Kingdomturn

by Matthew Williams

  The plain between the two factions was a killing field, but their hostilities were blindly focused towards one another. As there was no imminent threat from the direction of the Gates of Contrition, no one noticed as Ryna, Eyrie, and Ansund began creeping towards the Spire. When they were within a few dozen strides, though, one of the Penitent Faithful guarding the Spire at last noticed the glow of the Watch helmets. “Cynmeren!” the man cried as he readied an arrow.

  Ansund stepped forward with arms outstretched. “HOLD!” the Draeden bellowed, and the tension on the man’s bowstring slowly went slack as he recognized who had spoken. “What is happening here?” Ansund demanded.

  “There are many who have lost their faith, Draeden,” the man explained, his face twitching as he spoke. “The cofa is gone and these….these heretics claim that the High Conduit is a liar. That the Venerates are liars!”

  “I know nothing of this, but none of it matters for now,” Ansund replied. “I must speak with the High Conduit immediately.”

  “None of it matters? Hundreds are dead—does that matter to you?” The man took a few steps toward Ansund, who neither flinched nor said a word. Dumbfounded by the Draeden’s stubbornness, the man shook his head. “No one is allowed inside the Holy Spire, at the order of the High Conduit himself. He has been sequestered in prayer since the day the cofa was taken from us.” The man’s eyes narrowed and he sneered with disgust when he looked at Ryna and Eyrie. “What makes you think he’d be interested in these piles of filth anyway?” Ryna unconsciously flexed against her bonds once more.

  “I know I’ve been away for quite some time, but you seem to have forgotten who I am,” the Draeden said with a measured and threatening calm in his voice. “I am bringing these two to the High Conduit because those are my orders, and you have no authority to stand against them, do you?” It wasn’t a real question, but it still demanded an answer.

  The man’s jaw opened and snapped shut several times as he searched for a reply. Finding none, he reluctantly lowered his head and stepped to the side of the doorway, still staring angrily at the Cynmeren from beneath his brow. Ansund’s voice shifted to a much softer tone when he saw that the man had complied. “Thank you for making the right choice,” the Draeden said with a note of relief, but the Smokedweller remained silent.

  Ryna felt the handle of Ansund’s isen push against her back in a mock display of hostility; accordingly, she stumbled through the entrance while trying to appear surprised. The long staircase leading to the upper levels of the Spire was deserted, so thankfully no further demonstrations of force were necessary until they reached a pair of large doors. Ansund knocked twice loudly then positioned himself behind Ryna and Eyrie. The cold metal of his isen rested against Ryna’s neck menacingly, and though she knew it was done strictly for appearance reasons, it was impossible not to feel genuine fear as she waited to enter the High Conduit’s chambers.

  ---

  “Six hundred and twenty-four,” the High Conduit declared as he returned to the fire. “Not long now.” Keltin forced his eyes to open—even the smallest action was beginning to require great effort as his energy dwindled—and saw that nothing had changed, just as expected. Grey above, death below, and pain his only companion. He still felt the agony of the searing blade any time it was pressed into his skin, but the ability to react had faded hundreds of wounds ago. The lack of screams left the High Conduit bored and somewhat irritated; nevertheless, his determination to make Keltin suffer remained a constant.

  What began several days earlier as a crowd chanting for Keltin’s slaughter was now splintered into dozens of factions, some still loyal to the High Conduit, others violently opposed to him, but all trading hostilities in the plain beneath the Spire. The day was just beginning, but already the sounds of fighting had intensified. With every life lost, Keltin felt the sting of guilt grow stronger. It had been easy to justify destroying the cofa using the rationale that any who died because of its absence would at least die free; actually witnessing those deaths occur again and again, though, made him question if what he had done was right. Then the High Conduit returned for his next visit with the scrid spike, and Keltin briefly lost focus on anything other than the pain.

  While the blade was in the process of heating once again, two sharp knocks resounded from the chamber doors. Keltin became suddenly alert—this was something that hadn’t happened in the three days since his capture. “I am still not receiving visitors!” the Conduit called loudly into the main chamber, but a moment later one of the guards who normally stood motionless by the door rushed out onto the balcony.

