Rise of the Blood Royal

by Robert Newcomb

  “Why do you wish to see the late First Mistress’s grimoire?” he asked. “Surely there can be nothing in it that supersedes your knowledge of the craft.”

  “Although that is probably true, you must never forget how brilliant Failee was, or how limitless were the depths of her distrust,” Mashiro answered. “Like the Pon Q’tar, she always constructed a way of destroying her own creations should the need arise.”

  “I don’t understand,” Faegan protested. “Aside from the Vigors, what would she have wished to destroy?”

  “Not what, but whom,” Renjiro answered.

  Faegan’s face suddenly came alight with understanding. “You’re talking about Khristos, aren’t you?” he asked. “If for some reason he ever turned on her, he and his Blood Vipers would have presented a deadly threat to her rule—especially while she was still struggling to win the Sorceresses’ War.”

  “Correct,” Midori said. “We suggest that you scour her grimoire for any references to Khristos. If the First Mistress devised a secret way to destroy him, her grimoire is where she probably hid it.”

  “We have already done so,” Shailiha said. “Aside from a few entries describing her overall plan for Khristos, nothing more is said about him.”

  “Nothing that you can see,” Mashiro said to Shailiha. “It’s what you can’t see that interests us.”

  “What are you talking about?” the princess asked.

  Mashiro turned to look at Wigg. “Correct me if I’m wrong, First Wizard,” he said. “Isn’t it true that during the Sorceresses’ War, the Coven used spells to camouflage secret documents?”

  “We always suspected as much,” Wigg answered. “If they did, they took the knowledge to their graves. Despite the combined efforts of the late Directorate of Wizards, we were never able to unravel the secret. I have long suspected that hidden writings lay in her grimoire, but there is no way to know for sure.”

  “Until now, perhaps,” Mashiro said. He turned back toward the hovering image and looked at Faegan. “Wigg tells us that he left some of the subtle matter behind in Eutracia. Do you still have it?”

  “Yes,” Faegan answered.

  “Would you be kind enough to have it brought to your meeting chamber?” he asked. “You will have need of it.”

  Faegan nodded and asked Traax to fetch it from its resting place in the Redoubt Archives. Soon Traax returned with a small glass flask filled with subtle matter, not unlike the one that Wigg had brought to Shashida. Taking the flask from Traax, Faegan placed it on the table alongside the grimoire.

  “Now, then,” Mashiro said to Faegan. “Using your gift of Consummate Recollection, please open the grimoire to the section that makes mention of Khristos.”

  Faegan closed his eyes and called the craft. Soon the grimoire opened of its own accord, and its pages began turning madly. After a few moments they stopped.

  “It is done,” Faegan said.

  “Good,” Mashiro said. “Now if you would be so kind as to sprinkle a small bit of the subtle matter onto the pages.”

  Faegan did so, but nothing happened. He said as much to Mashiro.

  “Do not be dismayed,” Mashiro said. “Subtle matter has many uses, but few of them can be achieved without an accompanying spell. If you would, please repeat the Shashidan incantation that I am about to recite. You will find it complex, so I suggest that you first call on your Consummate Recollection to ensure that you repeat my words perfectly. Otherwise you might find the results distressing, to say the least. But if you recite it correctly and our suspicions about Failee are true, the results might be intriguing.”

  “Very well,” Faegan answered. “I am ready.”

  Mashiro enunciated a long incantation in his native Shashidan. As Tristan listened, he found the language far more beautiful and elegant than his native dialect. Throughout Mashiro’s incantation, Tristan recognized but one word: “Khristos.”

  When Mashiro finished, Faegan closed his eyes. Calling on his special gift, he carefully repeated the incantation word for word. As he finished, all eyes turned toward Failee’s grimoire.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Then the grimoire started to glow with the same white light that had emanated from the Tome and the two Scrolls of the Ancients when the subtle matter decoded them in the Archives. Letters, numbers, and craft symbols lifted from the pages to hover above the Conclave meeting table. Then the grimoire pages started flurrying by again, and yet more marks went flying off the pages. Soon the pages stopped turning, and Failee’s writings ceased lifting from the pages.

