The Traitor's Reliquary

by Chris Moss

  The entire Chapel froze in horror until the immediacy of the situation retook the room. The combatants returned to fighting for control, their battle now punctuated by blasts of wooden shrapnel and the screams of those trying to escape from Prelate Millner.

  “Well done, brother!” said Darius, kicking an enemy out of the way and waving his blade to Millner. “Clear the holy place of this filth!”

  “Get the others to safety!” Prelate Niena shielded an injured young cleric with her body.

  Prelate Gato didn’t reply. He was curled behind a pillar, moaning.

  Harpalus tried to get a better view of the situation but was shoved forward. The main entrance to the Chapel flooded with more armed men. This time, however, the soldiers wore the bright-silver armor of the Praetorian Guard.

  “Kill any man who dares draw their weapon on the Citadel!” said Darius, his black robe stark against the brilliant metal lined up behind him. Knowing the Prelate would carry out the threat, Harpalus dispatched the nearest mercenary and held up his blade to defend himself.

  “Did you do all this for me, my love?” whispered a familiar feminine voice in his ear. “I’m touched.”

  “You!” Before the Spymaster could turn, something hard struck the back of his head. The last thing he registered was the distant sound of battle.

  Harpalus awoke bleary-eyed, able only to make out a few thin shafts of light from above. The Spymaster tried to rub his ringing skull, but discovered his hands and feet were tied to a wooden beam.

  Pox.

  Looking at the bare, stone cellar, he screwed up his concentration and made out a rough tunnel cut into the wall and a series of wooden steps leading to a trapdoor above.

  I’m on the other side of the tunnel Julia described. I wonder if they’ve managed to find it yet.

  The Spymaster considered shouting for Gyges but stopped when voices filtered down between the slats above his head.

  “What do you mean he tore them apart?”

  “I mean he waved at someone and they were shredded into tiny pieces,” said Typhena.

  “The League long suspected the Prioress was developing some sort of weapon for the leather-skins to use against us,” said the first voice. Even through a splitting headache, the Spymaster recognized the deep, arrogant tones of Lord Rowan. “Does this threaten our plans?”

  “No. If I had that kind of power, do you think I would share it with anyone?”

  “Hmm. Why didn’t you try and kill him?”

  “We were disturbed by some of the Citadel agents.”

  “What?” said Rowan. “My spies told me it was the servants of that Mantis bitch trying to steal the traitor from us as some kind of revenge.”

  “That was before they came. Once the Praetoria arrived, they scurried away like rats.”

  “Damn, we’re already committed. Even if the Citadel’s dogs are sniffing about, we can’t afford to back out now.”

  The sound of footsteps tramping above Harpalus muffled the voices. Despite the danger, he wanted to groan at the sound hammering his already aching skull.

  “And the traitor?” said Rowan, his tone impatient.

  “Don’t worry so, my lord.” Typhena’s tone turned sweet. “I’ll pass along the final instructions tonight. He won’t resist—he’s already drunk on the power that I’ve offered him.”

  “Just make sure he’s ready. The attack starts at dawn. Prepare yourself and meet me back at my quarters at nightfall.”

  Harpalus struggled in vain as Lord Rowan’s boots thumped over his head until the Caelbor noble exited the building. A few seconds later, a bright light flooded the room, and Typhena walked down the stairs.

  “Just like old times, Pye.” She sauntered over to Harpalus and trailed a hand over his slender body.

  “There’s no more time for games, Tansy.” Harpalus kept his gaze calm. “Untie me.”

  The Vutai shrugged and leaned into the Spymaster. Wrapping her hands around his body, she held him close. “Perhaps I just like seeing you like this,” she whispered in his ear.

  “Not as much as I enjoyed watching you go into Bloodwyne withdrawal, so bloody well untie me unless you want to go through it again,” said Harpalus.

  Typhena pouted, but the Spymaster could see her weighing her options. Instead of reaching for the ropes, she smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek. “Well, I intend to be out of here tonight, and I’ve already decided I’m going to take you with me. I guess it will have to be in a cage.”

