The Traitor's Reliquary

by Chris Moss

  “Remember the plan!” Julia backed into the tunnels behind the group, her overtaxed body beginning to falter.

  Two more young men threw themselves at Maal’s agent, but succeeded only in slowing her for a few seconds, the enraged woman slicing them to ribbons.

  “Damn you!” The platinum haired woman leveled her sword at Julia. “It’s all your fault!”

  Why is she after me? Julia continued to back away. She tried to marshal her thoughts, but Maal’s agent attacked again and again, forcing her farther back. Gritting her teeth and focusing her mind, Julia brought her power to bear, bathing the small space in soft ripples of silver light. The young woman slowed, looking for some kind of threat from the power manifesting from Julia.

  “Heed my words,” said Julia, letting the Aeris flow into her voice.

  “What would they be?” The woman’s eyes darted back and forth, trying to keep the agents near her sides and the glowing cleric in her field of view.

  Julia smiled. “Behind you.”

  The beautiful face creased in confusion for only a second before her eyes opened wide in shock, gasping at the arrow that landed in her back with a heavy thunk. Desperate, the slim woman staggered forward a few steps, only to wail as another arrow hit her in the shoulder. She fell to her knees and the remaining agents rushed in from all sides, weapons drawn, eager for an easy kill.

  “Hold!” Julia’s voice throbbed with power. Shaking herself free from the silvery currents of the Aeris, Julia stooped to the heavily bleeding woman. Tomlin held her fast on her knees.

  “Damn you,” whispered the young woman, her beautiful face stained with blood and sporting a large purple bruise.

  “What’s your name?” Julia held the bruised face in her hand for examination.

  “It—it’s—” The woman spat out a gob of blood. “—Tansy.”

  “You were Maal’s agent to Rowan and Darius.”

  “Used to be,” said Tansy, her voice growing weak.

  “You used to be?” Julia flicked her gaze up to the other agents. “Then, why are you here at all? Why did you attack me so blindly, Tansy?”

  The woman’s face screwed up in pain and a platinum lock fell over her dirty face. Julia leaned forward and brushed it away, surprised to see the young woman weeping.

  “Because he was mine.” Tansy’s voice hardened in one last bolt of rage. “But he couldn’t leave while you were hovering over his shoulder like a shade.”

  Julia’s hand trembled, her thoughts racing toward the obvious conclusion.

  Maal’s self-proclaimed former agent grimaced, amber blood trickling from her lips. “He’s mine.” She coughed. “He’s going to...leave w’ me. Pye is mine.”

  Two of Julia’s oldest agents gasped but were silenced with a wave of her hand. Julia held her silver dagger, gazing at the gasping young woman kneeling before her.

  Do what is necessary to protect the Citadel. No hesitation.

  Julia cut through Tansy’s neck with a quick and steady motion. The curving slice sent amber blood spraying. She made a mental note to check her agents later for any signs of Bloodwyne contamination.

  Tomlin said, “Mistress, do you think—”

  “We don’t have enough information yet. Retreat immediately to the safety of the Citadel grounds. The Spymaster may have been compromised, after all. We need to plan effectively and act quickly to ensure the safety of the Prioress.”

  The agents surrounding her looked stunned, but the cold mask of Julia’s face withered their will to ask questions.

  With Tomlin once again in the lead, the group disappeared into the darkness, the tunnels echoing with the sounds of the battle above.

  Harpalus stopped to check that his bandage was secure before staggering into the tower’s kitchen. After Marcus’s men left, the Spymaster had worked room by room, collecting every scrap of paper he could find that might link Darius to the betrayal of the Citadel. The sound of open war along the Old Docks echoed through the tower. He needed to finish and return to the larger battle.

  Perhaps it would be easier to just burn the entire tower down. The uppermost room of the tower was still smoking and smoldering.

  The Spymaster looked around the room, his eyes wandering over pickled vegetables and hanging meat. His stomach growled with hunger.

