by A. C. Ellas
“My dear Jisten,” he said softly. “Whatever is the matter?”
“I need to find S’Rak.” Jisten looked away from that disturbing, probing gaze, focusing on the mist over the being’s shoulder. He couldn’t resist asking, “Why are you here, m’lord?”
“I go where I will, Jisten Kydem, son of Kosten of the Kydeni Vale.” The voice was pleasant—Jisten heard no anger for his presumption, but the twisted face gave nothing away. “But I will answer you because you are one of my subjects whether you acknowledge Me or not. I am here because you are here. I am here because S’Rak is here. I am here because prophecy has been set in motion though it is too early to know by which road We will travel.”
Traespo touched him on the forehead. The world spun about in a dizzying fashion and then was gone.
Chapter Eight: Misdirection
Jisten stood in the pasture. The wet grass reached up past his mid-calf boots to soak the knees of his pants. He shook his head. What am I doing? He didn’t know why he was out there when his duties were all in the palace. Bemusedly, he strode toward the surprisingly distant cluster of buildings. He had no memory of how he’d gotten to the furthest pasture much less why he’d gone there. He reached the carefully maintained hard-packed clay road that ran between the pastures to the barns of the stables. His stride lengthened on the level surface, eating the distance to the palace.
Nall intercepted him at the boundary of the stable area. “Stay away! Sick horses!”
That reminded Jisten that he’d been looking for S’Rak. He nodded gravely. “I’ve heard. Quickly now, tell me where the high priest is working.”
“Th’ dark priest?” Nall’s eyes were artificially widened. The boy was clearly dissembling when he said, “Not here, sir! Haven’t seen him all night!”
Jisten frowned. “I know he’s here, Nall. He’s not in his rooms, and there are sick horses here. I’m not daft, you know. Bharis would have sent for him as soon as night had fallen.” Besides, he knew through his bond that the high priest was here, somewhere, and not all that far away. Maddeningly, however, he couldn’t bring the bond to a more specific direction than just nearby. Usually, he could use the bond to take him right to Rak. Not tonight. Every time he tried, he’d get a different sense of which direction Rak was in, a different sense of how far, and none of it made sense.
Nall swallowed heavily. “He’s not here. He left hours ago. Rode out on his demon horse.”
“Oh, did he?” Jisten strode on, brushing past Nall, who fell in behind him.
“Sir, ye can’t go into the barns, Bharis declared a quarantine.”
“This illness can’t be caught by people,” Jisten replied, though he didn’t, in fact, know if that was true or not. He just wasn’t inclined to let a lying stable boy stop him.
Another boy came out of one of the barns, saw him, and moved to intercept. “Captain! Bharis has called a quarantine. No entry to the barns, he said, fer any reason.”
“Rizan, I’m looking for S’Rak. Stand aside.” Jisten had the feeling the boys were in cahoots against him here.
“The dark priest be not here,” Rizan claimed. “He rode out on Vyld before sunset—Bharis was right upset about it, too.”
Jisten kept going. Both boys scrambled after him, still vocally protesting his presence. Two more boys appeared and added to the clamor, Jisten ignored them. He was now certain that the boys were ganging up on him on purpose, but why? He’d never harmed them.
The bulk of barn two loomed to his left. He slipped in through the rear door—the closest door to the stall of his avtappi, Zala. She hung her head over the open half door and snorted in greeting. He stroked her long, arched neck as she nuzzled him affectionately, sending images of herself and Iggie playing in the recent rain. He slipped her a treat.
Hearing an imperious, familiar snort, Jisten glanced over at the stall beside hers. Vyld was eyeing him expectantly. Hiding a grin, Jisten offered the stallion a treat. As the black beast lipped it from his palm, Jisten said, “Amazing that Vyld is here, boys, if S’Rak rode out on him before sunset. If you’re going to lie to me, you should make more of an effort at it—you could have at least hidden Vyld!”
He turned and observed the stricken, defeated expressions of the boys. “Where. Is. S’Rak.”
