by Jon Sprunk
Taking the lamp, Emanon said, “Come.”
Alyra followed the rebel leader to the back of the cave, which widened into a small chamber about thirty paces into the canyon wall. She stopped short as she sighted an unfamiliar man waiting for them. He had been standing there in the dark, completely still. Her first reaction was awe. The stranger was huge, easily half a foot taller than Emanon, who was no small man. Veins bulged under his dark-brown skin. Her second reaction was terror, fear that the man might be an agent of the queen waiting for the conspirators to assemble. But Emanon approached him without pause. “This is the woman I told you about. Alyra, this is Jirom, one of my new recruits.”
Alyra controlled her expression as she greeted the newcomer. This was the man Horace had mentioned. She was surprised, to say the least, to find him here. Emanon usually wasn't the trusting type. Yet he opened her satchel in front of Jirom and spilled out its contents. Six large ingots of bright metal clattered to the floor. Though she had seen it often enough at the palace, Alyra's eyes were drawn to the zoahadin. Just this small amount was worth a fortune. The means of its production was tightly controlled, and if the queen ever discovered this theft, Alyra could look forward to a slow, painful death.
Emanon lifted a silvery ingot. “Just six? Enough for a few sword blades, at most.”
“I brought what I could,” she answered, angered that he would question her effort. “I'll try to get more next time, but there are dangers.”
“No. Forgive me, Alyra. I'm grateful for the risks you take. Don't mind my grumbling.”
Jirom picked up an ingot. “This is the stuff you said was going to set us free, Emanon?”
“Aye. At least, that's my hope. You want to enlighten our new friend, Alyra?”
“Zoahadin is antithetical to sorcery,” she said. “We don't know exactly how it works, but armor forged from zoahadin is impervious to their magic.”
“And weapons made from it,” Emanon said, “will cut through their defenses like they were regular people.”
Jirom put down the metal. “I've seen the effects of their magic firsthand on the battlefield. We'll need more than a couple swords, unless you've got an army hidden somewhere.”
Emanon clapped him on the shoulder. “We'll get more. Oh, Alyra. Jirom has a friend who might be inside the city. A westerner. His name is—”
“Horace,” she answered. “Yes, sorry. He mentioned you, Jirom. I wasn't sure how much Emanon wanted to divulge about our operation inside the city.”
Jirom's large brown eyes focused on her. “You've seen him?”
She wanted to retreat, but she held her ground. “Yes. I'm one of the palace handmaidens, and I've been assigned to be his servant for the time being.”
“He's in the palace?” Emanon asked.
But Jirom overrode him by asking, “Is he all right?”
“He's fine,” Alyra answered. “The queen is holding him captive, but he has been treated well for the most part. He's being kept in one of the suites reserved for visiting dignitaries. He's not in danger. Well, not any more than anyone else who dwells in the palace. My new position puts me in a good position to follow his activities. And I can get a message to him, if you wish.”
Emanon chuckled. “How do you like that, Jirom? Your friend's living it up while you're stuck in this hellhole with us.”
Jirom leaned closer to Alyra. In a lowered voice, he asked, “Has he done anything…strange while he's been there?”
She knew what he meant. After a moment's pause, she answered, “The queen knows that he's zoanii.”
“What?” Emanon looked to Jirom. “You didn't tell me he was one of them.”
“He just found out recently,” Jirom said. “For the first half of our journey to Erugash, he was collared and chained like the rest of us. Then a storm swept over us, and he stopped it.”
As Jirom explained about the chaos storm in the desert, Alyra detected a few differences from Horace's version of the tale. The one that disturbed her the most was how Horace hadn't suffered any immaculata after defeating the storm. That was unheard of. She wasn't sure how the court would react to such news. Not well, she guessed.
Jirom finished with, “I need to free him.”
“The palace is a fortress,” Emanon said. “And the queen has her own army, not to mention any number of sorcerers on hand. We'd never get close to this man, much less get back out alive.”
