The little man said nothing but moved rapidly to a chest in the corner. He pulled a dark bottle from the contents and drew out the cork.
“Sit down Arista,” Saldur whispered in her ear.
The princess selected a red velvet chair in front of the desk and, brushing out her dress, sat down stiffly. She was not at ease, but made an effort to control her growing fear.
Carlton presented her with a glass of red wine on an engraved silver platter. She considered how it might be drugged or even poisoned, but dismissed this notion as ridiculous. Why poison or drug me? I already made the fatal error of blindly blundering into your web. If Hilfred had defected to their side, she had only Bernice to protect her against the entire armed forces of Ghent. She was already at their mercy.
Arista took the glass, nodded at Carlton, and sipped.
“The wine is imported through the Vandom Spice Company in Delgos,” the archbishop told her. “I have no idea where Montemorcey is, but they do make incredible wine. Don’t you think?”
“I must apologize,” Arista blurted out nervously. “I was unaware I was coming directly here. I assumed I would have a chance to freshen up after the long trip. I am generally more presentable. Perhaps I should retire and meet you tomorrow?”
“You look fine. You can’t help it. Lovely young princesses are blessed that way. Bishop Saldur did the right thing bringing you here immediately, even more than he knows.”
“Has something happened?” Saldur asked.
“Word has come down,” he looked up and pointed at the ceiling, “literally, that Luis Guy will be traveling with us.”
“The sentinel?”
Galien nodded.
“That might be good, don’t you think? He’ll bring a contingent of seret, won’t he? And that will help maintain order.”
“I am certain that is the patriarch’s mind as well. I, however, know how the sentinel works. He won’t listen to me and his methods are heavy handed. But that is not what we are here to discuss.”
He paused a moment, took a breath, and returned his attention to Arista. “Tell me my child, what do you know of Esrahaddon?”
Arista’s heart skipped a beat but she said nothing.
Bishop Saldur placed his hand on hers and smiled. “My dear, we already know that you visited him in Gutaria Prison for months and that he taught you what he could of his vile black magic. We also know that Alric freed him. Yet none of that matters now. What we need to know is where he is and if he has contacted you since his release. You are the only person he knows who might trust him and therefore the only one he might reach out to. So tell us child, have you had any communication with him?”
“Is this why you brought me here? To help you locate an alleged criminal?”
“He is a criminal, Arista,” Galien said. “Despite what he told you he is—”
“How do you know what he told me? Did you eavesdrop on every word the man said?”
“We did,” he replied passively.
The blunt answer surprised her.
“My dear girl, that old wizard told you a story. Much of it is actually true; only he left out a great deal.”
She glanced at Sauly, whose fatherly expression looked grim as he nodded his agreement.
“Your Uncle Braga wasn’t responsible for the murder of your father,” the archbishop told her. “It was Esrahaddon.”
“That’s absurd,” Arista scoffed. “He was in prison at the time and couldn’t even send messages.”
“Ah—but he could, and he did—through you. Why do you think he taught you to make the healing potion for your father?”
“Besides curing him of sickness, you mean?”
“Esrahaddon didn’t care about Amrath. He didn’t even care about you. The reality is he needed your father dead. Your mistake was going to him. Trusting him. Did you think he would be your friend? Your sage old tutor like Arcadius? Esrahaddon is no tame beast, no honorable gentleman. He is a demon and he is dangerous. He used you to escape. From the moment you visited him, he calculated your use as a tool. To escape he needed the ruling monarch to come and release him. Your father knew who and what he was, so he would never do it. But Alric, because of his ignorance, would. So he needed your father dead. All Esrahaddon had to do was make the church believe your father was the heir. He knew it would cause us to act against him.”
“But why would the church want the heir dead? I don’t understand.”
“We’ll get to that in due time. But suffice it to say his interest in you and your father got our attention. It was the healing potion Esrahaddon had you create that sealed your father’s fate. It tainted his blood to appear as if he was a descendent of the imperial bloodline. When Braga learned this he followed what he thought was the church’s wishes and put plans in motion to remove Amrath and his children.”
“Are you saying that Braga was working for the church when he had my father murdered?”
“Not directly—or officially. But Braga was devout in his beliefs. He acted rashly not waiting for the church bureaucracy, as he used to call it. Both the bishop and I speak for the whole church when we tell you we are truly sorry for the tragedy that occurred. Still, you must understand we did not orchestrate it. It was the design of Esrahaddon that set the wheels of your father’s fate in motion. He used the church just as he used you.”
Arista glared at the archbishop and then at Sauly. “You knew about this?”
The bishop nodded.
“How could you allow Braga to kill my father? He was your friend.”
“I tried to stop it,” Sauly told her. “You must believe me when I tell you this. The moment the test was done and your father implicated, I called for an emergency council of the church, but Braga couldn’t be stopped. He refused to listen to me and said I was wasting valuable time.”
Fears of her own murder fled and anger filled the vacuum. She stood up, fists clenched, her eyes filled with hate.
