Exarch Aleikon was a plump man with close-cropped blond hair and a serious demeanor. “I am honored, your Grace,” he said rather perfunctorily to Althalus, “but I had thought you wished a private audience that we might more fully explore the seriousness of your sins.”
“Privacy’s a luxury I cannot afford, your Eminence,” Althalus replied glibly. “Holy men speak of sins, but more worldly men speak of crimes. Ambition drove me during my rise to the ducal throne, and my methods made me many enemies. The two lovely young ladies are my daughters, Leitha and Andine. The child is their personal page boy. The Black Robe is Brother Bheid, my personal chaplain. My entire party lives in constant danger and must be protected at all times by my personal bodyguards Khalor and Eliar, the two greatest warriors in all of Kenthaigne.”
“The duchy of Kenthaigne is thousands of years old, your Eminence,” Althalus was telling Exarch Aleikon a while later in the Exarch’s study, “and over all the endless centuries, we’ve raised corruption to an art form. I’ve got every judge in my pocket, and the clergy dances to my tune. All it takes is money, and I control the treasury. My subjects have learned not to cross me. If I want something, I take it; and if anyone objects, he quietly disappears. Everything would be just fine—if it weren’t for the dreadful nightmares I’ve been having here lately.”
“Nightmares?” the Brown Robe Exarch asked.
“Have you ever heard of a place called Nahgharash, your Eminence?”
Aleikon’s face blanched.
“Ah,” Althalus said, “I see that you have heard of it. Well, I’ve seen it, and you wouldn’t want to visit that place. The buildings are made of fire, and the people dance in the streets as flickering little flames, screaming and writhing in perpetual agony. It’s the screaming that sets my teeth on edge, and I hear it all the time now—even when I’m awake. I have everything any man could possibly want—except for a good night’s sleep. That’s why I’ve come to Maghu, your Eminence. If you can banish those nightmares, I’ll pay anything you ask.”
“Are you truly repentant, my son?” Aleikon asked.
“Repentant? Don’t be absurd. I did what I had to do to get what I wanted. Just tell your God that I’ll pay him anything he wants if he’ll just make those dreams go away.”
He’s wavering, Daddy, Leitha’s soft voice murmured. He really wants your money, but he knows he can’t drive those “nightmares” away.
Good. Things seem to be going according to plan, then.
Just exactly what is your plan, Althalus? Bheid asked in silent curiosity.
Watch, Brother Bheid. Watch and learn.
“I will pray for guidance, Duke Althalus,” Exarch Aleikon declared in a troubled voice. “And if you return tomorrow, we will discuss a suitable penance.”
Althalus stood up. “I am at your command, Exarch Aleikon,” he declared with a pious bow. “And I will return at first light tomorrow with as much gold as I can conveniently carry—if I sleep well tonight.”
That’s dreadful, Daddy, Leitha murmured.
I rather liked it myself, Althalus replied smugly.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y - E I G H T
His Eminence is . . . ah . . . indisposed, your Grace,” the priest who’d originally come to Count Baskoi’s house told Althalus the next morning at the temple.
“Oh?”
“Something he ate, no doubt,” the priest added hastily.
“There’s been a lot of that going around here lately,” Althalus noted. “How long do you think it might take for him to pull himself together? Later on today, perhaps?”
“I don’t really think so, your Grace. Tomorrow, perhaps.”
He’s very upset, Daddy, Leitha silently reported. Exarch Aleikon woke up screaming just before dawn, and he’s still screaming. The Brown Robes are afraid that he’s gone mad.
Althalus reached out to Dweia. What have you been up to, Em?
I snitched your idea, love, she purred her reply. It was just too good to pass up. How in the world did you come up with the idea of nightmares?
I needed something to get Aleikon’s attention, Em. Our imaginary Duke of Kenthaigne was too much of a scoundrel to start getting all weepy about assorted indiscretions in his past. I needed something fairly awful to explain why I’d come to Maghu to beg for help. After I’d given it some thought, I decided to hang the whole thing on nightmares about Nahgharash.
Ah, I see. You just scraped it off the wall.