Jirom towered over the rebel leader. “I won't leave him to—”
“Excuse me,” Alyra said.
“And I won't sacrifice my entire command for one person,” Emanon barked back, stepping up to the big man. “I don't care who he—”
“What about the party?” Alyra shouted, and winced as her voice echoed through the cave.
Both men stared at her. Alyra swallowed as a knot formed in her throat. She was taking an awful risk.
“What party?” Jirom asked.
“The queen is hosting a celebration at the palace tomorrow night,” Emanon said. “The entire court will be there. We were planning a mission inside the city while it was going on.”
“What kind of mission?”
“An attack on a couple key locations. It's more of an exercise for the new recruits, really, as well as a chance to bloody Her Mightiness's nose.”
“That would make a good diversion,” Jirom said. “While the queen's soldiers respond to the attack, I enter the palace and find Horace.”
“Maybe,” Emanon said. “But security will be tight. That means more guards at all the gates, and more zoanii walking around. You can't just charge in like a crazed wildebeest.”
“There's another problem,” Alyra said. “Horace will be escorting the queen to the fete.”
Emanon threw his hands in the air. “Well, that does it. There's no way we'll be able to sneak him away from under her nose.”
“I'll go alone, if I have to.”
Alyra noticed something odd in the way the two men looked at each other as they spoke, a familiarity as if they had known each other for years. Like brothers in a way, but there was a note of tenderness to it, too. Then she realized what she was seeing. They were attracted to each other.
Oh, my heavens. How is this going to affect the rebellion?
Emanon held up a hand. “Listen, Jirom. I understand you want to help your friend, but that's insane. We can try to free him, but only after the operation is done. You must trust me on this. I will make every effort to get to him—this Horace—but I won't waste the lives of other men to do it. Agreed?”
With a growling affirmative, Jirom strode out of the cavern. Alyra watched him go.
“He'll be fine,” Emanon said. “Let's finalize our plans for tomorrow. Will your people be able to secure the Mummer's Gate?”
They walked through the plan again. She knew her role. She just hoped Emanon would be able to pull off his end of the arrangement. Once the details were ironed out, she asked him, “Are you sure about tomorrow night? We could still call it off.”
He smiled, showing his missing incisor. “What? And miss a chance to tweak Her Dreadness's nose? No, we'll go through with it. And we'll rescue this friend of Jirom's if we can. What do you think of him?”
Alyra had been thinking of Horace. “Hmm? Who?”
He nodded toward the dark passage behind her. “Jirom.”
“I'm not sure what to think,” she replied, choosing her words carefully. “Have you ever been to Haran?”
“No. Why?”
“They have a tradition there called the hudda where men try to jump on the back of a captured lion and ride it like a horse. I hope you know what you're doing with this one.”
Emanon chuckled as he loaded the ingots back into the satchel. “Jirom might be as strong as a lion, but I'm not stupid enough to try riding on his back. We're allies united against a common enemy.”
“I hope so. Emanon…”
“Yeah?”
Alyra hesitated. She was tempted to tell him about the queen
's conversation with Lord Astaptah. She wanted another person's perspective and maybe some advice about how she should handle this information. She'd already reported it to her handlers in the network, but so far no new orders had come down. She started to say something but then changed her mind.
He has enough to deal with, and I don't want him doing anything foolish.
“Nothing,” she said. “Just good luck tomorrow.”
“Don't worry. We know what we're doing.”
Alyra followed Emanon back down the narrow cave tunnel. She was dreading the trip back to the city. But even worse, she dreaded what might happen tomorrow night. She had never wavered in her duty, but now so many doubts lingered in her mind. Was the prize worth the cost? She would have to find out.
The afternoon heat formed a gray haze over the city. Sunlight glinted off the murky green waters of the inner harbor far below, and small boats moved along the waterfront where busy pedestrians hurried through the maze of twisting clay streets. Rimesh sipped from the glass of iced lime juice in his hand as he gazed out the window of the temple's receiving chamber. His eyes strayed to the heart of the city where, in flagrant defiance of tradition, the royal palace rose higher than the temple by a good thirty cubits. He turned away from the window. “Tell me again about the storm.”
