The Arcane War

by Tam Chronin

  Aral felt sick to be used to hurt her friend like that. Krecek turned his back on them, and she started to take a step toward him, to apologize, or to explain. Porrellid's grip was strong and his fingers dug into her shoulder as he guided her away.

  "You'll have to try harder than that to persuade me," the high priest murmured in her ear when she still hesitated. "Forget him for a night. Krecek is no one."

  She'd apologize in the morning, once her brother was free.

  Byrek woke up with a feeling of dread. Someone was knocking on his door ever-so politely. Ever-so patiently. Ever-so persistently.

  Something was dreadfully, horribly, terribly wrong.

  "Just a moment," he called out, throwing on a robe. He pulled his hair out of his face, tying it back without bothering to brush it as he strode across the room.

  Aral stood on the other side of the door, naked. She didn’t even have the self-awareness to try to cover herself. Her eyes were as empty as a doll’s, and her skin was as pale as milk.

  "I'm sorry to bother you," she said, still staring at the door. Her lips barely moved as she spoke. "May I come in?"

  "Of course."

  He grabbed a spare blanket from the top of the wardrobe.

  Aral had taken one step in, but the door was wide open behind her. There were cuts and scrapes on her hands and knees. Bruises in other spots. Her lip was red and swelling up in one spot, and her cheek looked like it might bruise.

  Byrek closed the door and wrapped the blanket around her. He put an arm around her to guide her to a chair, but she flinched away with a convulsive shudder.

  "Sorry," he murmured, letting her go immediately. "Please, sit down."

  Byrek lit a fire and started some tea while Aral sat in silence. She wasn't ready to talk. This wasn't the first time a student had come to him disheveled, beaten, and withdrawn. Power does funny things to some young men and women. He tried not to jump to any conclusions, but whatever had happened…it was bad.

  When Aral had her hands wrapped around the tea cup, she let out a long sigh. "Davri mentioned you in his last letter to me. Reminded me I could come to you. I would wager he knew this day would come. He probably didn't need magic to guess something would go wrong. He probably knew I’d have no one else I would want to turn to. Other girls would be spiteful and petty. They'd say that I brought it upon myself and should have known better. I've seen them do it, heard them, and never thought they might be wrong. Other men would fear for themselves, thinking I would cry rape only to sully their names rather than admit what I’ve been through. I've seen that and looked away in disgust at both parties." She leaned forward and took a deep breath of the steam coming off of the tea. "Krecek warned me, even to the last minute, and I don’t know that I’ll be able to look him in the eye again." She shifted her tea from one hand to the other, rubbing her battered palm on the blanket. "Master Arsat—Byrek, I've made a terrible mistake." She finally looked him in the eye, but her gaze was still empty.

  "Were you raped?" Byrek asked gently.

  Aral shook her head. "I let him touch me. He said he would save Naran. He lied to me. He insulted me and violated me and forced my secrets from me, but he didn't rape me. The intercourse itself wasn’t horribly unpleasant, though he mocked me and said I lied when I told him it was my first time." She looked down at her hands, at her lap. "Then he learned the truth. That I was. He found my secrets. All of them. He was in my mind and he found everything. Naran. Davri. Krecek. You."

  "Wait. He said he'd save Naran? Do you mean to say a priest did this to you?"

  "A high priest of Nalia," she said, her voice a monotone, unflinching at saying the name of a god. "Maybe if it had been a high priest of Vaedran or Thebram, they would have had more talent for bringing pleasure." Aral looked into Davri's eyes again, this time her eyebrows drew closer together. "They didn't offer. Isn't it strange? A priest from the goddess of magic would think to blackmail me for sex. But the priesthood for the god of sex, or the goddess of fertility, didn't even bother. I'll bet the priesthood from Egridaea would be adept in such matters, as well. I was thinking of her, in all her earthy and seductive glory, rather than Agruet. I didn't know that intercourse would reveal my secrets."