There might have been some of that involved, yes. From what I understand, a sizable part of the education of novice priests of all three orders involves lurid descriptions of Nahgharash, so I threw it in to get Aleikon’s attention. Actually, it was sort of in the nature of an afterthought—or maybe divine inspiration.
Let’s call it a stroke of pure genius, pet.
I wouldn’t go quite that far, Em.
I would. You just sort of tossed it off, but I picked it up and ran with it. You’ve caught occasional glimpses of Nahgharash through Khnom’s doorways, but they’ve just been a view from the outside. Aleikon’s nightmares put him inside the city itself, and Nahgharash is a place of absolute despair. That’s why Yakhag was grateful when Bheid killed him. Death is a release from Nahgharash.
Aleikon’s going to recover from his little siege of horrors, isn’t he? I think I’m going to need him on down the line.
Why don’t we let him simmer for a while, pet—cook him until he’s tender. After a week or so of these nightmares, he’ll agree to almost anything. Why don’t you bring the children home, Althalus? We need to talk.
The streets of Maghu were literally teeming with heavily armed soldiers as Althalus and his friends returned to Count Baskoi’s house. The soldiers all seemed a bit edgy, and they stayed together in tight little groups. Althalus stopped a street vendor who was pushing a cartload of turnips along a cobblestoned street. “What’s afoot here, neighbor?” he asked the vendor.
The cart man shrugged. “Prince Marwain’s flexing his muscles, I think,” he replied. “You’ve heard about the peasant unrest, I suppose.”
“I just arrived in Maghu last night,” Althalus said.
“Oh? Where are you from?”
“Equero. I’m in town on business. What’s got the peasants all stirred up?”
“The usual sort of thing. Every so often they get excited about how badly the world’s treating them. Prince Marwain puts his troops out in the streets of Maghu every time that happens. He wants everybody in town to know who’s in charge.”
“City folks don’t get involved in these country bumpkin matters, do they?”
The turnip vendor snorted. “Of course we don’t. There are always a few malcontents in the grubbier parts of town, though. Our noble Prince wants to be sure they understand the real situation here. As long as you mind your own business, the soldiers won’t bother you. Could I interest you in some turnips?”
“Sorry, neighbor, but turnips don’t agree with me, for some reason. You wouldn’t believe the bellyache one bite of a turnip gives me.”
“Ah,” the peddler said. “Onions do the same thing to me.”
“It’s good to know that I’m not the only one with a delicate tummy. You have a nice day, hear?”
“I’ve heard of this Prince Marwain, Althalus,” Andine said as they crossed the street to the front of Count Baskoi’s house. “He’s a ruthless tyrant with an exaggerated notion of his own importance.”
“We might have to cure him of that particular delusion,” Sergeant Khalor said.
“We’ve got a certain amount of time,” Dweia told them when they gathered in the tower. “Argan’s moving carefully and consolidating his control over each city before he moves on to the next. A revolution’s not like an invasion from the outside. What’s the customary procedure when an Exarch’s unable to function, Bheid?”
Bheid leaned back, squinting at the ceiling. “In normal circumstances, the hierarchy would maintain the fiction that the Exarch’s ‘indisposed,’ Dweia,
” he replied. “The bureaucracy of the Church makes most of the day-to-day decisions anyway, so the Exarch’s actually little more than a figurehead. The current situation’s not normal, though. The peasant revolt in southern Perquaine is an emergency of the first order, so as soon as it becomes obvious that Exarch Aleikon isn’t going to come to his senses, some high-ranking Scopas will send an appeal to Exarchs Emdahl and Yeudon for a meeting of the high council of the faith.”
“Something on the order of a conclave of the Clan Chiefs of Arum?” Sergeant Khalor suggested.
“Exactly,” Bheid agreed. “If it’s determined that there’s a crisis of the faith, the high council can override normal procedures. Emdahl and Yeudon could replace Aleikon, or possibly even go so far as to absorb the Brown Robes into their own orders. I don’t think they’d go quite that far, though. It’d probably start a religious war that’d turn the civilized world inside out.”
“And Argan could ride that particular horse directly into an imperial seat,” Althalus added.
