by Vox Day
Corvus nodded, noting the double bars on the crosses stitched onto the priest’s mitre. Not a bishop, but an archbishop then. And, unlike the guards at the stair, the archbishop didn’t seem to consider anything amiss about a consular visit. But it was interesting, if not entirely unsurprising, to learn that his visit was anticipated. “Thank you, Excellency.”
Again he was led through the maze of colorful patterns cast on the floor by the plated windows, past paintings and statues of incalculable value, each created by the past masters of their day. But the holy awe that had struck him so powerfully before was now gone, replaced by a burning anger that this holiest of Man’s holies had been desecrated, not by the spiritual powers of the air, but by a much more earthly and material evil.
For the first time, he truly understood what was meant by the concept of righteous wrath. The anger that filled him was not his own, he was merely its vessel. All his fear and all his worries for his family, for his House, and for his city were like logs thrown on a mighty bonfire, consumed by his fury that not only Holy Mother Church but the Sanctal Office itself had been corrupted by an inhuman invader.
Ecclesiasticals of every rank bowed respectfully as he and the archbishop passed. Corvus ignored them all. Some were offended by the slight. Others, perhaps more perceptive, were only troubled. They knew it was never a sign of Heaven’s favor when armed men with faces like thunder strode purposefully through God’s temple. Particularly on those occasions when such men were followed by other men bearing fasces and axes.
When they reached the heart of the palace, Sebastius stopped at the closed doors behind which the great throne room lay. He gestured toward the fascitors with an expression of mild regret on his face.
“His Holiness has instructed that only the lord consul may enter into his presence today.”
Caius Vecellius quickly looked to Corvus, who shook his head. There was no point in protesting the matter. In the unlikely event that the Sanctified Father, or whatever it was that possessed him, intended to start a war with the Senate by murdering him, eight men armed with axes could hardly hope to defend him from the hundreds of Church guards, the brutal ex-gladiators of the Redeemed and the priests of the various military orders, throughout the vast palace. If he was expected, then the creature wanted something from him.
And he had a pretty good idea he knew what it was.
“Relax, Captain. I very much doubt I’m in danger of anything but a lengthy penance.”
Vecellius nodded, but he didn’t look happy. Corvus didn’t know what the captain had gleaned from the various conversations he’d overheard during the past few days, but he seemed to be aware that something well out of the ordinary was taking place. The archbishop smiled, nodded to Vecellius, then indicated that the doors should be opened.
For the third time since he’d come back to Amorr, Corvus walked down the long, carpeted aisle toward the spectacular Sedes Ossus. This time, the throne of bones was alone on the dais except for the red-robed figure enthroned upon it. It was a magnificent sight in the dim torchlight that lit the room, although from a distance, the red of the Sanctal robe made it look as if the throne preserved not only the bones and gilt skulls of the apostles but also their blood and gory viscera. Behind him, there was a dull boom as the doors closed, but Corvus didn’t break his stride, determined to cloak his fear in his rage as he stalked toward the seated man.
The Sanctiff hadn’t moved or shown any reaction to his approach, and for a moment Corvus wondered if he might be sleeping or perhaps even dead. Then he lifted his head, and Corvus recognized the bearded face of the man he’d acclaimed himself in this very room.
His Sanctified Holiness Pelagianus, formerly Giovannus Falconius Valens, did not look well. His face was white and drawn, his dark eyes were haunted, and there were lines etched deeply into his face despite his relative youth. What struck Corvus most, however, was the way the Sanctified Father flinched as Corvus mounted the three stairs that led up to the platform upon which the precious relic of relics was set.
The four grinning skulls on the throne were more welcoming than the one that flesh still covered, if tightly. But, being a dutiful son of the Church, Corvus fell to one knee and kissed the carved gold ring that was held out to him by Pelagianus’s long-fingered, almost skeletal hand. The metal was surprisingly cold on his lips, and he jerked back then looked up and was startled to see that the Sanctiff’s eyes were no longer haunted, but were staring at him in an almost inquisitive manner.
