He gave her a slight nod and in a quieter voice spoke again. “For the first time ever, her husband, the Lord Commander, offered to break the law. He pleaded with her to run, and swore that he would prevent them from following. She refused him, saying, if it would remove his blinders to what the Justicars really were, she would pay the price gladly.” He paused again looking a bit pained and cleared his throat before he continued.
“He prayed often throughout the trial that she would relent and take his offer to flee. In the end, despite evidence otherwise, she was found guilty and sentenced to death. Once again, he begged her to flee and once again she refused. If nothing else, the Veirasha Bloodline is well known for their stubbornness, and Fiona was a perfect example of her Bloodline. When she set her mind, nothing in this world could change it.
On the day of the execution, only one of the High Lords that had demanded her death was present. He stood beside the judge who had sentenced her and watched as the High Commander led his wife onto the dais for execution before the whole of the city. Normally, there is an executioner for these things, but the High Lord refused to have one. Saying, if it must be done, he would do it, so he knew the blow fell true and she did not suffer.
She stood before him with no malice and kissed him firmly before the city and all the gods. ‘I love you Caspian, and I know you do as you feel you must. Twice you have asked me to run, and both times I have refused you. Had I accepted that offer you would always have a part of yourself that hated me for forcing you to sacrifice your honor. If my death is what it takes to open your eyes, then I accept that. Do not let my death be in vain, Love. See them for what they are, all of them. See what corruption you feed with your loyalty and duty. See how they abuse your honor, and remember how I tried to preserve it.’ And with those words spoken she knelt and pulled her long raven hair from her neck and offered her life to him. Many in the crowd thought he would disobey. I think I would have in his place. But Caspian, the High Commander, did not. With tears showing clearly in his eyes, he drew his sword and removed his beloved wife’s head with one clean stroke. With her blood still fresh on the blade, he turned to the High Lord and the Judge and removed the pin of office from his cloak. They watched him in confusion as his pristine white cloak dropped to the bloodstained ground. He tossed the pin at their feet and stared at them with open contempt. ‘I have performed my last duty of office as I have been commanded. That is the last command you will ever give me. My eyes are open now, and I see you for the creatures you truly are. Her death was not in vain, and the price for my ignorance was far too high.’
The words had no sooner left his mouth, than his sword was in motion again. Yet again another head was removed with one fell stroke of that gleaming blade. The judge stared in horror at the fallen High Lord and his voice shrilled above the shock of the crowd as he screamed for guards. None came though, as all stood frozen in disbelief. ‘You live for now,’ Caspian said to the judge, pointing a finger at the man’s chest. ‘Mend your ways and you may continue to live. Remember that it is justice you serve, not the High Lords. I spare you in this, not for any love of you, but because I, too, blindly served them. I give you the same chance she gave me, without near the cost.’ With that said, he turned his back on the man, as if he were no longer even there. His eyes fell to Fiona’s body, and he dropped to his knee lightly and ran a finger through her blood. He spoke words then, so soft no one in the crowd could hear what he said. Many claimed that he begged for her forgiveness, but no one truly knows. With a shaking hand, he traced a line across his own wrist leaving a red smear on his flesh. The blood sank into his skin where it touched, leaving a scarlet line. Thus, marked, he would always remember what honor and ignorance had cost him.
With tears still open on his face he gathered Fiona’s remains into his blood soaked cloak and slowly stood. He stared out over the crowds and met the eyes of those that would look at him. ‘From this day forward, be it Lord or beggar, none will be spared justice before my eyes and only the guilty will ever feel the blade of my sword again. I swear this on my wife’s blood.’ Caspian spoke the words loudly and clearly for all gathered to hear. When he left Sanctuary that day, many of his Justicars followed him. One by one they cast off their white cloaks and pins of office and joined Caspian as he left the service of the High Lords. To this day, they mark their arms with tattoos to signify when they have achieved some good for the world, despite the law, and to this day, they call themselves after the woman who died to open their eyes.” He was silent for a long while after the telling and simply sat there staring at the bench in front of him.
“So my father was a Justicar at one time?” she asked at last.
“No. He joined long after Caspian led the first Fionaveir from Sanctuary. All Fionaveir hate the Justicars though. They see them as more of an obstruction of justice than what they actually claim to be,” he replied. All of his smiles had vanished with the telling, and he seemed entirely somber.
“I’m sorry; I didn’t realize the story would upset you,” she spoke quietly.
“It’s not the story, it’s the memory. A story would be far more bardic in the telling. That telling was about as short as I could make it. As I said before all the gods were there. I was there that day. I saw the pain in Caspian’s eyes. I watched her innocent blood spill. We all have unpleasant memories, Jala.” He gave her a weak smile and shrugged. “And they never get any easier to talk about, no matter how long you wait.” He stood slowly. “One last thing before I go, do you have your ship pass?”
