Knight Redeemed: The Shackled Verities (Book Two) Page 20

  The Knights agreed without saying a word. Stepping to one of the windows, Ulfric gazed over the city. His eyes stopped on a swath of empty land a short distance to the north before the plains rose to the mountains. No, not empty. The field, small from here but he knew it was the size of the city of Asteryss at least, was filled with the returned force of Dyrrakium airs ships. Their numbers were staggering. Not a defensive force—an invasion force.

  In his head, he heard the citizens of Dyrrakium chanting at the city’s wall: Faith… Strength…Wisdom…Duty…Loyalty…Dominion.

  Dominion. Through war, if necessary. How long would the Ecclesium wait for Vaka Aster’s blessing to fulfill the Dyrrak’s desire for dominion? He had to get himself and Vaka Aster free of these shackles before that happened.

  He spun around. “Between Urgo, Yggo, Mallich, and Eisa, I’ll be as protected as I can be. Safran, Stave, will you go to Arc Rheunos?”

  The heartmatched couple exchanged a brief glance and Safran sent, Of course. We’ll find them if they’re there.

  “Good. And thank you. Tonight, we all prepare. Gather what supplies you think you’ll need for at least a half-thirty-night, and tomorrow morning you’ll go.” Before it’s too late, he thought, stifling an urge to curse.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “Chancellor Aoggvír, wait a moment,” Eisa called to the retreating daughter of the Third Line.

  She turned. “Yes, Nazarian Most High.”

  “Take me to the Ecclesium, if you would.”

  She had some things to discuss with the Dyrrakium leader, particularly what the empire’s plans were should Ivoryss retaliate for the hobbling of their shipyards. It would take them dozens of turns to prepare for such a thing, of course, but the Dyrraks need not wait to prepare their own defenses.

  It was curious that the Ecclesium had ordered the shipyards to be destroyed. There were only two reasons to wound an unsuspecting adversary: either you feared they’d attack you, or you intended to attack them. Upon leaving Vinnr to seek Griggory in Himmingaze, she’d told the Ecclesium to take Dyrrakium’s forces, fully battle prepped, to Ivoryss to meet Balavad’s invasion. She had not suggested the Dyrraks use that opportunity to invade the lesser kingdom themselves. So what had his intentions been? Now that they were far enough away from Ivoryss to ensure it was out of reach, she intended to find out.

  Aoggvír led her to the Ecclesium’s chamber of rule at the citadel’s base. As they entered the long, soaring hall, he was speaking with a Fifth Phase venerate. He looked up and caught her eye as she approached, and she heard him tell the warrior, “Tell the vault guards I’ll be down to meet the new prisoner as soon as I’m finished here.”

  The venerate gave a bow and retreated.

  “Starkas,” Eisa said as she came to a stop before the council hall’s oblong meeting table. Seven seats surrounded it, one for each senior of the six noble Lines, including the Nazarian heir, and one for the Domine Ecclesium. It occurred to her that she, being the true senior Nazarian, had no seat.

  “Nazarian,” he said. “I’m pleased you’re here. I’ve been hoping to meet with you privately.” He waved a hand and the remaining Dyrraks in the hall retreated to leave them alone.

  “It seems beneath you to have an audience with criminals. This prisoner in the vaults must be significant,” she commented.

  His face remained neutral. Carefully neutral? “Just a spy from a lesser kingdom found recently in Elezaran. They will never learn. But they have useful information often enough that I like to question them personally.”

  She nodded, not really interested in the day-to-day workings of rulership.

  The Domine Ecclesium was her descendent, some sixty generations removed, though their family resemblance was unmistakable in their deep-set eyes, wide jawline, and looming, stocky build. The Nazarians had ruled Dyrrakium in an unbroken line of succession since Vaka Aster had chosen a Nazarian ancestor to serve as her corporeal vessel. The continued allegiance of the people of Dyrrakium to the Nazarians, Eisa had to admit, was impressive. What place could I take among the Dyrraks now that I’m once more in my homeland? she wondered. I could rule quite easily if I chose to.

  But the thought was idle. Since becoming a Knight, she’d never desired the role of Domine Ecclesium, her only ambition to continue in her unfettered faith and devotion to their maker. She didn’t need to take her place in the line of succession to achieve that.

