Except the one who talks to me.
The new tool Seymour had found wasn’t the solution to their troubles, but it did allow them to talk. For the time being, that was all it did. “I can’t bring my case to the emperor; we’ll have to continue as planned. You’ll need to go back tomorrow and see if you can find anything about the Horn of Gylindora.”
“What do you want to know?”
Sephryn smiled at him. “Are you saying you found something? What is it?”
“A holy relic of the Fhrey, a tool they use to determine who rules.”
“How is that done with a horn?”
“By blowing the Horn of Gylindora, one of Fhrey blood may challenge for leadership of the Fhrey people.”
“That explains a lot. Now we know the Voice plans on challenging Nyphron.”
Seymour shook his head. “He can’t. The horn can only be blown once every three thousand years, or after the death of the present ruler, a time period known as the Uli Vermar.”
“It hasn’t even been nine hundred years since Nyphron’s reign started.”
Seymour nodded. “Apparently, that’s how the Great War ended. The two sides were locked in a stalemate. The ruler of the Fhrey died, and a fellow named Mawyndulë—he was the Fhrey ruler’s son—blew the horn. Then Nyphron blew it, challenging the prince for control. They fought and Nyphron won.”
“So you’re saying that this horn can’t actually do anything for another two thousand years?”
Seymour again nodded.
“Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
The Voice, as omnipotent as he might be, wasn’t all-powerful. There was a time when she thought the source of the Voice might actually be Uberlin, or at least a demon. Now she realized she was dealing with an Artist, someone like Suri. Although that was certainly less terrifying than a god, it wasn’t all good news. Suri had been frighteningly powerful. Everyone Sephryn knew treated the mystic as if she were the closest thing to an all-powerful being that still breathed air. Even the emperor of the known world had feared her. The area around Suri’s home—the place that became known as the Mystic Wood—was left alone. Nyphron never made any attempt to enter or control it. Even after Suri died, it remained a shrine of sorts.
The idea that Sephryn was dealing with an Artist wasn’t much of a relief, but it was something. If nothing else, it meant she was dealing with a mortal being, and that meant he could be fought.
Sephryn looked at the monk squarely. “Seymour?”
“Yes?”
“You should draw these on yourself,” she said, indicating the parchment. “If you mark them on your skin like a tattoo, you’ll be safe. The Voice won’t be able to hurt you.”
Seymour looked at the parchment of runes. “Is that what you’re going to do?”
“I can’t,” she said. “We have to keep to the plan and do what the Voice says, and if I use them, he won’t be able to speak to me. The moment the Voice can’t reach me, he might think I’m dead or up to something. Either way, I’m certain he would kill Nurgya. Now that I think about it . . .” She looked down at the symbols on the floor. “Just being in here for too long is dangerous. Seymour, just do it, put the markings on yourself, then you’ll be able to leave and be free of all this.”
“Is that what you want? You want me to leave?” He sounded hurt.
“I want you to be safe. At least one of us ought to live through this.”
The monk shook his head. “If I disappear, the Voice will be suspicious.”
Sephryn considered his words. “But it’s not your problem. Nurgya isn’t your son.”
“But it is my choice.” With that, he began wiping the charcoal off the floor.
Chapter Thirteen
Vernes
The crew of the imperial warship Stryker cheered when they rounded the point and spotted the jagged peak of Mount Dome. Legend held that the coastal mountain had once been the birthplace of the dwarfs and the roof to the ancient and wondrous city of Neith. Supposedly, the mountain had once been twice as high, but it had been crushed—some might say dwarfed—by the mystic Suri, as told through the famous Gronbach story. No one on that ship cared a fish’s fin about any of that. What delighted the sailors, oarsmen, and soldiers was that the mountain’s appearance meant the port of Vernes was less than two hours away. They would dock by nightfall, their voyage a success, and an evening ashore awaited all.
Nolyn was on deck with the other members of the Seventh Sik-Aux. Each of them was busy tying up whatever gear they had, looking for lost sandals, or hunting for sharpening stones that had been misplaced or loaned out. Nolyn remained amazed at how sea voyages always resulted in missing things. Settling in for long trips was an invitation for scattered items with little hope of finding them again.