  “Oh Tansy,” said Harpalus, pitying her for the first time. “You’ve forgotten just one thing.”

  “Oh? And what’s that?”

  “I didn’t come alone this time.”

  Gyges’s thick fist missed its target and almost plowed into Harpalus, Typhena flinching away just in time. The Vutai snarled like a wildcat and attacked with a fast kick, but Gyges swatted her leg aside with ease.

  The two combatants paused, as if they were sizing each other up—the hulking, old killer and the slender, young woman. They circled, moving through the thin shafts of light streaming through the slats above—breathing hard.

  “Who are you?” said Typhena. “You’re not an ironside.”

  Gyges remained silent, his dark eyes locked on Typhena.

  “A Praetoria? A thug for hire?” She cocked her head, examining the scars on the hulking figure’s brow. “Or…could it be…a Proditorum?”

  A strange expression flickered across Gyges’s impassive face, before the pair lunged toward each other. Twisting and rolling across the dirt floor, each tried to land a killing blow.

  “Hurry up!” Harpalus squinted at the pair, their movements a blur, until the Vutai was thrown back. Holding her neck, she coughed and tried to crawl toward the stairs. Gyges pulled himself to his feet and limped toward the platinum-haired woman, putting a knee onto her spine and holding his calloused hands on either side of her temples.

  “Stop!” yelled Harpalus. “Just knock her out and untie me.”

  Gyges gave a reluctant grunt but raised his hand and delivered a sharp blow to the side of the Vutai’s skull. Once free, Harpalus rubbed his aching wrists and looked down at Typhena’s supine form. Conflicting emotions gripped his aching head, and it took the Spymaster several moments to shake himself free.

  “Tie her to the pole,” he said, jerking his head toward the beam. Harpalus closed his eyes and tried to arrange his thoughts, but sifting through the blurry conversation the woman had with Lord Rowan didn’t help. The wheels of logic that once spun so effortlessly for the Spymaster refused to work. All Harpalus could concentrate on was the presence of the woman before him.

  Damn you.

  Screwing up his anger, he snarled and slapped Typhena hard across the cheek.

  Typhena awoke coughing, testing a bruised shoulder. As soon as she realized her hands were tied, her pale eyes locked on Harpalus. “Is it my turn to be tied up?” she said, tone innocent.

  “Shut up!” Harpalus raised his hand to hit her again. Typhena flinched and Harpalus hesitated, sickened by his action.

  “Aren’t you going to interrogate me as to who the Traitor is?” said Typhena, her pretty lips frowning.

  I don’t have time for this. I can’t take her back to the Citadel, and even if I did, she wouldn’t crack before the attack starts.

  “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “And I don’t want you as a whipped dog. I want your help—and I want you on my side.”

  “I don’t need to help you, Pye.” Typhena’s voice lost its playful edge and her face became hard. “I’ve finished. I’ve started a rebellion against the Citadel, destroyed one of your Prelates and delivered the trap for you to send the Herald to investigate the Shrine at Eldeway.”

  Harpalus shrugged. “Your rebellion will be neutralized by morning—the traitor Prelate will be unmasked soon after. As for this strange trap involving Eldeway—I’ve been turning it over in my head—and I can’t say I believe in any of this prophecy nonsense.”
/>   “They will turn on you,” said Typhena, her voice hollow but her expression earnest. “So, come with me instead. I’m tired of this life, Pye—so, so, tired. Do you know how long it’s been since I could just talk to someone as an equal? To look at someone and not see a pawn or a threat?”

  Harpalus blinked hard and looked to the dark corners of the room, willing his mind to focus.

  “You’re still an addict,” he whispered, trying to keep his tone calm. “Is that what you mean for me to become? A puppet for Maal?”

  “No!” Typhena jerked the Spymaster’s gaze around. Tears brimmed in her eyes. “I mean I want to be free. Leave with me, Pye. Tonight. We can go somewhere new—perhaps the southern continent. We’ll find a cure for the Bloodwyne.”

  “You expect me to walk away from my life in the middle of a rebellion?” Harpalus bent down and slipped his hand behind Typhena’s neck, resting his forehead against hers.