  Byrek winced, realizing what must have happened. "The priests of Vaedran and Thebram wouldn't use sex as a weapon. It's sacred." That, of course, wasn't the point. But it did offer some explanation. "Whoever did this to you didn't do it for sex or out of desire. He wanted information, and the rest was just for fun. So…now he knows." He placed a comforting hand on her arm. "I am so sorry—"

  "He knows, but he can't say it. He can't even reveal my heresy to his goddess. I won, Master Arsat. I was a better mage than him. I bound my secrets. They'll rip apart his soul when he dies." She showed her first glimmer of emotion; grim satisfaction and bitter triumph. "He's tarnished my name, thrown me to the streets at first light and called me a whore. He sentenced me to death. But I won. I've destroyed him."

  Byrek choked on his tea and coughed for a moment before he could speak again. "To death?"

  Aral nodded calmly, lips upturned in something between a grin and a sneer.

  It was too much to process at once, so he didn't try. In letting the repercussions go, one question rose to the surface.

  "How did you get away?"

  "I'm not sure," she said, staring across the room at nothing. "I must have teleported."

  "Teleportation is a myth, a mental exercise," he said, brow furrowed. "It's supposed to be impossible."

  "I don't know how it happened." She straightened, and the blanket fell from her shoulders to drape around her waist, halted only by the chair she sat upon. She paid it no mind. "My knees were skinned, my feet were bleeding, I was humiliated and afraid, and suddenly it all fell away. I knew what I had to do to get away. And then I was here. Davri said I'd be safe with you. So, it can't be impossible, because I did it. It's...it's exhausting." She closed her eyes and slid forward onto the floor, fast asleep.

  The remains of her tea spilled into the rug, and Byrek sighed. The cup was trapped between her thigh and her breast, protected from the fall by her hand. It wasn’t quite scalding, but her skin had turned pink where the tea had spilled. It couldn’t have been the worst of her discomfort, though. He looked more intently at her knees and her feet, and even parts of her hands where she’d obviously caught herself in a fall. She was all bruises and scrapes growing uglier before his eyes. The bastard must have literally thrown her into the streets in his demonstration.

  Byrek lifted her carefully, gently. He set her onto the bed next to the one he had shared it with the night before. "It looks like you were right. If she’s caught, they’ll kill her."

  Agruet sat up and the sheets pooled into his lap. "We’ll have to make sure she isn’t caught. With all I've done to put her in this spot, it would be a shame to have her executed by my own priests."

  "Can’t you do anything to stop them?" Byrek frowned, but then he turned away and sighed in frustration. "I know we’ve had this argument before, but can’t you intervene and save just this one child?"

  "I could," Agruet said slowly, grinning in his maddeningly devious and smug fashion. "I’m not going to, though. There is a café not far from here." He reached over and touched Byrek on the forehead and the knowledge of where it was and how to get there was suddenly implanted in his brain. "The proprietor owes me a favor, and she's a friend of his. He'll hide her until she's recovered enough to travel. Go with her. When it's safe to travel, get out of Anogrin. You'll find that staying here will be most undesirable, soon."

  "What about her friend, Krecek?"

  Agruet slipped out of bed and put his arms around Byrek, kissing him gently before answering. "The half-elf is not one of mine. I’ll use him, but I can't interfere with him directly without Nalia intervening. It's much too soon for that." He patted Byrek on the cheek and took a step back. "Besides, the little priest boy is about to get everything he ever wanted, now that he doesn’t want
it anymore. Isn’t that worth letting him stick around for?"

  Byrek sighed and started cleaning Aral’s wounds, knowing that he wouldn’t get answers from the god of deception by asking for them. "Tell me what to do, once Aral has recovered."

  Agruet grinned. "The answer will come to you when you need it. Before she does, steal as many books as you can get away with and ship them to your homeland. If it were me, I’d empty the whole library."

  The library? "Why?"

  "You'll see." Agruet's grin took on a deeply sinister look as he disappeared.

