“Ah, yes. Forgive my intrusion. I’m just surprised to see you here. Last I heard, they had called you back to Tabernack.”
“Yes, well, plans change. You should know that, Sister. They’ve asked me to come here and supervise the cathedral for the time being, and I gladly accepted. For some of us, I’m afraid, duty to the Cao Fen is more important than any other parts of our lives.”
“Indeed. But, you know, some of us have to be allowed our daydreams as a way to balance your piousness, Brother Quintel.”
“Archbishop.” The smile left his face. “I’m afraid your time alone in that city of fools has made your memory less than what it once was. Unfortunate, that, but then we don’t always age with grace, do we?” He let the question fall, and then continued, “At any rate, you’re not staying here, or I would have heard. Were you forced to rest outside in the tents? I could save you from that, were you so in need.”
“Thank you, but no.” Don’t shake your head so hard. “Our lodgings at the Blue Moon are quite acceptable.”
“Very well. I’ll be seeing you, then. Enjoy your time in my cathedral.” Quintel dipped his head and strode away, his robe brushing against Crymson, the four guards following like the obedient dogs they were.
Crymson let out a breath. “Shall we?” She headed to the stairs, located on either side of the altar at the front of the cathedral. A great many steps later, she’d climbed to the third floor, embarrassed by Alocar despite herself, who arrived a few minutes later and put his hands on his knees.
“None of us are what we used to be,” Alocar waved a hand forward, “but this place is breathtaking so far. Carry on.”
Ten minutes later, they arrived at Rone’s Room, named in honor of the late king, the site of Crymson’s worst nightmare come to life.
“So this is where all the powers that be meet.”
“Powers that be concerning all things religious.” The room was comprised of rings within rings, growing in size as the room expanded. Each ring had breaks in it so that people could find their seats, and a large, blank circle ruled the middle. Altogether, Rone’s Room could seat as many as one hundred people, with the outer ring reserved for people of less import and the inner for those with true power.
“You’ve been in here often?”
Crymson didn’t reply as she walked around, letting her hand run across portions of the rings, her eyes out of focus.
“I was once in the middle, you know.”
“What do you mean?”
“That man we just met? He hasn’t been Archbishop long. His predecessor died earlier last year. Heart attack or something, he was old. Anyway, Quintel and I both had shots at the position, and so we each went after it. In the beginning, I thought I was a shoo-in.”
She stopped in the middle of the rings, her eyes closed. “Turns out though, I’d been naïve. I thought that a willingness to work for the betterment of the Cao Fen and an established reputation would carry me. I thought that all the way up until the day before the election, when they locked my hands behind my back and put me here, in the middle, with everyone staring at me.”
Crymson turned, opening her eyes and looking at Alocar. “They levied some trumped-up charges, minor things that they blew up. It didn’t take long to find me guilty, and they essentially told me that my career was complete, to go somewhere else and live out the rest of my life as what I was. Done at twenty-eight.”
“Later, I discovered that word had drifted down from above that if I were elected, then certain commodities and other things were going to be stopped, things that enriched and made luxurious the lives of the people electing me . . . it came from the crown. Took away my life on nothing more than a cheap whim, and now I’m to spend the rest of my life bowing and scraping to double-damned scum like Quintel. It makes me sick.”
“You think it’s because you’re a woman?”
“I think it’s because of a lot of things. Being a woman is one, my skin is another. Not too often do you see people like myself running things, it just isn’t done. Those are part of the issue, but it’s not just that – not anywhere close.” Crymson bit off the last word.
“Then what is it?
She looked at him briefly, and then faced ahead again, grinding her teeth. “It’s because I don’t say yes to the things they want from me. You want to climb high? Better know somebody or be prepared to do it the dirty way. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not going to cozy up to somebody just so he can promote me. I refuse.”