Nall shook his head. “Ain’t sayin.’ You guards be keepin’ him from his duties to th’ horses. Ain’t gonna let the horses die.” The boys then turned and ran, scattering in four different directions as soon as they were out the door.
Jisten was struck momentarily speechless by the accusation. Is that what they think? Zala nudged him and pictured S’Rak. He stroked her long nose. “I’ll find him, love, never fear.” He gave both avtappi another treat then strode out of the barn. Barn seven was a good bet for the isolation barn, it was slightly separated from the rest and usually not even half full. He headed that way and noted that it was more lit up than usual. Nobody tried to stop him as he strolled in and looked about. The barn was full of horses—sick horses, Jisten amended as he heard the coughing.
He walked through the entire barn, growing more alarmed with each stride. These horses were very, very sick. They struggled to breathe before his eyes. Jisten paused now and then, wishing he could do something to help them. Where was S’Rak? Why wasn’t the high priest healing these poor horses? For that matter, where were the stable boys that should be tending to them? The barn seemed empty of humans. Pursing his lips, Jisten strode to the next barn and found more sick horses but the same strange lack of people. He kept going. He would visually inspect all twelve barns if that was what it took to find S’Rak.
It took him over an hour to walk through all the barns. He’d checked the lofts, the tack rooms, the supply rooms, all empty of people. Only barn seven and eight had sick horses. The swirling, red mist obscured much of the detail around him, but he was now certain that S’Rak wasn’t in any of the barns. Disappointed, and now worried, Jisten strode back into the palace. He headed for his office, telling himself he wanted to review the guard assignments but knowing in his heart that he was going to brood over the report on Kazia’s murder.
He’d barely settled at his desk when Kordri popped into his office. Annoyed, he looked up from the watch report. Kordri didn’t give him a chance to sound off. “Lady Soansa is missing.”
“Shit,” Jisten cursed with real feeling. “S’Rak is missing, too. He gave his guards the slip, but he’s not in the stables despite all the sick horses.”
“I expect there will be another body come dawn,” Kordri said coldly.
“Not if I can help it.” Jisten stood. “I’m going out to check the ward towers. When S’Rak created wards, he always went in order—the first murder was at the northern tower, so the second should be at the eastern tower.”
“Reasonable,” Kordri agreed. “I’ll pass a warning to the watch.”
Jisten nodded and strode out, heading back to the stable and Zala. He’d need her speed tonight. He reached Zala’s stall without incident. Nobody tried to stop him this time, and as far as he could tell, the stable area was completely deserted. He collected Zala’s tack and walked up to her stall. The avtappi snorted eagerly and opened her stall door. He stroked her long, arched neck. “You up for a quick jaunt?”
Zala bobbed her head and sent him a stream of images of them riding, racing, jumping, hunting. She was bored and wanted excitement. Iggie whickered nervously but remained in the stall. Vyld hung his head over the partition and snorted smoke at the nearly weaned unicorn colt. Iggie sidled closer to Vyld and made no further protest as Jisten tacked Zala up.
As he worked, Jisten’s left arm brushed against Zala. She squealed and stepped sideways, her head turned toward him, fanged mouth agape and her red eyes suddenly ablaze. “Easy, there,” Jisten murmured. The mark on his arm burned unpleasantly. He did his best to keep his arm from touching her again, and presently both mare and mark calmed.
Jisten mounted and guided her out of the stable. Yet another
advantage to riding an avtappi instead of a horse: avtappi could see in the dark quite easily. He didn’t have to waste time calming a skittish horse who was convinced that night time was rest time. Zala went to an easy lope from the barn, out through the palace gates, and into the city. Jisten barely touched the reins as he directed her toward the eastern ward tower. It was close to midnight. If Soansa were to be sacrificed, it would occur during the midnight rite. He urged Zala to hurry. She moved from a lope to a gallop that ate the ground at an astonishing rate.