  “Gyges,” he said, watching the bulky killer duck into the low room. “Find us something to eat. We’re going to torch this place and get back to the Citadel.”

  Gyges investigated the earthenware jars, but Harpalus spied the open cellar door. He noted the bloodstains splattered across the wood. The Spymaster leaned over to peer into the darkness below, his hand twitched toward his remaining dagger.

  “Be ready,” he said to the larger man.

  Gyges looked up from the jar he held and nodded, shoveling a handful of pickled beetroot into his mouth.

  Shaking his head with a smile, Harpalus descended into the cellar. He drew his dagger, looking for any movement. At the foot of the wooden stairs, he noted two of Darius’s house guards lying dead over the corpse of an Exsilium soldier. He marked another body near the tunnel leading into the rock—a young woman sprawled in a pool of amber blood.

  The clockwork of Harpalus’s mind faltered and broke down, recognizing the locks of long, platinum hair. “Tansy.” He dropped the weapon and scrambled toward the prone figure. “No, no, no.”

  Ignoring the amber blood staining his arms and face, he scooped up the young woman’s body and held her close, wiping away the dirt, brushing back the hair from her face.

  “Please, no.” He stroked her cheek and rocked back and forth. “You were supposed to come with me.”

  The habits of a lifetime began to reassert themselves, his mind cataloging the wounds on Typhena’s body, reconstructing what happened.

  Shot twice from behind. Held by both arms, hard enough to bruise. Then executed.

  The Spymaster’s sobs slowed at the examination of the long slice across Typhena’s white neck. Tracing its curving line with his finger he chuckled a bitter, evil laugh that bounced around the cellar. He had witnessed this killing blow before, seeing it first-hand as a child while his mentor executed a low-level information broker.

  “Gyges!” he yelled. “Drop what you’re doing. We’re going hunting.”

  34

  How blessed we are to have such a glorious protector! Can any other nation in this world boast so powerful a guardian, or so peaceful and wise a Goddess who controls it?

  ~from ‘Reflections on the Divine Goddess’ by DawnStar,

  dated 31st year of the Sacred Journey~

  Manacled to the stones, Kestel stood upon an open platform and watched the hydra circling above him. Despite the cold morning air and the jeering crowd, only one thought pounded through his head.

  Where is she?

  He had awoken in a cage to more than a hundred loping Chonoroq swarming around him. They were making their way out of the Lernaen Swamp at breathtaking speed.

  With his hands chained and a leather strap across his mouth, he could do nothing but watch. Beside him, Eriwasteg’s bindings kept her just as helpless.

  “We’re going to die,” whispered Eriwasteg.

  If only Kestel could hold her close, but all he could do was shake his head. He strained his shivering body as far as the chains would allow, and laid his head against her arm.

  Kestel shook his head free from the memory.

  Where is she?

  He scanned the mob packing into the crumbling Amphitheater and spotted a familiar sight—Maal’s toad-like Master of Ceremonies.

  The man wrapped his fraying velvet robe around his belly and hurried forward as fast as his generous frame would allow. Kestel could see why—Rawshnet followed Maal’s servant onto the platform, flanked by two Chonoroq. Around them, the crowd muttered and jeered, not sure what to make of the monstrous creatures.

  Horns brayed and the crowd erupted into cheers. Members of the Divine Guard cleared a path for the God
dess of the Sacred Realm to make her way to the dais. Lychra Maal’s face was flushed in an exultant expression. She almost danced through the crowds toward Kestel. The pure crimson robe she wore billowed in the morning breeze, giving tantalizing glimpses of her perfect form.

  “Herald,” said Maal. Rawshnet and her lackey took up their positions on the flat-topped pyramid behind her. “Kestel, the Herald. I can’t believe I had you in my grasp for years and then let you get away! But here you are. After a century, the pieces are finally in place.”

  Kestel ignored the Goddess, looking past Maal at Rawshnet. The hairy, wolf-like figure held Eriwasteg fast, the Baavghirla’s long blade strapped over his shoulder as a prize. Bound and gagged, the young woman struggled like a wild thing at the sight of Kestel.

