Vengeance of Hope

by P J Berman

  ‘Silence, prisoner,’ Oprion snarled. ‘The King’s plans are not for me to question. As for the letter, regardless of who wrote it…’

  He paused for effect.

  ‘You’re holding it in order to control me aren’t you?’ he said. ‘That’s your next move, isn’t it? That’s your slanderous plan to force me to help Princess Silrith back to the throne or to destroy me if I refuse. Your suggestion that you are fighting for the rights of the common people is all just a façade. Well, it seems you’ve missed your chance to act on your plans.’

  ‘This is absurd,’ scoffed Hoban. ‘Zethun, you must be able to see that the people’s rights were central to our actions. Reinstating the Princess as Queen just seemed more likely to succeed than attempting to abolish the monarchy. Surely you understand that?’

  But Zethun didn’t know what to think. Hoban had already been dishonest with him about his knowledge of Capaea’s true identity and lies often did breed more lies. But then, had Hoban been justified in being economical with the truth? Was it all for the greater good?

  ‘Well, Congressor Salanath,’ said Oprion. ‘I would say I have grounds to have both you and the prisoner executed. You have conspired to manipulate the King into ordering my execution, accusing me of such despicable treachery as this. And there’s more. It may interest you to know that not a single one of your esteemed colleagues in the Congressate could vouch for your whereabouts on the day I entered Kriganheim. I realise we met on the following day, but the day itself? Who knows? Well, I have a theory. A surprisingly fleet-footed old man stopped me that day and in rather noble tones expressed his political views in a so-called peaceful protest. His ideas were rather similar to yours and he attempted to turn the local plebeians into a lynch mob set on my demise. Now, I believe it fits that a man who might try to get me executed by the King may also try to have me killed by the mob? Can you deny the accusation, Congressor?’

  Zethun looked directly at Hoban, stunned at what he was hearing. He believed passionately in doing whatever it took to fight for the rights of the people, but why would Hoban make direct attempts to have an individual killed without telling Zethun, whatever the potential benefits for the population? But then, clearly, Hoban had another agenda. Had he been using Zethun all this time? Could it be true that Hoban only wanted further advancement for himself and that he would have got rid of Zethun the moment he no longer needed him? He didn’t know what to think. All he knew was that right now Hoban did not look him in the eye, but simply pointed his fiery gaze at Oprion. It was an expression Zethun had never seen on the old Congressor’s face.

  ‘I’d say that’s confession enough. Wouldn’t you agree Zethun?’ Oprion said. ‘He can’t deny it. His pride prevents him from doing so. It seems there is more to your friend Congressor Salanath than meets the eye.’

  Zethun said nothing. The unexpected revelations by and about Hoban had thrown him completely off track. Was it only what Hoban had admitted that was real, or was he still being economical with the truth?

  ‘You call us traitors,’ spat Capaea. ‘Yet not only are you a traitor for serving the usurper King Jostan, but you are twice a traitor because you refuse to undo what you have already done. Yet you could easily do so by listening to us and doing what is best for Bennvika.’

  ‘What are you suggesting? I hope it isn’t what I think it is,’ said Oprion.

  ‘It was King Jostan and Dowager Queen Accutina who murdered King Lissoll,’ she said. ‘If you will not revolt against him, we will revolt against you and in time, against him also. Be it by our hands or his, you will die if you resist us.’

  ‘Fierce words from someone inside a prison cell,’ Oprion chucked.

  ‘You know she speaks the truth, my Lord,’ thundered Hoban. Zethun’s anger was quickly dissipating now, seeing a conviction in Hoban and Capaea’s faces that he had rarely seen in anyone else. He wanted to add his argument to theirs and stand up to Oprion, but that would only get him arrested too. There had to be another way.

  ‘The rumours of the disappearance of the Amulet of Hazgorata surfaced around the time of King Lissoll’s murder,’ Hoban continued. ‘Open your mind, my Lord. What if it was the King’s purpose to plant the rumour and then deny it until the right time? Maybe he meant for us to believe that it was missing, when actually he knew where it was all along? My Lord, while Capaea was only posing as Lyzina for a matter of minutes, I had another spy whose whereabouts I now know not, posing as a low-ranking maid for weeks. She heard the chatter of the staff. It was most interesting.’

