A Tide of Shadows

by Tom Bielawski

  Carym knew that weapon well, and had spent grueling hours training with it during his service in the Imperial Fleet. It had a haft that was about two feet long with a grip at one end and a long blade made for slashing at the other, yet it could be thrown with deadly effect. The guard platoon was followed by a procession of the Holy Order of the Golden Dragon, the faithful warrior-monks of Qra’z, resplendent in their scarlet robes. Behind the monks came several opulently decorated horse drawn carriages that were likely bearing the governor and other Imperial noblemen.

  “What’s going on in the square today?” Zach asked a man guarding the side entrance. The man was stoic, standing in strict military “rest position,” his breath visible in the cool morning air. The guard slowly pivoted his head in precise military fashion and acknowledged them.

  “Are you the carpenters? Brother Roderious is expecting you. He will receive you after these filthy heathens are dealt with. His Holiness, the bishop, has the unfortunate task of punishing them today, so the good brother will give you your orders instead.”

  This Arnathian guard spoke in a haughty and condescending tone. And he was no less threatening in his appearance than the other members of the Qra’zim.

  “What do you mean, ‘heathens’? Aren’t these men clergy?” Carym asked earnestly, recognizing the faces of two friends among the prisoners.

  The guard glared menacingly at Carym, unsheathed his sword and advanced on him. “All know there are no gods other than the Golden Dragon, Qra’z! These filth don’t worship the Golden Dragon, so they must be heathens!” the guard placed his sword tip on Carym’s chest. “Heathens in service of demons! Whom do you worship, carpenter?”

  Choosing not to push his luck, Carym dropped to one knee and made the sign of the Golden Dragon, with his hand. “I worship Qra’z. I was merely inquiring about the demise of my fellow Cklathmen. I was not aware that the church had taken this position; forgive me, I meant no disrespect.”

  Carym suddenly remembered why he had given up meddling in the affairs of others; it often led to trouble with the Arnathian military or the Qra’zim, who were not as fond of his fellow Cklathmen as Carym was.

  The guard stared at Carym for a moment, then sheathed his sword and said no more. Carym rose to his feet and walked cautiously through the gate toward the square ensuring he was out of earshot of any of the Temple Guards.

  “What the hell was that all about?” Zach hissed.

  “I don’t know, but I think we just barely escaped joining those prisoners in the square. I had no idea that the Church of Qra’z had abandoned its position of tolerance toward other faiths,” Carym whispered quietly, still in shock from the encounter.

  The young men saw several Imperial dignitaries gathered around the bishop, Brother Roderious, and General Craxis. They watched as the bishop stepped onto a raised platform and the prisoners were marched in line before him, spear points pressed in their backs. The guards stopped the prisoners in front of the platform, removed the shackles from their legs and backed away. Guards armed with crossbows were positioned nearby in case the prisoners tried to escape, although there was certainly little chance of that.

  The bishop, resplendent in silver and golden robes with a large white conical hat atop his head, held a tall golden staff in his right hand that was topped with a dragon’s head, the symbol of Qra’z.

  Although the head of the Imperial Church in the Northeast Territories was old, having reached his eighty-fifth year, he was remarkably fit. Close to seven feet tall, the bishop towered over most men. With his baritone voice and penetrating silver eyes he commanded respect. It was widely believed that the bishop could actually see a man’s soul, and his glare could burn a man’s skin with holy radiance when he was angry. Today, the bishop made sure he looked squarely at each of the prisoners before him.

  “Greetings Hybrand Imperial Territory! May the great and powerful, all-knowing Qra’z bless you this day, which stands as the opening day of the Brotherhood Games. These criminals before you represent all that the Brotherhood Games seeks to end. They are heretics who spurn the might of Qra’z and encourage dissidence!” he paused for a moment.

  “The Most Holy Emperor has been in holy communion with our god. Qra’z is not pleased! The Lord Qra’z has been tolerant of these infidels among us for too long. They have been given the chance to convert of their own free will, yet they do not. They enjoy the privileges of life in the Arnathian Empire, yet they do not show Qra’z the proper thanks he deserves. From this point forward, all heretics and infidels shall be arrested on sight and offered a chance to repent and convert.”

