He stood, wavered, and collapsed into his chair.
“Grand Master!” said another commander, shooting to his feet.
But his legs crumpled beneath him, and the Justiciar fell with a clatter of armor.
“Poison!” rasped Caldarus, clawing at the arms of his chair. “My sons, we have been poisoned!” He raised his voice. “Someone fetch a surgeon, now! Now!”
But the Justiciars were too weak to act. Some slumped onto the table, gagging and coughing, staining their fine surcoats with grease. A few sagged into their chairs, panting. Others toppled backwards onto the floor, trying to crawl for the doors.
Lucan released his cloaking spell and stepped to the Grand Master’s side.
“Alas,” said Lucan. “I fear that I am too late.”
Caldarus’s pale, sweating face glared up at him. “You! This is your doing, wizard! Your treachery!”
“It is not,” said Lucan. “I discovered that Caraster had subverted your servants. They loathe and hate you, and hearken to Caraster’s message of a world without lords and priests and wealthy men. At his bidding, they poured poison into your wine.”
“You lie,” hissed Caraster.
“I do not,” said Lucan. “Have you not seen how sullenly the maids serve you, resentful of their rightful betters? Little wonder they listened to Caraster’s lies.”
Caldarus said nothing, but Lucan saw the doubt bloom in his cold eyes.
“Antidote,” said the Grand Master. “Is there an antidote?”
“There is not,” said Lucan. “All that remains is to avenge yourself on your faithless servants.”
He reached into the bag that dangled from his shoulder, drew a black dagger marked with a sigil of pale green flame, and placed it into the Grand Master’s hand.
Caldarus stared at the weapon. “What…”
One of the cooks, a doughy middle-aged woman, entered the hall, drawn by the shouting.
“Grand Master!” she said, running to his chair. “Oh, Grand Master, what has happened?”
“You!” snarled Caldarus. “This is your work!”
The woman blinked. “I don’t understand. I…”
Lucan summoned power and reached into her thoughts, taking control of her muscles.
“Yes,” said the cook at Lucan’s silent command. “I put poison into your wine at the command of Caraster. I will laugh as I watch you die, you stupid, useless old…”
Caldarus screamed, heaved himself out of his chair, and buried the black dagger in the woman’s chest. The blow found her heart and killed her at once. And as she died, Lucan felt the surge of stolen power, felt it flow through the Glamdaigyr and into the waiting Door of Souls.
But a portion of the power lingered in Caldarus.
The old man straightened up. Some of the lines had vanished from his face, and a few streaks of gray now appeared in his white hair.
“What…what happened?” he said, blinking.
“You struck down your poisoner,” said Lucan, “and by the mercy of the gods, you are healed. In fact, I suspect you will be a touch stronger than you were previously.”
Caldarus nodded. “Yes…I feel better. Better than I have in years. I…it seems I was wrong about you, Ataranur.” He looked at the table. “But my officers…”
“If we act quickly,” said Lucan, “we can save them.”
He reached into his bag, and drew out more black daggers.
###
Gerald followed his father and older brother through the camp, listening as they argued with Lord Tancred and Sir Commander Aidan.
Now that he had returned to Knightcastle, much of the responsibility of command had returned to Malden and Tobias. Gerald found that he did not miss it. Gods, but he was sick of leading men to battle, of sending them to die against runedead and Malrags and other horrors.
There had been so much death already…and he was weary of it.
He forced himself to pay attention as his father argued with Lord Tancred about supplies. Gerald would command part of the host of Knightreach in the coming battle, and a good commander made sure to know his men and his supplies. Yet Gerald wanted to slip away, to spend the afternoon with Rachel and his sons. He had barely seen them in the last few months, and Aldane and Belifane had gotten so big. Before much longer they would take service as pages, to start leaning the knightly skills for themselves.
Gerald could only hope that Knightreach was at peace by then.
A shout cut into his thoughts.
“Sir Commander!”
A Justiciar sergeant ran past the tents, his blue tabard spattered with blood.
Gerald reached for his sword.