  Oprion paled, looking intimidated for the first time.

  Is it possible that he might still capitulate? thought Zethun, feeling very much like an onlooker.

  ‘Yes,’ Capaea chimed in. ‘She told us the rumour was that King Jostan had pretended to be a lover to Silrith’s maid, Afayna, the one they executed. He even lay with her to gain her trust. The rumour was that he gave her the Amulet of Hazgorata, which he had been given by Queen Accutina. Our source said Afayna had been carrying it on the night of King Lissoll’s death, but she wouldn’t say who had given it to her. All the maids said she blushed when they asked if it was given to her by Jostan Kazabrus though. Apparently, she opened the Amulet’s lid and put what she said was some weird Verusantian flavouring on the food. Complements of the Kazabrus family, she said. Now, that suggests to me that neither she nor the other maids knew that it was poison. How else would it have got on the food? If that was the poison, then it rules out Princess Silrith as a suspect, as we have no evidence to suggest that she knew that Afayna was in possession of the Amulet. Additionally, it’s hardly likely that Afayna would have the reason, means or opportunity to put the poison in there off her own accord. It had to already be there in the Amulet when it was given to her. It has to be the new King that had it put in there, with the Dowager Queen’s help. They murdered King Lissoll.’

  Oprion glared at Capaea silently. Zethun hoped upon hope that he was giving the theory due consideration.

  ‘You lying, treacherous little whore,’ Oprion snarled. ‘You think you can incriminate the King, convince me of his guilt and Princess Silrith’s innocence and then use that letter to blackmail me into standing against him? Traitor.’

  ‘My Lord,’ said Zethun. ‘A girl has already been executed for the crime of murdering the King. We have no need to threaten this girl with the same.’

  ‘Oh I disagree greatly,’ said Oprion. ‘The ideas being spouted by this girl and her master could destabilise the entire Kingdom. I say we stop the rebellion right now before it even starts by executing them both, on charges of attempting to bring down the nobility and ultimately, the King himself.’

  ‘You may struggle to make the King see it that way once he knows of your former association with Princess Silrith, my Lord,’ Hoban pointed out.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Oprion. ‘I forgot to mention. I now have the letter. My guards found it when they raided your house, Congressor Salanath. It appears you no longer have a bargaining tool.’

  ‘Liar. Prove it. I don’t believe you,’ said Hoban.

  ‘Oh and also, I killed your guards,’ said Capaea, putting up her hand as if she were at school. ‘The ones that came to Congressor Salanath’s house.’

  This girl almost looked excited to be martyred for her cause.

  ‘There you are. The letter is still out there. Try burning it now,’ Hoban said.

  ‘All in good time,’ Oprion conceded, visibly forcing a smile. Then his face lit up as if an idea just hit him. ‘You will see it again on the day of your execution.’

  ‘Coward,’ said Hoban. ‘That, of course, gives you time to write a forgery that is lacking in any incriminating evidence.’

  Oprion laughed.

  ‘Congressor, I believe you should be more worried about the letter I will write to the King, telling him of my discoveries. After that, he will see that I am loyal only to him and so your rebellion will never happen, the death of you and your accomplice will be in vain
and if Zethun here wants any sort of career after this, he will do well never to mention this letter again. Guard, I tire of this old man. Lock him away.’

  The guard marched forward from the door. Zethun smarted at the insinuation that his career was of more importance to him than what really mattered, but he said nothing.

  ‘I will go,’ said Hoban in a commanding tone, stopping the guard in his tracks as he made to accost him. ‘I am a martyr for my cause and I shall make my sacrifice without complaint. I shall do my duty for the people.’

  Hoban turned and approached the cell next to Capaea’s. The unoiled metal creaked loudly as he opened the door. He entered the cell and watched with a grim look on his face as the guard locked the door behind him.

  ‘Such vain nobility,’ Oprion laughed. ‘You should learn from this, Zethun. This is how a man will be forgotten by history. You will also testify to his crimes at the execution if you know what is good for you.'

