The Redemption of Althalus

by Eddings, Leigh;Eddings, David

  “Can you find the door to that place, Eliar?” Sergeant Khalor asked bleakly.

  “Almost immediately, my Sergeant,” Eliar replied in a steely voice. “Should I bring my sword?”

  “Probably so, yes.”

  “Not now, gentlemen,” Dweia told them. “We haven’t quite finished yet.”

  The window moved once again, and Althalus and the others found themselves looking into yet another house. A lean, hard-faced nobleman was seated at a table covered with documents, and he was conferring with a brown-robed priest. “I’ve been through these a dozen times, Brother Sawel,” the nobleman declared, “and I can’t find any way around the problem. The tradition seems to be locked in stone. I want that well, but it has belonged to the people of that village for a thousand years. I have hundreds of acres I could plant if I had access to that water.”

  “Calm yourself, my Lord Baron,” the priest replied. “If you can’t find a document that suits your purposes, we’ll just have to put one together.”

  “Would it stand up in court?”

  “Of course it will, my Lord. My Scopas will be presiding, and he owes me several favors. When I present him my ‘startling new discovery,’ he’ll make his ruling. The village—and its well—will pass into your hands, and the authorities will send the villagers packing. Then you can tear down their houses—or use them for cattle barns if you want.”

  “Can we actually get away with that, Brother Sawel?” the Baron asked dubiously.

  The priest shrugged. “Who’s going to stop us, my Lord?” he asked. “The aristocracy controls the land, and the Church controls the courts. Between us, we can do just about anything we want to do.”

  “Well, Sergeant?” Dweia asked the hard-faced Arum soldier. “Does that answer your question?”

  “Pretty much, ma’am, yes,” Khalor replied, “but it raises another one. Why are we getting involved in this? From what I’ve just seen, I’d say that a rebellion’s long overdue. Why don’t we just seal the borders of Perquaine and let the peasantry run all over the top of the nobility and the priesthood?”

  “Because the wrong people are leading the rebellion.”

  “So we’re going to just walk in and steal it out from under them?” Gher suggested.

  “Approximately, yes.”

  “If we’re going to steal their revolution, wouldn’t it be sort of useful to look in on the people who are stirring it up?” Khalor suggested. “Now that Pekhal and Gelta have been eliminated, somebody else is in charge, and getting to know the enemy’s fairly important.”

  “Good point, Sergeant,” Dweia agreed. “Let’s nose around just a bit, shall we?”

  ———

  Althalus stepped back just a bit and sent a probing thought at Bheid. The young priest’s mind was a mass of conflicting emotions. His grief and guilt were still there, of course, but a seething rage had begun to grow just below the surface. The obvious injustices of Perquaine society were beginning to intrude upon Bheid’s self-loathing.

  It’s a start, pet, Dweia’s voice murmured. Don’t push him just yet. I think he’s starting to come around on his own.

  You’ve been exaggerating a few things, haven’t you, Em? Althalus suggested.

  A little, yes, she admitted. The thoughts of most of the people we’ve been watching aren’t quite as blatant as what we saw and heard, so they probably wouldn’t come right out and say them aloud.

  You’re cheating again, Em.

  I know, she admitted, but if that’s all it takes to bring Bheid around, it’s acceptable.

  Your sense of morality’s very flexible, I’ve noticed.

  What a shocking thing to suggest. Watch Bheid very closely, pet. He’s about to see and hear a few things that might just put his feet back on the ground.

  The blur beyond the south window shifted and came into focus again, and Althalus and the others found themselves looking into the ruins of a long-abandoned house on a hilltop overlooking the sea far to the south. There was a tent inside the tumbled ruins and a small, well-concealed fire. Argan, the yellow-haired former priest, stood near the fire irritably kicking at a pile of tumbled building blocks.

  A harsh voice came out of the darkness. “You’ll wear out your shoes doing that.”

  “Where have you been?” Argan demanded as the grizzled Koman came into the firelight.

  “Looking around,” Koman replied. “Isn’t that what you wanted me to do?’’

  “Did you find anything?”

