“Perhaps not, but they must be had with rested tongues and clear minds. Tomorrow is the day to begin,” Brenan said, and finding that Aidan had no other reply, the Master Acolyte bowed again and left Aidan alone.
* * *
Aidan awoke well before sunrise. When he looked out his windows, the horizon hadn’t even begun to glow the hues of purple and indigo, and stars still shone in a black night sky. He hadn’t slept well; he tossed and turned all night, and every minute noise caused his eyelids to fly open. Aidan knew he would pay for it later in the day, but for now he was awake and ready for the day to be about. Still, he made a mental note to drink tea at every sitting, as it had the effect of keeping him awake when he would rather sleep. The Convocation would have to adjourn often to allow him time to empty his bladder. As he looked over his city in the darkness, he could see pilgrims and devotees arriving in the plazas below, and Aidan wondered just how much they knew about the occurrences in the palace.
It was not even sunrise when he finally made his way to the Auditorium, the massive hall of marble, limestone and gold. It was used exclusively for the rare occasion of the Convocation, though lesser priests and acolytes often used it for quiet study. Four doors led into the Auditorium at its ground floor, and four sets of narrow marble stairs led upward past tiered row after tiered row of velvet cushioned marble pews that wrapped fully around in concentric circles. With twenty rows in all, those who sat closest to the ceiling looked over a hundred feet down to the floor, where those who addressed the crowd stood. Excellent acoustics carried even the smallest of sounds throughout the Auditorium.
At first, it surprised Aidan that he was not the first to enter, but as he looked at the score of priests that had already arrived, he only nodded in understanding. They were lesser, priests of small villages and hamlets, and they could not hide the clear and obvious mannerisms and ways of dress that identified them as bumpkins. These persons were used to rising early, even before the sun, as many of them attended farms as well as their flocks. Most of them sat quietly, patiently, while four others sat in an upper level whispering hurriedly, likely about weather patterns or the sudden infestation of stink moths among their crops or some other such bucolic nonsense. With guarded eyes and a mask upon his face, Aidan nodded politely to these men and women, as for now they were equals. He sat in the first row, closest to the floor, for he knew that he had much speaking to do, and he wanted everyone in the Auditorium to see him.
A few minutes later, Master Acolyte Brenan entered from the northern door, two of his peons in tow. They all carried scrolls, writing implements and amounts of loose parchment, appearing somewhat disorganized as various items fell to the floor behind for one of them to retrieve. The three collected themselves on a lowest tier row, directly across from Aidan’s chosen place. They sat and organized their plethora of mundanity wordlessly. Brenan read over a long scroll of notes, likely reiterating what would be said, and one of his lesser acolytes looked around the Auditorium at those who already gathered. As he looked at their faces, he searched an exorbitantly long scroll, making marks when he found the name. They disgusted Aidan, and he excused himself, suddenly aware of the bulging of his bladder.
When he returned, he had to fight a press of robed priests to enter and retake his seat. It was early yet, and the Auditorium was only beginning to fill the bottom rows as about two hundred had arrived. He looked around with interest, finding some conversation, clasped arms and even embraces and kisses among the priests. About four rows up and behind the acolytes sat a quartet that drew a long, hard stare from Aidan
Lord Rederick of Martherus sat with two other men and one woman; none of the three did Aidan recognize off hand. Rederick was a mountain of a man, as tall as most pure blooded Loszians, and almost as wide, though his girth was not around his middle as was Aidan’s. Rederick was a fighting man originally, lord of lands that bordered upon the Northern Kingdoms and a warrior of no small prowess and renown. He had kept the northern border safe from marauding Northmen clans for over twenty years, before handing the task with lands and title to his only son. He was forty when he renounced all worldly possessions and joined the Temple, an act that rung across Aquis as loudly as any pealing bells. Rederick was known for inspiring love, devotion and awed piety among all those who met him, and he rose quickly to become the Lord of Martherus nearly twenty years ago. The man was every bit of seventy, but appeared as the most hale and hearty of fair faced, black haired heroes from children’s stories, of course excluding the plain white robes. It was said that he was truly beloved of Garod, and Aidan heard whispers that Rederick was Erella’s choice to replace her.
