Merrick stood at her side and looked at what she was eyeballing so angrily. “It’s not a crime, Sorcha. He is still allowed some possessions of his own.”
She hated it when Merrick reminded her of the truth. So Sorcha grinned rather grimly. “You might be right, but let’s say we try and find him instead of his possessions.”
Merrick’s eyes slid away from her, and she sighed just a little as he shared his Sight with her. By the Bones, she had missed it. He offered his Center and she took it. The world unfurled before her, like an unrolled map, and her senses were flooded with light; every sound filled her ears, from the ants scurrying on the floor, to the cooing of the doves sleeping in their nests under the roof. Without her partner as her anchor she would have been swept away.
Every creature that lived came alive in her mind, and so it didn’t take much to find the other Deacons. They were all in the Devotional, and such a gathering burned as bright as ten signal fires in her vision. They were all there; every single one of them, even the lay Brothers.
That cannot be good. Merrick’s voice in her head was sweet, even when it carried bitter words.
And the Emperor? she responded.
Look, he’s there too. And more. His Center directed her attention. Yes, there was the Emperor, the dull red pulse of command running through him, but there, to his right, was someone else. For some reason it was hard for Merrick to concentrate on the person. The color of his presence kept changing from gray to a flickering gold, and then to something else, something woven and dangerous.
That’s him. Del Rue. Merrick’s outrage flooded her. He has almost given up hiding his true nature. Deceiver. Conspirator. And look he has her.
Yes, Zofiya was there, but her etheric appearance was dire and strange. Like her brother, the shreds of power clung to her, but they were run through with a gleam of gold. It was impossible to taste her emotion among all that confusion.
Merrick brought her back to reality with a jolt, by the simple method of hauling back his Center. He looked around at the three other pairs, and his voice was grim. “We must form a Conclave to stand any chance against del Rue.”
“Sounds impressive,” Raed muttered.
The others were struck dumb for a moment, but Deacon Lujia voiced their concerns adequately enough. “A Conclave can only be made by the Presbyterial Council. None of us have any experience with forming one and…”
Her voice trailed off, and Sorcha jerked around, in something verging on horror. She’d just caught the tail edge of it; Merrick’s wild talent working on her fellow Deacons. Despite everything that they had been through together, she never would have thought he was capable of doing such a thing to members of their own Order.
Her eyes locked with his, while Raed stood by, completely unaware. She should have said something—reprimanded him at the very least—but then she saw the effect on the others. Calmness washed over them, and all doubt and fear drained from their faces. Although she didn’t know much about Conclaves, she knew one important thing—they forged Deacons into one unit with one purpose. Merrick was doing that very thing.
“I know how to do it,” her partner said softly. “The Conclave will be strong, and we will prevail.”
The look he turned on her was harder and darker than any she’d seen on his face before. She did not like it. Thus a unit is made, came his reply.
Many times Sorcha had wished that her young partner would grow up a little, but now that he was doing it, she found it deeply disturbing. She knew he was right, that things were dangerous, and that they had to work together, but to twist their own brothers in such ways felt wrong.
Some things you couldn’t walk away from unscarred. Some things there was no going back from. The chill of the Pattern against her back grew deeper and more profound.
Merrick was no fool; he knew about consequences and had decided to take them on. So Sorcha stepped back to observe what he would do next.
He did it all far too easily. He held the rune Kebenar before him, the one that showed the truth of a situation, and wove it between them. Something else was in there though, the strand of his wild talent binding them, calm and determined, to him.
It was similar to creating a Bond, but he was a Sensitive, not an Active. Yet there he was combining their powers, their runes and their spirits together. It was a beautiful and terrifying thing to watch her young partner create a Conclave.
When he was done, Merrick turned to her. His shoulders sagged a little, and she could feel the darkness in his soul was a little deeper than before. Sorcha couldn’t untangle her feelings of pride and fear however. He was much changed from the raw recruit of last year, full of hope and honest dreams. She would have seen him keep some of that in his life—but it was obviously not to be.
“It wears us all down in the end,” Raed muttered, though she could not tell if it was in response to her thoughts. “This has to be a fool’s errand. What can we accomplish by facing this del Rue?”
Merrick’s smile was bright.
“Everything,” he replied. “Del Rue is dangling us all like puppets from the shadows. He moves us about to achieve his aims. So tonight we drag him kicking and screaming into the light and expose him for what he truly is. Everyone in Arkaym should know the danger, and that the Order of the Circle of Stars has returned. The time for subterfuge is over.”
Raed held his gaze for a spell and then dipped his head in consent. “As always you show your elders the truth of things, Merrick.” He went to the door. “Shall we be about it then?”
The Deacons, as one, nodded. Sorcha opened the door, and gestured Merrick out into the light.
TWENTY-FIVE
An Unholy Enterprise
Merrick, with his Conclave at his back, walked down the corridors that seemed now very unfamiliar. Though he led the way, his heart was racing. His own body felt lighter and more insubstantial than even the Bond with Sorcha. The emotions of so many people in his head distracted him. The strands of the Bonds he had crisscrossed and tangled within him, and he felt as though if he let any of them slip he would be lost.