“Rise, my son,” Pelagianus said in a quavering voice that matched his sickly, almost withered appearance. Surely this could not be the immortal monster of whom the elves spoke with equal measures of respect and fear.
“Your Holiness, are you well?” Corvus asked, confused and almost more dismayed at finding this shrunken wreck of a man than the ancient and powerful creature he’d been expecting to confront.
The Sanctiff started to respond, but then he cried out like a child and raised his hands over his face. He began gibbering fearfully as if terrified by Corvus’s mere presence.
Or, Corvus thought as his blood ran cold, by someone behind him.
He straightened his back and turned deliberately around. He was not entirely surprised to see a figure standing in the middle of the carpeted aisle down which he had just walked a moment ago. It was the archbishop, Sebastius.
Despite the mitre he wore, he was neither tall, nor was imposing, but there was something intimidating in the way he slowly walked toward Corvus. In contrast to the friendly, welcoming smile he’d worn earlier, the side of his mouth was twisted in a contemptuous smirk. His white vestments stood out against the rich red carpet of the throne room. It gave Corvus the impression of a bone jutting out of a river of blood.
So here was the answer.
Corvus walked slowly down from the dais, resisting the temptation to reach for his sword hilt. The elves said such creatures couldn’t be killed. But he found that hard to believe. After all, elves were said to be immortal too, and yet they died as easily as anything else a man could swing a sword at. “Who are you, and what have you done to the Sanctified Father?”
“Sextus Valerius Corvus,” the archbishop replied in a voice that seemed oddly deeper than before. “Permit me to congratulate you on your election as Consul Aquilae. I am told it was by near-historic margins.”
“Thank you,” Corvus said. “You have me at a disadvantage, Excellency. How shall I address you? I doubt your true name is Sebastius.”
“My name is not relevant. And it would take you a lifetime of study to begin to understand the advantage I have over you, my lord consul. But I mean you no harm, Corvus. In fact, I have been waiting for you. I have need of you.”
Corvus nodded. As for what it told him, he wasn’t surprised. Any creature, however powerful, that preferred to operate by stealth would naturally be loathe to engage in a direct confrontation that would bring the wrath of the Senate down upon it. And if it wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. He decided to test its willingness to cooperate. “Release His Holiness. Then I’ll speak with you.”
“Very well.” The thing called Sebastius gestured with its left hand. “You may go, Valens.”
Corvus looked over his shoulder.
The Sanctiff seemed to roll off the apostolic throne. Hunched over in his finery like a beggar trying to stay warm, he scurried down the steps and off into the deep shadows of the chamber. His movements were barely human. It almost looked as if he had been reduced to the state of a mindless, frightened animal.
“Thank you,” Corvus said. “Is that how you treat every man who cooperates with you?”
“It is how I treat those who play me false. He thought to use me to serve his ambition.” It chuckled softly. “I see you are not entirely without fear, Lord Consul, and yet you master it well. Yes, I think we can be of use to each other, Valerius Corvus. I believe you are the one I seek.”
“Ah, but do I have need of you?”
This time,
the creature actually laughed out loud. “My dear lord consul, your empire is crumbling! Your city is on the edge of panic, your allies have abandoned you, your enemies outnumber you, your own brother has turned against you…and you ask me if you need me?”
“I didn’t say I lacked problems. I merely wondered what, if anything, you could possibly do to help me with them. I can’t see that you have served the Sanctified Father well.”
“I do not serve.”
“We all serve someone,” Corvus said with a contemptuous smile. “In one way or another. Even your kind has its purpose.”
The creature smiled, exposing teeth that were whole and strangely unstained, as pearlescent as a child’s milk teeth. Corvus remembered the elves telling him the creatures could remake themselves even when dismembered and burned, and he wondered how long ago this thing had become Father Sebastius. Months ago? Decades ago?