“What is it, man?” said Aidan.
“You must come at once, Sir Commander,” said the sergeant. “The Grand Master…sir, I fear he has gone mad. He’s killed all the servants in the preceptory as spies of Caraster! And he’s started attacking the townsmen…”
“What?” said Gerald. “Father, this is an outrage!”
Tobias scowled. “You might have allowed Caldarus to build a preceptory in Castle Town, but the right of high justice in the town still belongs to you!”
Gerald expected Lord Malden to react in outrage. He had allied himself with the Justiciars, but he had always been jealous in defense of his rights.
Yet Malden only looked distracted, his right hand fiddling with a sheathed dagger at his belt.
“I’m sure,” said Malden at last, “that Caldarus had his reasons.”
“Father!” said Tobias. “The Justiciars are killing your people in your town, and you accept it without question?”
Malden blinked, and some of his old anger came into his face.
Then his hand strayed to that dagger again.
“See to it,” he said, and walked away without another word.
“My lord,” said Lord Tancred, blinking after Malden. “The supplies…”
Malden ignored him.
“Sir Commander,” said the sergeant. “Please, you must come at once.”
Aidan nodded. “Lead the way.”
Tobias gave a sharp shake of his head. “Brother, with me. Perhaps we can get to the bottom of this.”
Aidan scowled. “This is Justiciar business…”
Tobias scowled right back. “If your Grand Master has decided to start executing the people of Castle Town at random, then it is damned well Lord Malden’s business, too. Lead on.”
Aidan nodded and let the sergeant lead them from the camps to the gates of Castle Town. As they hurried through the streets, Gerald saw the faces of frightened men and women, heard the angry murmurs in the air. Something had happened, something dreadful. But what?
Then they reached the street before the Justiciar preceptory, and Gerald froze.
Grand Master Caldarus stood on the steps, his armor spattered with blood. A sword waited in his right hand, and a black dagger in his left, marked with a peculiar sigil of green light. It looked a great deal like the Glamdaigyr, that black sword of necromantic magic Mazael had found in the depths of Arylkrad. A dozen Justiciar commanders and preceptors surrounded Caldarus, and each man carried one of those odd black daggers.
A score of dead men lay in the street below the preceptory, men in the clothes of laborers and merchants. Had the Justiciars started cutting down people in the streets?
“Caldarus!” said Tobias, his hoarse bellow echoing over the rooftops. “What is the meaning of this?”
Caldarus stepped forward, and Gerald’s anger vanished in sudden shock.
The Grand Master was younger. He now looked like a vigorous man of forty. His white hair had turned iron-gray, and many of the lines had vanished from his face.
Just like Lord Malden.
So Gerald was not surprised, not surprised at all, to see Ataranur standing motionless besides the stairs.
“The meaning,” said Caldarus, descending the steps to glare at Tobias, “is that your peasants are corrupt and wicked.”
Tobias blinked wh
en he saw Caldarus’s youthful appearance, but recovered at once. “Is that it, Caldarus? You’re going to start slaughtering people in the street if they fail to bow deeply enough?”
“We hired our servants from the folk of Castle Town,” said Caldarus, “and they poisoned both the meat and the wine at the bidding of Caraster. Most of the high officers of the Justiciar Order have gathered for the attack on Caraster, and their deaths would have crippled the Order. Were it not for Ataranur’s intervention, we would have been slain.”
“All the servants?” said Aidan, blinking. “But, Grand Master, many of them have been in service to the preceptory for years! Surely they could not all have turned upon us.”
“They did,” said Ataranur, his hollow voice silencing Aidan. “At Caraster’s command, they tried to poison your brother officers.” The eyeholes of his mask regarded Aidan. “Had you remained, Sir Commander, you would have fallen victim as well.”
“So we slew them all, of course,” said Caldarus.
“The right of high justice belongs to my lord father,” said Tobias, “not you.”
Caldarus smiled, showing his teeth. “But any man may defend himself.”
“And these?” said Gerald, gesturing at the dead men.
