Astoren laughed. “Tales in the White Book are tiresome, repetitive, and half of them are written in Classical Tormalian. Thrillseeker stories have things like frost giants and flying ships.”
They stopped walking when they noticed Len-Ahl had fallen behind. She stood a few yards behind them, hands at her side, a faraway look in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Nerris asked.
“I do not know,” Len-Ahl said, “only the feeling that we have no place at this gathering. Nerris, has Jhareth secured our passage to Orrigo?”
“Yes, an Agossean cog departing two days from now,” he said.
Len-Ahl sighed. “Very well. Yet I fear we may desire an exit sooner than that.”
Nerris had no idea what she was talking about, but she was so grave about it. He put a reassuring arm around her and escorted her from the garden. In brisk fashion, they made their way to the great hall, where two sentries admitted them. Tapestries depicting events in the White Book hung from the walls, but the gallery was not as crowded as he would have expected. Even if the Church was suffering in recent times, he thought many a follower would wish to pay respect to the Dominarch.
They found Dist and Jhareth at a spot by a pillar on the east side of the room. “Did you get our invitation?” Nerris asked.
“What invitation?” Jhareth said. “We saw all the commotion from the south parapet and trailed the Dominarch’s contingent in here.”
King Maerlos sat on his throne, surrounded by his councilors, including Congir. The Dominarch himself stood before him. Dominarch Venifus was a turkey-necked old man with only a few wisps of white hair visible beneath an enormous golden mitre. He wore purple vestments which drooped almost to the point of touching the floor. Perhaps a dozen others surrounded him, churchmen all, of various rank and age.
“We of the Church are most humbled by your Majesty’s gracious welcome,” Venifus was saying, “especially given the tragedy you have had to endure recently. You have our deepest sympathies for Queen Nelisa. May Clystam’s gentle hand guide her to the Paradise of her forever days.”
“Thank you, your Grace,” Maerlos said. “It was never my intention that there be discord between us, but there are matters involving the manner of my wife’s death we should discuss privily.”
The Dominarch inclined his head. “Of course.”
King Maerlos rose. “Then I invite you to break your fast with me in my quarters. Our dear prime minister will see to your men.”
“Did we miss anything important?” Nerris asked Dist as Sir Daswell and Sir Eddwar escorted the two men from the hall.
“The usual platitudes,” Dist said. “One of the cardinals gave a sermon. I don’t think the king appreciated it very much, given what he thinks—”
They jumped a bit as two guards slammed the doors of the great hall open. Congir stood and sauntered in front of the throne. “Sir Kettric, Sir Kerwyn, would you please escort our honored councilors and our dear nobles from the hall so I might have a word with our honored guests?”
The two cavaliers shouted some orders, and the rest of the guards herded those in the gallery out the side doors. At the same time, other men in vestments similar to the churchmen entered.
Nerris let himself be herded. “Well, I’m sure glad we came,” he said to Astoren.
“Too bad all church functions don’t have this brevity,” Astoren said. “I know knights are supposed to be the most devoted of all, but you can only take so much praying while some whitebeard croaks at you from on high.”
It was not until they were halfway back to the garden that Nerris noticed Len-Ahl was missing. Excusing himself from his friends, he backtracked his way to the great hall. The castle did not sprawl out much from this point, but he did not see her anywhere. In fact, the only way to exit the corridors would be to open a window and leap two stories to the ground below. What in the world had become of her?
Soon, he found himself back at the side entrance to the great hall. The door swung ajar, and Nerris knew a guard on the other side would prevent him from entering. Without even thinking about it, he dipped into his shinobi stance and quietly stepped over to the door. Stealth worked as well for Faerlin Castle as it had for the Aeternica. He placed an ear to the door, easily listening through the thin wooden planks .
He heard much distress inside, and many voices rang out at once. Finally, Congir called for silence. “Your treachery shall be ended at the gallows,” the prime minister said. “For your dear Dominarch as well, I would wager, once his Majesty finishes with his questioning.”
