

  “As your chosen ever-faithful,” the Ecclesium went on, “we have amassed our fleet and await your command.”

  The skin on Ulfric’s neck, cooled by the breeze outside, now tingled uncomfortably with pinpricks that started at the base of his skull and ran down his spine. “What command are you waiting for, Ecclesium?”

  The Dyrrak leader’s eyes flashed, the same silvery-gray as Eisa’s, Ulfric noted. With his wide shoulders and broad back, his strength alone would make him a formidable foe, but the elation—or, as Stave said, fanaticism—galloping unchecked behind his mirror-like eyes could well make him dangerous.

  The Ecclesium stared at Ulfric long enough that Ulfric wondered if he’d answer at all. Finally, he did.

  “The maker’s command to cleanse and purify the unfaithful from Vinnr. We shall bring the Dyrrak way of life to all the kingdoms, as we’ve been waiting to do for many hundreds of turns, and wage a war of dominion in Vaka Aster’s name. No more shall the unworthy threaten our maker. We will make all the peoples of Vinnr as faithful and devoted as the people of Dyrrakium.”

  Ulfric was sorry he’d asked.

  Ulfric, Mallich sent, I know I don’t need to say this, but we can’t give these exiles leave to wage war on the commoners of Ivoryss. The people here are misled but not deserving of punishment. They have suffered enough.

  Stave put in, They’re about as trustworthy as my grandfather Serl, and he swung from the gaol of Magdaster for selling pig-iron swords to the Dragør forces. As he spoke, his eyes never left Eisa. She stared back, unmoved.

  Safran was silent, and Ulfric looked to her for her thoughts. She held his gaze steadily, deliberating but uncertain. Whether we accept their offer of sanctuary or not, Ivoryss is still in danger, she said. The Dyrraks have been absent from Vinnr’s wider affairs for so long, there is no telling what they’ll do, who they’ve become. Could it be a trick? Are they under Balavad’s influence?

  “My Maker,” Eisa said aloud. “All will do as you command.”

  Ulfric’s eyes darted to her, but she was silent through the Mentalios. What was she thinking? Whose side was she really on? It was no secret Eisa had never respected commoners, but Ulfric couldn’t believe she’d want them brought to their knees.

  “Shall I give my air fleet the order and put an end to the doubts of these faithless Ivoryssians, My Creator?” the Ecclesium asked.

  “No,” Ulfric commanded. “I will not see war among my peoples. We will return with you to Dyrrakium, and the Dyrrak people shall once again be my chosen, as the Nazarian leader was my vessel before.”

  Stallari? Safran sent. Are you sure?

  Rook’s balls, Ulfric! What—

  But Ulfric cut Stave off. Too much and too many were at risk for Ulfric to choose any other path. Mallich, Safran, take the celestial artifacts to Urgo and Yggo. Have them carry them and follow us on the journey. We must protect the artifacts first and retrieve them only when we are sure it’s safe. Stave and Jaemus, gather the Himmingazians.

  Eisa, he turned to her, you still have Vaka Aster’s Scrylle and Fenestros?

  She looked back at him, her eyes filled with questions he didn’t have to think too hard about to guess. Wouldn’t he know where the artifacts were if he were the maker’s vessel? She didn’t know the limitations his action of shackling Vaka Aster had bestowed on them. But now wasn’t the time to discuss that particular point. He didn’t know if any time ever would be.

  I have them, she answered simply.

  Good. Give them to Safran. Aloud he said, “Ecclesium, leave your chancellor and twenty able bodies to assist my Knights in readying
for the journey. You may go and prepare your fleet.”

  “It is done, My Creator.” The Ecclesium turned and gave orders to his people, bowed, and left the hall through the front entrance.

  He looked at Eisa. “Knight Nazaria, lead your kinspeople in packing the essentials the Knights will need to take to Dyrrakium. You know what they are.”

  …Ulfric? she sent. You must explain what’s going on. What…you’ve become.

  We will talk soon, he assured her. They had much to talk about.

  Safran, Stave, Mallich, and Jaemus, each looking as troubled as he felt, set off. A moment later, Eisa gathered the Dyrrak contingent and followed.

  Shortly, he was alone the in main hall. He tilted his eyes up to the simulacrum of the discarded vessel, the Dyrrak woman who’d been Eisa’s and the Domine Ecclesium’s ancestor. Looking into her face, a stranger’s, he now realized she was closer to him than any other person who’d walked in Vinnr in two thousand turns. Was it like this for you, Nazarian? Did you resent your station as much as I do?

  Ulfric thought of the thousands of objects within the fortress he and his Knights had collected and created, his chambers full of inventions and contrivances, the weapons Stave had painstakingly forged and crafted, the rooms upon rooms of books that held the history of Vinnr since the beginning.

  They were abandoning Vigil Tower and all it contained, just as Vaka Aster had been made to abandon this relic of a vessel. He was deserting his home, not just the objects but also the memories, leaving it all to the commoners. Would the Ivoryssians respect the traditional sanctuary of Vaka Aster, or would they loot and destroy it? The next time he looked upon Vigil Tower, would it be as dilapidated and forgotten as the temple of Lífs in Himmingaze?

  The Knights had, as Vaka Aster had, become so distant from the rest of the Vinnrics in the last many turns, he realized. He could no longer gauge the commoners’ fidelity to their maker or her representatives. If they stayed, perhaps he could renew their faith, but not in the way the Dyrraks proposed. Yet now that he’d shown the Dyrraks favor in front of the Ivoryssians, how safe would any of them be? The blood between the kingdoms had soured too long ago to be easily remedied.