  Everyone watched as the thousands of glowing characters swirled about to form lines. The lines then formed a text many paragraphs long incorporating two involved spell formulas. As Faegan read the glowing text, his mouth fell open.

  “I beg the Afterlife!” he exclaimed. “You were right.”

  Both chambers went silent as everyone read the glowing text. It soon became clear that it was a craft treatise that had been written by Failee and described in detail how to deal with Khristos and his servants should they ever become a threat to her. Filled with awe, Tristan let go a deep breath and sat back in his chair.

  “Well done, Faegan, and worthy of an Inkai,” Mashiro said to the crippled wizard. “This should greatly aid you in your struggle.”

  “Indeed,” Shailiha answered. “I thank you.”

  Remembering the other reason he had wanted to contact his sister, Tristan again looked at her. The time had come, and there could be no denying it.

  “Now that you have the needed information from Failee’s grimoire, there is one thing left to say,” Tristan told her. “It is important, and you must heed my advice well.”

  “What is it?” Shailiha asked.

  “It is unlikely that I will ever return to Eutracia,” he said. “Because of that, it is time for you to become Queen. I fully realize that this is a burden that you never thought you’d have to shoulder, but in the name of our late parents, you must. Our country needs a formal ruler.”

  Before the princess could answer, Aeolus reached out and took one of her hands into his.

  “The Jin’Sai is right,” he said. “We must accept the fact that although we can communicate with one another, the Conclave of the Vigors is probably forever divided, and our struggles have become separate and distinct. You are the reigning Jin’Saiou and rightful heir to the throne. It is only right that you take power.”

  Taking a deep breath, Shailiha looked at her brother. Although she could see and hear him as if he were sitting by her side, she missed him badly. She missed his impetuousness, his strength, his laughter, even his moodiness. But she also knew that he might never actually be with her again, and because of that, he was right. It was time for her to shoulder her responsibility.

  “I accept,” she said to everyone. “And I thank you for your trust in me. But I think it only right that I not succeed to the throne until our struggle with the Viper Lord is finished. We must focus all of our attention on the calamity at hand. This is no time to prepare for a coronation.”

  Wigg smiled broadly at her. “Spoken like a true queen,” he said. “Your parents would be proud.”

  Mashiro reached out and touched Tristan on one arm. “With all due respect, Jin’Sai, we must end this viewing,” he proposed. “Both the Conclave and the Inkai have urgent matters to attend to, and time is of the essence.”

  Although Tristan did not want to see his sister go, he knew that the Inkai elder was right. Looking back into Shailiha’s eyes, he told her so.

  “I agree, brother,” she said. “Please stay safe, and may your coming battle see a victory for the Vigors.”

  “And yours,” Tristan said.

  With that, Mashiro dismantled the spell, and the image vanished.

  After taking the medallion into his hand, Tristan held it thoughtfully for several moments before again placing its chain around his neck.

  “Now, then,” Mashiro said soberly. “It is time.”

  Tristan
and the others knew full well what Mashiro meant. The Inkai elder would now imbue Tristan’s blood with Shashida’s versions of the banned forestallments and the language fluency forestallments. Each time before, the process had been excruciating and this time would likely be worse. Even so, there was no other choice, no going back.

  “I understand,” Tristan said. “Where shall it be done?”

  “The venue is immaterial,” Mashiro answered. “This meeting chamber is as good a place as any. The process will take some time and you must remain strong. If you survive the ordeal, you and Vespasian will be the two most powerful mystics in the world. You will not be as well trained in the craft as he, but your gifts of manipulating nature will be equally strong. Aside from Vespasian’s ability to rain fire as described by Julia, we cannot know the natures of his other banned gifts, or how many he possesses. But the Pon Q’tar will not know that of yours, either. Are you still sure that you wish to do this thing?”

  “Yes,” Tristan answered simply. “It has to be.”

