Chaos Queen--Fear the Stars (Chaos Queen 4)

by Christopher Husberg

  “God’s Eye is much more than a single tower,” Code explained when they arrived. “It is actually a network of them, and God’s Eye is simply the tallest. This,” Code said, indicating the tower and the surrounding area, “is Sky Plaza. You see God’s Eye at the center there, of course, and then we have the Four Pillars.” While God’s Eye was easily the tallest tower in the city, the Four Pillars stood directly adjacent to the monolith on four sides, each one rising between ten and twenty stories, with bridges that connected it to the central tower. A large plaza opened at the base of the towers, with manicured grass and trees weaving in and out of the base of the five buildings, like children playing at the feet of giants.

  “How tall is God’s Eye?” Alain asked, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the massive building.

  “Fifty stories, give or take a few,” Code said with a hint of pride. There was nothing else like God’s Eye in the Sfaera.

  “Give or take? What is that supposed to mean?”

  “Well,” Code said, looking over his shoulder for dramatic effect, “This is some inside information, but I’ll tell it to just the two of you.” It wasn’t insider information; anyone who cared enough to ask one of the Eye’s operators would get this answer from them, but still. Never hurt to add a little drama. “They say it’s only fifty floors, but that isn’t exactly true. It’s more like seventy. There are secret floors; levels they don’t want the public to know about.”

  The truth was, he had no idea how many floors there were exactly; various rumors floated around the Nazaniin, but Code had never really cared to ask after specifics. Growing up near the Eye, he’d more or less taken it for granted.

  Morayne rolled her eyes, and Code knew he wasn’t going to get far with this audience. “Secret floors? Really? Who in Oblivion would even care about such a thing?”

  “You’d be surprised,” Code said, half-defensively. “Some people find that sort of thing quite interesting.”

  “And the apparatus… harnesses the power of the sun or something?” Alain asked.

  Code shrugged. “Rumor has it, yes, but Triah hasn’t had a need to use God’s Eye in decades. No one has dared attack us in a very long time.”

  * * *

  Like many apartments near the city center, Code’s was a three-story structure with steps leading up to the entrance. It was roomy, and bloody expensive, but the Nazaniin paid their operatives handsomely. And Code had done well as a Nazaniin since he’d joined almost a decade ago; he had one of the most successful operation records in the organization.

  He was valued, even if he wasn’t particularly liked.

  Alain and Morayne marveled at his place, but Code couldn’t help but wonder if they really thought it was that impressive. Alain had grown up in a palace, after all, and even Morayne, as the daughter of a lesser noble house, would have had a mansion significantly larger than Code’s apartment. But he showed them into the first-floor parlor, and Alain and Morayne settled happily enough on a large stuffed couch, with Code sitting across from them in a matching armchair.

  Code had no sooner sat down than he bolted upright once more, and headed to the liquor table at one end of the room. “Almost forgot the most important thing,” he said with a grin. “Drinks. What can I get for both of you?”

  “Wine for both of us,” Morayne said.

  Code grunted. “Not into the stronger stuff, I take it?” He poured himself a glass of brandy and brought the drinks to them.

  “You don’t have a servant to do this for you?” Morayne asked, watching Code curiously.

  Code laughed. “That’s one difference between Maven Kol and Triah you’ll note. Servants aren’t as common. I do have a butler, Darion, but he only works specific hours for me. He usually is present when I have company, but I wanted to speak to the two of you alone, first. Besides, there’s something to be said about doing work for yourself, you know?”

  Alain and Morayne exchanged a look that Code could not decipher.

  “Would’ve thought you two would be used to that, anyway, now that you’re both free folk, as it were. Not nobles, not peasants, just… folk. Am I correct?”

  “It will take some time for Maven Kol to catch up with Khale when it comes to that way of thinking, I’m afraid,” Alain said, taking a sip of his wine.

  Code decided it was long past time to change the subject. “And how goes the business of… er… what is it you do again?”