* * * *
Power thrummed in the very air, layered like a thick and heavy fog over the ground he worked upon, just as obscuring and misdirecting as a real fog would have been. The sacrifice was spread with her head pointing at the ward tower, kept asleep by drugs and magic because he needed her heart to continue beating while he used her blood to paint the glyphs of the spell he wrought. Over half of what he painted would be misdirection, not part of the spell but part of the evidence he pointed toward his Enemy.
Dienok was not impressed with the quality of this sacrifice—she was older and sagging, not young and pretty like the first one had been—but the Goddess wasn’t picky about such things. Human life was human life, and this one’s soul was now bound to the temple and therefore invisible to the creatures that the Enemy could call to track such things. He had no fear of being interrupted, the barrier he’d erected would keep out even the katrami flies, and the power obscured the senses of all creatures, great or tiny.
Dienok knew the talents of his ultimate prey, and he would deny the high priest of the Thezi as much evidence as he could. It was a pity that the barrier kept the flies away. Although the Koilathans had a terror of them, the katrami flies didn’t bother him. He rather enjoyed their viciousness, their single-minded purpose that forced the Koilathans to erect magical shields and physical barriers against them.
He worked quickly because he didn’t want the woman to die before the proper time. Living blood rendered much more power to the glyphs he painted on the ground and walls of the small space before the ward tower. His initial, and so far, only cut into the sacrifice would be the lethal one, and he raced against time to complete the spell with her living blood. He drew the last connecting line, completing the spell to weaken the ward tower a moment before she breathed her last.
His work was far from over, however. To his inner eye, the living blood glowed with power as the spell cycle initiated itself. He now carved symbols into the sacrifice, marking her not as the sacrifice to the Goddess that she was, but as a sacrifice to the Lord of Night. Thanks to Paezin, he now knew all the proper symbols to use, the very runes the dark servants would paint on their own sacrifices, albeit those runes were painted with the celebrant’s blood and not the victim’s. He went a step further and used his sacred dagger to cut those marks into her flesh.
Then, using what blood remained, he painted additional runes on the ground and walls, inserting the dead, non-magical blood into the gaps between his spell glyphs. He could not have done this with living blood for it would have interfered with his spell. The Koilathans were too ignorant to see the difference, so it made no matter. He wanted to ensure that this time, the dark ones were arrested for the murders. The symbol of the God alone hadn’t been enough last time, though the citizens of the city were convinced. Evidence? He’d give them evidence until the inbred morons in the palace had no choice but to arrest the darkies.
His spell completed before he was finished laying his misdirection. The spell sank into the ward tower and disappeared. Even if the sun priests examined the ward, they would see nothing amiss, for the spell would remain dormant until it had been planted in all four ward towers. Then, and only then, would the spell awaken and bring down the entire shield. The spell’s passing created a gap above the ward tower, which would last for a day or two—more than enough time for the katrami to find the body.
Dienok stepped back and dismissed his barrier, absorbing the magic into himself to power a carefully crafted illusion. Within a few minutes, the flies would come, drawn from miles away by the scent of blood. The flies would feast on her blood and lay their eggs in her corpse. He strongly approved of this. The Koilathans had methods for dealing with bodies like this, which was disappointing to him. Once the shield was down, Dienok expected a rich harvest of blood from the city.
Although he didn’t fear the flies, it would be prudent of him to be gone before they swarmed. They wouldn’t knowingly attack him since he belonged to the temple, but with blood in the air and soaked into his garments, their blood frenzy could overcome their inhibitions where he was concerned. No, it was better not to confuse them, he didn’t want to have to hurt them. And besides, he wanted to be seen. Dienok walked briskly out of the small square and down the street. From the corner of the eye, he saw an unasked for, but most welcome, sight: a grey avtappi bearing the Valer Captain, riding right for him.
“S’Rak!”