He had made a Conclave. Something only the Presbyters did, and yet he had gone and done it. Now he held the lives of seven other people in his hands. One wrong move and they could all forget to breathe.
Sorcha’s confusion and disappointment hammered away in the corner that he had shoved his primary Bond. A Conclave was a serious matter, and few of the Actives knew that it was Sensitives that formed them. He was, from recollection, right now acting as the nexus of the Conclave. He would be the only one to retain complete memory of proceedings during the event. It was one of the many secrets the Sensitives kept to themselves…that and the nature of the final rune of Sight.
By the Bones, he hoped he wouldn’t have to use that as well tonight.
Merrick, through effort of will, pulled together his scattering thoughts.
It was a short walk from the Arch Abbot’s rooms to the Devotional, but it felt like an eternity to get there; so many feet, so many breaths and so many thoughts to filter and make as one. He was suddenly given a great appreciation of what Actives went through every time they used their runes. His skin burned and his eyes watered, but he was giddy with the feeling. It was like walking a tightrope with a deadly fall on each side.
As they reached the end of the corridor to the Devotional, he paused at the great ironbound oak door. The sound of voices was coming from the other side, but not as many as he would have thought, and he could tell that the flame of del Rue’s attention was now directed at them. He’d naturally been aware when the Conclave was formed; there was no other rune activity within the whole of the Abbey after all. So because of that, they burned like a signal fire on a moonless night.
We can’t allow him time to respond. All we have is surprise, Merrick sent along the Bond. We have to move now!
Sorcha’s blue eyes fixed on him with total trust. She nodded, and he opened the door to lead them into the Devotional.
Merrick had never seen the whole congregation of the Mother Abbey assembled anywhere before. The great vaulted space of the Devotional was full to the brim with his colleagues. Hundreds of Deacons, a virtual sea of brown, blue and green cloaks lay before him. Every wooden pew was filled, and they had taken up the aisles as well. If it had been a theater production it would have been a grand night indeed, Merrick thought, somewhat strangely.
Then he noticed the rest of the gathering was not just Deacons. Taking up the apse section at the front of the Devotional was a good number of armed Imperial Guards, and in their middle stood the Emperor, his sister and a smiling del Rue. Before them in turn, disturbingly on their knees, was the entire Presbyterial Council, from the Arch Abbot to the ancient Presbyter Mournling. All were bent in supplication—some to greater degrees than others. Merrick’s spiraling thoughts alighted on how another Order had once been slain for not showing the correct level of penitence to some horde-leading warlord. Was this what was going on?
“There they are, the traitors!” Del Rue’s voice echoed in the vast space of the Devotional and all heads turned as one to them.
Merrick’s mind was occupied with holding the Conclave together, and he felt as though he was trapped in amber. Sorcha was luckily not so encumbered. She smiled and stepped down the nave as if she were out for a stroll. “I think you are not familiar with our way of doing things here. The Devotional is for our Order, not yours. I believe you gave it up when the people of Arkaym had enough of your cruel endeavors, and the Emperor outlawed you all.”
The Emperor did not flinch, but a wave of whispers ran through those assembled. The Imperial Guards had not yet raised their rifles, but they looked ready to at a moment’s notice.
Merrick finally had enough of a hold on the Conclave that he was able to study Zofiya. She stood, silent at her brother’s side, but her eyes did not meet his. Through his Center he could see she was not the woman he had shared a bed with a little over a week ago. Del Rue had broken her—something that he would have never thought possible. Through his Center, the Sensitive could see a gleam of gold on the bright scarlet of her soul. It was a stain that had not been there before, and it sickened him. How had del Rue managed to tame the determined royal so quickly? Merrick liked knowing about his opponents, their strengths and weaknesses—or at least being able to research them. By hiding and destroying all information on the Circle of Stars, Raed’s grandfather had done them all a great disservice.
Del Rue ignored Sorcha’s barb, instead pointing to Raed standing behind her. “Look, she has brought the Young Pretender with her, Imperial Majesty. Proof that the Order is conspiring against you as I said.”
Kaleva spun around, his face contorted with rage. Merrick knew then what the golden stain was. The strain of del Rue’s influence on him was subtler than in the Grand Duchess, but it ran far deeper—and he had no time to work on it now.
“If you recall, Your Imperial Majesty,” Raed said to the man who occupied the place he might have occupied, “last year, I risked my own life to save your sister. This, I hope, means you will let me speak before you shoot me dead in this place of sanctuary.”
Merrick held his breath. Killing people in the precepts of the Mother Abbey was forbidden, because it was highly likely to create a geist—not that he expected the Circle of Stars to care much about that. Del Rue’s eyes narrowed on the Young Pretender, but perhaps the threat of the Rossin stayed him from doing anything rash. Meanwhile, the Imperial Guard shifted in their ready position—not enough for a normal eye to tell but the Deacons saw it. These guards, even if they had not been there, still knew what the Order had done for the Empire. He could only hope that would give them a moment’s pause.