“You are the one who conspires against our Church!” shouted a voice which sounded like it belonged to one of the elderly clergymen. “Your soul will burn in eternal torment if you lay a finger on us!”
“Your god means nothing to me,” Congir said. “You worship a deity that has long since abandoned you. But I assure you, another is coming. The Preserver’s arrival is imminent, and all true believers will know an end to the pain and toil Clystam and the other Deinovi have inflicted upon this world for millennia!”
“Blasphemy! Heresy!” came the shouts of the clergymen.
Congir waited until they yelled themselves hoarse before continuing. “Who do we turn to when those we depend on for guidance and protection abandon us?”
“The Preserver!” cried out a new chorus. Congir must have kept some men of his own in the hall with him.
“It is past time for a revolution,” Congir continued. “Just as the Deinovi replaced the Ancient Gods, it is time for a new protector, one worthy of our devotion. One who will hear our concerns and prayers and who will not abandon us when we need him most. Loyal followers, seize these men!”
He heard the guards close in on the Dominarch’s priests as the shouting reached a crescendo. From the sound of it, the men of the Church were not going quietly. Congir summoned more guards, and Nerris heard the sentry beside his door spring into action, his boots thudding on the stone floor as he ran to assist. Nerris took the opportunity to crack the door open and sneak inside. Crouching low, he kept to the shadows and took refuge behind a pillar.
He peered out from his hiding place to take measure of the situation. The clergymen huddled together in the center of the hall, guards and their spears preventing them from escaping. Congir stood at the same spot, atop the dais in front of the throne. Surrounding him were perhaps a score of men in black robes. All of them were armed.
Nerris sucked in his breath as he recognized the metal face masks they wore, as well as the uneasy aura. These men were followers of Eversor and the Tattered Man. But what were they doing this far east?
“Bring the first sacrifice,” Congir ordered.
A man in white vestments was shoved out of the throng to fall at the foot of the dais. Several cultists rushed forward and seized the man by his arms. Another approached, brandishing a long, serrated knife. With one swipe, he sliced the man’s robe down the middle to expose his torso.
“The Deinovi abandoned us because of weakness,” Congir called out. “They could not abide it in us, and left us to our eventual doom, knowing we humans would destroy each other in the years to come. We must show we are willing to pay the cost for the peace and prosperity the Preserver brings to us. We must prove ourselves worthy of his attention and love.” He gave a nod to the cultist with the knife.
“In the name of Eversor!” the man called through his mask. He raised his knife.
A high-pitched musical note filled the air. Though a little shrill, the cultists and Congir clapped their hands over their ears and cried out in pain. The cultist dropped his knife, which clattered to the floor.
Nerris looked farther down the hall, and saw Len-Ahl standing toward the main entrance, fipple flute raised to her lips. “That will be enough!” she yelled. “Your vile cult shall spill no blood on this pure land!”
“So,” Congir sneered, “you reveal yourself at last. I knew this display would draw you out, child of the Xenea.”
“You reveal yours
elf as well,” Len-Ahl said. “What will become of your plans when the king and all true men arrive to find you amongst this evil company, messenger of Eversor?”
“The king will listen to whatever I tell him,” Congir answered. “Even now, he acts on my advice to imprison the Dominarch for what he believes to be conspiracy against the royal house. Every man you see here is a loyal follower of the Preserver, but most of the castle belongs to me as well. Submit now and maybe I will grant you a quick death. Don’t think that trinket you carry will stop us.”
“Your Preserver knows not what true loyalty is,” Len-Ahl answered. “These men are merely misguided, and your guards will remember none of this once they’ve done your bidding. But come, if you must. We will see who is stronger.”
Congir drew his own blade and gestured for several cultists to accompany him. They went around the ring of guards holding the clergymen and headed straight for Len-Ahl. Nerris left his pillar and vaulted over the stone balustrade to land on the floor of the great hall. He unsheathed Noruken and made straight for the advancing cultists. They spotted him seconds before he made contact, but the man who raised the alarm died with a scream.