  “Forgive me, Conduit, but this one says he won’t leave without speaking to you,” the Protector said gruffly. There was a breathless excitement to his voice even though Keltin was unable to turn far enough in his bindings to see the man’s face. He knew that these guards were like any of the other Penitent Faithful—they longed to prove their devotion through the use of violence, and they were always searching for a deserving target.

  The High Conduit sighed, then he stepped in front of Keltin. “A momentary rest,” he explained. “When I return, your punishment will resume with vigor.” A hungry smile curled beneath the old man’s grey-blue eyes before he disappeared into the main chamber, scrid knife still in hand.

  Keltin shuddered and sagged against the ropes holding him upright. He glanced at his arms but forced himself to look away when he realized there was more burned flesh on them now than unburned. The few tatters that remained of his sleeves clung to his injuries, the cloth feeling as though it had woven its fibers through his red, waxy skin. 624, he reminded himself. The pain is irrelevant. Keltin’s hope of warning everyone of the imminent Cultivator attack had faded with his strength. The only thing to do now was wait.

  ---

  “I said no visitors!” a man’s voice shouted angrily from beyond the massive doors.

  “Do you consider the Draeden nothing more than a visitor?” Ansund replied just as loudly. There was a pause, then the doors slowly swung open. Ryna braced herself, expecting to find the embodiment of pure evil waiting in the chamber beyond, but instead all she saw was a bald, old man wearing a robe similar to that of the Cultivators. His penetrating eyes reminded her of the Guided, but they lacked the typical swirls of light. The High Conduit regarded her and Eyrie with great concern, but as soon as he saw the Draeden a look of disbelief overcame him.

  “Ansund!” the High Conduit exclaimed. “You, of all people, are welcome here, but you are most unexpected. How did you return to Dism Slyde, and more importantly, why have you brought these two beasts with you?”

  “Both questions carry the same answer,” Ansund replied, standing proudly behind Ryna and Eyrie and pressing the isen even tighter against their necks. “Cynmere has fallen and their remaining forces have surrendered.” Even with the knowledge that it was a lie, hearing those words spoken sent a shiver across Ryna’s skin. The High Conduit’s reaction was far more pronounced: his eyes looked as though they might burst from his head until his shock finally gave way to a stunned smile and laughter.

  “You…you did it?” the Conduit breathed. “Cynmere?”

  “Completely destroyed; only ashes remain there now,” Ansund said with a nod. “These two”—he removed the isen and pushed Ryna and Eyrie forward—“are the last of what the heretics view as leaders. They wish to offer their surrender on behalf of the rest of their survivors.”

  The High Conduit laughed and shook his head as he marveled at the two Cynmeren standing before him. “I knew this day would come, and that it would be you who brought me such a great victory.” A pained frown ended the Conduit’s smile a moment later before he spoke again. “It is a hollow victory, though, as much as I loathe admitting it. Has news reached you of the loss of the cofa?”

  Ansund nodded. “How did such a thing happen?”

  The High Conduit motioned to the two men standing in the shadows by the doors. “Bring him in here,” the Conduit commanded, and the t
wo Smokedwellers hurried towards a small corridor on the far end of the room. There was a sound of wood scraping on stone, then the men returned with a large post between them that was mounted upright on a flat stand. Hanging limp from that post was a gaunt figure whose arms and torso were covered with hundreds of narrow wounds. With a thud, the post came to rest behind the High Conduit and the man attached to it lifted his head.

  Whatever anger or hatred Ryna had harbored for Keltin evaporated when she saw him in his current state. Burns, she realized with horror. Those are all burns. She tried to remember how many days Aemetta said had passed since Keltin’s capture. Two? Three? Regardless of the duration, the torture must have been nearly constant for him to collect that many injuries so quickly. While Ryna studied him, his hollow eyes seemed to be looking through her. Then she remembered that the Watch helmet still obscured her face from view, so he had no way to know who she was. The same was not true for the Draeden, though, and Keltin raised his brow weakly when their eyes met.