  “Very well,” Mashiro replied. “Because of the exquisite pain that you will suffer, Hoshi will place a warp about you to keep you from thrashing. We apologize for such crudeness, but it is needed to keep you from harming yourself.”

  Mashiro nodded at Hoshi. She in turn looked at Tristan with sad eyes.

  “Forgive me,” she said quietly.

  At once Tristan felt himself engulfed in a warp the likes of which he had never experienced. Although it was not painful, his immobilization was perfect, unrelenting. The only movements allowed him were his quickening breath and the blinking of his eyes. Nervous perspiration started on his brow in anticipation of the horror to come.

  Out of respect, Mashiro cast a sad look at Wigg, the man who had for so long been Tristan’s best friend and mentor. Although he too was saddened by what was about to happen, the First Wizard knew that there was no other choice if Shashida and the Vigors were to survive Vespasian’s onslaught. Closing his eyes, he gave Mashiro a reluctant nod.

  At once a terrible fire poured through Tristan’s bloodstream. He desperately needed to move, to scream, to cry out and beg that it stop. But he couldn’t. He could only endure it. On and on the pain went, coursing through his system like a raging river. Sweat poured into his eyes, his heart raced, his soul shrieked in torment. As the process continued unabated, some were forced to turn their heads, while others brushed away tears that only kept returning.

  In the end, the torturous process would take five full hours.

  CHAPTER XLV

  TWO DAYS AFTER DESTROYING THE CITY OF KAGOYA, Vespasian triumphantly stood in the Shashidan valley through which ran the mighty Alarik River. It was midday, the weather clear and bright. As he looked out across the amazing scene, the emperor couldn’t have been more pleased.

  His destruction of Kagoya had been total. Despite the lengthy warnings that he had received from Gracchus, even he had been astonished by his new gifts. As Gracchus said, choosing a particular forestallment and then summoning its power had been simple things. Controlling it as it went about its awful work and then causing it to vanish on command had been far more difficult, however. With experience, your ability to control your new gifts will only grow, Gracchus had told him. Like some highly addictive drug, Vespasian’s new gifts beckoned tantalizingly, and he hungered to taste them again. With his day terrors finally gone and the banned forestallments waiting to be summoned, he had never felt so alive.

  On seeing their emperor destroy Kagoya, his legionnaires had acquired an even greater reverence for him. They now considered Vespasian a demigod, his awesome command of the craft unlimited in its scope and fury. The final victory over Kagoya had fully redeemed the scheming lead cleric in the emperor’s eyes, and everyone believed that the total dominance of the Vagaries would not be long in coming.

  Aside from his supply lines that stretched ever northward, Vespasian’s entire war machine had been moved to this valley by way of hundreds of azure portals. The Shashidan resistance had been stronger here, and many legionnaires had died.

  Even so, the campaign had progressed too easily, Vespasian thought. His massive war machine’s string of successes continued to worry him and his advisors. It was almost as if the Shashidans wanted them to succeed, but the Rustannicans were at a complete loss as to why this might be the case. What was done was done, Vespasian realized, and there would be no turning back until their mission was complete. To stop the campaign now that the gold deposits had been taken would be absurd, even though the newly empowered warlord and every advisor in his service feared that a Shashidan trap was in the making. They had come for the gold, and they would stay in this place and take it.

  Trying to cast off his concerns, Vespasian turned to admire the lush, beautiful valley and the majestic river that flowed through it. This area was one of the most awe-inspiring that he had ever seen, not to mention the richest. In the Rustannican dialect it was called Vallesis Majestatis, or the Valley of Majesty. The Shashidans called it Tani Kinkiro, the Valley of Gold. Vespasian found both names apt.

  Running due north and south for more than one hundred leagues, at the valley’s heart laid the mighty Alarik River, fed by its seemingly endless branches. Legend said that hundreds of centuries were needed for the river to carve its way south through the imposing granite peaks and to divide them into two separate mountain ranges. On leaving the valley the river flowed south toward the broad, flat plains that would later give rise to Ryoto, the capital of Shashida.