  There was a murmur of agreement throughout the spectators and even a few of the Chevals nodded silently in agreement with the charismatic pontiff.

  “The thankless heathens of this and other conquered lands have fostered evil in the hearts of men for far too long!” he bellowed. “The heathen religions support and encourage crime and deceit. Our Lord Qra’z has commanded that this will be tolerated no longer!”

  He turned his attention to the men in front of him. “By decree of His Most Holy Majesty Emperor Arnath, by the Grace of Zuhr, Defender of the Faith, and His Eminence Lord Patriarch Verazu, all subjects shall be given the opportunity to change their heretical ways; else they face eternal damnation on the Fires of Hades!”

  The bishop scanned the gathered throng of Arnathian settlers and made eye contact with any who would dare to look toward him. The gathered Arnathians muttered their approval as the bishop turned to face the prisoners.

  “Should you choose not to repent, you will be given seven days to change your minds,” he sneered as he looked down upon each of the prisoners. “After seven days, if any of you have not yet converted, you will be put to death!” He paused again before facing the crowd of approving Arnathians. The bishop was fond of drama and he enjoyed making a spectacle of those whom he labeled heretics whenever possible.

  “You men claim to be clergy,” he spat as he spoke the word, “Clergy of Zerva! All know that Zerva is not a goddess but a demon witch who possesses the souls of men! You stand before me charged with heresy and treason. I will give each of you a chance to convert and save your souls from an eternity of damnation!” The bishop stepped down from the platform and approached the first shackled man, who stood proudly.

  “Thrayador Bruahn, you are the leader of this church, are you not?” he asked the first man, sneering.

  “Indeed, I am Your Holiness,” he replied properly. Thrayador was keenly aware of the precariousness of this situation.

  “Repent! Declare your soul for Lord Qra’z the Enlightened Dragon and renounce the demon you claim as your goddess!” he shouted for all to hear. The prisoner, forced to stand before the bishop, stood proudly in his earth colored robes with his shackled hands before him but, wisely, he remained silent. He knew that any words other than ‘I repent,’ would be turned against him. The two holy men stared at each other for a long moment.

  “Very well,” said the bishop as he turned to his elite Qra’zim guards, “Captain, put him in the stocks!”

  “Sir!”

  The captain signaled and Thrayador Bruahn was dragged to the stocks and locked in place. As the bishop continued down the row of prisoners, one by one the men maintained their silence and the bishop committed them to the stocks. The wily bishop had expected no less. In fact, he would have been disappointed if these men robbed him of the opportunity to condemn them to an eternity of damnation.

  Carym looked at the gathered dignitaries and saw Lord Cannath among the Arnathians, a grim look on his face. Cannath was of the royal bloodline of Hybrand, last of the House of Du Val Hyr, and widely looked upon as a sellout by his people. For treacherous reasons Cannath’s grandfather, who was brother to Kiernan, the last Thayne of Hybrand, had supplied the Arnathians with the names and locations of the thayne’s generals, advisers, and other nobles having any claim to the throne. Arnathian assassins murdered every person whose name was supplied to them by Cannat
h’s grandfather in one bloody night. Many innocent people, including children, had been murdered that dreadful night. The Cklath are a people who take great pride in family and value their children above themselves; such a horrific event was beyond their capacity to forgive.

  Their country had been surrendered to the Arnathian Empire in the dark of night and all its means of defense had been rendered impotent. A group of Cklathmen loyal to the murdered thayne organized an attempt to repel the Imperial forces. Hopes of reinforcements from the Cklathish Thayne Connor Anuryn I of Bythyn, were dashed when a fierce Vaardic fleet aided by the Arnathian Navy intercepted Thayne Connor’s fleet as it descended from the north reaches of the sea. Badly outnumbered and sustaining heavy losses, they were forced to turn back. The rebel movement was crushed and almost every man capable of fighting against the Arnathians was imprisoned, pressed into service in the Arnathian Army or killed.