  Byrek began a string of profanity in his native tongue before he got properly dressed and proceeded to do what the god had suggested.

  Krecek had watched in horror as Aral was publicly shamed and sentenced to death. He could do nothing unless he wished to join her.

  It was tempting. Horribly tempting.

  She'd been dragged through the streets by her hair. Aral clutched a bedsheet in one hand, but she had given up using it to cover herself by the time he worked his way through the crowds.

  She didn't see him, but Porrellid did.

  When she vanished, no one could believe it at first. People pressed in, feeling around for an invisible girl. No one could find her, even with supplication to the gods, and there was a greater outcry of disbelief.

  It only made her character assassination easier. The end of the Tennival family became the primary goal of many of the priests and a substantial portion of the city.

  He couldn’t say a word.

  Krecek's attempts to find Aral had come up with nothing.

  Despite their friendship. Despite the secret magics he'd learned from his father. Despite everything, there was no trace of her in the city.

  Days passed. Porrellid's story was the only one he heard. The two of them had had their torrid affair, Porrellid had denounced her publicly, and she had vanished. No one had anything further to offer.

  Krecek’s worry grew every day. Porrellid had to know now just how complicit Krecek had been in Naran and Davri's escape. With Aral being accused of seduction, with her state of undress when she'd been paraded through town, he knew that Porrellid and Aral had shared intimate relations. He knew the spell Porrellid must have used.

  All Krecek could do was wait until the high priest decided to set aside his search for Aral and come after her accomplices.

  How long would it take?

  What would he do?

  As time passed, he became obsessed with wondering when the time would come.

  He tried to plan what defense he could muster.

  What lies he could tell.

  How he could save himself.

  The confrontation, when it came, caught them both unaware.

  They’d pass each other casually every day. Others were always around. Krecek would find an excuse to leave, to be too busy. One time he had simply turned around and walked the other way.

  Why didn't Porrellid press the matter, though?

  It was the middle of the night, and Krecek’s mind was too restless to allow sleep. He’d heard from Arlanz that Aral was safe. The great mage Byrek Arsat had gone underground with her. They were fine, but he should not know where they were.

  Just as he and Aral had not known where Davri and Naran were.

  It was a relief, but it was hard. It left him completely alone. The sleepless nights became a regular occurrence. Worry ate at his guts and chased sleep away.

  He decided to walk through the gardens to clear his mind.

  Porrellid was doing the same.

  Porrellid’s presence soured what had already been a bad evening.

  No one else was around.

  Krecek squared his shoulders. Better to get this done now. Get it over with. The potential conversations had been running relentlessly through his head. Time to put that to use.

  He took a deep breath to speak.

  "Your friend has only delayed the inevitable," Porrellid said without turning, cutting him off.

  "I’ll tell her you said that when you are dead, and she is not," Krecek said. Yes. All those hypothetical conversations, and this was the best he could do. Damn it.

  Porrellid turned with a snarl on his face. "I don’t know how she got away, and I don’t know how she is hiding, but the gods will not be denied."

  "The gods didn't sentence her to death. You did. You’re just a human. A mere mortal. You attained your position through scheming, lies, bribery, and posturing. I had more faith, more magic, in my toenail clippings a decade ago than you have ever possessed. You and your ilk disgust me, and I’ll never know how you became a high priest before I did."

  That was better. Words he'd wanted to say for weeks. They'd almost come out the way he'd wanted, too.

  "You just said it yourself," Porrellid said. "Scheming. Lies. Bribery. Faith is for the masses. Faith is for the sheep who can’t handle a little initiative and determination. Faith is for those who need a pat on the head at the end of the day for following others. Power is for those who take it."

  "I’ve had power all along," Krecek said. "I’ve also had the wisdom not to abuse it."

  Right? Hadn't that been wisdom? He'd thought so, until now.

  Porrellid's mocking laughter said otherwise.

  "You've made a mistake, Porrellid. What's the point of power if you don't use it to protect those who need it? To take what you know you deserve?"