  The opposing mountainsides rose leagues into the air, their tops so high that they lay perpetually covered with snow and ice. The craggy slopes had long ago become laden with pine trees, their green needles casting a clean scent into the air. Lush pastures and knolls lay on either side of the Alarik, their gentle swells extending from the riverbanks to where the mountainsides began rising toward the sky. Fish filled the Alarik and its many branches, and wildlife of every kind flourished amid the serene protection granted by the opposing mountain ranges.

  To everyone’s surprise, the phrase “Shashidan gold mines” had been a misnomer. On reaching the Vallesis Majestatis, Vespasian and his forces were stunned to find that there were in fact no “mines” at all. Instead, the gold lay all about for the taking, the earth humbly offering up her treasures without demanding a great struggle of any kind.

  Gold nuggets—the smallest among them easily the size of man’s hand—could be seen lying atop the Alarik River bed, their bright yellow color waving temptingly up through the rushing water. More gold could be found in countless veins that reached up the mountainsides, their vast wealth easily dislodged with the craft to tumble down the hillsides and land literally at the legionnaires’ feet. The pickings were easy, and seemed too good to be true. No matter from what source the gold came, more was found beneath it.

  As best the Rustannicans could tell, these amazing deposits abounded for the entire length of the valley. Vespasian could easily understand why guarding this place was so difficult for the Shashidans. Because the valley was so huge, protecting it would require the presence of so many katsugai mosota that few would be left to fight the war. And because the gold fields lay so deep in Shashidan territory, an attack on them was highly unexpected. Even so, there had been many katsugai mosota here. Killing them had come at a cost, but not so great as to stop Vespasian’s legions from ruling the day.

  After dispatching the enemy, Vespasian’s legions set to work harvesting the golden bounty that so temptingly presented itself. As an incentive to speed the task, he issued a decree that every legionnaire who survived and returned home at the end of the campaign would share in the plunder.

  Hundreds of thousands of men toiled at picking up the gold, their sweating, bent backs stretching away toward each end of the valley as far as the eye could see. War tents by the thousands stood along the riverbank, forming an impromptu city made of canvas. The southerly flowing Alarik ran particularly fast through the valley, making Vespasian’s planned us
e of his barges to ferry the gold upstream largely unworkable. Even so, many tons of gold had already been sent home to Ellistium by way of the azure portals, and more was leaving Shashida by the minute.

  Despite this place’s obvious temptations, a great danger lay here, and Vespasian knew it. The very idea of his army being enclosed in a valley was a military nightmare. If the Shashidans closed off both ends of the Vallesis Majestatis, his forces’ only avenue of escape would be the azure portals, which in turn would mean abandoning the gold fields. Unless his trapped legions escaped by portal, the barbaric katsugai mosota would come charging down the valley from both ends, trapping Vespasian’s legions in the middle. In hopes of preventing an attack inside the valley, he had sent three legions to guard each valley entrance. As his worries taunted him, Vespasian was soon reminded of a famous military tenet. No man fights so hard as he who defends his homeland, he remembered. If and when the katsugai arrived in force, they would fight very hard indeed.

  Vespasian turned to see Lucius and Persephone approaching. The First Tribune held a wax diptych in one hand. Smiling broadly, he removed his helmet and placed it under one arm. Persephone came to her husband’s side and looped one arm though his.

  “It goes amazingly well, my liege,” Lucius said, handing the diptych to Vespasian.

  “Is this the latest count?” the emperor asked.

  Lucius nodded. “Even so, it grows by the moment! The gold deposits are staggering in their abundance! It seems that no matter how much we take, more always lies beneath, ripe for the picking!”

  Vespasian opened the diptych and he ran his eyes down the single page. As expected, the report was in Gracchus’ handwriting. Even the emperor was stunned by what it said.

  The amount of gold already sent home to Ellistium was greater than the largest amount that had ever existed in her treasury. At this rate, in mere days the empire’s coffers would hold a nearly incomprehensible amount. Vespasian smiled as he realized that the Rustannican imperial mint would be stamping new coins for decades or longer, and that each coin would bear his likeness.