He fought off two more cultists, putting himself between them and Len-Ahl. The masked men were not good fighters, and Nerris soon dispatched one as he sheared straight through the mask and into the face beneath it. He cut so deep his blade was wrenched from his grasp and clattered to the carpeted floor.
With a cry of triumph, the other cultist moved in for the kill, but Nerris ducked under his swipe and caught the man’s arm, kicking him in the chest. He took the blade out of the cultist’s hand and spun, slashing him through the chest. The man in the black robe fell with a grunt.
Where was Congir? Nerris picked up Noruken and looked around as Len-Ahl approached him. He happened to catch sight of the man whose face he had slashed open. He cursed under his breath. He knew that face, or at least what remained of it. It was the king’s ward, Ceder Duchois. How had that boy gotten mixed up in something as evil as the Cult of Eversor?
“Nerris?” Len-Ahl asked as if not believing his presence. “How did you—”
“Are you all right?” he asked.
“Fine,” she said.
The rest of the cultists had drawn their weapons and were now approaching them, though a bit wary. Looking around, Nerris still could not spot Congir. He raised both Noruken and the appropriated broadsword the cultist had used, and gestured toward the main entrance with his head. “Stay behind me and make for the door.”
“Right.” Len-Ahl stepped backward with Nerris, neither of them taking their eyes off the cultists. When the doors were almost within reach, a large shape leapt from the shadows at Len-Ahl. Before Nerris could even turn to face Congir, Len-Ahl’s flute met her lips.
She played a methodical piece, slow like a dirge, with a haunting quality to the melody. The cultists once again dropped their weapons and held their ears, screaming in terrible pain. Some even dropped to their knees. Congir, however, had some kind of protection this time. His robe seemed engulfed in a shadowy cloud, and he drew his knife. Len-Ahl turned to face him and sent the last part of the tune straight at him. A brilliant flash of light followed, and Congir flew backward to connect with one of the pillars.
“Yenak!” he yelled as he slumped to the ground, clutching at his head.
“I don’t suppose you could take care of the rest of them,” Nerris said, gesturing toward the writhing cultists and the bewitched guards.
“I feel my strength dwindling already,” she said. “Soon I will not be able to blow a single note.”
“Then we’re getting out of here,” Nerris said.
He turned and kicked the doors open. The antechamber outside was deserted, and Nerris dropped his broadsword and sheathed Noruken. He took Len-Ahl by the hand and ran out into the castle. They flew up and down corridors, toward the guest chambers they shared with Dist and Jhareth.
“We have to get Dist and Jhareth,” he said. “We’ll find my cousin and Sir Jacey and the king. He’ll have Congir’s head off for this—”
“Nerris, stop,” Len-Ahl said. She halted, which forced Nerris to do the same. “Congir spoke the truth. He is much stronger than I realized. He wanted to draw me out, and it worked. I was foolish to remain in that hall. Nonetheless, if you go to the king now, he will defend the prime minster to the death, and probably throw you and I into a dungeon and put us at Congir’s mercy. We must get away from here.”
“I can’t abandon King Maerlos,” Nerris protested.
“There is nothing anyone can do right now, not even the Thrillseekers,” she said. “Please, do not throw your life away.”
“What would you have me do?” Nerris asked. “Abandon my king to this monster’s whim?”
“You seek the treasure known as the Exemplus,” she said. “That is a much more powerful treasure than you know. When you return with it, you will have the strength to oust the perversions of Eversor from this kingdom forever.”
“How do you know this?” Nerris asked.
“There is no time,” Len-Ahl said. “We must find Dist and Jhareth and get out of the city.”
Nerris wanted to question her some more, but she was right. Congir’s position had been compromised, and he would have half the castle looking for them as soon as he cleaned up the mess in the great hall. They arrived back at their quarters, thankfully to find Dist and Jhareth lounging on a couple of divans, with Astoren in an overstuffed chair.
“Where have you been?” Jhareth asked.
Nerris launched into a brief explanation of what had transpired in the great hall. At the conclusion, Astoren leapt to his feet.