  Zethun didn’t say anything, but simply held Oprion’s gaze.

  ‘Bennvika will rise and throw off its so-called nobles,’ Capaea shouted.

  ‘Liberty for all,’ declared Hoban. ‘Liberty for all.’

  ‘Shut up,’ said Oprion.

  ‘Liberty for all,’ Hoban called again.

  ‘You, follow me,’ Oprion told Zethun.

  The heavy metal door slammed behind them and the guard locked it. They could still clearly hear Hoban and Capaea shouting their enraged protests from the other side, but their position seemed hopeless now.

  Why hadn’t Hoban told Zethun what he was doing? Zethun was still stunned that Hoban had kept it from him. It troubled Zethun greatly to think that Hoban had been simply using him to destabilise first Oprion and then King Jostan, in the hope of creating a void so that he could place Silrith back on the throne and claim all the glory for doing so. But then, in a moment, everything fell into place and he knew exactly what he had to do. He had no idea if it had been Hoban’s plan all along. Probably not, he decided. Certainly, Zethun would have dismissed it as madness if Hoban had suggested it. But now it was the only option left.

  ‘Oh, Zethun?’ Oprion said lightly. ‘I forgot to say. I’m sure you may be wondering why you haven’t heard from your friend Naivard for a couple of days. He’s been…otherwise engaged. You must come and see him.’

  With Hoban and Capaea’s rhythmic shouting still echoing in the background, Zethun followed Oprion to the neighbouring room, still in the palace dungeons. The guard opened the metal door and Oprion walked inside.

  ‘I had my suspicions about you, but he killed himself before I could get any proof out of him,’ said Oprion with a hint of frustration. Zethun felt his heart turn to lead as he saw that the man to whom Oprion was referring definitely was Naivard. His body was sprawled on the floor with his head against the wall, eyes vacant and with the remnants of froth still coating his mouth as it lolled open.

  ‘I thought you’d recognise him,’ said Oprion. ‘Yet he refused to testify against you. Nevertheless, it appears that your friend Congressor Salanath has used you as a tool in his treachery.’

  ‘What was he arrested for? He’s done nothing wrong,’ Zethun said slowly.

  ‘Well, his decision to kill himself suggests involvement, doesn’t it?’ said Oprion as they stood over Naivard’s body. ‘After all, protecting a traitor is as bad as committing the treachery itself. One of my guards claimed to see two men assisting a pair of girls to escape from the city by helping them climb down the walls, using a rope. One girl escaped, but the second girl and the men ran off when they realised they were seen. The guard recognised one of them as being this man when he was brought in for questioning as a result of his association with your Congressor friend. That was evidence enough to arrest him and the girl and now their guilt is proven. We didn’t get as far as asking who the second man is, but I’m sure we can find a way to get the noble Congressor to tell us. With this man though, I was more interested in knowing what your involvement was. So, knowing that Naivard was one of Congressor Salanath’s close confidants, you understand why I had to question him. He didn’t give any helpful answers, but I knew he was hiding something, you see.’ He gave an inane grin and raised a finger. Zethun assumed this second man must have been Braldor and he realised he hadn’t seen the big henchman since their arrival at the Congressate Hall earlier that day. He made a mental note to seek him out later.

  ‘I decided I had to be more heavy-handed. I had him arrested to be questioned under torture,’ Oprion went on. ‘But clearly he’d smuggled in some form of poison and you see the result.’

  Zethun had to concede that, amid the shock at Naivard’s fate, he was impressed and inspired by the man’s bravery and foresight; his anticipation of his arrest and his determination not to break under torture.

  ‘This was disappointing,’ said Oprion. ‘As I cannot now arrest you without further evidence. The Congressate won’t allow it. But I promise you I will have you watched from every corner and if I have even the slightest evidence that you were involved in this I will have your head. Do we understand each other?’

  ‘Explicitly,’ said Zethun, creasing his face into a curt smile.

