The Sword

by Bryan M. Litfin

  The one called Vulkain’s Height formed a pyramid that rose to a pointed summit ever wreathed in clouds and frost. The mountain, preferring to revel in icy fastness, turned its sheer north face away from the sun. Like a hostile giant, it would gather boulders in its concave wall to hurl down on the fool who dared to approach. Pon’s Height rose in the middle, and to the south of it, the peak of Elzebul reached into the sky. Between them was a tiny knob that legend said was a temple of the Ancients, though Teo didn’t believe a building could be constructed so high. Snow never left these summits, even in late summer. Jumbled glaciers hung from the crags, coating the mountains in a permanent mantle of rime. Now and then, avalanches of snow and ice would slab off and go hurtling down the slopes, intent on smothering any unwelcome living thing.

  These peaks, Teo marveled, were the great mountain halls of the gods of Chiveis. Nestled at their base, where the sea of grass yielded to the barren rocks and icy crevasses, lay the temple of the High Priestess. From the temple’s pinnacle, her gaze could reach up, past the mighty summits, to look into the face of Astrebril himself.

  You’re in the lands of the powerful now, Teo reminded himself in the stillness of the morning. You’d better watch your step.

  The Temple of Astrebril kept its secrets hidden behind an encompassing wall, though in truth it needed no wall on any but one side, for it sat against the glossy black crags of the mountain itself. The edge of Vulkain’s northern face formed one protective rampart, while a steep gully dropped off behind the rear wall, flowing with frigid glacial meltwater. Another ravine fell away in front. No trail provided access to the temple except the one that climbed through the tundra toward the main gate. Teo’s horse was skittish as it approached, not liking the feel of the place. The gatehouse appeared dead, and Teo would have taken the whole site as abandoned if not for the thin line of smoke curling from the High Priestess’s pointed spire.

  “Hail, Gatekeeper!”

  No one answered. Again Teo tried, and again. At last a monk of Astrebril eased open the gate and stuck his hooded face through the crack.

  “What business do you have, guardsman? You have no authority here.”

  “I’m not here in my capacity as a Royal Guard but as a professor at Lekovil. I seek discourse with your learned friars about scholarly things. In particular, I wish to speak to the brother named Lewth.”

  At that, the monk gave Teo a queer look but said nothing as he opened the gate enough for the horse to pass through. Teo dismounted, immediately noticing an unpleasant odor.

  “What’s that stench?” he asked as he tied his horse to a rail.

  “Astrebril himself sanctifies this place with his presence,” the monk answered, “but the nature of his terrible fire is not a matter to be sought by the likes of you.”

  The hooded figure pointed to a row of hermits’ hovels along a wall. Unlike the main temple building, which seemed to be in excellent repair and perhaps even hinted at opulence inside, the huts were low and mean. No doubt the icy winds seeped in easily, making them very cold in winter.

  “You will find Lewth there,” the monk said, then returned to his post.

  Teo approached the hut with caution. A thick fog had begun to descend, shrouding the temple in mist.

  “I seek the monk named Lewth!” Teo called.

  For a long time there was only silence. Then, “Who seeks him?”

  “My name is Teofil, a professor at the University. I come with greetings from—from Maurice the Wise.”

  The monk’s head appeared at the door, but Teo couldn’t see his face in the depths of his cowl. “I am Lewth,” he said. “We will go for a walk beyond the walls.”

  The monk led Teo back to the entrance, where he mumbled something to the gatekeeper about investigating natural specimens. Passing outside, Lewth marched across the sodden grass, lifting the hem of his habit above his wet sandals. Periodically he bent to inspect some flower or herb, collecting a few samples in his hand. Not until he had advanced well beyond the temple wall, so that it could scarcely be seen in the thickening drizzle, did he turn to Teo and pull back his hood to reveal his face.

  “If my friend Maurice has sent you, he will have given you a specific sign.”

  Teo held out Maurice’s signet ring, and Lewth’s face lit up with approval. He was several years older than Teo and had the gaunt look of a man who fasted too much. His face was slim, with a long nose and a light beard on his pointed chin. Despite his somber manner, a lively intelligence shone in his eyes. Teo wondered what a man like this was doing in such smelly confines, bowing and scraping before the priestly hierarchy.