“The families of our treacherous servants, of course,” said Caldarus. "The traitors could not have carried out their plans without the knowledge of their kin. So, they, too suffered the ultimate price."
"You murdered them!" said Gerald.
Caldarus sneered. "I did justice, squeamish boy. The gods have favored the Justiciar Order. They awakened Ataranur to bring his powers against the runedead, and his magic has healed us. And with his aid, the Justiciar Order shall cleanse the world of evil." His eyes seemed to glow with fanaticism as he pointed the black dagger at Gerald. "And we shall hunt down the rest of their traitorous families, and their friends, and..."
"You most certainly will not!" thundered Tobias. "You have already murdered innocent men and women under my father's protection! You will not murder any more!"
"Do not think to stop me, you strutting fool," said Caldarus. "I am the Grand Master of the Justiciar Order! I will have their lives!" His eyes shone with something like hunger. "And you will not stop me."
"Then you're a damned fool," said Tobias. "If you kill one more man under the protection of the House of Roland, then you will have war with Knightcastle!"
"So be it!" said Caldarus. "Then..."
Gerald drew his sword, as did Aidan. His mind raced as he considered the odds...
"My lords," said Ataranur, his hollow voice cutting through the argument. "This is folly. Both the Lord of Knightcastle and the Justiciar Order are on the side of righteousness. Why should they come to blows? Let the Grand Master pay an indemnity for the lives of these townsmen, and then you can focus upon your true foe. Caraster will not rest."
"He speaks wisdom, Grand Master," said Aidan. "For the House of Roland and the Justiciar Order to shed each other's blood as Caraster marches is folly."
For a long moment no one spoke. Gerald's hand tightened around his sword hilt.
"Very well," said Caldarus, sheathing his sword and that black dagger. "Inform Lord Malden I will meet with him this afternoon, to discuss our plans for the offensive."
He marched back into the preceptory without another word, leaving the corpses to lie on the street, and his officers followed him.
Save for Ataranur, motionless by the stairs.
"What did you do?" said Gerald.
He did not expect an answer, but he received one anyway.
"The same thing I have always done," said Ataranur. "What is necessary."
###
"It's a dreadful scandal, my lady," said Elsie, shaking her head as she helped Aldane build a castle out of wooden blocks. "Since his lordship has gotten well, three of the maids and two of the porters have gone missing. They simply vanished! Left behind all their clothes, too."
"Perhaps," said Rachel, cradling Belifane on the balcony, "they ran away."
"No doubt that is it, my lady," said Elsie. "No, young lord - there, yes, there. Isn't that a fine tower! No doubt they simply ran away."
But Rachel could not make herself believe it. The times were perilous, and the walls of Knightcastle were tall and strong. Why would a servant abandon a secure position behind Knightcastle's walls to flee?
It made no sense.
"Some of the other servants are saying things," said Elsie, picking up another block. "That the serpents wander the Trysting Ways again, like they did in the days before your wedding to Sir Gerald..."
"We shouldn't discuss such things," said Rachel, "in front of the children."
"Of course, my lady," said Elsie, and then the door to the sitting room opened.
Gerald entered, wearing his armor and surcoat, his face grim.
"Husband," said Rachel, turning to him.
"Elsie," said Gerald, voice calm. "Could you take the children for a moment?"
"Of course, Sir Gerald," said Elsie. Rachel handed her Belifane, and the old woman led Aldane by the hand from the room.
"Gerald," said Rachel once Elsie had left. "What's wrong?"
He told her what had happened in Castle Town, and her eyes grew wide. She had never liked the Justiciars of Knightreach, and had always been distrustful of Grand Master Caldarus.
But she never would have thought the old man capable of butchering innocent townsmen in the street.
"And Father would hear none of it!" said Gerald, as angry as she had ever seen him. "He said that the Justiciars had the right to defend themselves, and that was that! He spent all his time fingering that..."
His voice trailed off.
"Fingering what?" said Rachel.
"That dagger," said Gerald. "That black dagger at his belt. Identical to the one Caldarus and the Justiciars carried. And Ataranur was there, as well."