  Alain hesitated, but Morayne spoke quickly.

  “We help people,” she said.

  “You mean people like you?” Code asked. Alain had told him something of his plans before Code had left Mavenil, the capital city of Maven Kol, but that was some months ago, and Code had had a bit to drink since then.

  “People like us?” Morayne asked, cocking her head to one side.

  Code rolled his eyes. She couldn’t possibly not know what he was referring to. “People that got caught in the Madness,” he said. “Triggers.”

  The reason Code had been summoned to Mavenil in the first place had been to investigate and stop the madness epidemic that had plagued Khale’s sister-nation over recent months. Based on Code’s other experiences on Arro Isle in Alizia, and the information the Triad had shared with him, he’d suspected one of the Nine Daemons had been behind it.

  He’d been right.

  With Alain and Morayne’s help, he’d defeated the Daemon Nadir (very well, it was more like he’d helped them defeat the Daemon), and the Madness had stopped, but those affected by it had not been saved. There were still hundreds of people in Maven Kol suffering from madness of various sorts.

  Such a thing wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary, of course, if these particular forms of madness didn’t come with the ability to manipulate air, earth, water, or fire, often uncontrollably. Alain and Morayne were both affected by this madness, but had found ways to harness it. Part of the reason Alain had rejected the crown had been to help others recover from this madness, and live as normal a life as possible.

  “I’ve heard good things about the movement you’ve established down there,” Code said.

  “We didn’t establish anything,” Alain said quietly. “The communities were already around before we began to help others. We’ve only changed the dynamic somewhat.”

  “We’ve changed it into something that works,” Morayne added.

  “So you’re helping people, then?” Code asked. “With the madness?”

  “We’re sharing our experience,” Alain said, “and what we know. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t.”

  Code knew that was a modest response; the Nazaniin intelligence sources had been astounded at the reports of recovery among those suffering from the Madness in Maven Kol.

  “And how goes that fight for both of you?”

  Alain and Morayne smiled at one another.

  “It was never a fight to begin with.”

  Code didn’t much care for their philosophy. Something about surrender being the only path to true victory. Whatever it was, Code was glad it worked for them. But he’d be damned if he’d ever give up a fight.

  “The two of you seem to be getting on well enough, at least,” Code said.

  “Aye,” Alain said quietly, his smile lingering. “At least we have that.”

  Code nodded, sitting back in his chair. At least one thing on the Sfaera was going right.

  “Well, mates, we’ve had enough small talk to last us a while. I think it’s time we get down to business.”

  “Indeed, Code. It is high time you told us why you summoned us to your great city.”

  Code nearly choked on his drink.

  “Code, are you all right?” Morayne asked.

  Once he got his coughing under control, Code nodded. “My apologies. I thought I heard you ask why I had summoned you to Triah.”

  Morayne and Alain both stared at him, and they did not have to speak for Code to understand. Oblivion. His heart began to race. “I hate to break it to you both, but I’ve done n
o such thing.”

  “But your message implored us to seek you out in Triah,” Morayne said. “It said you needed our help.”

  Code took a deep breath. “I sent no such message. By the look on your faces, I can assume you did not send a message to me informing me of your imminent arrival in Triah, seeking my help?”

  Alain and Morayne both shook their heads, mirroring their actions like an old couple that had been together for ages.

  “No,” Alain said. “We sent no such message.”

  Code swore. “Then we’ve got a problem, haven’t we?”

  “But who would want us to come to Triah, if not you?” Morayne asked.

  “Haven’t the slightest,” Code muttered. He drained his glass and stood to refill it. “But there are not many candidates. Do you have that first communication from me?”

  “I do,” Alain said, with a glance at Morayne.

  Morayne rolled her eyes. “You were right, I was wrong, there you have it. Show him the letter, would you?”

  Alain reached into his satchel and pulled out a slim stack of letters with a ribbon tied around them.