  “I’ve come to discuss the religion of the Ancients,” Teo said. “My master suggested you would know of this.”

  Lewth considered his response. “Indeed I do possess some knowledge of what you seek, Professor Teofil. I have discovered secret wisdom in my time here. All is not as it appears.”

  “What can you tell me?”

  “That the Ancients followed various corrupt and evil religions. Our glorious founder, Jonluc Beaumont, purged Chiveis of all heresies—those of the earth worshippers and the atheistic unbelievers and many other cults. But especially those who followed the god of the cross.”

  “The god of the cross?”

  “Yes, indeed, though I know little about the followers of this particular faith. Only the High Priestess understands their doctrines, for she has copies of their Sacred Writing. She despises the god of the cross with an abiding hatred. We monks of Astrebril are made to curse him regularly in our liturgy, though not by name. The name of that deity hasn’t been revealed to us. He is an unknown god.”

  “Tell me even what little you know about this ancient faith, Brother Lewth, for I wish to learn of it. You have my complete attention.”

  A hawk called from the gloom above, and Lewth ducked his head. The sun was lost to view now, so the two men talked in the gray half-light of the swirling mist.

  “Is it for academic purposes you wish to know or some other reason?”

  Now it was Teo’s turn to reflect on his answer. Intellectual curiosity was part of it, and so was the altruistic motive of discovering a religious path his fellow Chiveisi might find useful. Yet as Teo thought about it, he admitted there was something more basic driving him.

  “I want to understand this religion because I’m skeptical about the religion of Chiveis. I’m sick of being told what to do by our gods.”

  Lewth hissed, and his eyes darted back and forth. “It’s a bold thing you’ve just said, Professor Teofil. Yet in so doing, you’ve earned my confidence.” He leaned close to Teo and began to whisper.

  “You have reason to grow skeptical, young professor, you seeker of wisdom. As I said, all is not as it appears. Is the god of the cross truly evil? Or is it more evil to use weapons of burning liquid on the innocent, as the Vulkainians do? Or to make offerings of excrement to Elzebul? Or to debauch oneself in the forests of Pon? Or even—or even to call down Astrebril’s curse, so that a man’s house is shattered by thunder at dawn?”

  “Ah! I’ve known that to happen. The sound of it isn’t from this world. Such extreme violence can only come from the power of a god.”

  “Is that so?” Lewth glanced back and forth. “Come quickly with me. I’ll show you something.”

  He led Teo to the rear of the temple, a barren place where the wall stood above a rocky meltwater gully at the dirty foot of a glacier. Drawing close to the wall, the monk revealed a slim crack where the ices of winter had broken apart the mortar. A man might even be able to slip through the opening. Lewth pointed to it.

  “What do you see?”

  Teo put his face to the crack. “I see a great wheelhouse. Like that at a mill, to be turned by horses. And many carts and sacks.”

  “Do you smell anything?”

  “Yes, the sharp smell that lingers in this place is especially strong here.” Teo turned toward Lewth. “What is it?”

  “That I do not know, Profess
or Teofil. It has something to do with the High Priestess’s power, but I haven’t been able to figure it out. I’m hoping you will confer with your wise teacher and then at some future point perhaps you will speak with me again. However”—he leaned forward—“be very discreet.”

  After he had issued the warning, Lewth stepped back, but his sandal rolled on the wet gravel, and he stumbled. Teo noticed a flash of silver slip from the monk’s neck. Before Lewth could prevent it, Teo seized the pendant that hung outside his cowl.

  “A cross!” Teo breathed, his eyes widening. “The symbol of the Ancients’ religion!”

  “You shouldn’t see it!” Lewth tucked the pendant away, then grabbed Teo’s jerkin and pulled his face close, staring into his eyes.

  “You must never speak of this again,” he whispered, “or it will be death to us all!” He released Teo’s garment abruptly, then scrambled up the slope and ran back toward the gatehouse.