“Don’t you wish to know what I want from you?”
Corvus shook his head. “I already know. I’m a general and the consul of the legions. You’re a creature who skulks in darkness and wears a false face. You want me to fight your battles for you. What else could you possibly want?”
It glared at him, anger flashing across its nondescript face. For all its age, it did not appear to have much self-control. He supposed it was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. “Yes,” it admitted reluctantly. “I do. But don’t be fooled, Lord Consul, and don’t presume to judge me. I am far older than you would believe. I have raised armies and led them to victories greater than any you could even conceive.”
“But you don’t have the time to raise one now, do you?” Corvus broke in. When it remained silent, confirming his conclusion, he continued. “Are you the one behind all this? Behind the rebellions in the provinces and the allied leagues?”
“I had nothing to do with them. Indeed, I wish for you to quell them with all haste.”
“So do I. What is in it for you?”
“I need a strong and united empire, led by a skilled and charismatic leader. I need an army of five hundred thousand, with which I can defeat the armies my brothers are raising even as we speak. I need Amorr hale and whole. And I need you, Valerius Corvus.”
“Amorr doesn’t have an army of five hundred thousand. I wish it did.”
“I can give you one. With my help, the people will flock to your standards. The opposition will lay down their arms and join you; those who don’t, you will crush yourself.”
“How can you help…?” Corvus’s voice trailed off. His eyes narrowed. “You are saying there is another one of your kind involved with the revolts?”
“It seems likely. Amorr is the great power on Selenoth. Perhaps all the unrest here is simple human intransigence, but I sense a familiar hand behind it. I thought to use the Church because it was less obvious than the Senate, but it seems one of my brothers has been subtler still.”
Corvus nodded. It seemed he had found the chapel killer. But was this its true body, or was it a spirit possessing the body of the real Sebastius? “Why?” he asked. “Why Amorr? Why use the Church, the Senate, or the allied cities?”
“Because the moons and the stars are coming into alignment, and when the Gate of Shadows opens, I must be the one to control it!”
“What is this gate?”
“Everything! It is the only way out of this dreadful shadow! I was foolish and afraid, and I stayed behind. But it was a mistake, a mistake for which I have been paying for aeons! You cannot imagine, Corvus. Suppose everyone you knew left you, abandoned you, and you knew there was only one way to see them again. Would you not sacrifice the world, would you not sacrifice a thousand worlds, to see them again?”
Corvus nodded pensively. He could understand, perhaps even sympathize a little. What would he not give to have Corvinus back? What would he not give to see his son again, as a boy or as a man, to put his arms around Corvinus’s shoulders and embrace him? Anything. Anything at all…except for Valeria, Valerilla, Marcus, Romilia, or the grandchildren.
Or his honor.
Or his God.
“Why were you afraid? Weren’t you more afraid to be alone?”
The creature looked pensive. “I don’t know,” it admitted. “Even ageless ones fear the unknown, maybe more than most. I thought the others were fools. I thought it was like jumping off a cliff without looking down to see if there was water or rocks below.”
“And now?”
“There were always rumors about the Gate of Shadows opening every once in a great while, rumors that someone came back. That was when the wars started. Some of those who stayed behind said they’d promised to keep it shut. Others of us wanted to use it to leave here. Then, when something else came through, something that didn’t come from here, we all knew there were other shadows, other worlds.”
“Something else?”
Sebastius gestured to indicate the great chamber surrounding them.
“You don’t mean…the Immaculate?”
“I don’t know if he was what he claimed or not. I myself have been worshipped as a god more times than I can count. I didn’t even hear about him until a century after his death. But I heard enough to know that he wasn’t one of us and he wasn’t one of you. That was when I knew that it was safe to go through the Gate, that there is water, not rocks, waiting below.”