“If anyone asks, what do we say we’re doing?” Riley threw the question out to the group, most down on their knees struggling with packs.
“What do you mean?” Smirch asked, his head mostly submerged in his cloak bag.
Riley pointed to the boar symbol on his helm. “Just thinking it might not be too smart to admit we’re deserters from the Seventh Legion.”
“And you decided to wait until now to bring this up?” Jerel asked.
“I didn’t know where we were going until this morning,” Riley said. “Still don’t, actually. Care to fill us in, sir?” He looked at Nolyn, then they all did.
“Well . . .” their commander hesitated, “I’ve been thinking about the situation, and I’m not certain my father tried to kill us. In fact, the evidence is leaning away from that theory.”
“So who did?” Amicus asked.
“I don’t know; that’s the problem. My life in the salt mine has been pretty quiet over the centuries. As far as I know, I don’t have any enemies—certainly none still alive. I mean, I’ve traveled to other installations because I’m the pre-eminent expert in large-scale mineral excavation. You learn a lot after five hundred years. But there haven’t been any trips in the last ten years or so. The only other place I’ve gone is my furloughs to Percepliquis, but I’ve not been there for more than a year. So I have to wonder, who have I offended enough that they would want to kill me? I can’t think of anyone, let alone someone with enough clout to get me reassigned to the front lines. Lynch was killed before we could find out anything from him. I only suspected Nyphron because he has motive and opportunity.”
“What motive?” Amicus asked.
“I thought he was worried about me challenging him for the throne, but that begs the question: Why now? Why not get rid of me after my mother died? So, I started thinking maybe it’s someone with a grudge against the empyre. Perhaps an Erivan Artist, a Miralyith, is seeking revenge for losing the war and thought he’d start with Nyphron’s son. Or maybe I have made an enemy that I just don’t know about. But the fact still remains that all of us are deserters, and it’s possible that at some point Amicus and I are going to be charged with Lynch’s death. So I thought we should head inland, strip off these uniforms, shake hands, go our separate ways, and find new lives.”
“Not likely, sir,” Jerel said.
“No?” Nolyn sighed. “What do you think we ought to do, Jerel?”
“Not a clue, sir. But I know trying to disappear won’t happen.”
“Because the One said I would be emperor?”
“Absolutely.” The man looked as confident as ever. Nolyn hadn’t noticed it before, but now he saw what the others had. His unshakable faith is kind of annoying.
“Well,” Nolyn said, “I suppose we’ll have to agree to disagree.”
“Taking off the uniforms won’t work,” Amicus said. “The captain knows who we are. He’ll report that you took command of his vessel. And if Lynch’s body has been found—”
“I’m not worried about that. Not yet, at least.” Nolyn said. “Urlineus doesn’t have a rookery yet, does it?”
The others shook their heads.
“Didn’t think so. So it’s unlikely that ne
ws of Lynch’s death traveled faster then this ship. The Erbon Forest is filled with ghazel, so no messenger would be sent along that route. We should have plenty of time to disappear. Odds of finding a handful of men who scatter to the far ends of the empyre are slim. But I would strongly suggest that none of us remains in Vernes for too long.”
The sun was low as the Stryker approached the Vernes wharf.
All the piers had wrapped leather pilings, which protected the ship and the dock. Between them, cleats provided sailors with anchor points to secure their vessels. Those designated with the task waited, poised on the port side and ready to jump as the captain slowly piloted the bireme’s approach.
On the pier they were aiming for, a crowd was gathering. More than a hundred people were already jammed on the long jetty. Enraged shouts and raised fists suggested a less-than-welcoming reception. Usually when ships anchored, there was a joyous reunion of loved ones, but the group gathered seemed more like an angry mob.
The Stryker’s captain cast repeated and worried looks at Nolyn.
“What do you think is going on?” Nolyn asked the rest.
Riley shook his head. “No idea. But they’re civilians, so this has nothing to do with us.”
“Maybe they’re here for a different ship that is due to come in.” Nolyn looked across the deck and out to sea. The ocean was naked of mast or sail.
“Seem pretty intent on this one,” Amicus said. “They’re all looking at us.”
Jerel stepped to the rail and peered down. “Soldiers are coming, twenty or so. City garrison, I think.”