  Starkas Nazaria had managed rule deftly, though he’d begun to fade toward late middle age. His days as Dyrrakium’s ruler were waning. Soon challengers for leadership by younger Nazarians would come, as would, she realized, Fifth Phase masters of the other five original Lines. Now that Vaka Aster’s vessel was no longer a Nazarian, they had a right to challenge. And one day, Starkas would lose. No doubt, the Ecclesium would not be one to give up leadership easily. Many other Dyrraks would die or be permanently disabled by his hand in the challenge of the Conquestum Ecclesium before he did.

  She decided to get the simple things out of the way first. “It’s time to relinquish the Fenestros shard I gave you.”

  His silvery eyes glittered. “You wish to…retire the Speaker?”

  Always thinking several steps beyond what was on the table was one of his many astute qualities. For a moment, Eisa entertained a doubt. Would Ulfric would be able to keep the secret about what he’d done with Vaka Aster long from this man? If it were known, the Dyrraks would see it as an unforgivable transgression. But what could they possibly do about it?

  “The Speaker has served her purpose. Dyrrakium has achieved indomitability in Vinnr, and there is no force that can oppose it. The Speaker and her Yorish lessers are bygones of an age that has faded to irrelevancy. I prefer the future to the past, which means burying it.”

  “As you say, Nazarian.” He reached up and lifted off the heavy chain and pendant he wore around his neck. From the weight of her own dagger, Eisa knew the pendant was lighter than it looked. The Fenestrii, despite how solid they felt to the touch, seemed more feather than stone.

  As he handed it over, this particular chunk of Fenestros remained deep red in color, an enchantment to hide its true nature that she’d given it when she’d provided it to him. Only a trained eye would know it for what it was. But when he spoke the incantation she’d taught him that would allow him to use the Speaker as his voice, it took on a pearly glow from some wystic inner light. Ulfric and the Knights had seen how it lit up inside Lillias’s chest as they’d disembarked from the Gildr. Through her Mentalios, she’d heard and felt their horror at seeing a Fenestros used in such a way. Later, perhaps, she’d give them a single moment to express their approbation, but no more. She knew what she’d done, the abomination it was. And now, she was going to rectify it, their judgment be damned.

  She collected the shard of Verity stone and put it inside her bandolier. “After I’ve released the Speaker, I’ll want her buried in the Nazarian Line tombs.”

  The statement caught him off guard. “But, Nazarian, she’s a traitor to her own kind, a heretic, and Yorish. It is against our laws and a corruption to—”

  “We can put her at the other end from where your own dais will be when you die, Starkas, so you are not tainted by her corrupt corpse. As the Nazarian Most High, my command will be followed. Yes?” The steel in her voice carried a promise of swift punishment if he questioned her again.

  Though his expression gave no doubt about his feelings on the matter, he simply nodded.

  “It is good,” she said.

  Before she broached the next subject, he said, “There are concerns among the empire that may be dire enough to warrant your immediate attention, Nazarian. We should speak about them.”

  “What concerns?”

  Now that the Ecclesium had her attention, he took a few paces toward the back of the chamber, hooking his thumbs into the belt of green metal links he wore, an adornment of immense value in Dyrrakium. In a measured, leisurely tone, as if his concerns weren’t so i
mportant at all, he said, “The fact that Vaka Aster has taken a new vessel who is not a member of the Nazarian Line is first among them. What insight could you lend the people of Dyrrakium to help explain why not only our Line but the Dyrrak people as a whole have lost this unique favor?”

  The Ecclesium, warrior that he was, knew how to slip a knife right into the guts, even the verbal kind. Vaka Aster had had little to do with her new choice of vessels, but Eisa wouldn’t tell the Ecclesium this. Additionally, she didn’t like the challenge she heard in his tone. “Is it the fact that our maker has taken the form of another that bothers you? Or is it that the Nazarian Line can no longer claim the honor for ourselves?”

  “You think my interests in the matter are personal,” he said, turning back to her. “Perhaps I am concerned the Nazarian Line’s rule will be challenged.” He made the statement matter-of-factly, recognizing that his tone would dictate Eisa’s responses. She had no patience for insinuations, and he knew it.

  Surprised at how close to her earlier thoughts about Dyrrakium’s future ruler the conversation had come, she said, “Your days as Ecclesium are numbered, Starkas, but Dyrrakium will exist forever. You can put your worries to rest. Vaka Aster has chosen us, the entirety of Dyrrakium, to protect her now. It’s less important what vessel she inhabits.”