  RILDAYORDA, BASTALF, BENNVIKA

  That night, Ezrina, Jakiroc, Askorit and the other Hentani priests and priestesses crept across the temple towards Bennvikan clergymen’s sleeping chambers. Ezrina again wore her emerald green robes, as did the three other priestesses, while the seven priests wore their grey attire of office. The group numbered thirteen in all and Ezrina had told each one of them of her new suspicions.

  ‘Pick up a torch,’ she told one of the priests, pointing to one of the braziers as they walked through the enormous, dimly lit square room that was the temple’s main hall.

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  He lifted one of the torches out of its stand and, following the light, they descended the flight of stairs at the end of the main hall and stood outside the wooden door to the Bennvikan priests’ chambers.

  ‘Wait outside while the rest of us go in. Only come in when I call for you,’ Ezrina told the priest with the torch. A priestess opened the door, making a creak that seemed incredibly loud amid the silence, at least to Ezrina’s ears. She held her breath for a moment, but the only sound she heard from inside was the soft breathing of the sleeping priests. She stepped forward into the darkness of the chamber, motioning for the others to follow her, save for the man with the torch. How ironic it was, that the sleeping Bennvikans looked so peaceful. Quietly they moved to the side of a priest’s bed. He was an old, bearded man wearing a simple white nightshirt and was covered by a thin, dark sheet. Ezrina decided this simple approach was supposed to be some statement of penitence to their false Gods.

  Another irony, she thought, given the arrogance with which they normally conducted themselves.

  She made a quiet prayer, then put her hand over the man’s mouth. He woke, but she reached into her robes and sliced his throat open with a knife before he could cry out. One by one, this was done to each priest and Ezrina began to enjoy bathing her hands in Bennvikan blood, savouring the moment of her people’s revenge as she continued her holy work. Finally, every Bennvikan in the room was a corpse, save for one.

  ‘Wake him,’ she said, as they gathered around the final bed; that of a young, almost clean-shaven priest. The others looked at her, but their faces were hard to read in the darkness. The man was shaken awake and he cried out in fear as he saw them all gathered around him, then looked about the place and laid eyes on the blood-soaked floors and the open necks of his fellow priests. Ezrina pushed to the front and grabbed the man by his shoulders.

  ‘Where is the Amulet of Hazgorata?’ she asked. The man said nothing, clearly too frightened to form words.

  ‘Come on, do not delay us. Tell me what I want to know and you might not join your colleagues.’

  The man frantically jerked his head in all directions as he took in the bloody scene around him, whimpering.


  ‘Where is it?’ Ezrina asked slowly. The trembling priest tried to grit his chattering teeth, shut his eyes in an attempt to hide his fear as he wept and pointed to the ceiling.

  ‘Bring the torch in here,’ Ezrina called.

  The torch was brought inside, lighting up the centre of the room. Ezrina gave a cold grin as she saw a deep alcove directly above them. Standing on a ledge, blindly watching over all below were two wooden statues; one of Vitrinnolf and the other of Lomatteva, both dressed for battle and raising their swords aloft. Draped around the two of them was the chain of the Amulet of Hazgorata, with the medallion itself nestling between the figures.

  ‘Thanks be to Bertakaevey,’ Ezrina said.

  ‘You three,’ she said to the two youngest Hentani priests and most of the junior priestesses, all looking barely out of childhood but with their eyes filled with a religious flare as fanatical as any. ‘Go into the street and fetch stones. As many as you can. Be quick now. We must destroy those heretical idols that yet withhold the Amulet from us,’ Ezrina commanded. In moments they were out of the room, clearly eager to make an impression on their new leader. Ezrina turned back to the terrified young Bennvikan priest.

  ‘Your usefulness has been exhausted,’ she said without emotion. The other priests held him down while she leant over him and covered his mouth with her hand. She looked into his eyes as she took the knife and slit his throat, enjoying the sight of his life leaving him as his blood spattered in all directions, covering her face and staining her robes as well as those of everyone around her. She wiped the blood nonchalantly from her skin, just as she had done with the roomful of priests she had killed that night and thought no more about it. Minutes later the young priestess and the two priests were back with their arms full of stones. They dropped them to the ground before their colleagues. One of them picked up a stone and made to throw it at the statues, but a bark from Jakiroc stopped him in his tracks.