Gorias said, “I’d bet Traveler on it. I doubt Vincent knows.”
Orsen swallowed hard, eyes closed. “We all assume she even knows. She might be ignorant of that reality. I shall deal with Mavik and Vincent.”
All eyes looked to the youth but when they looked in his eyes, they took him at his word.
Alena said, “I’ll take Nykia to Garnet. She’ll want to see her, but in time. I will get her washed up a bit and changed in the lower tower.”
Nykia smirked. “You’re hot stuff yourself, sister.”
Her good-natured grin fading, Alena replied, “I’m not your sister, just a servant of the Queen. My duty will soon be discharged.”
Nykia wore a blank look as she turned to Gorias. “What shall you do?”
“I have to stop Niva. This has to end here.”
Alena stepped forward. “You can’t go alone. Wait until I take Nykia in and then…”
“No, that is somethin’ I cannot wait for.” Gorias said with firmness. “You girls go on back to the tower. Orsen, this is the day your Lord has made for you. Use it as ya must. I advise takin’ Milli Appra along if ya wanna live to see tomorrow. That may make it more interesting.” He looked down at Yannick. “I’ll be back for you, ya lyin’ prick.”
Nykia pointed at the wizard. “How can we trust him? He may run.”
Gorias shrugged. “Where’s he gonna go? The guards aren’t gonna let him out, not now, so let him brood here.”
Nykia gave Yannick a look near to fright. “What if he uses his powers?”
“By all means, let him if he still can. If he does, though, then I’ll keep my promise and see him cut to pieces, slowly.”
*****
In the apex of Garnet’s tower, Alena curtseyed and stood back a few paces from Nykia. Hands clasped behind her back, clad again in fresh togs for her position, she saw the Queen’s disappointment when she studied Nykia. Alena felt glad Garnet did not burst into tears and rush to embrace her granddaughter, for laughter would’ve been impossible to suppress.
Her floor-length skirts making no sound on the polished floor, Garnet took a few steps toward Nykia. “I’m glad to see you again.”
After a sheepish shrug, Nykia said, “I’m here.”
“And here you will stay,” Garnet said smartly, eyes riveted to the girl. “I comprehend the life you’ve been subjugated to and the things learned in exile amongst the pirates, but that time is past. You must see to finishing your education, training and means of being the proper heir.”
Nykia opened her mouth, Alena figured to object, but never said anything. Good for you, Alena mused.
Her voice still stern, but dropping a bit in force, Garnet said, “I know I cannot drive a nail into rock, at least not with ease, my dear, but you were born better than most. I’ve returned you to me at a great cost to our land, whatever the public will be told or chooses to believe be damned. You are the last heir to the throne of Transalpina.” Garnet took a step closer. “I understand young Ellis has told you there is another heir already.”
Nykia nodded.
The Queen said gently, “You may speak. I’m flattered you’ve held your vile tongue, but I’m no simpering maid. Speak freely for we will be near often in the future.”
“Ellis the wizard, um, prognosticator…”
“Very good,” Garnet said with a sardonic smile.
“…cast the forecast.” Nykia’s thin fingers ran over her belly. “I’ve conceived.”
“And Gorias La Gaul is of a royal house, whether he cares to admit it or not.”
“I’m proud to carry his child.”
Garnet’s smile faded. “Don’t act like an idiot, girl. Legitimizing the bastard will be interesting work, but we can do it. The world may think this the seed of some pirate, not a royal line, and see fit to object.”
A hurt look on her face, Nykia said, “Gorias wouldn’t deny it.”
Garnet threw back her head for a moment when she laughed, then faced the girl. “Gorias doesn’t give a good damn, Princess. A great thing about being royalty is that sometimes, your will can be absolute. We’ll make an announcement and massage the truth a little.”
Nykia watched her turn away and said, “Gorias said he is off to Shynar soon, to see his grandson.”
Garnet didn’t turn back. “That may well be, but he’ll not leave without making the declaration of parenthood and matrimony. He’d not disappoint me.” She never looked at Alena, but said, “Take care of her, Alena. Get her in proper quarters, rewashed and ready. She’s your responsibility now.”
Alena nodded. “Yes, mum.”