Aidan realized with a start that Rederick’s cold, impassive blue eyes returned his stare, and the fat priest slowly nodded to the big man in acknowledgement. Rederick returned the nod with precisely the same depth and speed. Aidan again lifted himself from his place and crossed the room. He climbed the steps to the row immediately below Rederick’s and shuffled sideways through the walkway until he stood before the giant. Even sitting, Aidan could see the man’s massive chest muscles under his robes, and he felt suddenly inferior.
“Lord Rederick, it is a pleasure to see you well,” Aidan said over the rising sounds of the crowd. “I have not had the opportunity to speak with you before now, and I was hoping you would give me your ear for a few scant moments.”
“I’m not sure Lord Rederick has need of your words, Corpulent One.” This came from the woman who sat directly behind Rederick. She looked at him with undisguised arrogance and distaste.
“I don’t believe we have had the pleasure?” Aidan asked as pleasantly as he could, ignoring the insult.
“Mora of Martherus,” she replied, not returning Aidan’s smile. “I serve Garod under Lord Rederick.”
“Of course, as do these other two gentlemen I presume,” Aidan said, motioning broadly to the men on either side of Rederick. “My Lord of Martherus, please allow me to speak to you for just a moment. Our beloved Queen Erella is dead, murdered, and now is the time for boldness. Aquis, nay the entire Shining West, needs your strength, your fighting spirit –“
“Spare me,” Rederick interrupted quietly. Aidan had never spoken directly with the man before, and his voice was full of the deepest bass. “I have no interest in your machinations.”
“Of course not, Lord Rederick,” Aidan replied. He wasn’t ready to give up, but he was unnerved by the apparent fact that Rederick never blinked. “I only mean to suggest that Aquis and Garod need our unity.”
“You are a fool,” Rederick stated more plainly and impassively than Aidan thought possible, “but I have no doubt that you will be king before long. You need nothing from me.”
“I need your support, Lord Rederick. You need only ask for whatever boon a king may grant.”
“I know you will be made king with or without my support. As Lord of Martherus, I serve Garod and owe allegiance to any king or queen that He sends me. I have nothing else to say on the matter,” Rederick finished, and he turned his unblinking stare to the floor, ignoring the fat priest standing before him.
Aidan opened his mouth to speak, but in looking at the faces of Mora and the other two men, he changed his mind. He ponderously returned to his cushion and waited as more pressed into the Auditorium, beginning to fill the middle levels. The increase in bodies contained within the large room caused a noticeable difference in the room’s temperature, and Aidan was suddenly glad that he had chosen to sit at the lowest level. When it was done, over a thousand would sit on the room’s tiered marble benches.
It was perhaps another long hour before the Master Acolyte stood from his seat and came to stand in the middle of the floor. The crowd quieted in mere moments to allow him to speak.
“Lords, Ladies, Priests welcome to Byrverus,” he started solemnly. He spoke only slightly above his normal volume, but his voice carried to the top tier of the Auditorium. “As you know, we bring together the Convocation only in the darkest of times. Ou
r beloved Erella, Queen of Aquis, High Priestess to Garod is dead.”
“Slain!” Aidan blurted, and Brenan fixed him with a hard glare. A clamor of voices erupted from the assembled priests as they turned to speak to their neighbors.
“Yes,” said Brenan, and he held his arms in the air for quiet. “Yes, that is true. She was strangled to death mere minutes after her oldest advisor was burnt alive in his bed. Both were murdered, and the perpetrators killed many palace guards in their escape through the sewers.”
“Who is the traitor?” shouted a voice from far above.
“Yes, who?” echoed another, somewhat closer.
“The Lord of Fort Haldon, a Dahken by the name of Cor Pelson is to blame.”
