“Your cause? And what cause would that be?”
“All in good time.” He grinned. “We need honorable men like you to restore our great city. You can no longer scribe for the temple. Only the savages and abominations are trusted with such essential information. There are still those of importance and influence who understand both the heart of Nazil and the needs of our people. Many in Nazil and Yarah are already in his service.”
Allister stepped back, peering at him from toe to head. For the first time, he realized the rumors to be true. This wasn’t merely a few disgruntled Nazilians angered at losing their slaves. This was an organized rebellion preparing to start a war.
Allister had to ask himself: had he and his daughter foolishly aided in this treachery? Did others know about their excursion to the isle or about the wretched creature who resided there? Those thoughts caused him to visibly wince.
He had no love for the Cha or the malevolence formerly present in the temple. Though he might not agree with all the new Zaxson’s positions, he respected the Benoists, and Nazil prospered under their rule.
“Who is he, Sir Branston?” he finally asked.
“In time, mayhaps an introduction will be in order. For now, I’ll leave you to your business…and your recollections,” Nigel said, replacing his helm. “At any time you recall the location of the documents I requested, please send word. Nazil needs men of your caliber, Sir d’Garrion. There are few left among us who truly know what it means to be Nazilian.”
Nigel offered a partial bow, moving through the open door. After escorting him from his home, Allister stood near the entryway, dissecting the implications of the meeting. With the dangers he faced on Sanctium, and Nikolina’s deteriorating condition, he couldn’t focus on such treachery. At the same time, how could he ignore it?
If Nigel had come to him with such promises of recompense, surely there had been and would be others. The reasoning behind this treason had little and less to do with the Vereux’s fall. It had everything to do with the humans and half-humans in positions of power throughout Faélondul.
Villages of Nazilians were swallowed whole by the so-called Guardians. Thousands of lives, Nazilians lives, were ended that day. Allister feared that there were too many who wouldn’t cease their efforts until the citadel was cleansed, and the Benoists’ heads were mounted on spikes.
He rushed to his study, gathering the documents into his satchel. When he looked at the heavy leather-bound book, he stopped to examine it. Allister traced the symbol burned deep into the cover. Most of the etchings were beyond his understanding, but he needed to keep the book safe.
As he turned to leave, he caught sight of the small urn on his shelf. He lowered his satchel, walking over to it. His fingers caressed the smooth sides, feeling a warm sensation from the broken shard he’d hidden there. Part of him wanted to remove it, but he stopped, peering inside instead.
After ensuring that it was safe, he donned his cloak, exiting his home. The snows had begun to fall, causing the cobbled streets to become slick. He was careful as he approached his cart, checking for anyone who might have an interest in his movements. Raising the cowl over his head, he took the reins from his driver, motioning him back inside.
Allister didn’t wait for a response. With a flick of the reins, the small cart started to move. As he traversed the winding streets, he sighed, admiring the splendor of Nazil. It was the only home he’d known, and at that moment, he pondered what the future held. Not only for him, but for Nazil and his family most of all.
He watched his breath hang heavy in the air, keeping to the shadows. When his thoughts turned to Sanctium, he nearly stopped. Allister wasn’t ignorant of the ways of his people. Something was amiss beyond what he’d discovered on the isle. The darkness that lay ahead was either created by or sustained by the Cha.
Allister slipped a hand into his cloak, caressing the worn leather satchel as if needing confirmation that it yet remained. He glanced around the empty streets, flicking the reins, and urging his horse as fast as he dared on the slick roads. Though mere moments passed, it seemed more a season before he’d arrived at the outer gate of the citadel. Pentanimir had ordered him never to return, but he saw no alternative now.
“Halt!” the guard called down from atop the outer wall. “State your business.”
Allister cleared his throat, pulling back his cowl. His brow knitted as he looked up at the guard. He scanned the other guards within his view, realizing that none of them were Nazilian.