  “Nobody’s invaded yet, if that’s what’s got you so worried. I don’t think they fully understand what you’re doing, Argan. I couldn’t find Althalus, but that’s not unusual. He’s probably hiding out in that castle at the End of the World, and that place is out of my reach. Have you heard from Ghend?”

  “No. He’s in Nahgharash, trying to placate the Master.”

  A faint smile touched Koman’s harshly lined face. “You’re slick, Argan, I’ll give you that. You’re the one who pulled Yakhag out of Nahgharash and got him killed, but Ghend’s getting the blame for it.”

  “That’s because he took the credit for my idea, old boy,” Argan replied with a lofty smirk. “Ghend’s greedy for the Master’s approval.”

  “You’ve noticed,” Koman said drily.

  “The plan would have worked, though,” Argan declared. “Yakhag was the perfect answer to the elaborate scheme Althalus devised to trap Gelta, but then that idiot Bheid lost his head and butchered Yakhag before any of us could stop him.”

  “I tried to warn you about him, Argan, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

  “I didn’t think he’d go that far,” Argan said almost plaintively. “It was a complete violation of one of the cardinal rules. I got myself defrocked for something much less significant.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to miss Yakhag all that much, though,” Koman added. “Just the sight of him chilled my blood. Even Ghend was afraid of that one. The Master was the only one who was comfortable around Yakhag.”

  “I know,” Argan replied moodily, “but with him to back me, I could have pushed Ghend aside and taken his place. Everything was going so well—but then that maniac in the black robe took up a sword and slaughtered my key to power.”

  Koman shrugged. “If you feel that way about it, go kill him. Khnom could probably get you into Dweia’s House.”

  “Quit trying to be funny, Koman. I wouldn’t go into that place any more than you would.”

  “It was only a suggestion, Reverend Argan,” Koman said sardonically. “Since you’re so bent on killing that Black Robe, I didn’t think you’d mind getting yourself obliterated in the process.”

  “Revenge is sweet, old boy,” Argan told him, “but you have to be alive to taste it. I’ll deal with Bheid in good time. Right now, I’m going to need more Scarlet Robes to keep this uprising cooking. Go to Nahgharash and get as many as the Master will release. I want to be in the temple in Maghu before spring. If we loiter too much along the way, Althalus is likely to have an army waiting before we get there.”

  “It shall be as thou hast commanded, Revered Leader,” Koman replied with a mocking bow.

  ———

  “Just exactly who was that Yakhag fellow, ma’am?” Sergeant Khalor asked. “I know that Gelta was afraid of him, but I didn’t think Ghend was as well.”

  “He was a creature with absolutely no emotions,” Dweia replied with a slight shudder. “He had no love, no hate, no fear, no ambition—nothing. He was totally empty.”

  “A man of ice?” Gher suggested.

  “That’s very close, Gher,” she agreed. “If he’d lived, it’s entirely possible that Argan’s scheme to push Ghend aside might have succeeded.”

  “The bad people don’t get along with each other the way we always have, do they?” the boy observed. “We try to help each other, but they seem to spend all their time trying to stab each other in the back.”

  “Daeva prefers it that way, Gher,” Dweia replied. “In my b
rother’s eyes, Yakhag was the perfect man.”

  “Yakhag didn’t see it that way,” Althalus observed. “The only thing he really wanted was to die.”

  “That’s what Nahgharash is all about, love,” Dweia said.

  “Sooner or later we’re going to have to do something about that place,” Sergeant Khalor said bleakly.

  “What did you have in mind, Sergeant?” Dweia asked him.

  “I don’t know. We could march in and put out the fire, I suppose. I think you ought to know that I’m not really too enthusiastic about this particular war, ma’am. Unless something changes, we’re going to come in on the wrong side. This revolt is long overdue—no matter who stirs it up.”

  “I’m working on that right now, Sergeant,” Althalus told him. “I think our first step should involve getting access to the Exarch of the Brown Robes—didn’t you say his name’s Aleikon, Bheid?”

  Bheid nodded. “My Exarch has some other names for him, but we probably shouldn’t mention those in the presence of the ladies.”

  “If Aleikon approves of the things we saw a little while ago, your Exarch’s probably understating things, Brother Bheid,” Khalor added. “Where are you going with this, Althalus?”