  Various liberation movements had, over time, extended their hands to Cannath’s grandfather, then his father, and now Cannath himself, in hopes that he could negotiate better terms for his countrymen. Yet time and again, Cannath and his predecessors neither accepted aid nor took part in any rebel movement. As a reward for his loyalty to Arnathia, Cannath’s grandfather had been granted the title of Count of the Empire. He was figurehead ruler of the territory, but a rich one and that made him happy. Yet the title of Count was not a hereditary one and neither Cannath nor his father had been granted the same title.

  There were rumors about Cannath, too, Carym remembered. Some said that he failed to support rebel movements to this point because he knew they had all been doomed to fail. Carym wasn’t sure.

  “Dryume Oakharam, do you renounce the evil demon witch?”

  Carym’s attention was drawn back to the bishop as he heard the name of his old friend, the druid. Carym watched with trepidation as the bishop removed the gag from his old friend’s mouth, he was the last of the prisoners present. Fearful for his friend’s demise, Carym watched closely and saw that the old druid’s lips were moving.

  “Speak your faith, heretic! Whom do you serve?” the bishop shouted. But suddenly, Dryume disappeared in a puff of smoke! The deafening silence was broken after a moment by a curious murmur from the crowd.

  Bishop Darious looked around furiously as the crowd began to rumble. He turned to the crowd, “You have witnessed an example of demonic sorcery. This is a grave situation, I’m afraid.”

  The bishop addressed the crowd, smiling inwardly; he couldn’t have planned this better. “These druids are evil demon-worshipers, savages who engage in human sacrifices! They eat human flesh and they are criminals of the lowest sort! Dryume Oakharam will be hunted down and destroyed in a fashion befitting a demon worshiper!”

  Carym scowled at the dark irony; Qra’z was in fact well known for accepting sacrifices.

  The bishop stalked angrily back to the first prisoner, Thrayador Bruahn, and spoke in a menacing tone meant for him alone. Carym was relieved to see that the old druid, whose advice he had leaned on as a young man, had escaped. But he was concerned about the safety of the others.

  “Where did he go, Thrayador? I can make this easy for you,” the bishop’s glinted dangerously.

  “I know not, Holiness,” he replied. “He and I do not serve the same queen.”

  “Bah! You are all the same no matter what you would deceive yourself into thinking. Repent! And I will permit you to tell me where he went; else you will be the first to die.”

  “If I should ‘repent’ as you demand, will I not just as soon find my head parted from my neck and my soul on its way to serve Qra’z, Your Holiness? No, I will die faithful to my queen and my soul will serve her in the afterlife. Regardless, I know not where Dryume has gone,” Thrayador said loudly and proudly from his undignified position in the stocks.

  The bishop stepped back and smirked at Thrayador, then he turned to the crowd.

  “I fear that Thrayador Bruahn, the leader and the blackest soul among these men, is beyond my abilities to reach. Only our great Lord Qra’z may save him, as even now he speaks heresy. The rest of these men will have seven days to reconsider.

  “Bring Thrayador Bruahn to me!” he ordered as he returned to the platform.

  “This doesn’t look good!” said Zach, worriedly.

  “What can we do?”

  “Nothing,” growled Zach.

  “They are going to kill him, Zach!”

  Carym seethed with anger knowing in his heart that this bishop was about to murder a kind old man who had been a spiritual leader of his people for many years. It was all he could do to maintain control of himself. If he and Zach tried to save him they would be labeled heathens and criminals, certain to suffer the same fate, helping no one in the end. The Chevals looked on and cheered along with the bloodthirsty Arnathians, while Willam watched with sad determination.

  The young men watched in horror as the captain forcefully pulled Thrayador’s head back, exposing his throat. The bishop removed a dagger from inside his robe, the blade gleaming in the morning sun. The hilt of the dagger was shaped like the body of a golden dragon, its wings were the crosspiece and its tail, the blade, glowing white as though it had just been pulled from the forge.