Her eyes flashed. “That post was due to me. I deserved it. I worked my ass off my entire life to get it, and then to just have it cut from me like that.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t handle that. I failed without even being able to do anything about it. Being here just reminds me of how close I was before it was yanked from me. My life over before it’d begun, all because I didn’t have power enough to protect myself.”
“So why did we come back here?”
Crymson drew her shoulders back and began walking from the rings. “To remind myself of why I’m doing this mission. I’ll never allow anybody that much of a hold on me again. Never. Predict my future? Pah. Who needs guesswork? The power to change my future though, that’s special.”
The descent of the stairs proved difficult as well, and Crymson’s hamstrings were burning before she touched the bottom floor. Alocar swept past her. “It’s all how about how you finish,” he said with a grin.
They began to walk back to the Blue Moon, the streets full of people, though still quiet. “You sound like my adopted dad.”
“Is he an old fellow?”
“Probably close to your age. Why?”
“Because us old fellows know a thing or two. Life doesn’t stop just because one aspect grinds to a halt. You keep pushing, moving forward, and eventually it all washes out, and the only thing people remember is where you ended, not where you began.”
They found Slate in his room, playing cards with Teacher, whose surprisingly deft hands shuffled the deck on the soft covers next to Isaac, who was curled up in a ball, radiating heat.
“What took so long?” Slate didn’t look from his hand.
“Big place to explore,” Alocar said. “Any change with Isaac?”
Slate nodded, his face a study in concentration. “They had an herb shop around the corner. We picked some things up earlier and force-fed it to him. Seems to be coming down a bit.”
Alocar looked over Slate’s shoulder, squinting at Slate’s hand. Teacher looked at him and Alocar raised three fingers, lowered them, and then raised two. Teacher’s face crinkled into a smile, and he called Slate, who threw his cards on the bed. “Bloody fucker is smarter than all of us,” he said. “Dinner, anybody?”
“Sure.” Crymson looked at the bed. “But let’s take Isaac out of town tomorrow. See if we convince him to bleed some of that energy off. I want to get out of this city.”
Angras
Let me out.
“No.”
You need me tonight.
“No, I don’t.”
Let me out.
I stood in a small village outside Tabernack. The houses were quiet. Asleep. Chaos raged in Tabernack, but it needed a push. I wore a royal blue uniform. In my hand, a sword.
Let me out.
My arms were so tired. And my brain hurt, nearly as much as my heart.
Let me out.
Too tired.
The torches that lined the street of the small village went out, and the darkness around me became deeper than that of the night. I looked at my hand, and though I could see it, the edges around it blackened and blurred, like I was fading into myself.
For once you have done well. We’ll take care of this village, but first.
A blade of shadow sprouted from my hand, but I could only watch as it moved as if on its own volition. I had become the voice in my own head. On the wall of the house, Angras scratched in the wood, “Death to those who defy the king.”
My other hand grew a second
shadow blade, and I felt my muscles flex as Angras rang them together and entered the first house. A little girl slept on the dirt floor. She didn’t flinch as my blade entered her neck.
Crymson
“Go ahead and wait for me outside. I’m going to ask Newnam something before we set off. Have the supplies?”
Alocar hefted a shovel in reply, as did Slate, and they walked into Fayne’s morning sun, diffused into rays of color filtered through the cathedral’s stained glass windows, barely visible from the entrance of the Blue Moon. Slightly more coherent than the night before, Isaac leaned against Teacher, his feet brushing the ground.
Crymson searched for Newnam’s beard, spotting it in the middle of the room, sitting alone, this time with a plate of exclusively bacon, piled high. Pulling up a chair, Crymson cleared her throat and Newnam looked up, his cheeks full to bursting.
“Know any good open areas around here? Not too far away, but secluded?”
Newnam raised a finger in front of his face and continued chewing. He swallowed. “Yeah, actually. Glenbrook’s Meadow. Probably about a mile outside town, back toward Hammonfall. You’ll have to walk there, though. Trails not meant for horses.”
“Okay. Thank you.” Crymson rose to leave, but stopped in an awkward crouch when Newnman raised another finger.