A score of men in uniforms and helms pushed and shoved their way through the crowd to the end of the pier. “Back, all of you!” the leader shouted angrily as he struggled to get through.
Jerel reported, “Swords are drawn.”
Nolyn threw up his hands. “I honestly would have bet good money that news about Lynch hadn’t beaten us here.”
Amicus agreed, “I figured he’d lie in that office for days before someone noticed the smell.”
“Good point,” Nolyn added. “This has to be related to something else.”
“But what?” Amicus asked.
“No idea.” He looked at Jerel who had a self-satisfied grin. “But I’m guessing we’re going to find out.”
Nolyn nodded at the captain, who spun the wheel, and called, “Oars up!”
Once the boat slipped into place and the gangplank was dropped, five soldiers charged onto the deck. Blue tunics beneath their light armor verified that they were, indeed, city guards. The blue brush on the foremost one’s helmet identified the urban prefect. The officer came directly toward Nolyn, who didn’t move. Amicus, Riley, and Jerel, however, stepped forward.
“Forgive me, sir.” The prefect slapped his chest in salute. “I am Urban Prefect Tolly, and as you can see, we have a bit of a situation.” He scanned the deck. “Are there more below?”
“More what?” Nolyn asked.
“Legionnaires.”
“No, just the eight of us.”
“Oh.” Tolly appeared decidedly disappointed. “Well, I have to applaud your speed, but—so few men, sir. I had hoped for at least half a cohort.”
He then spotted the boar insignia on their armor. “Seventh Sikaria . . .” His eyes widened. “Auxiliary?” he added, with an impressed tone before straightening up. “That explains it. I do hope your reputation is warranted.”
“Leave us alone!” the crowd shouted from below. “We don’t need you here!”
“What’s going on?” Nolyn asked.
“Didn’t they give you a dispatch before you set sail?”
He thinks we were sent here, Nolyn realized. Figuring it would be best to play along he said, “No, there wasn’t time. Why don’t you fill us in.”
“Of course, sir. News has recently arrived that Rhulynia is to have a new governor, an Instarya by the name of Advaryn Wyn. Being affluent and on the far side of the Bern and Urum rivers, Vernes has developed an unhealthy desire for more independence. Each year we’ve had protests and revolts, but they are attracting more attention as of late. That’s why the new provincial governor has been appointed—to correct the situation. Seeing your warship, the mob mistook your arrival for Advaryn Wyn’s.”
“So you requested reinforcements?”
Tolly nodded. “Yes, sir. The Second Legion has repeatedly refused to involve itself in the city’s unrest. Which makes me wonder why we have them stationed here at all. Keeping the peace has rested entirely on my shoulders, and I simply don’t have enough men. I sent word yesterday and thought it would take at least a week for help to arrive. But I was also expecting several hundred men. I never dreamed they’d send so few, even if you are the Sik-Aux.”
“How bad is it?” Nolyn asked. “The revolt?”
Tolly made an ugly face. “Worse than I’ve ever seen, and more widespread than usual. The people are afraid of what the new governor’s orders might be, and they’re doing more than just voicing their displeasure. They’ve resorted to taking up arms.”
“Prymus? May I have a word?” Demetrius asked. Given how little the man had spoken all trip, the request was strange enough to demand Nolyn’s attention.
“Excuse me, prefect,” he said and moved to where the palatus stood alone on the starboard bow. “What is it, Demetrius?”
The palatus looked toward the dock. “Those people are revolting against your father’s rule. They feel it is unjust because he has created a two-tiered society where humans are little more than slaves who are forced to serve the ruling Instarya elite. And it’s getting worse. For this same reason, the Second Legion is slow, perhaps even unwilling, to lend a hand in putting down this insurrection. You see, the legion as a whole has been on the verge of rebellion for years now.”
“How do you know this?”
“I am—or was—the palatus to a man who was both a legate and governor. It was my task to read hundreds of dispatches and reports. And I can tell you, the empyre sits on dry tinder. Also . . .” Demetrius paused then said, “You were not wrong about your father trying to kill you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I saw the dispatch that Legate Lynch received regarding your assignment. It ordered that you be sent on a mission from which you wouldn’t return. And the signature was the emperor’s.”