  Teo waited several moments to collect his thoughts. So many questions had been raised, questions to which he couldn’t obtain answers right away. He hobbled around to the temple gatehouse to retrieve his horse. His knee was feeling stronger, and he was glad of that.

  During the wet ride down to his cottage at Vingin, Teo was torn between two conflicting desires. Though he wanted to find out more about this ancient religion, he knew the coming weeks would require all his energy to be poured into his preparations for the great tournament on the autumnal equinox. It would take a single-minded commitment to win the dangerous competition. Yet even as Teo resolved to devote his attention to the pressing demands of horsemanship, combat training, and archery practice, he couldn’t help but wonder, Who is the god of the cross?

  CHAPTER

  4

  Through the window of his carriage, Teo noticed the red-haired woman slip from her royal litter and push through the crowds lining the main thoroughfare of the Citadel. Although everyone was pressing forward to cheer for Teo as a famous tournament competitor, his bodyguards wouldn’t let the mob get close. However, they would make an exception for Habiloho. She was the daughter of the king. And besides, she was unbelievably good-looking.

  When the lead bodyguard saw the princess step into the street, he bowed and threw open the carriage door. Teo smiled at that. The burly man, who in his days as a Royal Guard had chased down many a street thug, now hustled to oblige the whims of a petite girl. Yet Teo understood why. It wasn’t only because of her red hair that Habiloho was called the Flame of Chiveis. Her temper could be fiery, and that could be dangerous because she always had the ear of her doting father.

  “Welcome to my carriage, Princess,” Teo said as the girl took her seat opposite him. “It’s been some time since we last . . . connected.” He winked at her.

  “Indeed it has been a while, Teofil! And yet I believe you’ve grown even more handsome than when we were last together.”

  “And you, Habiloho—your beauty is unrivaled in Chiveis, as always.”

  She beamed. “I’m truly glad to hear you say so! All the girls are saying you’ll have a prize to give out later today, and I hope to be its recipient!” She tucked her chin and looked at Teo from underneath her eyelashes.

  “The prize will belong to whichever man earns it. But if it should come into my hand, I’ll do my duty and award it to Chiveis’s most beautiful woman.”

  Habiloho giggled at the thought.

  The clamor of the crowd increased as the carriage entered Beaumont Plaza, packed with revelers on this holiday. Even the monumental statue of Jonluc Beaumont seemed to smile on the festivities. It was the autumnal equinox, a day to celebrate the ingathering of the harvest against the long winter ahead.

  All the Citadel had turned out to cheer for Teo, a front-runner in the tournament to come later that day. Children scattered flower petals on the cobblestone pavement as the carriage bumped along, making its way to the coliseum in Entrelac outside the ramparts of the great wall. He could hear the parade of cows mooing behind him as they were led from their high mountain pastures to their winter quarters. Teo turned and looked out the rear window at the folksy Chiveisian scene. The cows’ horns were festooned with wildflowers, and the matriarch of the herd carried a milking stool on her head. The animals wore their fanciest cowbells, adding to the general din.

  Habiloho put her hand on Teo’s thigh to recapture his attention. “Captain Teofil,” she said, “I can see from your appearance you’re well trained. You’re so lean and hard! I’m confident you’ll prevail in today’s contest—and when you do, you’ll choose wisely afterward.”

  “Only the gods can know such things, Habiloho.”

  “That’s true, but remember, the gods can be coaxed by the arts of man. I’ve made a solemn vow on your behalf, Teofil. I’ve petitioned the great Pon for you. Perhaps he’ll grant you a victory. But if he does, he’ll demand an act of homage in return. All of Pon’s followers will be at the revel in the forest tonight. And I want—I want you to meet me there.”

  Habiloho’s face turned sly. She leaned close to Teo’s ear, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if there were others who might hear the words her lips would speak. “You may think, brave guardsman, that the world’s only mysteries lie on your distant frontiers. Don’t you know? I have other mysteries at my command. Mine are a different sort, but they’re no less interesting to a man like you. And”—she paused, exhaling—“I’m very willing to reveal them to you.”