“Treason!” the young knight said. “I knew there was something amiss about that Congir, but Sir Eddwar assured me I was biased because he was born common.”
“And probably not even in Faerna,” Nerris said. “He yelled the word yenak when Len-Ahl sent him careening into that pillar. I soldiered in Yagolhan for the better part of a year, and I’ve heard that curse before. Our Yagol prime minister disguises his accent well.”
“How could a Yagol become a member of the royal council?” Dist asked.
“Yagols look much the same as the rest of us,” Jhareth said, “and there is no trade between the two countries. I doubt most Faernans have even seen a Yagol before.” He shook his head.
“And if he’s Yagol, that suggests Queen Qabala is behind this,” Nerris said.
Jhareth rubbed at his eyes. “All right, several things have fallen into place. If he’s behind this so-called Church conspiracy, he means to drive a wedge between the crown and its people. Faerna is the fighting heart of any Alliance force, and if you stop the heart, you stop the rest of the body. If she does decide to invade the east, it’s in her best interest if the east is destabilized.”
“So what do we do about it?” Dist asked.
“We do what Len-Ahl suggested,” Nerris said. “We find the Exemplus, and use it to take our country back.” He turned to Astoren. “Do you think you can sneak us out of the castle? We have to leave now. Today.”
“But I’ve already paid for passage on that cog,” Jhareth protested.
“It can’t be helped,” Nerris said. “We need to find a ship leaving today.”
“I can get you out of the castle undetected,” Astoren said.
Nerris nodded. “Once we’re gone, don’t go and do anything stupid, like confronting Congir. That’s the surest way to get killed. In fact, he may come after you just for being my cousin. Perhaps it’s best if you left the city as well.”
“I know,” Astoren said. “At my first opportunity, I’ll ride forth from the city myself and head for Renoa. Prince Camion must know about this. He’ll have to return and take the kingdom in hand, by force if necessary.”
“No,” Len-Ahl said. “That is exactly what Congir wants to happen. You must hold off any conflict until we can return with the Exemplus.”
“Do as she says, Astoren,”
Nerris said. “Len-Ahl seems to have answers the rest of us lack. Once we’re out to sea, I mean to question her on a few points.”
Len-Ahl nodded. “I will tell you what I can.”
Dist rubbed at his temple. “I don’t understand any of this.”
“You’re not in exclusive company,” Nerris said.
“Well, then.” Jhareth rose to his feet and gathered up his copies of the Stonechaser scrolls. “As much as I don’t like to leave King Maerlos in this predicament, it looks like we have a clear course before us. Let’s get after some treasure.”
Chapter Twenty
CAPTAIN JORGA WAS a large man with a big belly, and a bushy beard which hung almost to his chest. His eyes were friendly, his demeanor genial, and he had taken them onto his ship for a mere pittance. But that did not mean Nerris had to like him.
He was fond of the man himself. However, Captain Jorga was loud, blustery, smelled of smoked fish, and his carelessness at sea gave Nerris nightmares whenever he chanced to sleep near open water. In his favor, Captain Jorga was a fast friend to the Thrillseekers and agreed to set sail two days before schedule. He greeted Nerris with a crushing bear hug as he reached the top of the gang plank.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when Jhareth marched up to my ship,” he said, following with a big belly laugh. “What luck my love and me happened to be in the city when you needed my help!” He affectionately patted the rail of the ship he had named The Sea Tart.
“Yes, luck,” Nerris muttered, dreading the seasickness to come.
“And what have we here?” Jorga said, catching sight of Len-Ahl. “My, you are a pretty one. It’s not often one sees the Thrillseekers with a woman. Aye, haven’t seen a lass like you since we sailed the skies with the lovely faermaid Laria Salville.” He craned his neck in Jhareth’s direction. “Jhareth, didn’t you have a thing for her?”
Nerris rolled his eyes. Jorga would spend all day reminiscing if they let him. “Len-Ahl, this is our old friend Captain Jorga,” he said. “He’s helped us out in a few tight predicaments.”
Secrets of the Stonechaser (The Law of Eight Book 1) Page 18