“He might think so,” Dweia disagreed. “It has some possibilities, I think. We eliminated Pekhal with Sergeant Khalor’s mountain—and the river that ran in two directions—and we lured Gelta into Osthos with Andine’s seeming submission. Trickery does seem to work on occasion.”
“I knew you’d come around to my way of thinking eventually, Em,” Althalus said smugly.
“I didn’t quite follow that,” Andine said.
“It’s an old debate, little Princess,” Althalus explained. “Emmy set out to teach me truth, justice, and morality; I offered to teach her how to lie, cheat, and steal. I seem to be just a bit ahead of her.”
Dweia shrugged. “Whatever works,” she said. “For right now, I think we’ll want Exarch Aleikon to keep dreaming about Nahgharash. Go back to the temple, Brother Bheid. I need to know who’s making the decisions for the Brown Robes now that Aleikon’s not able to function. I need to know everything about him you can find out so that I’ll be able to nudge him into sending an appeal to Emdahl and Yeudon. I want those two in Maghu just as soon as we can get them here.”
“His name’s Eyosra, Althalus,” Bheid reported that evening when he returned to Count Baskoi’s house. “He’s a Scopas in the Brown Robe order, and he specializes in details—and numbers. The rest of the hierarchy hates him, probably because he keeps finding discrepancies in their account books. He’s tall, very thin, and as pale as a ghost.”
“That doesn’t sound very encouraging,” Althalus said. “A bean counter doesn’t usually have that much power.”
“Scopas Eyosra controls the Brown Robe treasury, Althalus,” Bheid said with a faint smile. “In a religious order controlled by greed, the man who holds the purse strings rules.”
“Good point. What do you think it’ll take to nudge him into screaming for help?”
“Extravagance of some sort, probably. If Dweia can push Aleikon in the direction of spending a lot of money, Eyosra’s likely to go up in flames.”
“I’ll take it up with Em,” Althalus promised. “I’m sure she’ll be able to come up with something.”
“He seems to be coming around, Em,” Althalus reported when he and Eliar had returned to the House. “Keeping him busy’s probably the best way to deal with his problem.”
“It’s better than slamming him up against a wall,” she agreed.
“Did you really do that, Althalus?” Eliar asked.
“Not all that hard,” Althalus replied. “I just wanted to get his attention. Anyway, Brother Bheid tells me that we’ll want to stir up a certain Scopas Eyosra. He controls the treasury of the Brown Robes, and he’s one of those penny-pinchers. Bheid seems to think that a sudden outburst of extravagance by Exarch Aleikon would send Scopas Eyosra running to the other Exarchs almost immediately.”
“Some renovations of my temple, perhaps?” she suggested.
Althalus wobbled his hand dubiously. “Maybe,” he said. “I think it might depend on what you’ve got in mind, Em.”
“The restoration of the altar sort of leaps to mind. Back in the good old days, my altar was sheathed in gold. The Brown Robes peeled the sheathing off when they usurped my temple. If I planted the notion of putting it back into Aleikon’s mind . . .” She left it hanging.
“As I remember, that altar’s fairly large,” Althalus said. “It would take quite a bit of gold to resheathe it, wouldn’t it?”
“Yes, definitely—several tons, at least.”
“I’ll see what Bheid has to say, but I think that might just turn the trick, Em. Pulling that much gold out of the Brown Robe treasury should send Scopas Eyosra straight up into the air, and he’ll probably come down running.”
“Argan’s more or less consolidated his hold on those coastal cities—Egni, Athal, Pella, and Bhago,” Sergeant Khalor reported about a week later when they all gathered again in the tower room. “He’s sent various agitators upriver from Athal to Leida and overland from Bhago to Dail to stir up the peasants in those regions.”
“How much longer do you think it might be until he starts the march on Maghu?” Bheid asked.
“A couple of months at least,” Khalor replied. “He’s not rushing things. Argan’s an entirely different breed of cat from Pekhal and Gelta. He’s very cautious. I do think we might want to speed up the journey of those two other Exarchs, though. Religious people do a lot of talking before they make decisions, I’ve noticed—no offense intended, Brother Bheid.”