  Code scanned through the letters in the stack. “Most of those look familiar,” he said. “And I’m sure you’ll recognize the letters I have from you, save for one. Let’s have a look at the letter that brought you here, and get to the bottom of this.”

  Alain slipped one letter free of the rest, still in its envelope.

  Code inspected the broken seal: a single arrow, diagonal within an ornate square on black wax.

  “That’s the seal of the Nazaniin,” he said. At least, it was one of the seals of the Nazaniin. The organization had a number of seals they used, for various purposes and some simply at random.

  “Someone sent us a letter and counterfeited the seal of the Nazaniin?” Alain asked, eyes wide.

  “It’s possible. But forging Nazaniin seals is punishable by death. I haven’t heard of a counterfeit in years. It’s more likely the letter truly did come from within the Nazaniin.” Code pursed his lips. “Just not from me.”

  “Who would do that?” Alain asked. “And why?”

  “In theory, it could be anyone in the Nazaniin,” Code said. “Or possibly a Citadel student.”

  “And… how many people is that?” Morayne asked.

  Code opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. “Almost a thousand.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It isn’t.” Code unfolded the letter and scanned the contents. It was a simple note.

  Alain,

  Please excuse the abruptness of this note, but what we dealt with in Maven Kol has resurfaced in Triah. I need your help, and Morayne’s, too, if she can come with you. I hope to see you soon.

  Code

  “The handwriting is very close to my own,” Code said. “Almost an exact copy.”

  “Then the writing gives you no clue as to who it could have been,” Alain said, slumping back into the couch.

  “On the contrary,” Code said, eyes running over the words, “I write much of my correspondence in a false hand—different than what I use at the Citadel, for example. Or on any official Nazaniin documents. So whoever wrote this knows my true hand.” He glanced up at Alain. “And yours, as well. I did not notice anything different about the handwriting in that letter, either.

  Morayne sat forward. “Does that narrow it down for us, or not?”

  “Not by much.”

  Alain shook his head. “Why are we even here, then? We travelled all this way, left the work we were doing behind, for nothing.”

  Code cleared his throat. “Just because I didn’t ask for help doesn’t mean I don’t need it. I didn’t write that note, but the contents aren’t wrong. There’s a war brewing here, and I think it’ll converge on Triah. We could use all the help we can get.”

  “We aren’t going to help you fight that religious group,” Morayne said, eyes narrowing. “Or in a war against Roden.” It was common knowledge that Roden, the disintegrating empire to the north of the Khalic republic, had finally declared war— hoping to increase its territories while Khale was distracted by the tiellan uprising. For now, Khalic–Rodenese aggression had been limited to skirmishes on the border and a few fishing crews exchanging blows in the Gulf of Nahl.

  “You know that isn’t the war I’m talking about,” Code said.

  “You’re referring to another being like the one we defeated in Maven Kol?” Alain asked.

  Code nodded. “Daemons, mate. Best call a problem by its name. Doesn’t do any good to ignore them.”

  Morayne placed her goblet back on the table. She had been holding it, frozen on its way to her lips, for moments now. “One of them is in Triah?”

  “More than one,” Code said. He paused. What he was about to say was confidential Nazaniin intelligence.

  But he trusted these two. And, hopefully, they could actually be of some help.

  “Some of our sources are saying all of the Daemons are converging on Triah.”

  Alain choked on the wine he’d just drunk.

  Morayne’s eyes widened. “All of them?” she repeated. “Nadir alone killed so many in that last battle.”

  “It’s a possibility,” Code said. “One we’d rather be prepared for than not. I’m glad the two of you are here.”

  “But we still don’t know who summoned us here, or who sent you to meet us.”

  Code took a deep draught of his brandy. “We’ve got to figure that out, haven’t we?”

  9

  Outside of Triah

  CINZIA MADE HER WAY out of the Odenite camp quickly, her dark hood pulled down over her face. More than a year ago she had worn Cantic robes and cloaks, brilliant whites and crimsons, unmistakable and recognized throughout the nation.