The two departed the Queen and went down several steps before Nykia asked, “How long will I be your responsibility?”
“Until you die.”
*****
Orsen dressed himself properly in his best attire. After all, he was going into the presence of royalty. He brought along two of Alena’s sisters, Dani and Milli, the former a brunette, but a near copy of the tall fighter he’d been around for days. The guards and staff in Mavik’s home and estate made no great deal of these ladies, as Mavik wasn’t her sister’s enemy. Orsen oft visited Vincent and Mavik with one of the tall girls or a castellan, like he did that day. The bodyguard Harlan, his manner smart and taut, followed along, bored, hands behind his back.
Castellan Turenball walked along with Orsen as well, his shaven head glistening in the lanterns’ light, and greeted Mavik warmly as they entered. Two male guards gave Dani and Milli questioning looks, but didn’t stop them as they followed Orsen into the inner lounge chamber. Harlan stopped by the door, blocking the exit. The girls flanked the doorway, which Orsen left open to the receiving hall where Turenball and Mavik chatted.
Vincent sat in a recliner chair by the window, the warm sun on his face, placidly reading a parchment and enjoying his afternoon.
Orsen bowed and left this head low as Vincent turned to face him.
“I’m glad to see you back,” Vincent said softly. “Is this terrible business nearly over with?”
Still bowed, Orsen stood up sharply, his right hand sweeping out with a curved blade, slicing Prince Vincent’s neck clear across. For a brief moment, nothing happened, only ruptured skin. Orsen feared he erred badly, but soon, a black ooze ran from the injured Prince’s throat. Vincent made no hasty move of distress, nor did he cry out and feign terror. He looked down at his tunic, touched the silky fabric with his hands, and marveled at the black liquid on his fingers.
The two guards outside drew their short swords and shouted in alarm. Harlan swung his arms out and ran forward past the Appra sisters. The guards’ surprise ended fast as Dani and Milli swung into their paths on opposite sides of the door, gutting them from crotch to their sternums, each starting and stopping with two daggers apiece, cutting equal-sized trenches in flesh.
Harlan pulled his knife and his sword, stopping not a yard from Orsen. When Orsen turned, he saw Harlan’s face frozen with shock at the state of Prince Vincent. Orsen passed his blade to his left hand and made a swipe at Harlan while he reached for his pants pocket. Harlan quickly swiped his sword, knocking the curved kill knife away, but in the open space his extended arms provided, Orsen withdrew his hand from his pocket. Hardly any momentum was needed as the experienced slinger flung the tiny bolo up at Harlan, who did react fast, stabbing out with his knife. The bolo wrapped about his left wrist, but one of the steel spheres on the ends of the flying string swung about, striking Harlan in the teeth, knocking two out. This moment of shock was all Orsen needed as two pig sticker blades popped from Harlan’s chest. Confused, the powerful man gaped down at the bloody metal rods coming out of his chest. His knees wavered as scarlet gouted from his wounds and he fell to his knees.
Dani and Milli drew out their pig stickers as Orsen grabbed Harlan’s knife from his hand. He slit the bodyguard’s throat with his own weapon and stood back as the big man fell, his blood puking all over the finely woven rug.
Lady Mavik took a single step
forward, mouth agape at what Orsen did to her son, but stopped her advance upon seeing what the Appra sisters did to her guards. Gagging on her words at first, Mavik screamed, “Vincent!” at last.
Orsen said calmly, “This isn’t Vincent, ma’am. He’s dead with the rest of the souls on Pergamus now.”
Still confused, Vincent looked to Mavik. “Mother?”
Uncaring of the guards, Mavik pulled up her huge skirts and ran to her son, just as Orsen stabbed him in the belly with an uppercut swipe and pulled up. The new seam in the Prince allowed a gush of black fluid and tendrils to slip out, long things that masqueraded as intestines, but looked like stems of weeds. Tears soaked her face and Mavik wailed, stopping short of her son.
Orsen oft wondered which direction her trembling breakdown came from that resulted in dropping to her knees before her unraveling son. Was she thrown into the fit due to the revelation that her son really was a false object and that all of her faith in Niva had been a lie? Did she know Vincent was a glorified puppet and not really care, as long as she had her son, or means to power? Alas, he pondered, they’d never know. The old girl clasped her face with both hands, smearing the tears and her make-up before her hands clutched her chest. Mavik’s gasps became short, then sounded awfully winded.