As Brenan said the name, some priests nodded and others whispered. Aidan raised one eyebrow as Mora leaned forward to whisper something in Rederick’s ear, though the big man did not respond with either words or expression. Of course, it made sense – Cor was originally found near Martherus, and in a way, one could argue that Rederick was ultimately to blame for the loss of the boy.
Brenan elaborated to the crowd, “In actuality, we cannot say for certain that Cor Pelson’s hand was the one that murdered our queen. However, we know that he came with two other Dahken, barely more than children, and a woman from Dulkur. It was she that killed Palius in his bed, burnt him alive with the powers granted by her god.”
“Charlatan!”
“Blasphemy!”
Brenan again raised his hands to quiet the shouts before continuing. “By all accounts, the woman known as Thyss was locked away in a dungeon cell while the three Dahken slew the queen’s guards and then the queen Herself. They then freed the woman and escaped through the sewers in the dungeons. They slew a good many more men in their escape. The exact guilt of the murders is hard to determine, but Garod’s justice will fall upon them all equally.
“Please, allow us to move on from this issue, for it is not the matter at hand,” Brenan said calmly, and he began to pace around the floor so that all could see his face as he spoke. “Aquis must have a ruler. The Shining West always looks to Aquis for wisdom and leadership, and right now we offer neither. The Convocation must select another to rule after Erella. As the law allows, any priest may be nominated, but the name must be seconded lest it be struck from the list. And of course, no priest may nominate nor second him or herself. I will open the floor. Please keep the shouting to a minimum, as sound carries well within the Auditorium.”
Master Acolyte Brenan ended his speech just as his circle brought him back to his seat. He took it next to his acolytes, both of whom were ready to scribe on the blank parchment any name that was spoken.
“Aidan of Byrverus,” several voices called out at once from around the room. Other names were shouted, the names of priests from across Aquis, but most of them received no second. The acolytes wrote these down anyway, for Brenan would ask for a second at the conclusion.
A voice directly behind Aidan said, “Rederick of Martherus.”
“Aye!” shouted the bitch Mora, Rederick’s lesser.
Aidan very nearly jumped to see whom it was had called Rederick’s name, but he subdued the impulse with all of his self control. Rederick, for his part, hardly reacted to the nomination. The priest who seemed to tower over others even as he sat only lifted his left eyebrow as if the occurrence was completely unexpected. Aidan lifted both of his eyebrows and sighed as he realized that Rederick had always planned to make a battle of it. Priest he may be, but the man still knew only battle.
More names were heard in the Auditorium, most of which received no second. The acolytes dutifully recorded them anyway until voices no longer called out. Brenan compared the acolyte’s lists for accuracy, and then he took one with him as he stood in the middle of the floor. He proceeded to call the names that had gone without a second, asking if any would do so. None did, and satisfied, Brenan declared the nominations at an end.
“As per the law,” he said, “the Convocation shall vote on the five, with a majority vote determining who will rule.”
“Let’s to it then!” shouted Aidan to some rumbling and another stabbing glare from Brenan. He wasn’t sure if the crowd was for or against.
“The law is clear Lord Aidan. We shall have testaments as to the worthiness of those for whom you vote. Your peers shall stand before the Convocation and speak of your piety and humility before Garod.” There were some muffled laughs at this. “They will testify to your deeds, your wisdom, your strengths and your weaknesses. Once this is done, the Convocation will vote. May Garod grant you all wisdom.”
With that, Brenan adjourned the Convocation until after lunch.
4.
Haria was an oddity among her fellows at Fort Haldon. There were few female soldiers in the entirety of Aquis’ armies, but she was no regular soldier. She hailed from a country village in the foothills of southeast Aquis, but she was no farmer. Raised by her father alone after her mother’s death, he taught her to scavenge, scrounge, hunt and track. Haria learned the use of the sword, knife and longbow for hunting and killing as well. They had no home of which to speak, living under the sun and moon off of the land as needed, until her father was one day ambushed by an overly sneaky mountain cat. She killed the beast, but not before it mortally maimed her shredded her father’s flesh. She was only fifteen years old.