Given this brief moment, Merrick considered using his wild talent on the room, but there were too many conflicting emotions between the fear of the Deacons, the Emperor’s burning rage and the confusion of the guards. If he picked the wrong one to amplify then he could trigger a massacre.
“This man calling himself del Rue is no friend to the Empire.” Raed’s eyes flicked over the Imperial Guard and the Deacons, trying to hold their attention.
While he did so, Merrick began examining the Grand Duchess. Zofiya had a great strength of mind—very similar to a Deacon in fact. If he could just find a way to free it a little, she would do the rest for herself. Dimly he felt Sorcha’s frustration begin to bubble up. The idea of guards in the Devotional was an abomination to her, and he couldn’t hold her in check forever.
“He’s a traitor, a conspirator and the one actually responsible for your sister’s abduction.” Raed gestured at the Grand Duchess in an overly dramatic fashion. “In fact he is one of the Order of the Circle of Stars, the very Order that my grandfather’s father cast down for trying to overthrow the Empire once before.” He pointed up into the massive vaulted ceiling, making all of the assembled look up to where the hacked-off faces on the statues, even now, hung above them. Out of the corner of his eye, Merrick saw an unsettling smile light on del Rue’s lips. He had not looked up nor did he make any protestations that it was not true. He was very confident.
The Presbyters, forgetting they were powerless, rose to their feet in shock. Most looked horrified, but Mournling had the appearance of one who had dreaded such a day and was now seeing it come to fruition. Arch Abbot Rictun opened his mouth a few times, as if he wished he could find the words, but nothing came out.
Sorcha, we will need to move quickly and soon. Merrick blasted the image of what he wanted to do along the Bond. She flinched slightly, but then gave him the tiniest of nods in response. Underneath the sleeves of her cloak her hands clenched.
“And I am to take your word against the word of a member of my aristocracy?” Kaleva threw back his head, filling the Devotional with cracked and mocking laughter. “You are the Pretender to my throne, and now you think to claim it. Guards, take this man into custody immediately!”
His soldiers looked relieved to have something to do that was not a move against the Deacons. Raed was the sole enemy they easily recognized among those who had so recently been allies.
Now!
At Merrick’s command all the Conclave of Deacons stepped out wide from behind him, spreading between the pews in a disciplined move that even the most practiced military men could not have emulated. The Actives raised their hands and Yevah, the Rune of Fire burned on their skin. In the Conclave so much pain was only compounded—they all shared it, but it did not stop them. The rune was burning through every muscle and sinew—or so it felt. The temporary designs the Patternmaker had created barely held together, and they had to concentrate twice as hard to keep Yevah in place. Yet they did. Merrick felt triumphant, for without a Conclave, this would be impossible. He also knew, without Sorcha there would be no strength in the rune. Merrick felt her like an iron rod in the group; a core they could all grasp onto.
Despite the difficulties, a sheet of summoned flame erupted between the mass of Deacons and the Imperial Guard. The soldiers flinched back from the unholy fire, and their shock was perfectly understandable. No one had ever used runes on humans. Not in all the history of the Order of the Eye and the Fist. However it was a time of change and chaos. All the rules were gone now, and his small band of Deacons was making its own. For a brief moment Merrick reveled in that freedom.
The Deacons, those still without powers, rose to their feet turning to those who held the rune before them. A few smiled broadly and cheered to see that at least some of their colleagues had regained power. Others hid their faces in shame. At the front, the whole Presbyterial Council looked up as the wide length of flaming shield reflected in the stained glass windows in shameless beauty. Merrick caught a glimpse of another face in the crowd, the weather-beaten visage of Deacon Garil Reeceson. He merely nodded to Merrick, not exactly happy with what he was seeing, but not surprised either.
“This meeting is a sham. He gathered you all here to kill you!” By some trick of the moment and acoustics of the b
uilding, Sorcha’s voice boomed down the whole length of the Devotional. “Get out to the stables, my brothers! Leave Vermillion while we still can! We shall find each other after!”
Merrick felt his partner’s plan like a hard pebble in his mind, but there was no time to examine it. It was enough she had some idea of how they could survive this. The Presbyterial Council members, who had all looked so powerful to Merrick, now appeared fragile creatures, but several of them did in fact turn to do as Sorcha suggested. Melisande Troupe had her arm around the elderly Trelaine. Her eyes locked with Merrick’s for just an instant.
Not everyone heeded Sorcha’s warning. Some brave Deacons stayed to fight even though the Order had no weapons on them, while others just looked confused and stricken by indecision. Those who did turn and flee from the Devotional kept to their training and did not panic. Even as they ran, they reached out and helped one another. Merrick’s pride in his fellow Deacons surged, and he set his jaw, determined to give those who could escape the best chance possible. They would have to hold the attention of the Emperor and his guards for some time for that to work.
As confusion began to take hold, del Rue finally showed his true colors. With a shake of his head that made him look like an angry bull, he raised his hands. They were covered by the thin calfskin gloves that Merrick had observed previously. When he whispered something to them however, the runes on them became visible. Such fragile objects should not have been able to contain and control even one rune.
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