Mage Ameyron stepped forward. “My research has concluded that the Temple of Varula’s overuse of wyld magic created a feedback loop, if you will, that encouraged the spread of malicious entities such as the crystalbell bugs and stranglevine. The priests didn’t anticipate how all of the wyld magic would feed on itself inside the city and it quickly spread outside of their control.” He began to pull notes out of his sleeves. “Further study will be needed to understand these implications—”
Galenos gestured to Diokles, who quickly cleared his throat and thanked the mage for his explanation. Ameyron had a tendency to ramble on and they didn’t have time to get bogged down in irrelevant details.
Guards had searched the Councilors’ homes and the Temple of Varula, before it was demolished, for these special charms or any other sign of how the cult had tampered with wyld magic, but none were found. Eryalos’s testimony was a key component of understanding what had happened.
When all of the witnesses had testified and the evidence displayed for all of the citizens to see, Galenos rose for the first time and addressed the accused. “Do you have anything to say for yourselves before I render judgment for your crimes?”
Most of the former councilors and priests looked at the ground and said nothing. Pelagia, who had been the leader of the old Council, lifted her head defiantly. She was an old, gray-haired woman, without any of her fine clothes and physically diminished by her months in prison, but she carried herself proudly as if she still had power over all of them.
“I have served Kyratia for over fifty years,” she said loudly. Her voice was still deep and rich despite her advanced age, and it carried across the listening crowd. “I gave my life to helping all of you. I was the first woman chosen to the Council and I have a long record of improvements I made to this city. My actions may seem reprehensible now, but I have only acted out of desperation to keep my homeland out of the clutches of a bloodthirsty killer!” Her words ended in a shriek and she spat in the direction of Galenos.
Guards grabbed hold of Pelagia and pulled her back from the duke. She struggled against them with surprising strength, but the old woman was no match for trained fighters, and they dragged her to the back of the dais.
One of the priests, a middle-aged man, lifted his head. “I would like to say a few words, if I may.”
Galenos saw the guards looking to him for approval, so he nodded. They could rant and rave all they wanted to—their empty words could do no more harm now.
The Varulan priest cast a sorrowful glance over the crowd. “I actually wanted to apologize for our transgressions.” He bowed his head. “My name is Xeros, and I was chosen by Varula to protect this city. I failed in my duty when I let people get hurt. There is still much we don’t understand about wyld magic, and we should have been more careful with our use. Of course, we should take responsibility for our mistakes, but to outlaw the worship of Varula will only make Kyratia more vulnerable. You cannot banish our entire temple.”
Father Loranos, the head priest of the Temple of Deyos in the city, stood up. “Deyos, the Allfather, has forbidden the use of wyld magic as anathema to our civilization.” He gestured in a benediction for the entire crowd. “Some of you were led astray by the promises of these false priests, but you have returned to the path of righteousness when you renounced their cult. These heretics have refused the love of the Allfather, so they shall be shown no forgiveness.”
Loranos turned to Galenos next, who bowed his head to receive the blessing. “But for his service to the people, Deyos smiles on Galenos and forgives his past transgressions as a soldier. Like you, he was purified of his sins and welcomed back into the Allfather’s light.”
Galenos waited a moment with his head bowed humbly before he straightened again. “I know that many people have doubts about my past history as a mercenary,” he said, turning to address the crowd. “But I swear to you that I have no love of violence or killing. My experiences have shown me that war only hurts us all, whether we are victorious or defeated—lives are lost, lands are destroyed, and those who survive are forever haunted by the memories of destruction we have witnessed.” He spread his hands wide. “I vow, from this point forward, that I will dedicate my life to working for peace and rebuilding our home to be better than before. I hope you all will help me achieve this dream.”
He paused and let the people respond. The crowd cheered enthusiastically, calling out their support. Everything was going just as he had hoped.
He raised his hands again to quiet them down. “In the interests of peace and an end to violence, I have decided not to execute the traitors. There has been enough death.” There were cries of protest scattered through the crowd, but not too many—he’d roused their sympathies. “As punishment for their crimes, it is my judgment that they should be banished from Kyratia for the rest of their lives, so they cannot harm our people any longer. I am also banning the worship of Varula except for a minor role in rites that honor His father, Deyos.”
He turned and beckoned to Korinna, who came up to stand beside him. “This is my wife Korinna, who still mourns the death of her father, the late Duke Basileos, and now is my partner in leading this city. She has decided that the duke’s murderers should help pay for the damage that they caused.” He looked down at her, the cue for her to speak.
Korinna lifted her head up high—even on the dais, she was barely able to look over the sea of faces. “To repay the debts created by the usurpers and to rebuild everything damaged by their destructive magic, all of the convicted traitors, alive or dead, shall have their property seized by Kyratia’s government and sold off to fund our restoration projects.”
The crowd began to cheer, but the prisoners shouted angrily. “You can’t steal from us!” shrieked one old councilor, rattling his chains. “Thief!” another cried.
Pelagia had been released by the guards, and the other prisoners stepped back to let her come to the front again. “You can punish us, but you can’t turn our families into beggars,” she said haughtily. “The money belongs to our heirs.”