The younger priest rubbed his hands together in a washing motion. “As I said, Menarch, we were crossing the desert when a chaos storm arrived. Lords Isiratu and Ubar exited the carriage to confront the storm. Then—”
Rimesh held up his pointer finger. “A moment, Brother Nasir.”
No matter how many times he heard accounts of zoanii, he was always struck by their natural arrogance. The other thing that struck him was the danger of allowing persons of such power to roam free. At the Order academy, initiates who could not obey without hesitation were terminated from the program and sent into the next world on pyres of burning prayers. “When you say they went out to confront the storm, what exactly do you mean?”
“They both got out and faced the storm on foot. They didn't do anything that I could see, nor did I expect to. I have no talent for the Sight, Menarch. I was passed over by the Order while still a novice and placed in a small temple in Gahem—”
“Carry on with your account, Brother.”
“Ah, yes. Forgive me. As I said, they stood there facing the storm, but the winds kept getting stronger. Lord Isiratu staggered as if he had been struck a blow, and Lord Ubar turned to help him. There was so much sand flying that I could not see them well, but it appeared as if Lord Isiratu had given up.”
Rimesh stepped onto the soft woven carpet that covered the center of the floor and set his glass down on a lacquered table. “What happened next?”
“There was a shout from the slaves at the rear of the caravan. It was quite horrible, even in the midst of the storm. Then the winds just died away.”
“The storm left?”
“Yes, Menarch. The clouds vanished and the holy light of heaven shone down on us again.”
A cough echoed through the chamber as the high priest of the Sun Cult in Erugash leaned forward in his chair. Kadamun et'Hittsura-Amur was quite old but was still a man of vitality and keen intellect. He cleared his throat. “Who was responsible, my son?”
“The savage,” Nasir said. “A westerner captured by one of Lord Isiratu's vassals. He reported being shipwrecked on the—”
“An outlander?” Rimesh had to fight to keep his tone even.
“Yes, Menarch. It was a miracle.”
“A miracle? I view it as quite the opposite. The power of the Gods in the hands of a savage is surely the work of the evil ones.”
Of course. This new information fit the reports he'd received before coming to Erugash. Temple soldiers found dead at their posts with no apparent wounds. Two priests of Amur disappeared. Rumors of clandestine meetings. And now the arrival of this outlander. It all pointed to a foul corruption infecting this city.
Nasir bowed and placed a hand over his heart. “Of course. I spoke without thinking.”
“Quite understandable under the circumstances,” High Priest Kadamun said with a smile.
Rimesh frowned at this interruption and tried to get the young priest to focus. “What did Lord Isiratu say to this savage after the storm?”
“Very little. Only that we were going to Erugash following Lord Mulcibar's arrival.”
The high priest muttered something that sounded like “meddling relic,” but Rimesh ignored it. “Anything else?”
“No, Menarch.” Nasir took to dry-washing his hands again. “I believe Lord Isiratu would have preferred to just be rid of the savage, yet he had no choice but to answer the queen's summons.”
“I see. Thank you. You have been very helpful.”
“Thank you. Thank you very much, Menarch! And may I say it's been an honor meeting you. I've heard so much about your early days at—”
Rimesh gestured and a pair of guards entered. “May the light of Amur shine upon you, Brother.”
Nasir took a step toward the door. “And you as well.” He bowed twice, once to Rimesh and once to the high priest. “Ah, Menarch?”
Rimesh allowed his eyebrows to rise to show his dwindling patience. “Yes?”
“The savage, sir. He did not bleed.”
“Explain yourself.”
“He did not display any signs of the immaculata after dispelling the chaos storm. Not a single cut or bruise. Lord Ubar took to calling him…” Nasir cleared his throat. “Inganaz.”
“Thank you, Brother.”