  He gave her a short nod as if accepting her response, then continued. “This is true. But we have a greater burden than ever—along with the greatest honor, of course. What better way to protect the vessel of our maker than to spread true faith once more throughout Vinnr? By tolerating the kind of uprisings and impiety that we saw in Asteryss, we indulge the other kingdoms in their dangerous ideas. Only the Dyrraks are faithful, are worthy, enough to protect the vessel, but we are also strong enough as an empire to compel all of Vinnr to come back to the maker’s graces, to force worthiness on the other kingdoms, if necessary.” His fist rose and clenched tightly as he said “force.”

  This was it, then. The Ecclesium—all of Dyrrakium, perhaps?—wanted, as she’d suspected, to conquer the lesser kingdoms. They’d had centuries to prepare for a war. It shouldn’t surprise her that they were more than ready to fight one.

  “Ecclesium, when I persuaded your forbearer some seven hundred turns ago to exile Lœdyrrak from the lesser kingdoms and accept blame for the coup started by Lillias and her greedy rats, I did it to avoid a full-scale war with the lesser kingdoms. But more, to remove Dyrrakium from the unworthies’ endless squabbles and weaknesses. Their broken devotion to Vaka Aster is their concern, their lack, not ours.”

  “Could it be you’ve forgotten, Nazarian? Dominion, it is our Sixth Aspect, our fate, which Vaka Aster has supported since she created the Dyrrak people from the dust of the Cosmos.”

  “Dominion is what you want,” she said. “But you know almost nothing of what Vaka Aster wants, Ecclesium. You are no Knight Corporealis.”

  He paused, his face a well-controlled rictus. “And perhaps you are no longer a Dyrrak.”

  With the grace of a dancer, she shifted her stance, no longer discoursing but readying for a fight. “I wouldn’t have believed you had it in you, Starkas, to challenge not only my authority but also my heritage. Is there anything more you wish to say?”

  Their eyes remained locked, mirrors of each other. He said nothing.

  Without looking away, Eisa yelled, “Chancellor Aoggvír, attend us!”

  A moment later, the hall’s doors opened and the chancellor stepped inside. “Yes, Nazarian Most High.”

  “You are witness.” She almost smirked at the way the corner of the Ecclesium’s mouth twitched. He knew what she was about to do. “Spread word among the Dyrrak people that tomorrow the Nazarian Most High will meet the Domine Ecclesium in the Citadel Suprima to challenge each other in the Conquestum Ecclesium.” She looked to the chancellor, whose own eyes were wide. “Tomorrow, at High Halls, Dyrrakium will see its true, most faithful Nazarian take the throne as Dyrrakium’s new Domine Ecclesium.”

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  In the gaol vaults of Citadel Suprima, deep underground where no light of Halla had ever shone, the rooms were barred, cold, and lined with stone. They held unworthies who had been judged and sentenced. Dyrraks rarely strayed from their faith or devotion, and few had ever been left to be forgotten in these cells. But their most recent prisoner, a spy, was no Dyrrak.

  As Eisa challenged the Ecclesium above, the woman’s eyes shot open. They were a murky, featureless gray, as colorless as her skin, and her robes, now tattered, had once been an opulent velvety black. The robes worn by Balavad’s most revered servants, the Flesh Casters.

  You have served me well, priest, came the voice of her master, both from inside her mind and seemingly suffusing the air itself. Now it’s time again that I take your form for myself. This time for good. And you will fulfill a Flesh Caster’s highest honor—you shall become my new flesh.

  Willingly and with all my—the Flesh Caster began, but her response was cut short by a lightning bolt of pain…then nothing. Darkness pooled in her open eyes.

  The door at the chamber’s far end opened, and a voice yelled, “Rations! Stand at the backs of your cells until it’s served, or starve.”

  Shuffling noises and grunts came from the few cells containing other prisoners, followed by footsteps and the sound of food trays being slid under the bars.

  A venerate guard reached the Flesh Caster’s cell. “I said get back or starve, vermin.”