“Arista, I know you are upset, and have every right to be but let me explain further,” the archbishop waited for her to sit down again. “What I am about to tell you is the most highly guarded secret of the Church of Nyphron. This information is strictly reserved for top ranking members of the clergy. I am trusting you with this information because we need your help and I know you will not extend it unless you understand why.” He took the glass of wine, sipped it, then leaned forward and spoke to Arista in a quiet tone. “In the last few years of the Empire, the church uncovered a dark and twisted scheme whose goal was no less than to enslave all of humanity. The conspiracy led directly to the Emperor. Only the church could save mankind. We killed the Emperor and tried to eliminate his bloodline, but the Emperor’s son was aided by Esrahaddon. His heritage contains the power to raise the demons of the past and once more bring humanity to the brink. For this reason, the church has sought to find the heir and destroy the lineage whose existence is a knife at the throat of all of us. After so long, the heir might not even be aware of his power, or even who he is. But Esrahaddon knows. If that wizard finds the heir, he can use him as a weapon against us. No one will be safe.”
The archbishop looked at her carefully, “Esrahaddon was once part of the high council. He was one of the key members in the effort to save the Empire from the conspirators but at the last moment, he betrayed the church. Instead of a peaceful transition, he callously caused a civil war that destroyed the Empire. The church cut off his hands and locked him away for nearly a millennium. What do you think he’ll do if he has the chance to exact revenge? Whatever humanity he might have possessed died in Gutaria Prison. What remains is a powerful demon bent on our destruction—revenge for revenge’s sake; he is mad with it. He is like a wildfire that will consume all if not stopped. As a princess of a kingdom, you must understand—sacrifices must be made to ensure the security of the realm. We deeply regret the error that occurred in respect to your father, but hope you will come to understand why it happened, accept our apologies, and help us prevent the en
d of all that we know.
“Esrahaddon is an incredibly intelligent mad man bent on destroying everyone. The heir is his weapon. If he finds him before we do, if we cannot prevent him from reawakening the horror we managed to put to sleep centuries ago, then all this—this city, your kingdom of Melengar, all of Apeladorn will be lost. We need your help Arista. We need you to help us find Esrahaddon.”
The door opened abruptly and a priest entered.
“Your grace,” he said out of breath. “The sentinel is calling the curia to order.”
Galien nodded and looked back at Arista. “What say you, my dear? Can you help us?”
The princess looked at her hands. Too much was whirling in her head: Esrahaddon, Braga, Sauly, mysterious conspiracies, healing potions. The one image that remained steadfast was the memory of her father lying on his bed, his face pale, blood soaking the covers. It took so long to put the pain behind her and now…had Esrahaddon killed him? Had they? “I don’t know,” she muttered.
“Can you at least tell us if he has contacted you since his escape?”
“I haven’t seen or heard from Esrahaddon since before my father’s death.”
“You understand, of course,” the archbishop, told her, “that be this as it may, you are the most likely person he would trust and we would like you to consider working with us to find him. As Ambassador of Melengar you could travel between kingdoms and nations and never be suspected. I also understand that right now you may not be ready to make such a commitment, so I won’t ask; but please consider it. The church has let you down grievously; I only request that you give us a chance to redeem ourselves in your eyes.”
Arista drained the rest of her wine and slowly nodded.
———
“Do you think she is telling the truth?” The archbishop asked him. There was a faint look of hope on his face, clouded by an overall expression of misery. “There was a great deal of resistance in her.”
Saldur was still looking at the door Arista exited. “Anger would be a more accurate word, but yes, I think she was telling the truth.”
He did not know what Galien expected. Did he think Arista would embrace him with open arms after they admitted to killing her father? The whole idea was absurd, desperate measures from a man sinking in quicksand.
“It was worth it,” the archbishop said without any conviction.
Saldur played with a loose thread on his sleeve, wishing he had taken the remainder of Bernice’s bottle with him. He never cared much for wine. More than anything the tragedy of Braga’s death was the loss of a great source of excellent brandy. The archduke really knew his liquor.
Galien stared at him. “You’re quiet,” the archbishop said. “You think I was wrong, of course. You said so, didn’t you? You were very vocal about it at our last meeting. You were watching her every move. You have that—that—” the old man waved his hand toward the door as if this would make his fumbling clearer, “—that old handmaid monitoring her every breath. Isn’t that right? And if Esrahaddon had contacted her we would have known and they would be none the wiser, but now…” the archbishop threw up his hands, feigning disgust in a sarcastic imitation of Saldur.
Saldur continued to fiddle with the thread, wrapping it around the end of his forefinger, winding it tighter and tighter.
“You’re too arrogant for your own good,” Galien accused defensively. “The man is an imperial wizard. What he is capable of is beyond your comprehension. For all we know he may have been visiting her in the form of a butterfly in the garden or a moth that entered her bedroom window each night. We had to be sure.”
“A butterfly?” Saldur said, genuinely amazed.
“He’s a wizard. Damn you. That’s what they do.”
“I highly doubt—”
“The point is we didn’t know for sure.”
“And we still don’t. All I can say is I don’t think she was lying, but Arista is a clever girl. Maribor knows she has proven that already.”
Galien lifted his empty wine glass. “Carlton!”
The servant looked up. “I’m sorry, your grace, but I can’t say I know her well enough to offer much of an opinion.”