Korinna turned to stare down the old woman. “You padded your own pockets at the expense of the citizens,” she said, shaking her head. “You can’t expect to give that ill-gotten money to your grandchildren now that you’ve been caught.”
A thunderous roar erupted from the crowd, drowning out any further protests from Pelagia and the other prisoners. Guards turned them aside and led them off the dais back to their prison cells. The actual banishment from the city would happen later when the crowds had calmed down in the interests of safety—there would be no mob to drive the traitors away.
Galenos put his arm around Korinna and stood there, letting the crowd’s cheers wash over them. The public trial had been a rousing success. After the old Council’s secretive meetings where they made so many horrible decisions in private, he wanted the people to see how he was working for them. Their goodwill was more valuable than any coin in the city’s coffers.
***
After the public trial, the New Year’s festival and the week of religious holidays that followed went by smoothly. Thanks to a sudden surge in donations to the Temple of Deyos by nervous people who wanted to distance themselves from the notorious Cult of Varula, the priests were able to create the most lavish celebration in years with elaborate holy plays and parades through the streets. Music played constantly and flowers rained from the rooftops. Free feasts, sponsored by the government, fed the pilgrims throughout the city. After eight days, everyone was fat and happy.
Galenos had tried not to overindulge, but with so many parties to meet with nobles and guild members, and public appearances before the people, there was always food in front of him and he lost track of how much he ate. He realized, when his schedule went back to normal, that his waistline had expanded from too much food and not enough exercise. He’d have to join some training drills at the military complex when he went to fly with Nightshade.
When he went to meet with Diokles in the
Councilor’s home, he turned down the offer of fruit pastries from Diokles’s favorite bakery. “I’ve had enough rich food to last me the rest of the summer,” he said with a laugh.
Diokles took a bite of pastry and patted his own generous stomach. “It’s a professional hazard of the politician, I’m afraid. But look on the bright side. You intimidate people right now because you still have the lean form of a soldier.” He wagged a finger at him. “If you softened that appearance by growing out your hair and eating a few more pastries, then you might seem a little more trustworthy.”
Galenos ran a hand over the short fuzz on his head. “I don’t know if I’d go that far just to make a better impression. My hair is…difficult to manage when it’s longer.” Thick and textured, it tended to stick out in a wild appearance. He nodded at the older man. “Nothing like your own luscious locks.”
Diokles tossed back a dark wave of gleaming hair. While Kyratian women pinned up their hair out of the way most of the time, it was fashionable for men, especially wealthier ones, to wear their hair loose. With long hair framing his face, and his beard trimmed to a neat point, it helped slim down his round cheeks. “Well, I suppose you would have unique trouble with the latest styles. Still, it’s something to consider.” He reclined back on a cushion-filled couch and nodded to Galenos. “So, what brings you here without your wife? I thought you two were partners now.”
Galenos tried to lean back and lounge on his own couch, but he’d never learned the casual manner of reclining during a discussion. He propped himself up awkwardly on one elbow. “Actually, that was something I wanted your advice on. She wants us to be equals in all things, but…” He gestured vaguely, searching for the right words. “There are obvious gaps in our levels of experience, shall we say?”
Diokles raised an eyebrow. “Indeed.” He picked up a glass of wine and swirled it around. “It’s a pity that she was never able to learn any leadership skills from her father. Duke Basileos wanted to bring her here years ago, to give her a better education, but political considerations prevented him from showing too much attention to his mistress’s daughter—and later, of course, his own paranoia.”
Galenos frowned. “I’m not sure that I would trust her even if she had been educated by her father,” he admitted. “Basileos and I didn’t exactly agree on his policies for Kyratia, and either way, she would still be young. There are things you can only learn by doing them.”
Diokles chuckled. “You know, in my eye, you’re not very old yourself. I may dye the gray in my hair out of vanity, but I’m still twice your age.” He gave Galenos a sideways look. “And I seem to recall that you were the same age that she is now when the old duke hired your Storm Petrels, even though your mercenary company had almost no experience in battle. A lot of people doubted you then, too.”
The old memory prickled at him. Galenos coughed, covering his mouth to hide his discomfort. “I was younger then, yes,” he admitted. “But I had older, experienced soldiers advising me, and I relied on their judgment. Korinna tries to argue every point with me, even when she has no idea what she’s talking about.” He looked down at his hands. “It’s very frustrating.”
“And you argue back with your superior knowledge?” Diokles said knowingly. “It must be frustrating for her, too, when you talk down to her. She doesn’t take orders like your soldiers.”
He sat up and swung his legs over the side of the couch to face Diokles directly. “She learned discipline along with the rest of the soldiers, but once we got married, she stopped obeying.” He shook his head. “But no, I don’t try to order her around most of the time. I’ve found it’s easier to distract her—give her something minor to focus on so she’ll let me handle the rest in peace. But there’s only so many little projects I can give her before she comes back, asking questions.” He looked up at the councilor hopefully. “Do you have any suggestions?”