  “Keltin did this?” Ansund asked, his astonishment partially genuine as he glanced from Keltin to the High Conduit.

  “He was part of a larger group, but yes,” the Conduit answered with disgust. “They swept in from the north by boat—as difficult as that is to believe—and destroyed everything we’ve protected for so long in the span of one night. I’ve made certain he understands what an exceptionally poor choice that was.” The High Conduit clapped a hand on Keltin’s shoulder in a gesture that normally conveyed encouragement; with the presence of the burns, though, the only intent of the Conduit’s actions was to inflict more suffering. Ryna felt a snarl curling her lips when she noticed that Keltin was too close to death to even acknowledge the pain.

  “Perhaps the Venerates—” Ansund began, but the old man lifted a hand to stop him mid-sentence.

  “I’ve already communed with them,” the High Conduit said, shaking his head. It was a lie, Ryna knew that, but he said it with a jarring degree of confidence that could only come from many turnings of practice. “For our failures, we will all be punished. The Penitent Faithful will cease to be. All humanity will cease to be.” Ryna’s heart raced as she tried to make sense of what she just heard.

  “Cynmere is destroyed! Surely that means something to the Venerates,” Ansund protested. This, too, was a lie, but it was delivered with a startling certainty that rivaled that used by the High Conduit.

  The old man nodded as he walked to one of the benches beside the long stone table and took a seat. “It means something—it means one less place for the Venerates to purge. Even if the Cynmeren all died in screaming agony, you likely gave them easier deaths than they would have suffered otherwise. Easier deaths than we’ll suffer, at least.” The High Conduit lifted one of the cups from the table and took a long sip, lost in his thoughts.

  “What are we to do then? Simply wait for death?” Ansund asked softly.

  The Conduit lowered the cup a moment later, wiped a hand across his mouth, and grinned. “I plan to enjoy my last few days alive, as should you.” His captivating eyes suddenly fell on Ryna and Eyrie, then he stood. “Let’s start by listening to what these two have to say; I’ve waited a very long time to hear a Cynmeren beg for mercy.” The High Conduit walked close enough that Ryna knew she could kill him before he had time to react, but that would ruin Ansund’s plan. As her self-restraint was tested, so too were the physical restraints around her wrists; pain was easy for Ryna to endure but waiting was insufferable.

  “You will kneel before the High Conduit!” Ansund commanded them sharply, and before Ryna had time to bend her legs, the Draeden’s hands had already shoved her and Eyrie to the floor.

  “So, what would you say to me, great leaders of Cynmere?” the High Conduit asked mockingly. Ryna stared at the stones beneath her in furious silence—it was Eyrie’s task to speak, not hers.

  Eyrie began in a voice that was befittingly mournful yet still proud. “With the destruction of our home, the people of Cyn—”

  “People?” the High Conduit laughed incredulously. “People? You are a plague upon this world. Both of you, lift your heads.” Ryna complied slowly and saw from the corner of her vision that Eyrie had done the same. The High Conduit frowned and drew his lips into a thin line. “Still not good enough,” he declared a moment later, then he motioned towards the great doors. “You two, remove those repulsive helmets of theirs. I want to see the defeat in their eyes.” He smiled menacingly as footsteps approached from behind Ryna’s back.

  There was a sensation of pressure being released as Ryna watched the layer of sickly yellow slide past her vision. Anger raged inside her, and her expression apparently conveyed this quite effectively. The High Conduit raised an eyebrow and smirked when he noticed her, but then he turned to Eyrie with a look of astonishment. “Oh, Ansund,” he laughed, shaking his head. “Do you have any concept of what you just delivered to me?”

  “I don’t,” Ansund replied truthfully.

  The High Conduit motioned to one of the guards behind Ryna. “Bring Cailla in here. I have another gift for her.” The Smokedweller disappeared into a corridor on the right side of the room and returned with a woman in a long white gown whose hands were secured behind her back. Strands of dark hair hung loose around her shoulders and obscured her face, but when she looked up, all that Ryna could see was a perfect reflection of Eyrie. Ryna knew to expect this, but the resemblance of the two sisters was still incredible.