She gave a slight nod and fished her pass from her cloak pocket and handed it to him. He looked down at it and frowned then calmly ripped it in half.
“Wait, I need that!” Her objection came too late, and she watched in dismay as the first of the two pieces fluttered to the floor. He pulled another envelope from his own jacket and handed it over to her. It was plain white with the word Quicksilver written in elegant script on its back.
“That’s a better ship, and you will have an easier voyage on it,” he said.
She stared down at the envelope and looked up to thank him and found the room empty.
“My dear, Jala, there you are.” Father Belson’s voice came quietly from behind her, and she jumped half an inch at the sound of it. She had forgotten he was even in the room. She quickly masked her dismay with a smile and moved to give him a hug.
“Gretchen says the coach will be here anytime and that I best make my goodbyes hasty,” she said quietly. “Thank you for all you have done for me. I will miss you and the Temple more than I can say.” She felt her eyes mist a bit, and he smiled at her.
“There now, child, you will be back before you know it. We will miss you too while you are gone and we will pray for you often.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and patted her on the arm to reassure her. She smiled again and hoped he couldn’t see the truth in her eyes. From the conversation she had just had, she wasn’t sure she would ever see this Temple again.
Chapter 4
Fionahold
The heavy oaken door swung open with a groan. It wasn’t quite fitted right on its hinges, and Victory had to put his shoulder into it to get it to move at all. Light crept out from the room beyond, the pale flickering light of candles and torches, rather than the steadier more reliable glow of a mage light. The air smelled strongly of it, all smoke and damp earth. He could hear voices within, talking low and hushed, and from the sound of it, more than he had expected. A heavy thud sounded behind him as Havoc pushed the rough door back into place and stepped up beside him.
“From the sound of it, we are the last,” Havoc murmured. Victory gave a slight nod in answer and stepped out of the alcove into the room beyond. For a moment, the room went silent. He scanned the room quickly, taking note of who was in attendance. Caspian sat in his battered armor at a table stacked high with paperwork that appeared to be partially sorted. His thick blond hair was pulled back severely, and his expression was one of distaste. He didn’t even g
lance up from the letter he currently read as they entered.
To his right sat Lutheron, the second in command. He was dressed as dark as his reputation and looked as though he had planned for a funeral rather than a council meeting. Lutheron showed no interest in the stack of papers and watched those in the room instead. His sharp features were expressionless as he surveyed the room, giving no indication of his thoughts. Victory tried to ignore the crawling sensation Lutheron’s dark gaze left on him, and quickly looked past the man.
Standing just beyond him at another raised table stood Caspian’s wife Faramir, and across from her was Symphony. Victory raised an eyebrow at the last, the first three were senior members of the Fionaveir, and their presence was expected at any meeting. Symphony, however, was not even a member. She lived in the Fionahold under Caspian’s protection, but nothing more. As if sensing his confusion, the young woman looked up at him and smiled. Her gold eyes seemed to catch the torchlight, and for a brief moment, they held a glow.
“I believe the last guests have arrived, Grandfather,” she said to Caspian in a low, rich voice.
Caspian looked up from his papers and raised an eyebrow. Silently, he motioned Victory and Havoc to seats. Victory gave a nod and quickly found a place at one of the smaller tables. He watched Havoc take a place at the end of the table, perched on the edge of it, and wondered for the hundredth time why they had been summoned. They were not council members and had no place here. As he scanned the room further, he noticed others along the wall seeming to try to blend with the shadows there. They were not council members, either. He could see Charm perched in the rafters above. The wiry rogue seemed more at ease in the heights of the cramped room than most seemed at the tables. Leaning against a wall near the corner stood Solace and Hawk. Both of them wore their woodland leathers of green and brown, and from the irritated look on Solace’s face, they would have preferred to be in the woods now. He looked past them, searching the last corners of the small stone room. Empty tables sat pushed against the wall. Most of the torch sconces sat empty. Only the few surrounding Caspian’s side of the room were lit. There were no other people here, though. This was not the entire Fionaveir council, but only the top three members. At least four people were missing and Victory frowned at the thought. It seemed unlikely that four of the most powerful people in the order were dead.
“Now you see that I’ve got you flanked,” he heard Faramir say gently and looked back toward the two women, grateful to have a distraction from his grim line of thought. Faramir’s attention was fixed on Symphony, watching her closely for any reaction. Her slight form held perfectly still with both hands braced on the table in front of her. The two women shared a vague resemblance, Victory noted as he watched them. Both were slight of build and had dark hair with a bone structure so delicate it would be easy to dismiss them. He, however, had seen them both on the yard for practice and knew far better than to dismiss either of them. Faramir was deadly accurate with a bow from ranges that seemed absurd even to most rangers, while Symphony could wield a sword with such speed that time seemed to stand still for her. They could nearly pass as sisters, Victory mused, his attention fully devoted to the two women now. They were, after all, a far more pleasant distraction than allowing himself to notice Lutheron’s continued attention.