Diokles didn’t meet his gaze, still looking at his table of refreshments. “Well, I would give her more responsibilities and see if she can rise to the occasion.” He gestured with his wine glass. “Leading a city is a huge task, larger than anything either of you have ever done, but it can be broken up into smaller tasks. You can’t do them all alone, which is why you have a council and other people helping you. Let Korinna be one of them.”
Galenos gripped the edge of the couch. “And if she makes reckless mistakes that ruin something?”
“Then it’s a learning experience,” Diokles said with a shrug. He caught the look of horror on Galenos’s face and laughed. “Well, no one expects that everything will go perfectly! We’re already recovering from last year and the people are happy. Don’t be so uptight.” He waved a hand. “Besides, some women lose interest in politics when they have children. You may not have to worry about her much longer.”
The sight of Korinna staring down Pelagia sprang into his mind. The old councilor had never stopped her scheming despite her advanced age, and his wife seemed to have the same passion. “I wouldn’t count on it,” he grumbled. But he nodded as he got to his feet. “I’ll take your advice into consideration. As you say, she can learn.”
Tatiana I
The hot summer sun beat down on her head and shoulders. Tatiana had been burned by the same sun every day, yet her skin never darkened like the other villagers, warm and brown like a roasted nut. Instead, hers turned red, cracked and blistered, no matter how much salve her mother smeared on her each morning and night. She covered up as much as she could, with a hat and long sleeves, and suffered in silence. Complaining wouldn’t fill her basket with mussels any faster, nor make the tide wait to cover the beach again.
She didn’t remember their old home. Once, her mother said, they’d lived in a different village in the north, far away from the sea. There, everyone had been pale like her mother, with straight blonde hair and blue eyes. Tatiana tried to imagine it sometimes, to live among people who looked just like her. When she towered over all the other girls and most of the boys, and no one offered to dance with her at the festival, she tried to close her eyes and picture that other land where she was normal. The place where she belonged.
But there was no place left for them back home, her mother Sveta said again and again. Father died, and his family wasn’t willing to take in his widow and useless girl-child. It wasn’t safe for women in the north, so her mother had brought them south to the seashore. To this village of short, round brown people who gave them a home, no questions asked. Sveta learned to weave fishing nets and baskets, and Tatiana put her long arms and broad shoulders to work gathering mussels twice a day, at low tide before dawn and in the afternoon.
Tatiana hoisted her basket higher on her shoulders and felt the weight settle. Without looking back, she could tell that it was more than two-thirds full. The waves were lapping at her feet, but she still had time. A full basket would help feed everyone in the village so they could smoke the fish for trading at market.
When she was finally satisfied that she’d gathered enough, she turned and walked back up the cliffs. A group of women greeted her outside the village of Helyma, where they cleaned the seafood downwind to avoid unpleasant smells in the houses. Tatiana gratefully lowered her basket to the ground and let them take over. She stretched her aching shoulders with a groan.
One of the women started transferring the mussels into a pot of water. “I’ll soak these for tomorrow, to take out the bitterness.” She pointed at another woman who was cleaning several large squid. “Tonight we’re having a little feast, for the visitor.”
Tatiana perked up. “A visitor?” Not many people came to remote Helyma.
The other woman nodded. “Yes, a soldier. Recruiting for the mercenaries.” She gave Tatiana a knowing look. “If you’ve got your eye on a young man, you’d best tell him now before he goes running off to fight.”
Tatiana said farewell and hurried back to the village. It wasn’t a young man she was interested in, but the recruiter himself. It wasn’t often they came so far from
the capitol city of Kyratia. She had to know what her chances were of being able to join.
Most of the villagers were still working out at sea or along the shore, but a group of elderly men and women were gathered in the village’s center square, talking to the mercenary. Tatiana stopped, suddenly shy, and peeked at him around the corner of a building.
He looked like a warrior, with his dark hair cut short, his uniform tunic and leggings showing off his well-developed muscles. She scanned hopefully for battle scars but didn’t see any. But there on his breast was an insignia a black bird silhouette on a navy background. A Storm Petrel mercenary! It was just like all of the stories.
As she spied on him, the mercenary glanced up, as if he sensed someone looking at him. Tatiana quickly darted back behind the corner. She wasn’t ready to face him yet, not all dirty and bedraggled from the beach. Later that evening, when everyone met for the feast, she might get up the courage to approach him.
She raced home to wash up and change her clothes.
Her mother Sveta was at home, taking down the wash from the clothesline outside. On days when the weather was fine, she did most of her work out in the yard. Their house was small compared to most of the others in Helyma, with only one room and a small loft to sleep above, but it kept out the wind that blew up over the cliff from the ocean, and it only needed to hold the two of them. It had been a gift from the villagers.
Tatiana bent next to her mother and dug through the basket of clean clothes. “Did you wash my nice dress?”
Sveta sighed. “There’s no need to wash something you haven’t worn in a month. It’s in the trunk where it always is.”
She straightened up. “I’m going to boil some water for a bath. Will you help me brush my hair? There isn’t a lot of time before dinner.”
Sveta put her hands on her hips and stared at her daughter. “What’s with the sudden interest in dressing up? It’s not a festival day.”
A Pride of Gryphons Page 4