  Teo felt the fair-skinned woman’s warm breath in his ear. At that moment, the carriage shuddered to a halt. He glanced out the window. They had crossed the causeway spanning the Citadel’s moat and were stopped at the outer gatehouse.

  “Teo, my son!” It was Maurice.

  “Let him pass!” The door to the carriage opened.

  “My apologies, Princess Habiloho,” Maurice said as he looked through the door. “I saw you join the captain for the ride, but I hope you won’t begrudge him the company of his aged mentor. We have some matters to discuss.”

  Habiloho narrowed her eyes. “What choice do I have, wise professor?”

  She gathered her skirts and prepared to leave. Before she alit from the carriage, she nuzzled Teo’s ear again. “Provide me with a prize today, Captain,” she whispered, “and I’ll return the favor tonight.”

  Habiloho stepped from the carriage and disappeared behind the curtain of her waiting litter. The carriage started rolling as Maurice settled into the empty seat.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt your conversation, Teo. Yet I’m sure there are many other men whose attentions the princess can quickly obtain.”

  Teo smiled at the truth of the statement.

  Maurice continued, “I’ve come to issue you an invitation. Think of it as a pleasant distraction. A better way to spend your morning than battling your nerves in some room below the coliseum, checking your weapons over and over.”

  Teo looked out the window at the coliseum on the horizon. “Actually, that’s exactly what I’d do if not for your invitation. What do you have in mind?”

  “Let’s clear our thoughts of the commonplace and the mundane. Let’s allow the sublimity of lofty words to cleanse our spirits. I’m asking you to attend the poetry competition with me.”

  Teo considered the absurdity of Maurice’s idea. To start the day with the noble art of poetry, then head to the coliseum for mayhem and violence, only to finish in the secluded forest with the opportunity for physical delights? It would be a day to remember.

  “Driver!” Teo called out the window. “Take us to the recital hall!”

  The carriage turned down a few side streets and stopped at the back door of the recital hall in Entrelac. It was one of the few stone buildings in town, built on a grand scale, and large enough to seat a crowd of several hundred. Teo hoped to keep a low profile as he went inside. A box seat to the side of the auditorium allowed him to stay out of view. He settled into a chair in the shadows next to Maurice.

  “Any idea who’s on the program today?” Teo
asked.

  “Yes, I obtained an updated version of the program this morning, though I seem to have misplaced it. I guess you’ll have to wait until each participant comes out to take her turn.” Maurice glanced at Teo with a mischievous look.

  A handbell rang, and the crowd stood. Priests and monks, their wrinkled faces bearing stern expressions, filed into the hall. One of them intoned a perfunctory invocation, after which everyone was allowed to sit, though Teo hadn’t risen in the first place.

  The opening contestant came on stage, a rosy-cheeked girl slathered with rouge. She wore an ornate gown in the latest fashion. Accompanied by a piper, she recited her poem from memory as she plucked a harp.

  “Your thoughts on the composition?” Maurice asked when it was over.

  “Banal, insipid, frivolous, and superficial.”

  Maurice recoiled in mock surprise. “I would fear to be one of your students, receiving such severe criticism!”

  “I’m capable of much worse than that.”

  The recital continued in the same vein, with each contestant offering a long poem set to music. Unfortunately, the poetry dealt with girlish fancies instead of epic themes. Teo glanced at the judges across from him. They seemed bored, hardly paying attention to the droning from the stage. Periodically they looked at the great clock on the wall or made a few notes on their parchments.

  Teo felt himself growing frustrated as the poems spiraled down in quality. The first ones had been syrupy, but now they turned downright bawdy. Apparently it had become fashionable among the girls’ well-paid literature tutors to set poems to the meter of drinking songs. The resulting lyrics dealt with first crushes and merry parties, not the great ideals upon which Chiveis had been founded. The recital dragged on. When the next-to-the-last contestant, a curly-haired girl with sparkling eye shadow, started describing the loss of her virginity, Teo decided it was time to go. He started to rise. “I think nervous pacing in a waiting room at the coliseum would be better than this,” he whispered to Maurice.