Perfect. He spun into the nearest alley, and as soon as he was out of sight, he called upon his power and pressed himself against the wall. The captain rode past him a moment later. Neither the avtappi nor the man sensed him. A minute passed slowly then another. The captain rode past once more, heading back to the main street. He appeared troubled. Dienok smiled to himself and called upon the temple to bring him home. His work here was done.
Chapter Nine: Soansa
As they approached the ward tower, Jisten noticed first, a growing sense of dread. There was a strange reluctance to continue riding toward the tower. Additionally, the mark on his arm started to tingle, a sensation which grew more pronounced the closer he came to the tower. He hadn’t reached the small plaza before the tower when Rak suddenly appeared, heading away from the tower. The high priest was dressed in full ceremonial robes and was walking briskly. Nevertheless, Jisten sensed blood. Much blood.
He called out after the priest. “S’Rak!”
Rak’s wings flared from under the cloak as the priest darted into an alley.
Jisten pursued him, of course. The alley was empty. He rode Zala all the way to the dead end then back. Rak wasn’t in the alley. There was no place he could have hidden from Jisten in this alley, no doors to duck through, no alcoves deep enough to shield him, no overhangs low enough to jump up, catch, and climb up out of sight. Jisten frowned as he reached the street. Rak had gone into that alley and hadn’t come out. Rak didn’t have the talents necessary to teleport—such abilities were exceedingly rare, and if Rak could do so, he’d have used that ability in the past.
Jisten closed his eyes and concentrated on his bond. Rak was nowhere near there. From Jisten’s sense of the man, he was still at the palace and had been all night. But Jisten had seen what he had seen. Except... the wings hadn’t looked quite right. Had they?
He turned Zala toward the ward tower. He had to see it. Momentarily, he wished he hadn’t. The scene was much the same as the first had been, but so much worse in person than the artwork had been. It didn’t help that Lady Soansa hadn’t liked him, if anything, it made the situation harder. He focused on the writing, and it chilled his heart as he read the glyphs associated with the raising of power. He knew them because they were Okyran. There were marks he didn’t know, he suspected those would be the language of magic, something only mages and priests bothered to learn since the glyphs were useless if one didn’t have the power to fuel them.
“Message,” he whispered. His three mastigi flew out of his cloak to swirl about his head, clicking in eager delight. He took three scraps of paper from his belt pouch along with the marking stick and wrote a series of quick notes. He concentrated on Vrathis as he gave the note to the largest, Alpha. “Fly swiftly.”
Alpha darted off. Beta accepted the next note and instructions to fly to the nearest watchtower. Gamma took the third note and headed for the nearest watch station. Fortunately, Jisten had a good mental map of the city and could give their little minds adequate directions. Usually, they homed in on people, but they were able
to find physical locations as well so long as their owners could show them where to go.
* * * *
Midnight approached. Rak murmured, “I need a break.”
“I’ll have food brought,” Bharis offered.
“Thank you.” Rak moved from the bench into the soft grass. He lay down on his back and studied the stars above. He was exhausted already and only about half the horses had been healed. He wondered if he had the strength to complete the work. Quietly, he prayed for help, for strength enough to do what he had to do.
It was time. He raised his voice in chant, the opening hymn of the midnight mass. It didn’t matter that he wasn’t at an altar, that there was no offering. He offered the prayers alone, content in the knowledge that they would be enough. Nobody interrupted him, and he had the sense that the stable boys and Bharis were listening with respect. The service he offered was a short one, as it had to be without an offering or a reading, identical to the service performed in the field of battle. Zotien still favored them with a sense of His divine presence, indicating that the prayers had been heard.
The food arrived, Rak didn’t question where they’d gotten it so late at night. He accepted the stew and bread. He was famished and pregnant, but it was too early for the kironi magic to be affecting him much where appetite was concerned. The food helped, it not only warmed him and filled his gnawing gut, but it also eased the lightheadedness and headache as well. Between Zotien and the food, he felt well enough to continue. He returned to the bench and nodded to Bharis. “Bring the next horse.”
A moment later, Jethain led one of the horses up to him.
“How long have you been here, brother?”