  Neither Eyrie nor Cailla said a word, but tears welled in their eyes that spoke of the dizzying mixture of emotions they both felt in that moment. “I have to assume the two of you are siblings. Well, it seems insolence must be in your family’s blood,” the High Conduit said with a sneer, ending the sisters’ silent reunion. He took Cailla from the guard and led her in front of Eyrie. “Cailla chose to defy my will—to secretly rebel against me for many, many turnings, but I only discovered her betrayal a few days ago. In fact, I discovered it just after the last of the cofa was destroyed. One of my guards noticed something strange when they were returning all of the Sacred Vessels to the Holy Spire. He told me he saw a female Legionnaire vanish into the shadows of a corridor near the women’s quarters and that this one”—he nodded towards Cailla—“had helped her escape. After a few hours of conversation, I finally received the answers I sought.

  “It turns out that innocent little Cailla planted the seeds of rebellion in the minds of many of the women in Dism Slyde, and that rebellion finally took root when I sent one of them—Aemetta—to find Cynmere. If you are truly leaders among the Cynmeren, then I’m certain you know her. However it happened, she fell away from the Venerates’ grace and instead chose to turn against them. Aemetta returned here, destroyed the cofa, and now we’re all going to die for her foolish choices.

  “Before that can happen, though, I have a gift for you, Cailla,” the High Conduit said sweetly. “Even though you were so recently blessed with the honor of being chosen as a Sacred Vessel, I feel compelled to reward you since you orchestrated the destruction of our entire existence.” His grey-blue eyes sparkled with delight as he wrapped his arm around Cailla and pulled her close. She writhed in his grip, but her obvious exhaustion made it a feeble effort. The High Conduit laughed heartily. “Ansund, slit her sister’s throat.”

  Cailla shrieked, begging the High Conduit for mercy, but he ignored her pleas. Ryna searched Ansund’s face as he loomed over Eyrie and was terrified when she found a look of fury in his sunken eyes. Cold fear coursed through her veins as his hand moved to his isen handle. Were we wrong to trust him? Ryna worried, but then the Draeden hesitated.

  “No,” Ansund declared simply.

  “What?” the High Conduit demanded as the glee faded from his smile.

  “I said no,” Ansund repeated, his eyes blazing suddenly with the inner light of the Guided. He straightened his shoulders and turned to face his father defiantly. Ryna exhaled and shuddered as her doubts about Ansund subsided.

  The High Con
duit’s jaw hung slack but quickly snapped shut as he sighed through his nostrils. “I was a fool to allow you to live,” he muttered. “Seize him.” The two guards rushed past Ryna and Eyrie and took hold of Ansund’s arms before he could reach for his isen. The High Conduit stared at the Draeden with a pained frown. “Even the possibility of there being another Guided in Dism Slyde should have been enough for me to view you as a threat, but I chose to ignore your true nature. I saw only the faithful servant you had become, the perfect weapon of the Venerate’s will, and I prayed that’s all you would ever be. But this”—he pointed to Ansund’s eyes—“I never wanted this burden for you.”

  Ryna’s gaze followed the High Conduit as he paced between Keltin and Ansund. “Is there no end to this betrayal!” the Conduit shouted to the ceiling, then he suddenly stopped mid-stride before rushing to Ansund again. “Was any of it true?” he asked quietly with a dangerous note of anger in his voice. “Cynmere? The surrender?”

  “Now,” the Draeden replied, much to the confusion of his father. Ryna and Eyrie, though, knew exactly what Ansund meant and they leapt into motion at his signal. The bonds, so loosely tied around Ryna’s wrists, fell to the floor as she stood with Eyrie. She readied the arrowhead that had been concealed beneath one of the armor plates on her back, making certain to grip only the blunt edge of the small stone. Relieved that the time for waiting was finally over, Ryna’s arm extended in a fluid arc towards the neck of the guard closest to her. Before he knew she had even moved, the man collapsed to his knees beside the Draeden as the haugaeldr’s poison took effect. The other guard fell an instant later, leaving the High Conduit stunned and completely vulnerable.