“Good god man. I’m not asking you about her; I want more wine, you fool.”
“Ah,” Carlton said and headed for the bottle, pulling the cork out with a dull, hollow pop.
“The problem is that the patriarch blames me for Esrahaddon’s disappearance,” Galien continued.
For the first time since Arista’s departure Saldur leaned forward with interest. “He’s told you this?”
“That’s just it; he’s told me nothing. He only speaks to the sentinels now. Luis Guy and that other one—Thranic. Guy is unpleasant, but Thranic…” He trailed off shaking his head and frowning.
“I’ve never met a sentinel.”
“Consider yourself lucky. Although your luck, I think, is running out on that score. Guy spent all morning upstairs in a long meeting with the patriarch.” He played with the empty glass, running his finger around the rim. “He’s in the council hall right now giving his address to the curia.”
“Shouldn’t we be there?”
“Yes,” he said miserably, but he made no effort to move.
“Your grace?” Saldur asked.
“Yes, yes.” He waved at him. “Carlton, Get me my cane.”
———
Saldur and the archbishop entered to the sound of a man’s booming voice. The grand council chamber was a three-story circular room encompassing the entire width of the tower. Lined in thin ornate columns set in groups of two that represented the relationship between Novron, the Defender of Faith, and Maribor, the god of man. Between each set was a tall thin window, which provided the room with a complete panoramic view of the surrounding countryside. Seated in circular rows, radiating out from the center, gathered the curia, the college of chief clerics of the Nyphron Church. The other eighteen bishops were present to hear the words of the patriarch as spoken by Luis Guy.
Sentinel Luis Guy, a tall thin man with long black hair and disquieting eyes stood in the center of the room. He was sharp; that was Saldur’s first impression of the man, clean, ordered, focused, both in manner and looks. His hair was very black yet his skin was light, providing a striking contrast. His moustache was narrow, his beard short and severe, trimmed to a fine point. He dressed in the traditional red cassock, black cape and black hood with the symbol of the broken crown neatly embroidered on his chest. Not a hair or a pleat was out of place. He stood straight, his eyes not scanning the crowd but glaring at them.
“…the patriarch feels that Rufus has the strength to persuade the Trent nobles and the church will deliver the rest. Remember, this isn’t about picking the best horse. The patriarch must choose the one that can win the race and Rufus is the most likely candidate. He’s a hero to the south and a native of the north. He has no visible ties to the church. Crowning him emperor will immediately stifle a large segment of the population that might otherwise oppose us.”
“What about the Royalists?” Bishop Tildale of Kilnar asked. “They aren’t likely to accept this without a struggle. They have lands and titles. They aren’t about to simply hand over their wealth and power.”
“The Royalists will be given assurances of their own sovereignties. That is all they really want. It is where their greatest fear lies. They might not like the idea of bending a knee to an emperor, but they will not risk their lands and titles over it.”
“And the Nationalists?” the Prelate of Ratibor asked. “They have been growing in number. You can’t simply ignore them.”
“The Nationalists will be an issue,” Guy admitted. “For years now the seret have been watching Gaunt and his followers and it’s been discovered they are being covertly funded by the DeLur family and several other powerful merchant cartels in the Republic of Delgos. Delgos has enjoyed its freedom from monarchies for too long. They already fear the very idea of a unified empire. So yes, we know they will fig
ht. They will need to be defeated on the battlefield, which is another reason why the patriarch has selected Rufus. He’s a ruthless warlord. He’ll crush the Nationalists as his first act as emperor. Delgos will fall soon after.”
“Do we have the troops to take Delgos?” Prelate Krindel, the resident historian, asked. “Tur Del Fur is defended by a dwarven fortress. It held out against a two year siege by the Dacca.”
“I have been working on that very problem and I think I will have a—unique—solution.”
“And what might that be?” Galien asked suspiciously.
Luis Guy looked up. “Ah, archbishop so good of you to join us. I sent word we were beginning nearly an hour ago.”
“Do you plan to spank me for being tardy, Guy? Or are you simply trying to avoid my question?”
“You are not ready to hear the answer to that question,” the sentinel replied which brought a reproachful look from the archbishop. “You would not believe me if I told you and certainly would not approve, but when the time comes…rest assured that if necessary, Drumindor will fall.”
“What about the people? Will they embrace a new emperor?” Saldur asked.
“I have traveled the length and breadth of the four nations promoting the contest. Heralds have announced it to the very edges of Apeladorn. There is no one who is not aware of the event. In the marketplaces, taverns and castle courts—anticipation is high. Once we announce the true intent of the contest, the people will be beside themselves. Gentlemen, these are exciting times. It is no longer a question of if, but when will the Empire rise. The ground work is laid. All we need to do is bestow the crown.”
“And Ethelred?” Galien asked. “Is he on board?”
Guy shrugged. “He isn’t pleased with giving up his throne to become a viceroy, but few of the monarchs are. I assured him that being the first to take off his crown will give him special privileges in the new order. I told him he would be a regent for a time, until Lord Rufus squelched any uprisings. I also suggested that he might remain as chief council. He appeared satisfied with that.”
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