  Now, her cloak was nondescript, plain, dark. She would never wear Cantic regalia again.

  You have many secrets, Luceraf whispered in her mind. I like it. You’re becoming more fit to be my avatar than I’d ever imagined.

  Cinzia continued walking, refusing to respond.

  You cannot ignore me forever, you know.

  Cinzia was willing to prove the Daemon wrong. She had enough on her mind to distract her. She’d lost the one thing that had made her unique. Translating had not only made her special, it had made her powerful.

  Now, she was without that power.

  I wouldn’t exactly say that, Luceraf whispered. You may have lost that ability, but you have me. And I can give you more power than translating ever could.

  “Your power is nothing but a mockery,” Cinzia said, aware she was posturing but not wanting to give the Daemon any ground.

  Luceraf laughed softly. One day you will understand how wrong you are. And you never know… my strength might help you one day, my dear.

  Cinzia approached the outskirts of the Beldam’s camp, not bothering to reply. The smaller group of pilgrims—once Odenites themselves, but now merely haunting the tracks of the larger group—had made camp in a rocky, sparsely forested area inland from Triah’s main gate and the Odenite camp. By the looks of the camp, Cinzia would be surprised if the Beldam had gathered three hundred people to her cause.

  Whatever cause that was. The Beldam and her followers had all been drawn to Jane just as the other Odenites had been, but they had left the larger group when Jane had refused to cast out tiellans from their number.

  Two large men spotted her as soon as she came within sight of the first tent. Both carried bludgeons.

  “Who goes there?” one of the men asked. “That’s the priestess,” the other muttered.

  Cinzia kept her head held high. “Cinzia Oden, to see the Beldam.”

  “Didn’t think we’d see you back here, not after what happened before,” said the taller of the two men, whose beard was so thick it hid his mouth. He twirled his bludgeon in one hand. “Come for another beating, have you?”

  “No,” Cinzia said, fear splintering in her chest. What in Oblivion had she been thinkin
g, coming here alone again? “I just want to speak with her.”

  “We’ll take you to her,” the other man said, stepping forward as well. He, too, had his club drawn. “But not before we remind you why you shouldn’t come back.”

  “Wait,” Cinzia said, taking a step back. In her anger at not being able to translate, she had made an incredibly stupid decision. And now she was going to pay for it. “I am a servant of Canta. You cannot—”

  The bearded man raised his club, and though Cinzia wanted to turn and run, something held her there. She raised her hands to protect her face.

  I’ll expect a thank you for this later, Luceraf whispered in her mind.

  The bludgeon fell. Cinzia opened her eyes to find one of her upraised hands holding the weapon tightly. It had been as simple as catching a stick someone had tossed toward her.

  “What in Oblivion—”

  Before the attacker could say anything more, Cinzia wrenched the bludgeon from his hand. Once, she had protected Jane from an assassination attempt, and had been granted speed and strength to do so by a power beyond herself. The strength and power coursing through her was similar, but it was also different. Here, something primal drove her. A dark instinct, deep within.

  Cinzia raised the bludgeon, and brought it down on her attacker before he had time to recover from his surprise. She kicked the bearded man and he flew several rods, sliding to a stop in the grass.

  The other shouted in alarm and brought his own bludgeon down on her shoulder. Cinzia barely felt it. She raised her club to bring it down on his skull, then stopped.

  Kill this man. It will teach these people a lesson, Luceraf hissed, her voice filled with lust.

  We have taught them lesson enough. It took some effort, but Cinzia lowered the bludgeon.

  “I’ll do anything you ask,” the guard whimpered. “Please, don’t hurt me.”

  “Take me to the Beldam,” Cinzia said. “That’s all I came here for.”

  People from the nearby tents had started to emerge at the sound of the commotion. A few rushed to help the injured man. He coughed violently, blood spurting from his mouth.