  Althalus shrugged. “The Brown Robes are greedy, and I’m very good at swindling greedy people. The first thing I’ll need to do is get Exarch Aleikon’s undivided attention. Let’s suppose that some fabulously wealthy nobleman from someplace over in Equero—or maybe Medyo—came to Maghu on a religious pilgrimage of some kind. Would he have very much trouble getting an audience with the Brown Robe Exarch, Brother Bheid?”

  “I doubt it—particularly if his pilgrimage were one of atonement for past sins. The word ‘atonement’ has a golden sort of ring to it in the ears of high-ranking Brown Robe churchmen.”

  “I had a feeling it might get their attention,” Althalus said. “I’ll put on some expensive clothing, look down my nose at everybody, and buy—or rent—a fancy house. Then my personal chaplain can drop by the temple and get me an appointment with Exarch Aleikan.”

  “I take it that I get to be your chaplain?” Bheid guessed.

  “What a splendid notion, Bheid!” Althalus said. “How do you keep coming up with all these clever ideas?”

  “It’s a gift,” Bheid said drily.

  “Where are you going to say you came from, Master Althalus?” Gher asked.

  Althalus shrugged. “It doesn’t really matter—as long as it’s far, far away.”

  “Try Kenthaigne, love,” Dweia suggested.

  He frowned. “It seems that I’ve heard of a place called Kenthaigne. Just exactly where is it?”

  “It’s a very ancient name for the region between Lake Apsa and Lake Meida in Equero. It hasn’t been used for several eons now.”

  He shrugged. “It’s got a nice sound to it,” he said. “All right, then, I’ll be the Duke of Kenthaigne, and I murdered my way to the throne. My conscience is bothering me now, so I’m in need of divine forgiveness. Does anybody see any holes in that?” He looked around at the rest of them.

  “He does this all the time, doesn’t he?” Sergeant Khalor noted. “Why not just tell people the truth, Althalus?”

  “Khalor, if I walked into Maghu and announced that I’m the emissary of the Goddess Dweia, they’d lock me up as a madman, wouldn’t they? The truth doesn’t work very often.”

  I think it’s time to bring Leitha and Andine back home, love, Dweia suggested silently.

  Is Bheid ready, Em? If he’s still coming apart at the seams, I don’t want Leitha anywhere near him.

  He’s coming along just fine, pet. He’s beginning to understand just exactly what Yakhag was, so he’s past the worst of it. Let’s get Leitha back before he wanders off again.

  Whatever you say, Em, Althalus agreed.

  “I will need the money almost immediately, your Grace,” the seedy-looking Count Baskoi said anxiously. “I’m in debt to some people who aren’t really very patient.”

  “The dice haven’t been very friendly lately, I gather,” Althalus surmised.

  “You wouldn’t believe how unfriendly they’ve been,” Baskoi lamented.

  “Your house suits me quite well, Baskoi,” Althalus told him, looking around at the opulent parlor. “I may have to stay here in Maghu for quite some time, and I’d really rather not stay in some shabby inn with cockroaches for neighbors and bedbugs under my pillow. Let’s say half a year for right now. If the priests at the temple tell me that my penance is going to take longer, we might want to make more permanent arrangements.”

  “Anything you say, Duke Althalus. Would it be all right if I stored my personal belongings in the attic?”

  “Of course, Count Baskoi. And as soon as you’ve finished up with that, talk with my chaplain, Brother Bheid, and he’ll pay you our rent.”

  “Are you absolutely certain that I can’t stay in the attic—or maybe down in the cellar?” Baskoi asked plaintively.

  “That wouldn’t really be a good idea, Count Baskoi,” Althalus told him. “I’ve got some enemies who make your creditors look like kittens by comparison. You don’t want to be in the house if they should happen to pay me a call someday.”

  “I suppose I can find a room at some inn,” Baskoi said mournfully.

  “I’d avoid any of them where dice games are popular, Count,” Althalus advised. “When the dice don’t like you, it’s best to stay away from them.”

  “Truly,” Count Baskoi agreed sadly.