Symphony had a frown on her young face and was staring hard at the table before her as if examining a puzzle. She twisted a lock of her raven black hair around a pale finger as she contemplated whatever was before her. “You do,” she agreed after long consideration and made a gesture with one hand. “But you’ve left yourself weak in the middle to do so.” She made another quick gesture and looked up at Faramir with a triumphant smile. “And now you are done.”
“Bold move, a costly one as well, but you are correct, I am done. Are you sure troops would follow those orders, though?” Faramir asked.
Victory watched the two of them in dawning amazement. They were using a sand table for magic. He couldn’t see the board from here, but he knew of the device. They used them in the Academy for strategic training. From a side view, it would resemble a normal table, but if one approached it and looked down, they would find a deep recess set in the center of the table. The sand within was enchanted and could be shaped to mimic any terrain. Overall, they were invaluable when training a new field commander, but to see one in the Fionahold was unheard of. Magic was all but unused here for security reasons. The Fionaveir were outlaws and in order to evade notice, Caspian had made the ruling. There were simply too many people living within these walls. If everyone used magic as readily as the rest of the world, the magical signature on this area would be so big even a child could trace it.
“My main force is composed of Firym with secondary forces of Shifters as well as a reserve force of Delreavan. All three of those armies are fearless in battle. They would take those orders and execute them without question,” Symphony replied without hesitation.
Faramir gave her an approving nod. “The most important part is to know your men and what they are willing or capable of doing. A strategy is worthless if your army cannot, or will not, follow it.”
Havoc leaned toward Victory and gave him a charming smile. “Notice my Faydwer friend the good lady chose Firym as her strength; no mention whatsoever of your pixie prancing people,” he said, his tone dripping with sweetness.
“Obviously she is learning to deal with multiple cultures. Were she to use the Faydwer people, that would be a moot point. When my people take the field they need no support,” Victory replied with the same sweetness.
Havoc made a scoffing noise and started to speak, then noticed Caspian regarding them and left off.
“Many of you are wondering why you are here.” Caspian began, and all fell silent. Caspian was a big man nearly seven feet in height. When he was in his armor he seemed even bigger. It was not his size, or the armor, or even the great sword leaning against the wall behind him that granted the silence. The Fionaveir did not follow Caspian out of fear. It was respect that silenced them.
“There are things that must be done, and you are here because you are about to do them,” Lutheron said in a voice near a whisper. He was a much smaller man than Caspian, and his voice never seemed to rise. But for all of that, he was quite possibly the most frightening man Victory knew. The two men were about as different as two could get, but their combined leadership kept the Fionaveir running like clockwork.
“For the past two decades we have been working toward a goal. That goal is nearly at hand,” Faramir added. She moved from the table with Symphony and stood behind Caspian. With casual ease, she leaned against her husband’s shoulder and smiled at those assembled in the room. Her delicate build made her seem a child next to Caspian.
“We started this order to uphold justice, but over the years, we have found this to be a difficult task. We are hunted as outlaws, and every day our home grows more dangerous,” Caspian said, his deep voice seeming to fill the hall. “Over the past twenty years, we have been maneuvering our people into positions in Sanctuary. We have placed our people in offices of Government. In short, we have been gathering power.”
“All for a day that is very near. As the High Lords have shown us clearly, an equal council of lords does not work. There must be a single pillar of power such as we have. Here in Fionahold, all know that we have a council but Caspian has the final word on everything,” Faramir said with obvious affection in her voice.
Victory glanced over at Havoc and found a bemused look on his partner’s face.
“Revolution!” Havoc whispered. He smiled and nodded in approval.
“Correct, Havoc, it will be a revolution. But not what you are thinking, I doubt.” It was Symphony that spoke this time. She stepped away from the table where she stood and moved to the center of the room. “This will not be a bloody affair,” she began, her eyes searching out each individual in the room and holding their gaze for no more than a mere moment. “Our land has bled enough, we will not
bring war.”
“How exactly do you plan to have a bloodless revolution?” Solace asked, her voice filled with doubt. Hawk stood silent beside her, but nodded in agreement.
“It does seem unlikely that the High Lords will simply hand over their power,” Victory agreed.
Symphony gave them a nod and that same slight smile. “We already have three High Lords on our side. And soon enough we will have more,” she replied. “We must have a majority in the vote of the High Lord’s council. If we muster enough power behind us, no one will dare speak out against us. There are twelve seats currently. We will need two thirds to support us before we can move safely.”
Victory tried to ignore the building doubt. If Caspian thought this was possible, he should consider it fairly and not dismiss it outright. “They will want one of their own to be in power, which High Lord can we trust that much?” He asked. Honestly, he wasn’t even sure if he would trust his own uncle to control so much. Though out of all of the High Lords, his uncle was known to be one of the most honorable.
The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey Page 7