Nasir bowed again and left with the guards. Rimesh held his smile until the door closed. Then he sat in the vacant chair opposite his superior. “I recommend that the brother be sent to a silent cloister for a year, Your Luminance. The sooner, the better.”
The high priest's brows came together in a bushy line of ivory-white hair. “Brother Nasir understands the virtue of discretion. He'll be returning to Sekhatun with Lord Ubar. And please call me Kadamun. It is rare to have such a distinguished guest from the capital.”
Rimesh leaned back in his chair with a sigh. He could feel the excess energy coiled inside him, wanting release. Back in the capital, he trained daily with sword and shield, a holdover from his formal education, but since arriving in Erugash he hadn't found the time for a workout. “I am but a humble servant of the Light, Brother Kadamun. And I will trust you regarding Brother Nasir's…discretion. I would not wish my confidence betrayed by a wayward whisper in the wrong ear.”
The high priest gestured to the window and the spire of the palace that marred their view of the heavens. “Byleth is impulsive and flagrantly disobedient, but she is no fool. She'll soon know you talked to Nasir, if she doesn't already.”
Rimesh tilted his head slightly.
Kadamun chuckled. “Erugash may be far from the bright center of the empire, but you'll soon learn that this city's politics are every bit as sharp as the games played in Ceasa. What do you make of this ‘he who does not bleed’ tale?”
Rimesh flicked an invisible speck of lint from his sleeve. “Further evidence that this savage is a servant of darkness. And Queen Byleth has taken him to her bosom, in clear defiance of temple law.”
Kadamun just sat there, looking off into the distance, until Rimesh cleared his throat. “Your Luminance?”
The high priest shook as if rousing himself from a bad dream. “I've led this temple for nearly thirty years, and in that time I've seen many changes. Famine, plague, epidemics of rats. You know, for a time during the old king's reign I thought we would be cast out of the city. Yet those days seem calm compared to what we face now. Byleth is not like her father. King Rathammon was headstrong and difficult to control even before his rebellion, but his daughter is as unpredictable as a serpent, and ten times deadlier than her father.”
“So what will she do?”
“Much of that depends on the advice she receives from Lord Mulcibar. As I said, she is unpredictable. Yet the High Viz
ier was a staunch supporter of her father and he has the queen's ear. If he counsels her to break ties with the temple, it may be the excuse she's been seeking.”
“But by the terms of the armistice—”
Kadamun waved the liver-spotted fingers of his right hand like he was batting away an annoying insect. “The armistice is only as powerful as the will to enforce it, and Ceasa is far away with its eyes cast to the East. What? You think we don't hear the rumors? The empire dreams of new conquests, but it risks ignoring the two asps under its foot.”
“Two asps? Does Her Majesty have a twin?”
“The slaves, Menarch. They are uneasy.”
“Slaves are always uneasy.”
The high priest held up a finger as if lecturing a novice. “When the servant is discontented, the master sleeps lightly.”
Rimesh let out a deep breath through his nostrils, already tired of this man. “If there are agitators, the Order knows how to handle them.”
“Yes, I suppose it does. But with vital resources spent securing our colonies and staving off foreign incursions, domestic matters have gone unattended. I send instructions to the Order Chapter House, but they are ignored. Inquiries are answered with silence. I took your arrival as a sign that my complaints have been heard.”
“I wish it were that simple, but I have been sent here to investigate certain rumors of heresy. Not to bring some rebel slaves in line.”
The high priest worked his mouth like he was chewing his gums. “You are, I presume, referring to a—”
“A forbidden cult operating within the city, with the queen's compliance if not her outright collaboration. That is what I am referring to.”
“Well, I never gave much credit to the rumors, personally.”
Rimesh studied the high priest's eyes, which were rheumy and jaundiced within the sagging folds of his face. “Why is that?”
“Because it is preposterous. For that to be true, I would have to be a fool or…” His eyes narrowed to mere slits. “Or complicit. Is that what you're driving at, Menarch? Have you been sent to investigate heresy, or to replace a doddering old man?”
