The Arcanist

by Greg Curtis

  The old guards had long held that the hamadryad's handmaidens played more of a role in the affairs of kingdoms than anyone realised. They'd claimed that they wandered the land far further than people realised, and that their service to Tyrel was as more than just her servants. That they spied for her, spread her words and ideas through more than just the streets and temples, and that they whispered into some very important ears. That they also made trade deals with various concerns, amassing large amounts of wealth. Wealth that they used to coerce. In short, they poked their noses into the affairs of state.

  Marcus had never really thought much about it. It had never seemed to him to be a matter of any great importance. Not even when he'd visited the temple and seen how many women from so many different realms were attending the hamadryad. But seeing her there in the free city, he suddenly knew those questions were important. Not as important however, as finding out what had happened to Edouard. And maybe getting him some medicine.

  With his family settled into their make do lodgings in the city, his father on the way back from his trade mission, hopefully knowing to come to them and not to go to Theria, he had only one brother left to worry about, and he couldn't reach him. None of them could. The likeness of every member of the family was posted on the city walls, and the guards were waiting for them. So said the refugees. By order of the king they couldn't enter the city save on pain of death. And Edouard himself had told them to leave, to keep the family safe. He had been right to do so. That was his duty.

  But if Marcus couldn't enter Theria, the handmaidens could. Either in their role as handmaidens to Tyrel, or as simple serving women as they could pretend to be. That was why he was so glad to see the woman. They could go anywhere, even he hoped, into the dungeons. Some of the temples sent their priests into the gaols and dungeons to bring words of comfort to the prisoners. He suspected that the temple of Tyrel did so as well. But not just to bring the words of their Mother to the prisoners. The chances were that they sought information from the prisoners as well. Despite what people – Simon in particular – believed about him, he wasn't a complete fool. The handmaidens were in Theria and they were in Bitter Crest, and somehow he doubted that they were in either city simply to buy and sell wares.

  Marcus crossed the room, weaving his way among the press of patrons until he reached her, and he couldn't help but notice that she watched him every step of the way. He doubted she was surprised to see him in the least.

  “My Lady.” He nodded politely to her to show respect, but not so much as to seem a convert to her Mother's cause. Not that she or anyone else would ever believe such a thing of him.

  “Marcus Severin, the defiler.”

  It was a strange thing for her to greet him as, and not a title any man would want. Though he understood exactly what she was referring to. But more important than what she said or defending himself against her accusation was the understanding behind it. She knew who he was by sight and was well aware of his nature. That could not be mere chance. Nor was the fact that she was in an alehouse. The very alehouse they were now calling home. He ignored the slight.

  “An odd place for one of the temple to be?”

  And it was. The alehouse and the city both. Bitter Crest was close to the temple, but seldom a place where those of faith stayed. It was a trading city, unwalled and open to all. Most of the people here, even in normal times, were passers through. Traders, wanderers, buyers, bards and mercenaries. Those were the life blood of the city, not priests. Stores, markets, inns, alehouses, smithies and warehouses. They were what the city was built from. Not temples.

  “We go where the Mother wishes so we may spread her wisdom.”

  She spoke demurely, even managed a small gesture of humility, and he believed not a single word of it. Her presence in the city had nothing to do with spreading her Mother's message.

  “No My Lady. You do not fool me.” He decided to be at least a little forceful with her. A little direct. It was shameful, especially when others all around were listening, but necessary. Besides, she had addressed him as a defiler of women without cause. He felt he had cause to be direct with her.

  “I don't know what your purpose is in being here, or in Theria, but I know that it is a purpose other than that of simple trade and spreading your Honoured Mother's words. You my Lady – and your sisters – sneak around the cities, watching and nudging.”

  “We do not sneak!”

  She raised her voice, obviously offended – perhaps with reason – and all around Marcus could see heads turning their way. Maybe it had been impertinent of him to have said it, but Marcus suddenly found that he didn't really care. Manners be damned, there were more important things to consider. There was family. He ignored the other patrons staring at them, knowing that they would look away soon enough. He was a soldier and they could see that. Besides, the handmaiden hadn't tried to leave.

  “As you would have it. However, you do have plans that others do not know of, and you do have ways that others do not see. You also have free passage where I do not. Where none of my family can pass. I need that. I need a message carried to my brother. A message and some medicine.”

  “You want us to carry a message to the king? And medicine? You think he's ill?” She seemed surprised. “Surely you could hire a messenger and a physician.”

  “Not to Simon good maiden. Whatever else he is, he is no longer my brother. Not when he has betrayed the family. To Edouard.”

  “The Tinker?”

  So she knew him well enough to know his street name, another indication that she knew more of his family than she had let on. But it wasn't the time to point out her slip.