“Just a warning. Few Priests came around last evening lookin’ for a girl that seemed to fit your description. It didn’t feel right, so I told them I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I don’t think they believed me.”
Crymson straightened, her eyes distant. Either it was Quintel, back to score some petty revenge, or . . . Mendoza’s boss, did he have access to the Cao Fen?
“My thanks. We’ll be checking out soon, probably after we get back. I’ll remember your name down the road, and let others know what inn they should visit. You’ve been a good host. I just have one last favor. Could you have our horses waiting and ready for us when we get back? We’ll be in a bit of a spot, time-wise.”
“Course.” Beneath the beard, Crymson made out a set of teeth, arranged in what looked to be a smile. She nodded, and then walked out the door.
“Let’s go,” Crymson said. “I found us a meadow that should do the trick. But keep your weapons handy. Newnam said that some of the Cao Fen are on the lookout for us, and I can’t imagine it being for anything good.”
“Sounds like we might need to dust our tracks a little earlier than we thought,” Alocar said.
“I’ve already paid Newnam to have our supplies and horses ready for us when we get back. It’ll have to do.”
Outside Fayne, they spread out, searching the area for the meadow’s trail, a feat that didn’t prove too difficult, as people’s shoes had beaten a path to its opening between the trees. Branches that promised to snag their clothing and rip their skin overhung the dirt trail, barely wide enough for a big man. Slate, after looking at the bandages on Teacher’s arm, put Isaac on his own back and handed his shovel to Alocar.
They made slow time, arriving at the meadow a little over half an hour later, bleeding from a hundred small cuts and abrasions. The meadow itself was small, thirty feet across and surrounded by more trees. Grass covered its interior, along with brown and yellow leaves, crinkling to nothing as summer edged toward fall.
Slate deposited Isaac in the middle of the meadow and then grabbed the extra shovel hanging off Alocar’s back. Together, the three of them began to dig while Teacher sat and spoon-fed soup into Isaac’s mouth.
Grunts of effort, small slurps, and dust filled the air. Soon, they’d removed the meadow’s upper layer of grass, exposing the topsoil beneath. They threw their shovels near the meadow’s entrance, and Crymson leaned against a nearby tree, watching Alocar, who was leaning over Isaac.
“Hey son. I know you’re in there. You need to bleed off a little bit of this magic. Can you hear me?”
Isaac mumbled and turned his head away, but Alocar had a contingency plan. “Teacher, why don’t you feed Isaac the rest of that soup of yours? See if he gains a little strength, enough to talk.”
Teacher looked to Slate, who nodded. He resumed spoon-feeding Isaac, newly purchased medicinal herbs mixed into its contents. Crymson stretched, the tree’s rough bark digging not unpleasantly into her skin.
“Well, Sister Crymson.” Quintel stood at the trail’s opening, wearing a broad, square hat, six guards to either side, their faces and torsos covered in black despite the heat, their weapons ranging from morning stars to scimitars with bites taken from their blades.
Teacher, intent on his caregiving responsibility, continued spooning soup into Isaac’s mouth.
“Nice hat.”
Quintel narrowed his eyes at Slate, but Crymson spoke first. “A surprise to see you. Thought you didn’t venture out of the cathedral much.”
He smiled, the morning sun turning his skin nearly translucent. “A little discomfort never hurt anybody. Now, what do we have here?”
Alocar stepped forward. “Just treating a sick man. Nothing much to see.”
“With soup? Ahh. Good, home remedies.”
“Work better than that mumbo jumbo you folks call prayer.” Slate pulled his sword from his back and swung it nonchalantly.
“Amusing. I’m afraid I am going to have to ask you all to drop your weapons and come with me.”
Slate’s sword whistled through the air.
“Crimes with intent against the Crown, it seems,” Quintel continued. “Treason, to put it more aptly. I’m unclear on all the details, but those are the orders I received, and so here I am.”
“And since when do we answer to the Crown?”