  “They’ll betray you in the end, Pye,” whispered Typhena. “That useless cripple of a Prioress or that crabby old cleric who glares at you when she thinks you don’t see. If not them, then one of your peons will end up stabbing you in the back.”

  Harpalus closed his eyes against the pain, but the memories of ten years ago welled up inside, demanding he see and remember.

  Pye leaned in the shadows of an upper gallery with two other agents, watching the giant figure prowl through the hallway below him. Several Praetoria lay dead and their commander was bleeding, yet he was trying to crawl toward the intruder.

  “Almost there,” whispered Pye, watching Gyges try to decide which door to take from the hall. “Just a little bit further…”

  The burly figure tried the first door, only to find the iron handle locked. Barreling through a second, smaller door, he stumbled into a long colonnade and disappeared deep into the Citadel.

  “The plan has failed.” Pye gestured to his fellows. “You, run and tell Spymistress Julia that the Commander will die unless he gets help immediately. You, follow me.”

  The agents sprang into action, neither one noticing Harpalus slip the door key back into his pocket and smile.

  Breaking free from the unwelcome memory, Harpalus shook his head and reached down. He untied Typhena’s hands and helped the platinum-haired woman stand.

  “Does this mean you’re leaving with me?” Typhena rubbed her wrists, a wary expression on her face.

  Harpalus wrapped his arms around her and held her close, burying his face in her silvery hair. “I don’t know, Tansy. I don’t know what to think anymore.”

  “You need to choose.” Typhena blinked away tears and thumped her fist against Harpalus’s back. “Choose me. Choose me, and we’ll walk out of here right now.”

  Harpalus ignored the pain in his chest and continued to hold the woman close. The faces of the Prioress, Sister Julia, and his blood-hungry agents flashed in his mind. But at the memory of Sister Amelia, his mind stopped, her dead eyes accusing as she hung from the Seine Bridge.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice cracked. “I can’t. I can’t go with you, even though I want to. I’m bound to the people of this place. I can’t walk away from them.”

  Typhena’s face screwed up in rage. She pushed Harpalus away, hiding her face to wipe away the tears. “You’re mine, and I’m not giving you up. I’ll show you.” She turned and ran back up the wooden stairs, leaving only echoes in her wake.

  Harpalus wiped his face and stared at Gyges, who watched the exchange with the same expressionless mask he always wore.

  “Come on,” said Harpalus, walking back into the tunnels without another word.

  “What is the meaning of this blasphemy?” Prelate Darius’s rough voice boomed around the small plaza outside of the chapel.

  Julia sighed and watched the armored Praetoria surrounding her, shuffling in confusion, no longer sure whether they should protect or imprison the old woman in their midst. Angels spit on you, Pye. I’ll deal with this myself.

  “This morning, the Citadel was made aware of a threat against a Prelate by Baroness Wulwyn,” said Julia. “We acted immediately to secure the area and see to it our most valued clerics were not hurt.”

  Prelate Darius bristled at her words, bearing cuts and scrapes across his olive skin and still holding the sword he had wielded during the battle.

  “But, why would Wulwyn have a problem with us?” Millner cast an inquiring gaze at his fellow Prelates.

  “Perhaps one of you could tell me,” said Julia.

  Prelate Niena’s lip curled. “Don’t take that tone with us, cleric. We are still your superiors.”

  “In matters of internal security, I answer only to the Prioress,” Julia said, countering her logic. Think about that, you pompous windbag.

  All the black-robed figures paused at the threat.

  “So, you are an agent of the Citadel’s spy network?” Prelate Gato stroked his beard. “And where is your superior officer? Or are we speaking to the infamous Spymaster of the Citadel?”

  Julia’s face became an expressionless mask. “I am not in a position to confirm such a statement.” Of course, if Pye doesn’t turn up… “Suffice to say a threat has been made against the Citadel, and I have been granted the authority to deal with it—but we need to focus on the matter at hand. In order to protect your gracious selves from any further attacks, I will need to know where each of you will be tonight.”