  Maal’s perfect face creased in irritation. She snapped her fingers. “Pay attention, boy. She’s here to witness my ascension to godhood. Give me any trouble, and I’ll feed her to the crowd.”

  Being chained and gagged had left Kestel weak from the painful journey to the Capital. He had not eaten for days and had drunk only the stray drops of water thrown at his face, but the sound of Maal’s voice made his long-nurtured anger toward her started to bubble. He snapped his glaring eyes back to her face.

  “That’s more like it.” Maal smiled and raised her arms to the sky.

  The silver shape circling above roared in answer and swept down toward the platform. Kestel struggled against his chains.

  35

  All dissenting agents have either been reassigned or forcibly retired. Speculation regarding the events that left the Prioress crippled will continue to be discouraged, however, the local night-watchmen will likely ask for a larger bribe to look the other way while we dispose of the bodies.

  ~from a report to Spymaster Harpalus, undated~

  Julia sat in her office overlooking the library and shuffled through the papers on her desk, her wrinkled hands trembling with fear and shock at what she learned.

  “When did it happen?” She tried to draw together a sequence of events. “When did he betray us?” The spoken words were only a distraction from the real question haunting her thoughts.

  Was this my fault? Did I push Pye away?

  Around her, the surviving agents who had pledged themselves to her cause, sat in worried silence, which made it all the easier for her to make out the sounds of battle ringing through the city.

  Tomlin cleared his throat. “Perhaps...if we were to approach the Silver Prioress—”

  “No.” Julia cut the old hunter off. “The Prioress is under heavy guard in her apartments. Whatever is happening, we have to deal with it on our own.”

  A familiar armored figure walked into the library below.

  “General Dio?” Julia leaned over the balcony railing. “What are you doing here?”

  Marcus bowed his head and ascended the staircase. Two armored knights entered the library, bearing a burned body wrapped in a cloak.

  “Sister Julia, I need your help. The Spymaster and I have dispatched Prelate Darius, who, I am sure you know by now, was the traitor to the Citadel. The Spymaster asked to hide the body here in the Citadel until after the battle, so that any revelations regarding his betrayal can be...managed.”

  “That I can do, General, but how did the Spymaster seem to you? How were his actions?”

  Marcus tried to hide his reaction, but to Julia’s experienced eyes, there was no hiding the look of fear and guilt that flashed across his face.

  “He seemed very insistent on handling the evidence personally and wished the matter to be handled as discreetly as possible.”

  Julia arched an eyebrow. A crying, bloodstained young cleric ran into the library, stopping her from digging deeper into the General’s evasive answer.

  “Sister Julia, you have to come quickly, please.” The brown-robed figure pushed past the surprised General. “He’s killing everyone!”

  “Calm down, child! What’s going on?” said Julia.

  “It’s Spymaster Harpalus—he’s gone crazy! He attacked the evidence room where the Bloodwyne is locked up. He and that monster have drunk it, and now they’re killing everything!”

  “What’s his location?” said Julia. “Where is he headed?”

  “Here!” The young woman collapsed onto the floor in tears.

  Julia cast a baleful eye at General Dio.

  The armored figure gasped and put up his hands. “He was sane when I left him an hour ago, I swear by the Angel!”

  “We only have a few minutes,” said Julia, turning to the shocked agents behind her. “We know he’s dangerous, but so was Maal’s agent, and we took her down. We’ll use the same plan.”

  “Mistress, my men and I will stand with you.” Marcus waved to his knights. They unceremoniously dropped the body of Prelate Darius and stood guard by the library doors. “You might bring down Harpalus, but Gyges is a different matter entirely.”

  “Thank you.” Julia wondered what General Dio was trying to hide, but dismissed the thought as irrelevant, with Pye and Gyges bearing down on them. Returning to her desk, she searched through the papers until she found a familiar, rolled up map.