“Oh, I’m afraid there is no ‘we’ anymore, Crymson. Once I recognized your elderly friend here, I knew which group you’d entangled yourself with. There won’t be any escape for you this time. No running home. The Cao Fen will erase you once they’ve learned what you’ve done.”
“How’d you find us?”
“You think that bearded freak of an innkeeper was going to keep me off your trail for long? He’ll be lucky to last the night, after I’m through here.” Quintel’s voice grew hard. “Now, as I said earlier, drop your weapons.”
Crymson thought quickly, taking in the situation, calculating the odds. She saw Slate tense off to the side, but with Isaac on the ground and Teacher next to him, three to twelve didn’t look promising.
“Why don’t we talk about this a little more,” said Alocar, refusing to sheath his weapon. “Seems there might be a slight misunderstanding.”
Isaac
Isaac thrashed. He felt something gritty around him, and something lukewarm in his mouth, in his throat. Voices talking, some to him, others directed elsewhere.
He’d taken in too much magic at once. But still, the magic weighting his body didn’t keep his mind from roaming, didn’t keep his mind from traveling back to Whispers, back into the small cell with the guard, back to his abuse.
The guard’s shaggy hair swung in his face and curtained his eyes. He held a sharp, filed stone. Isaac huddled in the corner. The guard approached, his lips pulled back to reveal blackened teeth.
Isaac stared into the sky as if praying that it may collapse and crush him. Nearby, Teacher pulled himself closer. He leaned over, his unnaturally large voice cooing as he peered into Isaac’s eyes. Reached, grasped Isaac’s forearm, patted it. He took the bowl from its place on the ground and removed the rest of the covering, revealing the last quarter of the soup. A spoon sat inside the bowl, and Teacher took the utensil in hand.
The guard approached, grabbed Isaac’s forearm, and pulled him to his feet. With a jerk, the guard forced Isaac’s head up, and then moved his hand to Isaac’s jaw, opening it.
Teacher, soup in spoon and spoon in hand, gently opened Isaac’s mouth.
The guard, sharpened knife in hand, bent over Isaac.
Teacher’s spoon touched Isaac’s lips.
No! Isaac lashed out, and the guard ripped away, the filed stone flyin
g from his grasp. Isaac leapt to his feet, frantically searching for a way out. Nothing. Wait, his hands.
Isaac screamed, and Teacher fell away from him, landing on his forearms. Quintel took a step back, but the men in black continued forward, resolute. Crymson caught Alocar’s eye and they both edged away from Isaac, out of his range of vision, unknowing but aware enough to understand that something was amiss.
He placed his fingers on the cell’s bars, energy igniting. The bars melted and he pulled them apart like cloth. Isaac ran.
Still on his back, a beam of fire leapt from Isaac and burned its way into the sky, silent, not even a trace of its passage to alert the ears. In the meadow’s entrance, Quintel’s mouth opened in a greedy O of a surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Capture the Blessed, you fools! Kill the others!”
Down the hall. Wait, more people. He reached back in the tank – he must have saved more energy than he’d thought down here in the darkness – released it. Beams of light lanced from his fingertips and pierced the bodies and heads of the men he’d spotted. They toppled, the smoking holes cauterizing and staunching the blood flow even as they fell. Something hit him. He fell, got back up, fell again.
Isaac looked to be in battle, his legs twitching, his head jerking left, and then right, as if searching for something. Crymson pulled her knives from the sheath on her thigh. She threw one at Quintel’s face, but a guard intercepted it with his eye and went down, landing on the butt, driving it into his brain tissue, the tip poking out the back of his skull.
Across the meadow, Alocar drew his falchion and joined Slate, who had already engaged the guards with his broadsword. Side-by-side, they fought, Alocar using quick jabs and thrusts to keep his attackers from dancing in too nimbly while Slate swung in broad strokes, using his long limbs and powerful weapon to keep the men at bay.
Fallen Victors Page 20