  “The Owl.” Marcus used his brother's more normal appellation and added a little emphasis to give it weight. Though it was never a formal title it carried with it a degree of respect that “The Tinker” did not, and Edouard had earned some respect with his sacrifice. He had earned a lot in truth. If what he had been told was true then his brother had covered himself in glory as he'd denied Simon his lies. Of course he had paid for that defiance.

  “Surely you can ride to his house yourself. After all, it may be in Therion but I do not expect that anyone guards his home.” She seemed confused and for the first time he actually believed her.

  “He's not in his home. He is entombed in the false king's dungeons somewhere under the castle. All of the sparks are.” Finally he'd said something to surprise the woman and she stared at him with wide eyes.

  “The dungeons?” The handmaiden looked at him strangely. “How?”

  How did she not know was Marcus' question in turn? But maybe she didn't because the events of that night in the throne room were not common knowledge. That only those who had been there – those of the Court – had reported them. And they had likely only spoken their horror and shame to other nobles.

  “Simon has become crazed. He had Edouard and many others of the court and the nobility whipped in the throne room on the night of his coup, and imprisoned before dawn. Many were killed.” It was hard saying it. Hard thinking about it.

  “I'm sorry. I did not know. My sisters tried to reach him at his home when Theria fell to the dark, but could not find him.”

  Of course they had, and he appreciated hearing it, even if she'd let slip something else that she probably shouldn't have. Their mistress, the Honoured Mother or whatever she wanted to be called, had plans for Edouard. His brother didn't realise that – he had been too busy quaking in his boots – but Marcus had seen something in her disturbing eyes that spoke of more than a casual interest in him. He had heard it in her words as well. And in any case there were only six sparks and two flames in all of Therion, and that made his brother important. Even to her Honoured Mother.

  Of course he had to wonder how many of the sparks had managed to survive. He also had to wonder how it was that the handmaidens didn't know what was surely the talk of the streets. Perhaps they weren't so well informed as he had thought.

  “How do you
not know this?”

  “The shadow priest, the advisor. Vesar. He can spot our sisters better than any hawk, and the gates are closed to us. He has also closed down all the temples in the city and sent the faithful packing. There are none in faithful service left within Theria's walls. And the temples throughout the rest of Therion fear attack.”

  Her words took Marcus aback and it was suddenly his turn to be shaken. No faiths? No priests and priestesses? He hadn't heard that as they'd travelled to Bitter Crest, nor while they'd hunted for lodgings within its newly overcrowded streets. But it was more than just the fact that shook him. It was that somewhere deep down inside he knew that it meant something. Something bad. No priests, no priestesses, no temples, no faiths and no worship. It suggested no gods. It suggested a king who would acknowledge no one above him. A king who would not bend his knee. Or maybe even a king who feared the gods. That could not be good.

  And then there was the fact that the false king had also thrown all the sparks and flames in the realm into the dungeons. At least the ones that they knew of. The ones from the city. Further afield, out of the city, he was worried that Simon might have taken things one step further. After all, surely it wasn't a coincidence that his brother's place had been attacked.

  “None of faith. None of magic. Maybe he has reason to fear them?”

  “No reason that we can see Count Severin.” Her unexpected use of the wrong title distracted him. Maybe it was meant to. But still, he felt the need to correct her.

  “Lord Marcus. I am not the lord of the house, good maiden.”

  “And yet you may be soon. Your father is the current Count Severin, but ill from what we've been told. Your eldest brother is surely to be disowned and you are next in line. That places you squarely in the seat of the heir.” She was right too, and it was a thought that Marcus had been studiously avoiding for the past few days. It was something he didn't want to think about. Not when his father was elderly and his brother in serious trouble.

  “Hog's breath! My father is not ill! Why do you raise this unpleasant thought?”

  “Because the Mother believes an understanding can be reached between the House of Barris and the temple.”

  And just like that an attempt to help his brother had been turned into a political scheme. Marcus wanted to scream with rage. By the Seven he hated politics! It was one of the reasons he had thrown himself so deeply into soldiering. A soldier's life was simple, straight forward, and while often bloody, at least it was honest work. There was no deceit at the end of a sword. Still, he had to listen. And he would have to bring whatever she said to his father when he finally arrived. If he finally arrived.

  “Go on.”

  “Your sister, April. She has the gift of faith and the spark. She desires only to find her calling. It may be that she can find it with us.” It took a moment or two for Marcus to realise what she was saying, and then another to understand why.

  “You are speaking of a marriage of sorts. A union to bind the House of Barris to the Temple of Tyrel.”

  Of course she was. A strange one, though not such a poor match as some, and he suddenly had the feeling that progress had already been made on the matter. That was why she knew of him. And why she was in this particular alehouse.