Nolyn wasn’t shocked at the news, just disappointed. The glimmer of hope he’d had that his father wasn’t the bastard he’d long believed was snuffed out. Ever since he learned about the Orinfar tattoos, Nolyn started thinking there must be something more to Nyphron. After all, Persephone had married him for a reason. Perhaps she knew things about his father that Nolyn hadn’t seen. The idea that there might be a redeemable aspect to the emperor had been a welcome change. But Demetrius had handed Nolyn the same old man he’d always known.
“Your father wants you dead because he knows he’s grown weak. You are the spark that might ignite the flame to his ruin.”
“And you’re absolutely certain my father ordered me into that ravine?”
Demetrius shook his head. “No. Lynch made that decision, but the order did say that your death must look like a casualty of war. That was the edict.”
“And why are you telling me this now?”
The palatus shrugged. “I’ve watched. I’ve listened. When you first took me prisoner, I was concerned for my life. I knew nothing about you. But you treated me fairly. The discussions with your men have been honest, and your ideas have merit. I believe that maybe Jerel DeMardefeld’s god is right, and you would make a better emperor than your father. I understand what Nyphron has been seeing—that you are the real threat he faces. You can replace your father.”
He expects me to start a revolution? Is it possible? A thousand thoughts ran through Nolyn’s head. No, that would take years of preparation. Wouldn’t it? Nolyn spotted the ever-confident Jerel, who insisted the one true god predicted Nolyn’s rise, and he thought once again about Sephryn—the guiding star he
had failed to follow.
“Prefect Tolly,” Nolyn called to the officer, “go down and secure the gangway. We’ll be disembarking shortly.”
Tolly saluted once more, then led his men off the ship.
“What’s going on?” Amicus asked when Nolyn returned to the group.
“Jerel is right. We aren’t going our separate ways,” Nolyn stated.
“While I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer, I’ll bite anyway. Where are we going?”
“To Percepliquis. I’m going to remove my father from power and take the throne.”
Ramahanaparus Mirk froze in the middle of tying a knot. Riley Glot held the drawstrings of his food pouch but failed to pull, leaving it dangling between his hands like a puppet. Everett Thatcher stopped chewing whatever he had in his mouth, and Amicus didn’t move at all, except to blink several times rapidly.
Smirch was the first to find his tongue. He scratched his bristly chin, limbered up his lips, and said, “I sort of liked the whole disappearing idea.”
“Why the change?” Amicus asked.
“As it turns out, it was my father who ordered our deaths—well, my death, really. Demetrius saw the dispatch. He’s read all the correspondences from the capital, and he says Nyphron has been losing his grip on power and that there is widespread dissent within the ranks.” He thought a moment. “Amicus, is it possible that the legion is no longer loyal?”
The First Spear chuckled. “Do you think the legion was ever steadfast? Soldiers care about the men next to them, not a ruler sitting in a palace. It’s always been that way, and it always will be.”
“No,” Jerel said defiantly. “It doesn’t have to be. The One knows that there is another way, a better way.”
“Not now, Jerel.” Amicus said and then turned back to Nolyn, “No disrespect, sir, but this seems more than a little impulsive.”
“And when an unexpected opportunity arises during a battle, are you saying you don’t seize it? We’ve stumbled into a city ripe for revolt. The flame is already lit. Sephryn has always advocated for me to stand up and fight for what is right.” Nolyn took a deep breath of sea air. “That argument I had with her, the one I told you about, it wasn’t just that I refused to talk to my father. We parted because she had faith that I could make a difference, and I had none. She asked me to advocate for the humans who have been marginalized by Nyphron’s prejudices. She said I could be like my mother. But you have to understand, Persephone was a legend. I didn’t think I could ever measure up to her. Giving in was so much easier. I let my father dictate my life, or lack thereof. The last time I was in Percepliquis, Sephryn begged me to stay, pleaded for me to defy Nyphron. But I didn’t. When my leave was over and I was about to return to the mine, I told her, ‘He’s the emperor. I have to do what he says.’ That was when I saw the light go out of her eyes. I watched her respect die. That was when I knew I had lost her. She wanted me to be a hero, to make the world a better place as Persephone had. But I just didn’t believe any of that was possible.”
Nolyn Page 21