"He is dangerous," said Rachel. "When I talked to him..."
"Which I still think was a terrible risk," said Gerald.
She waved a dismissive hand. "I know, but he would not have slain me in front of so many witnesses. But, Gerald, when I spoke to him, I think he was...sincere." She took a deep breath. "He's not like Simonian or Skhath. I think...I think he truly believes he is going to save the world. And if anyone stands in his way, he'll kill them without mercy or hesitation. Including you."
"So he wants to save the world," said Gerald. "But if Ataranur thinks he can sacrifice Knightcastle to save the world, then he is grievously mistaken."
Rachel's hands tightened against his fingers. He sounded so determined, so sure of himself. But Ataranur frightened Rachel, frightened her in a way she had not felt since she had left Castle Cravenlock.
If Gerald challenged him, she feared her husband would not survive.
Chapter 21 - Rage
Riothamus looked around the misty forest.
The road wound its way through the bottom of the valley, green hills rising above them. Trees clung to the mossy slopes, their roots winding around boulders and heaps of broken rock. Thick banks of fog masked the hills’ crowns, with white fingers reaching across the road.
“The perfect place for an ambush,” said Riothamus, fiddling with his saddle. He would never get used to horses.
“Aye,” said Molly, leaning back to look at him. She cared for horses just as much as he did, but at least she was the better rider. “We’ve reached the Stormvales. Nothing but hills and valleys for a few hundred miles. Lots of petty little lords and knights. They all swear fealty to old Lord Hiram Stormcrest, but they fight each other…and sometimes raid travelers.” She laughed. “If they try to rob us, they’ll have an unpleasant surprise.”
Riothamus nodded and looked at Mazael. He rode some distance ahead, face grim and hard. No doubt the venom in his veins caused him constant pain, though he never complained. He gripped his mount’s reins with one hand, glancing from time to time at the compass in his other hand.
He never let the t
hing out of his sight. Step by step, they were drawing closer to the San-keth archpriest.
And to Malaric…and whatever allies he had gained.
Riothamus let his eyes fall half-closed, and reached for the Sight.
He did not understand it, not fully, and he suspected it would take him decades of practice to become comfortable with it. He knew many of his predecessors as Guardian had ever really mastered it. The Sight allowed him to see into the spirit world, granting him the ability to view magic, watch events in far-off places, and even to see glimpses of the past and the future.
The Sight came at his call, and Riothamus swept it over the valley, seeking for foes. A bizarre mix of distorted images flashed before his eyes, echoes of things that had happened here. Wars had been fought in these valleys, armies marching past, and he saw the ghostly echoes of the runedead.
But there were no enemies nearby.
Riothamus turned his Sight to the west, seeking for Malaric.
A vision shimmered before his eyes, the same thing he saw every time he tried to use the Sight to find Malaric.
A skull, wreathed in crimson flames, shielded by a pair of wings.
Except the wings were fashioned from steel, with sword blades in lieu of feathers.
He could not figure out what that meant.
###
They stopped and made camp in a clearing off the road, and Molly stretched with relief.
“Damned horse,” she muttered, looking at Mazael.
But her father was already asleep. He had rubbed down the horses and put the saddles away, and Molly had expected him to remain awake. But he lay motionless by the fire, his eyes closed. Even asleep, he looked…tired. And hard. The lines of his face cut more deeply into his skin, and there was gray in his hair and beard that had not been there a month ago.
Yet for all that he seemed relentless. Neither mountains nor rivers nor an entire army of enemies would stand between him and the archpriest whose venom threatened Romaria.
Would she be as determined, Molly wondered, if Malaric had poisoned Riothamus instead of Romaria? She shivered to think of harm befalling him. Of course, she knew how she would react. When Corvad had killed Nicholas Tormaud and blamed Mazael, Molly had sworn vengeance. She would have ripped the world apart to get at Mazael…and because of that, Corvad had almost transformed her into a Malrag Queen.
Soul of Skulls (Book 6) Page 24