  “You have already spoken to April haven't you?”

  Of course they had, probably long ago, and he doubted even his father knew about it. If he had known he would have been upset, and everyone knew when Father was upset. So it didn't come as a surprise when she nodded. The next question was obvious, even if he wanted to choke on the thought. What had been said?

  “My sister does not speak for the House of Barris, and no more can I. All I can do is carry a message. So tell me what your message should be. The House of Barris could give you shelter for your sisters across half a dozen cities and several realms, access to the various courts, a defender in the realm of Therion if and when it returns to its rightful rule and even add to its legitimacy as a faith. What is it that Tyrel's Temple can do for the House?”

  “Information across a dozen realms, trade routes through them as well, introductions to certain courts, a secure supply of vermillion leaf and root, additional guards and if the worst should happen, an unassailable bastion for the family. It would be a useful alliance in these difficult times.”

  She was right though he hated her for it. But what she was proposing was also a risk if Simon remained on the throne. He would see the temple and the house united and perceive them as a direct threat. A challenge to his rule. And if he didn't then his advisor would. According to everyone who had seen him he was sharp.

  “With the blessing of Virius my father will be here in a matter of a week or less. I will speak to him then of your proposal. Perhaps you or one of your sisters could visit us at that time and terms could be discussed. We are staying here in the Basilisk's Stool as you are aware.”

  Long before that though he would be speaking with April. He needed to know exactly what had been discussed and more importantly if anything had been agreed to. She was a good sister but she was young and naïve. Twenty three was too young to be dabbling in politics. Especially for someone who felt the calling of the divine. They should never dirty their hands in such matters.

  “Perhaps so Lord Marcus. I will convey your words to the Honoured Mother.”

  The handmaiden turned to leave him then, looking to force her way through the press of bodies all trying to drink. But then she turned back to him abruptly.

  “I am Anatha by the way. And I am sorry for your brother's plight. Lord Edouard has shown himself to be a friend these past weeks and if there is anything we can do to help him we will.”

  The handmaiden even managed a polite bow to him, before she turned once more and headed for the door. And all the while as he watched her leave Marcus couldn't help but feel that a bad situation had just become worse.

  He reached for his ale. In wine there was truth perhaps, but in ale there was comfort.

  Chapter Twenty

  The temple was just as pretty as it had been the first time he'd visited Marcus thought. The long grass and wildflowers were soft and pretty underfoot. The trees stood tall and proud to the sides of the long meadow. And there was a hint of honeysuckle and roses in the air. It was a living paradise. But this time Marcus knew the temple for the trap it was.

  He had learned something of Tyrel's power on his first visit. And he had learned a lot more from Edouard since. But in truth the thing which had most persuaded him that this was less a priestly temple and more a rival house were the handmaidens themselves. They dressed demurely. They spoke of priestly things. Of ideals and virtues and the wrongs that their Mother said needed to be corrected. But then they brought with them written documents outlining in detail the terms of their proposed alliance, and he knew the truth. These were women of the world concerned with material things.

  When Anatha had brought the first draft document to them for approval, Marcus had nearly fallen down in shock. The document was a masterpiece of the negotiator's art. And it had nothing in it about priestly matters. Nothing at all. Instead it spelled out trade routes, introductions to various courts, the sharing of certain information, and the duties and responsibilities of the two parties. In short it was exactly the sort of formal alliance two rival houses would craft as they prepared to combine their resources for the struggle ahead. And from the details written it appeared that Tyrel thought there was a struggle ahead for her temple just as there was one looming for the House of Barris. Why else would it dictate the conditions of shelter in such unequivocal terms? Or for that matter make them the central tenet of the alliance?

  In essence the terms were simple. Every member of the temple was accorded the same protection as if she was a member of the House of Barris. Similarly every member of the house was accorded the same protections as the temple's handmaidens. It was a practical condition but also one with serious implications. As well as meaning that the temple and the house stood fir
m together against whatever was coming and thus strengthening them both, it also meant that they combined enemies. The enemy of each suddenly became the enemy of the other as well.

  On the more mundane side of things there were some conditions that were going to affect the family's daily lives. The condition that every dwelling and trading establishment of the House of Barris would have a shrine established on its land meant that there would be no getting away from the handmaidens. And the condition of unrestricted access meant that they might well be staying in their homes and joining them at the dinner table.

  Yet only two days before, his father having only just arrived in the city and learned what had befallen Therion, had taken one look at that first draft and agreed in principle. There were things that needed changing, terms that had to be negotiated, words that were either not specific enough or too much so. But he had agreed. And Marcus knew that could only mean one thing. He thought the house was in very grave danger. Perhaps he was right.