  Prelate Millner gave a bland smile and picked a few splinters of wood from his blood-splattered robe. “I will be at my mansion, but do not fear for me, brave cleric. I have means of protecting myself.”

  “I will be at the Citadel barracks, confirming the latest battle plans with General Dio,” said Darius.

  Prelate Gato shrugged. “I’ll be going over reports of great importance from the College,” he said, though Julia could smell the alcohol on his breath.

  Drunken sot.

  Prelate Niena sighed in irritation at the men surrounding her. “I will be with the rest of my staff, organizing treatment of the wounded and repairs to the chapel.”

  “I will ask that you confine yourselves to quarters,” said Julia, bowing her head in deference. “We may also send agents to watch your buildings, for your own safety. If any of you can think of why such an attack would occur, please discuss this with myself or the Prioress.” The armored guards made room for her to exit.

  “And how do we make contact with you?” said Millner.

  “You don’t,” Julia said over her shoulder. “We’ll make contact with you.”

  The tiny window that illuminated Julia’s library held only fading light. She hobbled up the wooden stairs to her mezzanine office, collapsing into the worn, leather chair. She looked over the maze of shelves.

  “What did you learn from the Prelates, Auntie?”

  Julia started, turning just in time to see Harpalus and Gyges climbing the stairs to stand in front of her. Julia noted fresh wounds on Gyges’s face, and, although Harpalus seemed unhurt, there was something odd in his countenance.

  Does he know I didn’t send a team after him? Is he here to kill me at last?

  “I was captured by one of Rowan’s men but managed to escape without incident,” he said. “Before I escaped, I overheard that the Prelate working with Rowan is being controlled by some means, possibly against his will.”

  Julia didn’t like the careful way his eyes scanned her face. “Prelates Darius, Niena, and Gato claim to be staying within the bounds of the Citadel tonight. Millner claims to be staying in his mansion.”

  “Which one is lying?”

  Julia opened her mouth to reply and stopped, her spider-web thoughts considering where her opponents needed to be placed. “Gato’s breath smelled of wine. We know that Rowan has been using Bloodwyne to drug the nobles.”

  “Gato? It makes sense,” said Harpalus. “He’s well placed to doctor false financial statements, including weapon supplies. And, of course, he’s Caelbor, so it’s hardly surprising he’d turn on us.”
r />   Julia sighed and tried not to roll her eyes. Her protégé didn’t think of her in the same way as other Caelbor, but despite a lifetime exposed to the best and worst of both groups, he always reverted back to the views of the slum in which he’d been born. “But even if he’s native-born, he’s still a Prelate. What would he have to gain by arming Rowan against the Citadel?”

  The Spymaster’s smile held no humor. “Perhaps I should ask him. You stay here,” he said when she tried to rise from her seat. “You’ve already done enough.”

  “You need me.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  “Pye, listen to me—”

  “No!” His gaunt figure rounded on her with sudden ferocity. Before she could speak, he snatched the map from her desk and flung it open, thrusting it in her face. “I can’t imagine how much it hurts that you failed so miserably ten years ago, but you had your chance. And yet, for all of your planning, when Gyges butchered your sweetheart like an autumn pig, the wrong door was locked and he walked out of your net. So, sit down and stop interfering!”

  A second later he was gone, leaving Julia alone. She stared daggers where he stood moments before. She lowered herself into the chair and blinked away tears, looking at the map splayed out in front of her. Even with tears blurring her vision, she knew every detail, every piece of the design by heart. Julia’s breath caught, the enormity sinking in of what her former student had just said.

  None of us knew how Gyges slipped past our traps. That door could only be locked from the other side. My plan didn’t fail—it was subverted.

  Pye betrayed me.

  30

  The size and bulk of the beast that serves the self-proclaimed Goddess cannot be borne of this world. Even a single pair of these creatures would have outbred all other forms of life across the continent. The ultimate origin of the ancient beasts of legend is unknown. As such, we were helpless when Musmahu returned.

  ~from ‘The fall of the Empire: An Analysis’ by Scriptor Browder,

  dated 16th year of the Exile~