  “You’re the Duke of what?” Duke Olkar of Kadon asked incredulously.

  “Kenthaigne,” Althalus replied.

  “You just made that up, didn’t you, Althalus?”

  “Pretty much so, yes. How are we doing in the wheat market?”

  “Quite well, actually,” Olkar said a bit smugly. “Last summer was one of the best in the last dozen years. They had a bumper crop here in Perquaine, and that pushes the price down. I’ve already freighted four thousand tons toward Kanthon, and paid for another three thousand. I’m having some trouble finding enough wagons, though. If this peasant rebellion just holds off for another month, I’ll have all the wheat we’ll need over in Treborea.”

  “Andine’s going to be very happy to hear that, Olkar.”

  “What’s this ‘Duke of Kenthaigne’ business, Althalus?”

  “It’s the bait I’m using in a fishing trip, your Grace. I need information that’s probably going to come from the priesthood. If you happen to think of it, you might mention the fact that the Duke of Kenthaigne, who’s so rich that he carries a solid gold handkerchief to sneeze into, is suffering from a very guilty conscience about some really serious sins, and he’s come to Maghu to buy forgiveness.”

  “You’ll have every priest in Perquaine camped on your doorstep by morning if that gets around, Althalus,” Olkar warned.

  “That was roughly what I had in mind, your Grace,” Althalus replied with a sly grin. “That way, I won’t have to go looking for them. They’ll come to me.”

  “It’ll cost you, Althalus.”

  “Money doesn’t really mean anything, Olkar.”

  “Bite your tongue!” Olkar exclaimed.

  “Word of your spiritual crisis has reached the ears of our holy Exarch Aleikon, Duke Althalus,” the brown-robed priest who’d come knocking at daybreak the following morning announced.

  “I was praying that it might,” Althalus said, piously rolling his eyes heavenward.

  “Holy Aleikon is much moved by your plight, your Grace,” the priest declared, “and our Exarch is quite probably the most charitable man alive. Thus has he granted you immediate audience in his private chapel in the central temple.”

  “I’m quite overwhelmed by this honor, your Reverence. I pray you, return directly to the temple and advise your Holy Exarch that I and my retainers shall answer his call straightway.”

  “I shall do so immediately, your Grace. Pray tell me, when should I advise Exarch Aleikon that he may expect you?”


  “I’d hustle right back to the temple, your Reverence,” Althalus suggested. “If you dawdle even just a little, I’ll get there before you do. My burden of sin is heavy, and I must put it down, lest it break my back.”

  “I shall run, your Grace,” the priest promised.

  Sergeant Khalor was trying, without much success, to muffle his laughter as the Brown Robe left.

  “Are you having some sort of problem, Sergeant?” Leitha asked him.

  “His Grace here was spooning it on just a little thick,” Khalor laughed.

  “It’s one of Daddy’s failings,” she conceded. “He never wastes time with a spoon when there’s a shovel handy.”

  The ancient temple of Dweia was clearly the most magnificent building in Maghu. The Brown Robes had made some effort to conceal the more blatant suggestions that the temple had been erected for the worship of a fertility Goddess, and the excessively bosomed statue had been removed from the altar.

  The priest who’d visited them that morning came hustling out through a door behind the altar to greet them. He looked just a bit confused when he saw the party accompanying Althalus.

  “My sins have made enemies for me, your Reverence,” Althalus explained. “It wouldn’t have been prudent to leave my daughters unprotected. There are some other reasons that I won’t let them out of my sight, but it probably wouldn’t be very proper for me to mention them to a man who’s taken a vow of chastity.”

  The Brown Robe blinked, and then he flushed slightly. “Oh,” he said, and then he let the subject drop. He turned instead, led them through the door into a dimly lighted corridor and on down to a dark, heavy, cherry-wood door. “The private chapel of our Holy Exarch,” he said. Then he rapped on the door.

  “Enter,” a voice responded from behind that door.

  The brown-robed priest opened the door and led Althalus and his companions into the chapel. “Holy Aleikon,” he said, kneeling briefly, “I am honored to present his Grace, Duke Althalus of Kenthaigne.” Then he rose and backed from the small chapel, bowing at very other step.