When Orsen drew a fresh dagger from his belt and turned toward her, making his intention painfully obvious, Mavik saved him the vile act and fell to the floor shined with blood and wax. Her eyes open, the pools of black liquid dripping from Vincent making a border around her face, Mavik breathed her last.
Vincent looked down at her and squeaked, “Mama?”
Milli gritted her teeth. “Finish it, Orsen.”
Orsen turned back toward the thing that was a Prince and stabbed him with the fresh blade. Vincent made no move to stop him, nor did he fall from the gouge to his kidney.
Dani declared, “Stand back, we’ll cut it to pieces.”
As the two women waded in, chopping at Vincent like he was a practice log, Turenball shouted, “Leave the head in tact! We’ll need proof beyond just my witness to this form of the truth!”
Orsen stepped back and let the sisters vivisect Vincent into over a dozen parts. He rubbed his eye, watching the power hungry Castellan, more than happy to throw in with them to get Garnet’s will done. Orsen thought of La Gaul and his words, knowing Turenball’s tongue couldn’t be trusted for very long and that he’d end up killing him soon enough.
But not today. Today was a day of exposing all evil in Transalpina. He hoped Gorias La Gaul had luck. He’d pray he had luck, but Orsen didn’t have anything left to pray to. He looked to his tattoo for luck and saw it had all but disappeared.
*****
Standing before the long wooden doors of the shrine to Our Lady of Great Sorrows, Gorias thought about returning to the garden to chop Yannick’s head off. Surely, the wizard lied about the Abbess of this temple, Gorias thought, and the worker of the dragonfire couldn’t really reside in this convent. A burly man in a black overcloak opened the door. Gorias bowed his head and thought, They even have eunuchs as doormen, what a joint. No other sort of man would exist in such a place where women were cloistered. The name Metrose walked across Gorias’ mind, but he let it go.
“Is Mother Niva in?” Gorias asked the thick-set man politely, hands shifting an oblong object in a sack lodged under his right arm. He laid eyes on him, recognizing him as the other of two he’d seen before, opposite of the one he’d watched burn at the Keep. “I hear she runs this devotional establishment, correct?”
Pushing his cowl back, the eunuch gave him a suspicious look, up and down Gorias’ closed new cloak. “Abbess Niva? You are from Her Majesty, the Queen?”
“Is that hard to believe?”
“That she would send a warrior instead of a Castellan for recompense transfer, yes, that’s odd.”
Gorias let the words recompense transfer turn in his brain a moment before saying, “My turn came up, brother, so ya gotta take what ya get.”
The head of the eunuch seemed to change color as the torches within the stone sanctuary reflected off his bald pate. With a confused look, he let the long doors swing out and gave Gorias a welcome sign from his goddess.
Stepping into the foyer of the massive holy place, Gorias’ eyes focused on the rows of kneeling benches that led toward the front of the sanctuary and the great image of the goddess Ernytel. Though he’d seen many smaller icons of the deity Ernytel in his life, seldom outside the west-coastal realms of Transalpina, Gorias was impressed by the main representation of said goddess. Though swathed in robes and winding cloths, it was clear that Ernytel sported wide hips, an enormous bosom, and full lips. He face in person was far more alluring than the dull icon reliefs, he noted. Behind her flickered many candles, by the shadows on the distant wall, a place hard to access because of the heights of benches and no ready-made steps.
Holding the oblong pouch in both hands, Gorias said to the servant, “Awful nice for such a brow-beating goddess of morality, aye?”
The bald man frowned and said, “I will send an acolyte for Mother Niva. I doubt she conducts personal audiences for such matters.”
“I’m a new courier,” Gorias lied to him. “This kinda of transaction happen a lot?”
Raising a thin eyebrow, the eunuch replied, “Only when there is need.” The eunuch adjusted his cowl, turned and departed.
Waiting until the servant left, Gorias walked closer to the goddess statue. Ernytel stood behind a thin, velvety retaining rope, before a half dozen rectangular holes in the floor. On closer inspection, Gorias guessed they were ritual baths or cleansing points for new converts. Unsure of all of the tenets of Ernytel’s religion, aside from the behavioral purity rules he heard joked of in taverns, Gorias surmised the baptisms as akin to any other religion. Each small chamber was devoid of water, though.