  “May Qra’z have mercy on your soul heathen!”

  Carym turned away as the bishop stabbed Thrayador in the chest.

  C H A P T E R

  2

  Lord Cannath.

  An Offer.

  As the guards dragged away the lifeless body of Thrayador Bruahn, Carym and Zach turned from the bloody spectacle in sadness and disgust. It was all Carym could do to control his emotions; the stakes had been raised and he knew that any slip here could cost them both their lives. He forced a straight face as one of the temple monks approached them. It was all he could do not to plant his sword in the man’s chest.

  “Good afternoon gentlemen, I am Brother Roderious. I apologize for the delay in receiving you, but I was engaged with our god’s business. May Qra’z bless you on this day.”

  Carym cast a fierce look at the monk, but Zach jabbed him with an elbow. The monk’s cheerful demeanor was unsettling to the men.

  “I see by the looks on your faces that you are troubled by what has happened here today.”

  Carym wondered briefly if the man had overheard their criticisms.

  “Have no fear; the infidel’s soul is no longer in torment. He is with Qra’z now,” Roderious said solemnly.

  “Brother,” Carym began, Zach raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Yes?” he said with a kindly smile.

  “Perhaps we are not the right choice for your project. We would not want to trouble you or the bishop or waste your valuable time.”

  Zach gave Carym a meaningful glance; the possibility of making a tidy sum of money was winning out over Arnathian loathing.

  “Oh, I am quite sure that you are the proper choice for this task,” chuckled the oblivious monk. “Qra’z has a way making these things work out for the best. Besides, the bishop has delegated the management of this task to Lord Cannath. He is quite eager to see you gentlemen.”

  The monk turned and began leading the men through the vast temple complex, big enough to be its own small city. Being a faithful devotee of Zuhr, like any good Cklathman, Carym had never been inside the temple compound before and he was awestruck by its immensity. However, his anger did not allow him to appreciate the quality craftsmanship and ingenuity that went into the construction of this place. He did not know how old it was; only that it had been completed long ago during the early occupation. He knew that Old Lady Mailey would have given him a solid slap across the shoulder with her cudgel for even thinking of what the inside of that temple looked like. That forced a wry smile to Carym’s face. Many of the children of Hyrum had come to know her bite, and the sting of her cudgel.

  Curiously, he did not see any buildings under construction that might require their skills. Then he realized that as they were walking the monk had be
en giving the men a visitor’s tour, pointing out this or that item of interest; Carym wasn’t interested. They had walked far longer than they ought to and he was eager to see Lord Cannath so that he could convince the lord not to hire him.

  The main temple was an immense structure of marble and granite with rows of columns lined with silver and gold. The front of the main temple opened on Temple Square. The rest of the buildings in the compound lined the sides of Temple Square; a heavily guarded gate stood menacingly at the front of the square, opposite the temple. Monks in scarlet robes with gold sashes walked slowly with their hoods pulled low over their faces and their hands clasped in front of them. Priests in their golden robes walked here and there and a few temple-goers, all of them Arnathian settlers entered the Temple. At the center of the square in front of the main entrance was a statue of the Golden Dragon, the symbol of the Arnathian Empire and of the Church of Qra’z. The air was thick with foreboding.

  “This way, gentlemen,” the monk said cheerily as he ushered the two through the Temple Square.

  “What will we be building for you, Brother?” Zach asked.

  “It is a small but important job, you may be sure. You may be wondering why you were specifically chosen,” the monk stated.

  Carym nodded but said nothing, keeping his tongue from getting the better of him.

  “Both of you are loyal veterans of the Imperial Fleet, and you are skilled carpenters,” the monk paused as he opened the door to a small outbuilding next to the main temple. The symbol of the Golden Dragon of Qra’z was etched in gold on the door. Carym and Zach looked at each other uneasily, each recalling their service in the Arnathian military had been compulsory; certainly neither of them possessed a shred of loyalty to Arnathia. Brother Roderious knelt down and made the sign of Qra’z in the air before entering the building.