“Greetings, good sir. My name is Allister d’Garrion, and it’s imperative that I speak with the Benoists.”
“If you need to speak with the Zaxson, return when he holds audience in the hall. Now be gone from the gates lest I have you removed.”
“Please, Sir,” Allister continued, politely. “If the need were not urgent, I daren’t disturb our honorable leader. I have pressing news and it’s vital that I speak with him. If the Zaxson cannot meet with me, I’d speak with the Nakshij, High Advisor, or any of his line. Please inform them that Allister d’Garrion has come on urgent business, and they’ll grant me entry.”
The guard scoffed, turning toward another upon the outer wall. He didn’t want to disturb the Zaxson, but if the business was urgent, he needed to inform him.
Allister watched as they whispered something he couldn’t hear. Both guards stared at him and then turned their backs, continuing their conversation. After some time, the first guard reappeared.
“Wait here and we’ll see,” the guard said, moving from Allister’s view.
He observed the guards on the ramparts, listening to signals being shouted back and forth. His fingers were growing numb from the bitter cold and stinging wind, reminding him of his time in the mountains. Still, he sat outside the gates, praying to whatever gods who were listening.
After replacing the cowl, he continued to sit for nearly half a glass in the freshly falling snow. When the guard finally returned, Allister was shivering from exposure.
“The Third Chosen will see you.” The guard signaled for the gates to be raised.
“Th—thank you, Sir,” he managed through chattering teeth and bluish lips. After making his way over the drawbridge and through the second gate, he saw the entourage awaiting him near the citadel entrance. Allister swallowed hard, keeping his cart at a slow, but steady pace. When he exited, he offered a respectful bow.
“Sir d’Garrion, what business have you at the citadel? My brother told you not to return.”
“I beg your pardon, Sir Benoist. Had my business not been urgent, never would I defy such an order.”
“I’ll judge the importance of your words.” Temian motioned to the door, ushering Allister into a room appearing more a closet. Only a small wooden table and two chairs fit into the sparsely furnished room. Temian ordered some mulled wine and added kindling to the brazier, noticing Allister’s shivering. As he stoked the fire, Allister moved closer, rubbing his near-frozen hands together.
“Thank you for seeing me, Sir Benoist,” he said as some warmth returned to his body. “It’s true the Zaxson forbade me to return, but there are several matters that we must discuss.”
Temian peered over at him, pulling out a chair. He recalled Allister’s character when they’d served together at the temple. At that time, he’d thought he was a man of great integrity. That opinion hadn’t changed, yet he wondered what had caused him to falter. After Surma delivered the tray, Temian joined Allister at the table.
“If you’ve come to inform us about your daughter, the Nakshij has no interest.”
“No,” he said, after taking a long drink of mulled wine. “Nikolina hasn’t been well, but that’s not the reason for my visit. I need to inform the Zaxson about my recent visitor.”
“Why would the Zaxson care who visits your home?”
“He’ll care because the visit was from one of his Chosen.”
Temian pushed his waist-length hair over his shoulder, leaning closer. “Why would
such a visit cause concern? The Chosen are free to visit whomever they choose.”
“Indeed, but it isn’t the visit that would be of interest, it’s the content.”
“Speak plainly, Sir d’Garrion. I have no time to decipher your riddles.”
“Forgive me. I don’t mean to cause confusion, however, I too, was confused and then angered by Sir Branston’s assertions.”
“Sir Branston?” Temian asked. This wasn’t the first time this Chosen of Nazil had come up in conversation. Sidra Merrimont had warned them about him not long ago.
“Yes. Nigel Branston. He came seeking not only some rare documents, but allegiance as well.”
“Allegiance? To what?”
“Not what, Sir Benoist, to whom. There’s someone in Nazil gathering followers to oppose the Zaxson. Sir Branston referred to him as his benefactor.”
“And what does he want from you?” Temian asked, doing well to mask the angst welling within him.
“These,” Allister said, producing the parchments and the codices from his satchel.