She wandered listlessly for a year, surviving as her father had taught her, before she wandered into Fort Haldon. The garrison commander there, a kind, tall man named Thom, took her in for a few days and nights. Haria watched the men of Fort Haldon, and she understood their purpose. She also knew they needed those with the skills she possessed, and she approached Thom about joining his force of bowman, scouts and fighters.
“This is no place for a slip of a girl,” he had said to her ire.
She hardened her jaw, biting back angry words and instead challenged him. “I can survive in these mountains as well as any man under your command.”
He accepted the challenge. Thom sent her into the mountains with nothing but what she brought to Fort Haldon and a full water skin. She was to stay in the mountains for three days and return no worse for wear, and if she could do that, he would accept her into the Fort’s garrison. Not only did Haria accomplish his task, she returned with the ranger Thom had sent to track her. She led the man back to Fort Haldon at sword point; his hands were bound, and he had a nasty knot on his forehead that was encrusted with blood.
That was four years ago.
Thom had not only accepted her into the garrison, but he in fact made Haria one of the key rangers whose task it was to scout the Spine almost constantly. She did appear to be a mere slip of a girl from a distance, very slim at just over five feet in height. However up close, one saw the telltale signs of her trade. Her straight hair, so dark as to be almost black when she was a child, had lightened substantially from constant exposure to the sun, and her skin had browned from the same. She had roughly calloused palms and fingers from over a decade of using swords and bows, not to mention climbing all manners of mountains and trees.
When not in the mountains, Haria stayed amongst the common soldiers of Fort Haldon, sleeping, bathing and dressing with them in their barracks. At first, this made a number of them uncomfortable, a fact that at first amused her and later annoyed her. Eventually, they came to see her as no different from themselves, including her in whatever amusements they enjoyed, and respecting her as an equal. Once, a soldier with a particularly bad disposition, whose name she could no longer remember, tried to force himself upon her in the night. It did not go well for him as Haria’s compatriots refused to lie idly by pretending to sleep. After being beaten to a pulp, the offender was sent away, and Haria had no idea what happened to him.
The fact was, Haria had absolutely no romantic interest in any of them; the thought never crossed her mind. She had only recently had such a feeling, and it was when she had first seen the bronze skinned woman with the beautiful golden hair.
Haria thought she was marvelous, and she wondered what it would be like to touch that bronze skin and golden hair. She endeavored to keep her mind off of such thoughts, as impossible as they were, and as such, she spent more and more time working in the Spine.
A few days ago, she’d discovered something important she was sure. They knew the Loszians had been building within their own fort, having erected dozens of buildings many of which looked like barracks, but now she knew why. A small army, easily twice the size of Fort Haldon’s garrison, had arrived. She saw them marching on the horizon and, upon their arrival, saw a vast array of black armored soldiers led by an oddly tall figure riding a chariot. There were also at least a thousand peasants, slaves she knew, and a smaller number of what Haria swore were walking corpses. She’d heard rumors of such things, and something about the shambling figures repulsed her.
She stayed in her position for a few more days, as more such armies arrived, and Haria was certain the total forces numbered over twenty five thousand. The soldiers stayed in the barracks, the slaves under massive tents, and the dead just stood out in the elements, completely unmoving. Haria watched over the tremendous scene that played out beneath her. From her vantage point, a high ridgeline to the northeast of Fort Haldon, she could see almost everything on the other side of the Loszians’ wall. She had never witnessed anything like it in her life, and she knew it was the thing that the Shining West had dreaded for hundreds of years. The Loszian Empire prepared an invasion.
“Amazing, isn’t it?”
Haria did not look at the source of the voice, a man just a few yards behind her and to the right. He had been watching her for days as she watched the scene below. Of course, she had known of his presence the entire time, and she also knew he was not from Fort Haldon. That made him a Loszian. She had considered killing him, but there hadn’t been a need before.
Darkness and Steel Page 3