  The prisoner remained standing where she was, unmoving. The guard had a moment to be surprised at this. The Battgjaldic had been in a near comatose state for the last several days. It was widely believed she’d killed Fourth Phase Venerate Edizriis, but no one knew how—and since then, none had chosen to question her. The guards had placed bets on how long she would last without food before she expired, but she was from another realm, so no one quite knew for sure.

  Fits of the faithless, the venerate thought. I thought she’d be dead by now. I never should have made that bet with Kòrmak. That’s three barrels of syke nectar I’m going to owe—

  Before he finished that thought, the voice of the Domine Ecclesium echoed through the vaults. “Venerate, come here.”

  Taking the remaining rations with him, he hurried to the entrance. “Ecclesium, how may I serve?”

  He dipped his eyes, but not before he’d seen the Ecclesium’s face. The man was pale, as if something had unsettled him deeply. At first, it was difficult to place the look on his leader’s face—it had never been there before.

  “I’m told we host a new Ravener in the vaults.”

  “Yes, Ecclesium. In the farthest cell. She’s been unconscious since she was gaoled but has just awoken.”

  “Show me to her.”

  “This way. Have you been briefed on the venerate she killed?” he asked as they began to pace to the foreigner’s cell.

  “I have. The method of murder is still unknown?”

  “It is, Ecclesium. He was found collapsed. But there is no sign he was choked by hands nor rope. His body was free of any external wounds, except…”

  “Yes?”

  The venerate swallowed. “His hands, Ecclesium, they were…missing. And we haven’t found them.”

  The Ecclesium stopped short of the last cell, and the venerate turned back to see why. His expression was a mix of intrigue and disbelief. “Missing?”

  “Yes, Ecclesium, we’ve searched the entire vault. There’s no way—”

  “That will be all. You may leave.”

  “But—”

  “Out, venerate, or I’ll have you in the Birdcage for questioning me.” The guard was halfway back to the entrance before the Ecclesium’s last word had left his mouth. “And close the door. No one is to enter until I’m gone. Understand?”

  “Yes, Ecclesium.”

  As the lock’s tumblers rattled, the Ecclesium faced the prisoner and stared at her curiously. She stood in the same place she’d been, unmoving, staring back with unblinki
ng ichor-black eyes.

  Strange, thought the Ecclesium, all the other Battgjald prisoners had gray eyes.

  It was the Ravener who spoke first. “Do you know who I am, Ecclesium?”

  “You’re a daughter of Battgjald, what they call a Flesh Caster. We’ve seen your kind before.”

  The Ravener gave a low hiss. Her next words carried the same sibilance the other Raveners’ had, but it was underlaid with a heavy resonant quality that made the Ecclesium listen closely as if by command. “Come, you must be wiser than that. You know who I am. You may address me as Her Holiness.”

  It took much for a man as solid as a stone pillar both in body and in mind to succumb to shivers, and the Ecclesium was as solid as they came. Nevertheless, a closer look into the blackness of the woman’s eyes, like a great void, and he felt his jaw quake when he tried to respond. He had to swallow first.

  “Balavad…” he muttered.

  “That’s better. And do you know why I’ve come?”

  The Ecclesium gathered himself with an effort. Perhaps this creature was simply a master trickster, a virus that clouded the mind and none in Vinnr had immunity to. He had to think of some test, some way to make this creature show proof of her claims. But deep in his mind, he wondered, Am I fool to question a Verity? Will there be a price?

  His thoughts grew more disordered, and he said the first thing to come to mind. “If you are truly a Verity, why did you kill Venerate Edizriis, and what…what did you do with his hands?”

  “This body requires little sustenance, but it does require some,” the creature replied. “Now, Ecclesium, we have many things to discuss. It can be done by your leave or by mine. What shall it be?”

  “What do you want?”

  “Oh, I think you know that too. I want the same thing you want.”

  As she spoke, a thick miasma began to flow around her, appearing from nothing. The vapor moved like a snake into the cell’s lock, and a moment later, it clicked open. The woman—Her Holiness—stepped before the Ecclesium, her body transforming into something taller, ganglier right before him. She bent her face down to stare into his, those inky orbs igniting with an inner fire. The Ecclesium was suddenly overcome with reverence. He was being addressed by a Verity, one of the Five, for the first time in his fifty-three turns. More than addressed, he was being drawn into her confidence, shown an understanding that Vaka Aster had withheld from him. From him! The most devoted of all her creations. He dropped to his knees and bowed his head.