Allister studied Temian’s face as he picked up each item, scrutinizing it, and then lowering it again.
Temian glanced at him, and then moved to the door. “Sir Meagher, have the Zaxson, Nakshij, and High Priest meet us in chamber three. If Thalassa is able, please inform her as well.”
When he faced Allister, he replaced the items in his satchel.
“I remember you, Sir Benoist,” Allister said, sipping the warm wine. “I remember when you served the temple and the Cha.”
“Never did I serve those false gods or their corrupt leadership.”
“Agreed,” he conceded. “Still, you were a part of their brotherhood for many years. I’d watch your interaction with them and others in the temple. In the beginning, I labeled you young and not yet understanding the way of things. But as time went on, nothing much changed in your behavior, except your ability to become invisible if the times called for it. You took no part in the ceremony of purge, or the abuse of servants. Never did you mingle with the other Cha unless your duties demanded it.
“It didn’t pass my notice that each time your uncle Oxilon visited the temple, you ensured that you were far away. Albeit, it wasn’t the same with his honorable brother, Manifir. You and he spent much time together. I now understand the why of it, and my respect and admiration has grown. For your brothers, it was quite different, but you…to accomplish what you have—” Allister left his words there, standing.
“Your road wasn’t an easy one, son of Manifir. Whether you believe my words or no, it pleases me to see you here in the citadel where you belong. You were always dissimilar from the other Cha, and that difference gave me hope. I pray that you and your brothers can save this great city and Faélondul. There’s a darkness coming. Not only from Yarah and Nazil, but darker places than you could ever imagine.”
Temian’s brow creased, staring into his eyes. He wasn’t certain what Allister meant, but the way he spoke gave him pause.
Temian gestured to the open door where his guard stood waiting. Allister inclined his head before moving through the archway. He immediately noticed that the guards were human, save Temian. With that revelation, he breathed a bit easier, knowing that he’d made the correct decision in coming to the citadel. Whatever violations his daughter might’ve committed, the safety of Nazil would supersede it.
“Raise your cowl,” Temian said. “There may be guards posted that would tell about your visit. We’d have you safe, Sir d’Garrion.”
Allister immediately complied. He hadn’t considered any repercussions.
“Medric, Remy, scout ahead and ensure the corridor is clear.”
“Will the guards heed our words, Third Chosen?”
“Remy, you’re also a citadel guard. Only guards in your contingent should be present on this level. If that isn’t so, order them gone under threat of the Zaxson and the Third Chosen.”
Remy and Medric bowed, hurrying down the corridor. Temian nodded to Allister, resuming their pace. As the men rounded the corner, Remy and Medric stood at the entrance to the chamber.
“The Nakshij and High Priest are within,” Medric said. “The Zaxson and First Chosen are en route.”
“Thank you, remain here and allow no one entry, save those of the Zaxson’s choosing. He’ll make you aware when he arrives.”
“Yes, Third Chosen,” the guards offered in tandem.
Temian pushed open the doors, allowing Allister to enter first. He slowly removed his cowl, keeping his gaze lowered.
“Greetings, Nakshij, High Priest,” he offered, respectfully. “Thank you for allowing me audience.”
“Had my brother not sent urgent word, you would’ve found yourself in a cell as was promised you,” Danimore said.
Before Allister could respond, Temian stepped forward. “I wouldn’t have asked for you to come had his words rang empty. Sir d’Garrion has some pertinent information to relay, and items that require Thalassa and Nzuri’s expertise.”
“My expertise?” Nzuri asked.
“See for yourself,” Temian said, moving toward Allister. He reached into his satchel, producing the leather-bound book.
“The mark of the Guardians,” Nzuri gasped.
“Mark of the Guardians?”
“Yes, the Guardians, Sir d’Garrion, and the true gods of these lands.”
With that, he took a step back, eyeing the men. “The Guardians?” he asked again.