For the first time, Corvus truly felt in awe of the creature that stood before him. To think it had been walking the earth at the same time as the Son of God! And there were others of its kind, perhaps even others who had seen the Immaculate, had spoken to Him! Still, Corvus was almost tempted to agree to its wishes, if only to have the chance to inquire of its fellows.
It seemed to sense this, because it spread its hands and implored him.
“Will you not help me, Corvus? I don’t ask more than you can give. It is only one campaign, one glorious campaign. When it is over and I am gone through the Shadowgate, Amorr will be master of all Selenoth. And you will be the master of the world! Serve me in this, only for a little while, and I will give you everything you’ve ever dreamed, everything you’ve ever wanted!”
Corvus thought for a moment. It could give him many things, that much was true. It could give him victory, power, and glory. But not everything. It could not give him what he wanted most. No one could.
“No.” He said it with an amount of regret, but he said it firmly nonetheless.
A look of confusion crossed the immortal’s incongruously young face. “What do you mean, no?”
“I mean this.” Corvus drew his sword and lunged.
The thing didn’t have time to react. Before it had even begun to raise its arms to defend itself, Corvus’s sword was buried to the hilt in its chest.
It staggered backward, and Corvus let go of his weapon. So the elves were wrong, and he was right: Immortal didn’t necessarily mean unkillable.
He was bitterly disappointed when the creature regained its balance and stared reproachfully at him, with its hands on its hips and his sword sticking out of its chest. It shook its head, more in sadness than anger. It placed a hand on either side of the hilt and pushed the sword out of its chest with a loud sucking sound. The bloody sword dropped to the floor, though the carpet masked the noise when it struck.
“What did you do that for?”
Corvus shrugged. “I had to try.”
“No, you didn’t! You stupid, foolish worm, that hurt! Why?”
“I serve the Almighty God. I serve Amorr. I don’t serve you. I won’t serve you.”
He faced the ancient thing calmly despite the fear that clutched at his heart. Now he didn’t even have his sword. He would not die less courageously than Fortex had, of that he was determined. He only wished that he’d been able to kiss Romilia one last time, to give Valerilla one last hug, to give Marcus one final piece of advice. But then, Corvinus was waiting. He had no fears of what lay on the other side.
To his surprise, Sebastius didn’t strike him down. “You mus
t serve me, Corvus. I require your service. I can force you to bend the knee, you must know that!”
“How? By killing everyone I love? By slaying my entire House?”
“Do you think I can’t?”
Corvus could still see the wound from which the blood had spilled, though no more blood was seeping out of it. It was a strangely fascinating sight.
“No, I think you don’t know House Valerius. Do you think any of us would choose to save ourselves at the cost of tens of thousands, no, more like hundreds of thousands, of Amorran lives?” He reconsidered. “Well, Magnus might.”
It pointed its finger at Corvus and fairly shrieked at him. “Death will avail you nothing, Sextus Valerius Corvus! If you will not serve me, I will flay you with fire from inside your bowels. I will rape your wife. I will slaughter and devour your children. And then I will go to Manlius Torquatus and make him the same offer I made you. The world, or blood, death, and fire. And if he refuses me, I will go to your brother. Either Amorr will serve me or Amorr will die such a death that it will make kings and emperors shudder on their thrones for a thousand years!”
Corvus took a deep breath and prepared to die. But there was movement from behind the creature, and he heard someone—the Sanctiff!—shouting out something that sounded far too aggressive to be a blessing or a prayer.
The creature whipped its head around, and they both stared at the unexpected sight of Valens stumbling toward them with a torch in one hand and a small bowl in the other.
Exorcizamus te!” he cried. “Omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica, in nomine et virtute Domini Nostri Immaculati!” The Sanctiff hurled the contents of the bowl at the thing in the bloody bishop’s robes.
It was oil, presumably holy oil, but it had precisely no effect at all. Nor did the exorcism, as there was no demon here to exorcise.