  “Everyone!” She unrolled the map across the table and turned back to her agents. “This library is where Harpalus expects to find us, so we will instead drag him out of position and see how he reacts. Stay on your task, and we will survive this. Now pick up a weapon and follow me.”

  36

  At this, the Herald refused. While his heart went out to the old woman, he explained that the request was not within his authority to grant.

  “But surely you can do this!” the people exclaimed. “Have you not performed miracles before our own eyes?” After this, many of the Herald’s followers abandoned him.

  ~from ‘A Child’s History of the Heralds’ by Scriptor Deone,

  dated 765th year of the Empire~

  Kestel stood transfixed, watching as the Holy Beast of the Sacred Realm blotted out the sun as it landed on the flat-topped pyramid. Just as Kestel remembered it—the beautiful and terrible hydra had silvery feather-like scales that rippled across its graceful body, and golden crests flaring above seven beaked heads. Musmahu wrapped itself around the flanks of the wide pyramid, towering above the small group, its wings stretched wide in anticipation.

  Why isn’t it black? The corpse guarded by Rawshnet was black. The monster in my dreams was black.

  This is—I can’t even describe this, said Creven in wonder.

  Rawshnet stepped forward and handed Eriwasteg to the guards standing next to Maal. Rather than kneel, he turned his back to her and prostrated himself before the hydra. The two Chonoroq guards beside him also dropped to the ground in worship. Above them, the titanic creature seemed interested in the Chonoroq, two heads coiling down to sniff the bestial figures.

  “Lord Musmahu, your time of revenge is at hand,” said Rawshnet. “Soon your bondage to this human woman will be over.”

  Maal’s lackey looked on in astonishment, but Maal merely smiled at the old Chonoroq’s obsequiousness. “Your words cannot free my slave. Only mine can. Who then should you worship?”

  The guardsmen tightened their grip on the still-struggling Baavghirla.

  “We trusted your word once, and you betrayed us.” Rawshnet’s graying hackles rose. “If you betray us again, this city will pay the price.”

  Maal snarled. “And if I command your precious God to swallow you whole and tear the rest to shreds, do you think it will rise up to defend you?”

  The Master of Ceremonies stepped forward and tried to address the impatient crowd. “Fellow citizens of the Sacred Realm! Today we give witness to the awe-inspiring power of our nation’s keeper, and bear witness to—”

  “Be quiet, you little fool.” Maal strode forward and backhanded the lackey onto the stones. “Do you think any of this idiocy matters anymore?”

  The toad-like man looked up at her in fear and confusion. The already restless mob began to shuffle
and call out.

  “Herald,” Maal said, turning on Kestel, shackled to the stones. “Listen well, because I have been waiting for almost a century, and I ran out of patience long ago. You are going to fulfill your destiny and slay Musmahu—by using your Authority to transfer his immortal power into me.”

  Rawshnet and the Chonoroq howled and bayed in rage, but the Divine Guardsmen flooded past Kestel and Maal to form a tight chain of weapons around the creatures. Even gagged, Kestel’s sneer spoke volumes. He shook his head and strained against the chains.

  The pale woman just smiled and leaned in close to Kestel, ignoring the guards, the Chonoroq, the crowd, and even the colossal monster rearing above them. “You will use your Authority to grant me immortality—true immortality—not life as some parasite. Because if you don’t, I’ll inflict every punishment I can think of on your little Baavghir friend, right here in front of you.”

  Eriwasteg struggled like a wild thing, working the gag off her mouth. “Don’t do it!” She screamed, the guards struggling to place a hand over her lips.

  Kestel’s eyes narrowed in anger, but also fear.

  Maal stood up and brushed golden hair from her beautiful face. “So, we have a deal then?” Her smile showed perfect white teeth. “Here—let me get that for you.” She reached down and undid the straps holding the leather gag in place.

  Kestel had to spit and cough many times before he could find his voice. “Lychra Maal.”

  The Goddess of the Sacred Realm smiled, her expression expectant.

  “You will die. I strip you of your immortality.”

  “Yes!” yelled Eriwasteg, fighting the guards who held her.