“There’re names of the Nohek written inside. This book was taken from Hyorin. Where did you get it?” Nzuri asked.
“Hyorin?” a voice called from the door.
When Pentanimir entered with Thalassa and Symeon, Allister immediately bowed.
“Why have you come?” Pentanimir said. “Have you a desire to visit the cells?”
Allister raised his head, pausing as he regarded the Zaxson and Temian. He glanced from one to the other astounded. The two brothers were almost identical. He cocked his head, wondering how so many had missed the obvious similarities with Manifir’s sons.
“No—no, Sir Benoist. I’ve brought information. It’s my hope to help in any way that I’m able.”
“Information? What does he mean?” Pentanimir asked.
“He’s brought news of treachery,” Temian said. “He also has a book of the Guardians and more scrolls and codices.”
“Where would he get such a book?”
“Zaxson, Sir, I found it in the temple.”
“Found it?”
“Yes. It—it was hidden, Zaxson, along with these scrolls and codices. I’ve brought the information here to keep it from those attempting to use them to cause harm.”
“You stole this from the temple?” Nzuri said, still carefully flipping through the delicate pages.
“It was the property of the Cha. When they died, I took them, yes. However, there are others who seek the same.”
“What others?” Nzuri asked.
After Pentanimir gestured for him to sit, Allister moved closer, setting the remaining scrolls on the table.
“Yes. There’s someone here in Nazil who’s aware that the Cha had possession of these documents. I didn’t know their origin, only that they were property of the Cha. Sir Branston visited me before I came to you, and he asked for these very items and offered compensation for their return.”
“Nigel Branston?” Danimore asked for clarification.
“One and the same.”
Pentanimir and Danimore exchanged knowing looks.
“What did he request of you?” Pentanimir asked.
“He requested these documents and offered to pay a healthy sum for their return.”
“And your response?” Danimore asked.
“Am I not here, Nakshij? I’d see these documents in the Zaxson’s hands and not those of these perfidious criminals. Sir Branston mentioned a benefactor and others held in high regard throughout Nazil. There are many who would like to see your line ended.”
; “Of that much we’re all aware,” Danimore said. “Why did you choose to come here instead of joining those opposing us?”
“Sir Benoist, my daughter may have committed an inconceivable violation against you, but that was Nikolina, not me. She didn’t see those actions as inappropriate or criminal… desperate mayhaps, but not inappropriate. Never did she want to injure you in any way. On the contrary, my daughter foolishly believed that those same vile acts would prove her love for you.
“It pains me to look at her, at what she’s become. She was devastated by your rejection and didn’t know how to manage such strong emotions. It doesn’t excuse the suffering she’s caused, but you need to contemplate what part you might’ve had in her decisions,” Allister said more harshly than he expected, and then regarded the Zaxson.
“I’ve always respected House Benoist. No one can offer one example of my family speaking ill against you or your father. I may be Nazilian, but never treated anyone as if they were beneath me. Your mother would attest to the same,” he said, glancing at Temian.
“When the Vereuxs fell, it was a blessing for Faélondul. Too long had they ruled over us. Draizeyn and those of his line have sent our great city in directions many opposed. But who would stand against a ruling line that established who we are? No, Zaxson, I wouldn’t see your rule end. Regardless of my daughter’s faults, you and your family have been just and honorable to us. Only those who fear the truth would want you removed from the citadel.”
Quiet filled the room. Danimore wanted to be angered by him and his assertions, but he couldn’t and remain honest with himself. Allister had never spoken or moved against anyone in his family. Manifir and even Oxilon had spoken highly of him in times past. It was merely his dealings with Nikolina, and the tragedies surrounding them that caused Danimore to judge him so harshly.
“I hold no malice toward you, Sir d’Garrion,” Danimore said. “The crimes your daughter committed fall upon her alone. We’re all grateful that you’ve come with this information. My family only strives for the betterment of Nazil and the whole of Faélondul.”
Seed of Scorn Page 38