“That’s all right, Sergeant,” Bheid told him. “We do tend to babble on fairly often. Perhaps it’s an attempt to avoid making decisions.” Then Bheid looked at Dweia. “The Sergeant’s probably right, though. I think we should get Exarchs Emdahl and Yeudon here before too much more time passes. They have some important decisions to make, and Argan’s already on the move.”
Dweia pursed her lips. “I’ll tamper with a few people’s memories, and then Eliar can bring the Exarchs through the House and put them down in Maghu. All we’re doing right now is marking time. We can’t really make any decisions until Emdahl and Yeudon reach Maghu.”
“Argan’s rabble’s starting upriver from Egni toward Leida,” Sergeant Khalor reported the next morning. “They aren’t moving very fast, but they’re going in that general direction.”
“What’s delaying them?” Eliar asked.
“Looting, for the most part.” Khalor made a sour face. “Unleashing an undisciplined army in a land where there are towns and villages is just about the best way I know of to arrive at your destination without any troops.”
“Didn’t you once say that a stupid enemy’s a gift from the Gods?” Eliar said slyly.
“Maybe I did, Eliar, but it still rubs me the wrong way. It’s unprofessional.”
“Have they left Bhago to march toward Dail yet?” Althalus asked.
Khalor shook his head. “They’re still looting in Bhago,” he replied. “Somebody’s going to have to set fire to the town before the peasants will even think about leaving.”
Bheid gave the Sergeant a startled look. “Is that why looted towns are always burned?” he asked.
“Of course, Brother Bheid. I thought everybody knew that. A dedicated looter wouldn’t even consider leaving a town until the flames are licking at his tail feathers. Fire’s just about the only way to start an army moving after they’ve taken a town.”
“Don’t worry about it, Althalus,” Dweia said.
“The numbers don’t match, Em,” he protested. “Eyosra’s messenger’s going to take several weeks to reach the Black Robe temple in Deika and even longer to get to Keiwon. If Emdahl and Yeudon arrive in Maghu tomorrow morning, Eyosra’s likely to start getting very suspicious.”
She sighed, rolling her eyes upward.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that, Em,” he complained.
“Then quit being so obvious, pet. I know all about the problem of elapsed time, and I’ve already taken care of it. We’ve been tampering with time and distance for quite a while now
, so you should know by now that miles and minutes mean what I want them to mean. Nobody’s going to notice anything, Althalus, so stop worrying.”
He gave up. “All right, Em, anything you say. Is Aleikon still having nightmares?”
“Occasionally, yes. We want him to be nice and pliable when Emdahl and Yeudon start making some decisions.”
“What kind of decisions?”
“Watch, Althalus. Watch and learn.”
Exarch Emdahl was a burly clergyman with a deeply lined face and a harsh voice. He and Exarch Yeudon arrived in Maghu late one chill afternoon, and they went immediately into an extended conference with Scopas Eyosra and the other high-ranking Brown Robe clergymen.
“He’s like a bull, Daddy,” Leitha reported. “He’s overriding everybody in the temple, and he seems to know a great deal more than he really should.”
“Our order specializes in gathering information,” Bheid explained. “There’s very little that happens in the world that isn’t brought to the attention of my Exarch. I’m told that he tends to be just a bit abrupt in emergencies. I think we’ll want to step around him rather carefully.”
“Maybe,” Althalus said,” but then again, maybe not. If he just happens to want truth, I’m in a position to give him more truth than he can handle. Exarch Emdahl might be a bull, but I’ve got bigger horns than he has.”
The summoner arrived at Count Baskoi’s house the following morning with a document “requesting” the presence of the Duke of Kenthaigne at the temple.
“Do be a good fellow and run on back to the temple and advise the Exarchs that we’ll be along just as soon as it’s convenient,” Althalus told the somewhat self-important official in his haughtiest tone of voice.
Bheid winced. You’re getting off to a bad start, Althalus, he silently warned.
Not really, Althalus replied. I want to jerk Emdahl’s chain just a little. Let’s give it about half an hour. Then we’ll drop by the temple. I think maybe you should stay in the background just a bit, Brother Bheid. I’m going to pull Emdahl up short, and I’d rather he didn’t take his dissatisfaction out on you.
The Redemption of Althalus Page 65