His curiosity at a high ebb, he leapt up like a kid climbing a fence and climbed over the barrier. His legs swung down and he walked around toward the back of the great idol, thinking he’d behold devotion candles. He stepped about the goddess and let out a mild groan. Up the entire opposite side of the figure was a mimicked copy of Pergamus’ tree, all made up with flickering dragonfire in glass balls, but so many slots were empty.
He climbed down and stood before the backside of the goddess, shaking his head. Gorias then bowed his head, his hands pushed together at odd angles, and he prayed. His breaths steady, but deep, Gorias thought in his mind about words to God, and asked for him to make him strong.
“Your mind is in awe of the goddess, and my Tree of Life behind her,” a low, feminine voice filtered out in the vast chamber. “She makes the hardest man consider his place in the universe.”
Gorias looked around the goddess toward the doorway where the eunuch disappeared. Of course, Mother Niva wouldn’t come to see him from there, he said to himself with a flippant voice. She’d make a grander entrance.
Not to disappoint Gorias’ theories, the tall form in dark vestments fluttered around the left side of the giant idol of Ernytel. Unlike the common, cowled robe of the servants, Mother Niva wore a long houppelande gown made from silken damask fabrics. Gorias thought the black-work embroidery on the edges of the outfit, right up to the barbe under her chin, were a bit much for such a modest deity.
“She’s sort of hard to miss,” Gorias replied, looking up at the goddess’ image. “No matter what a fella believes, that there stands an impressive work of art.”
“Ernytel’s image inspires and enthralls better than any artist’s handicraft,” Mother Niva said shortly, her arms folded under her gown. “But you’re not here to admire her self nor to take up her edicts, are you?” Her voiced lowered, but held no fear as she said, “Gorias La Gaul.”
“Ma’am,” Gorias nodded at her recognition. “A wizard or prognosticator tells me you are who I’m looking for in this mess. By the dragonfire balls decorating the back of your goddess in a mosaic, I’d say he may be telling the truth this tim
e.”
Her arched nose rose as hazel-colored eyes widened at him. “I see. Now, I wonder why that old devil has confessed such a thing to you, La Gaul.”
Gorias shrugged and his fingers flexed on the canvas bag he held. “Well, he was beholden to you at first. He performed the service you required to get enough gold to buy the balms for his own mystical cure. He gave what you wanted, the magic even your goddess couldn’t give.”
Niva’s long fingers touched the top of her gown. Her manner was icy as she responded, “My goddess…”
Gorias’ right hand fumbled with the straps on the pouch as he said, “Your goddess is so much stone, save for the sacrifices and belief ya put in her. She couldn’t give you the feeling you needed, that feeling that only revenge can give.”
Eyes flaring, she snapped, “How could you know any of that?”
“I’ve been everywhere, sister, um, mother…” Gorias opened the pouch and held it gingerly. “…nothing quite as passionate as religious furor, save for religious folks who get really pissed when their god or goddess comes up short. What did those castellans do to you to merit such death? Ya got gold here and plenty of means. Ya mean to tell me ya couldn’t have hired them guys’ throats slit? Why burn ‘em to death with dragonfire? That seems like overkill to me.”
Fingers digging into the gown under her neckpiece, Niva said, “Hard to get one past a legend, eh, La Gaul? Certainly, you comprehend retribution and the lengths one will travel to make the world right.”
“I understand plenty, sure. Barbecuing these politicians with dragonfire, well, I cannot say if their crimes warranted such a death or not, but the means to do it…why go that far?”
“I’m a woman, La Gaul,” her pale skin flushed pink as she unbuttoned her gown at the top. “My strength is only so great in my arms, no matter how strong my heart is. To hire these men killed, well, that wouldn’t be the same as doing it myself, no?”
Gorias put his hand in his pouch. “Yeah, I know the sentiment. I like to see the look in a man’s eyes when he knows the gig is up. That’s something I readily confess to, but it kinda grows on ya once you’ve seen a legion of men die.”
Overkill Page 27