  Krecek took a step forward, buoyed by sudden realization. He was stronger than anyone in this temple. Perhaps the whole city. The only thing between him and revenge was a rapidly fading fear of some nebulous consequence.

  Porrellid took a step back. When he realized he had done so he gave a shaky laugh and planted his feet solidly on the ground. "You think you deserve my position? Is that it? You’re just as underhanded as I am. Just as corrupt. I tossed that girl aside because the entire time she was with me, she thought of you. She wanted you, just as much as you want her. It was disgusting, seeing your vapid, hopeless eyes etched in her mind. I almost lost my erection."

  It stopped Krecek for a moment. She'd thought of him?

  "I’m the one who had her, though." The sneering look of triumph on Porrellid's face snapped Krecek back into focus. "I took what I wanted, while you're still pining for things that could have been. Even if you take my place as high priest, you’ll know it was too late to save her. You could have, if you'd only realized. She'd be yours, the boy would be safe, and you would have everything you’ve ever wanted. Instead, you waited. You had your precious faith. While I had what you don't have the balls to take."

  "I’ll take it now," Krecek’s eyes were narrowed.

  "I don’t think you have it in y—"

  Porrellid’s words choked off and his eyes bulged. He gasped for breath that wouldn't come.

  He hadn’t even seen the dagger Krecek had thrown. He was too busy taunting Krecek. Too confident. Too proud. Too prepared for a magic attack to expect something so banal as a knife in his throat.

  "You hurt someone I love," Krecek said, walking over and grasping the dagger and giving it a twist while the high priest bled. While he suffocated on his own blood. "May the gods have mercy on your—"

  Krecek stopped, eyes wide. Something was wrong. The man he was killing—

  Porrellid’s soul was dying along with his body.

  There were no second chances.

  No chance for atonement.

  No reward for any good he had done.

  No justice for the evil.

  This was his end, and Krecek had brought it about.

  "Gods!" he gasped, lifting his hand to his mouth in horror.

  His hand reeked of tainted blood. That, and the thought of what he’d just done, made his stomach roil.

  No. He didn’t have time to think about it. He had to shove emotions aside. He would be caught, surely. There was no hiding what he had done, only why he had done it.

  Scheming. Lies. Bribery. Krecek decided to add one more to the list of what would bring his r
ise to power.

  Intimidation.

  It took some work, and he cheated with a bit of magic. Before anyone stumbled upon him and cried out in alarm he had hacked through bone and sinew to remove Porrellid’s head. Krecek’s hands grew slippery with blood and his robes were hopelessly stained with it.

  The night air cooled the blood and the body quickly. Soon it felt tacky on his skin and his robes stuck to his body, but he managed the task at last.

  It was tempting to sit back. To take a break. The effort had been exhausting.

  No. He had to be the one to surprise them. Not the other way around.

  Krecek gripped the hair tight in his hand. His fingers were sore already, his hand wanting to cramp, but will over weakness.

  He stalked down the hall that led to the grandiose bedchambers where the high priests and high priestesses slept. The head dripped blood, leaving a trail from the garden to the round antechamber that connected the six rooms. Three for the high priests, three for the high priestesses.

  With a blast of magic, he threw open their doors. The five of them walked out in various states of undress. They looked at Krecek, looked at Porrellid's severed head.

  They were all silent. Waiting.

  "I am taking Porrellid’s place, and only Nalia herself can remove me from the position."

  He then stalked into the room no one had come out of.

  His new room.

  Krecek closed the door and wept.

  The news of Krecek attaining the position of high priest spread quickly throughout Anogrin. Details of how he did it were never revealed or even rumored. Porrellid was merely said to have met with a sudden and unfortunate end.

  His body was never displayed.

  If Krecek seemed cold and distant through all of the services, the public chalked it up to nerves. They adored him and his elfin grace, though Anogrin was primarily a human city. He was just human enough to set them at ease, but elfin enough to be exotic, mysterious, and the subject of many idle fantasies.