by Gav Thorpe
"Yes, that would be good," replied Anglhan.
He followed Leraates across the room, sweat pickling on his forehead and jowls.
"Why is it so hot in here?" he asked, dabbing at his face with his sleeve. He glanced outside to see rain sleeting down on the rest of the city.
"Airflow and lava vats," said Leraates, standing to one side of the doorway, inviting Anglhan to enter with a waved hand. "Heat rises, so the upper levels of the precinct get warmer. However, the very top of the building is exposed to the elements more, which chills the air. This is about the hottest storey."
"And you can work here, like this?"
"Better than some," said Leraates. "At least the climate here keeps the air moist. Further to hotwards, the upper floors can be like kilns. Really, the wax melts on the slates and the clay ones bake in your hand."
Beyond the curtain was a small antechamber with a few stools and little else. A solid door barred the way to the next room. It opened to Leraates' touch as he stepped past Anglhan and entered his private domain.
Following on the heel of the Brother, Anglhan found himself in a spacious chamber, with three narrow windows opposite the door and an archway to his right. The first room was informally furnished, much to his surprise, with a whiteand-green patterned rug on the floor and low couches upholstered with the same design. The room was lit by candles in sconces on the walls, and the windows were shuttered with dark wood, giving the room a strangely homely feel despite the bare bricks.
"Let us discuss this in my workspace," suggested Leraates, continuing through the archway. The next room was also furnished with stuffed chairs and a carpet, but there were no windows and much of the available space was filled with more shelves, and racks of scrolls and tablets.
Anglhan lowered himself into one of the chairs, as Leraates moved behind a desk whose top was covered with neatly arranged styluses, pens, wax and clay tablets, seal rings, trays of Brotherhood tokens and parchment sheets. Under a weight made of a polished piece of grey and black marble were several documents, which Leraates swiftly covered with a blank piece of paper.
"Something you don't want me to see?" said Anglhan.
"I do not wish you to know anything I do not tell you," Leraates replied, sitting down in a plain wooden chair, resting against its high back. "I am certain that you understand why."
"Ullsaard is definitely back from Salphoria," Anglhan said. He was excited and in no mood for verbal sparring.
"It still seems a little early," said Leraates, though his expression was one of shock, indicating that he believed Anglhan. "We know from other reports that he reached Carantathi, more than two thousand miles away. For him to have returned so soon indicates that he would have left not long after the city fell."
"Which means that he did not set out on his return because of Urikh," said Anglhan. "There is no way that he could have known what his usurper of a son had done. Well, not until he got back to Greater Askhor. Let's be generous and say that he met a messenger heading into Salphoria with the news of Ullsaard's demise. He cannot have had more than thirty days to react, but he has done well so far."
"Done well with what?" Leraates leaned forward, hands steepled to his chin.
"He has five men inside the Twenty-first Legion. They have had access to the palace of Asuhas for the last ten days."
"That is of little concern to you," said Leraates. "Asuhas is not important. Where is Ullsaard?"
"I do not know," said Anglhan. "He may have decided not to cross into Ersua if he learnt of what Urikh has done."
"That would be problematic," said Leraates. "He could be anywhere."
"Not so much of a problem for me," said Anglhan. His chair creaked in protest as he shifted his bulk forward to lean an arm on his knee. "If Ullsaard is still in Salphoria, he's in my territory. His legions are spread thin, it will take some time for him to muster any force worthy of a battle."
"You want soldiers?"
"Five hundred, that is all," said Anglhan. "Make them blackcrests, and send along as many Brothers as you like to stop me from doing anything bad with them. I promise, with my contacts as a Salphor, I will have Ullsaard rooted out before his beloved Thirteenth or anyone else will be able to help him."
"Do you really think I am going to let you head off into Salphoria with five hundred of my legionnaires? You must think I was kicked in the head by an abada."
"You are welcome to lead the search yourself, Askhan." Anglhan almost spat this last word, and he saw Leraates' lips twitch in irritation. The Brother was a pure-born Askhan, probably of some noble family or other, and although he spoke of duty to the empire and Greater Askhor, Anglhan knew that deep down the Brother was as arrogant about his superiority as any other man born behind the Wall.
"I have my own connections in Salphoria, and considerably more resources," said Leraates, speaking one of the dialects of duskwards Salphoria before switching back to Askhan. "Why would I risk letting you off the leash at this delicate juncture, to do something I am more capable of completing myself?"
"As you like," said Anglhan, looking crestfallen, although inside he wanted to sing. Leraates could not help but try to take the credit for himself, just as the clerk on the door could not stop himself from quizzing Anglhan on every visit. "To every man his station", was one of the phrases from the Book of Askhos that Anglhan liked a lot, and men of power did not reach such lofty positions by being nice or being humble. Leraates was just like any other power-grabbing Askhan, and that was the weakness Anglhan would exploit.
"You will remain under the guard of Governor Asuhas while I look for Ullsaard," said the Brother, standing up. "You are not to leave the city. I shall send instructions to that end immediately, so do not think to slip away now."
"As long as I get to see Ullsaard's head at some point, I have no intention of going anywhere else," said Anglhan. He curled his lip in derision, for added effect. "I am happy to be entertained at the palaces, at the cost of the governor. It is certainly better than having to sell jewellery and such for a few askharins."
VI
Having arranged for one of his soldiers to escort Anglhan all of the way back to his rooms in the palace, Leraates headed down into the depths of the precinct. It was here, hidden behind doors that most of the Brothers did not know existed, that the true bulk of the building extended. Beyond the lava vats and the storage rooms, in dark corridors of yellow stone carved with sigils brought from the first Temple, Leraates advanced with quick strides, his path lit by the yellow glow of a small lantern. The air here was as dry as a desert, and not a creature lived; no spiders in the cracks and no flies on the walls.
The rasp of voices echoed along the passage, coming from a lit chamber ahead. Within were five men kneeling naked in a circle, flesh etched with lines and runes and astrological devices, their black robes hanging on pegs on the sandstone wall. Between them was a hexagon of stone, into which had been carved thousands of tiny sigils. They whispered the words of their incantation and reached out to stroke bony fingers across the marked stone. Their rune-carved backs undulating as they made their supplication, the men paid no heed to Leraates as he circled around the group, heading for an archway opposite the one by which he had entered.
Beyond this portal was a series of rooms linked by more archways, each chamber the same size and shape – a square roughly twenty paces across – with slab-like beds, benches and tables. Plain clay crockery was arranged ready for eating, with bronze knives and spoons. A fine layer of dust covered everything, for it had been a while since the lower precinct had been home to men who required normal sustenance; of late only true acolytes of the Temple had stayed in the catacombs.
Past these cells was a chamber much like the stone room where the men mumbled the words of power to the Eulanui. It was domed, two window-like openings flanking the doorway. Bronze mirrors and carefully fashioned lenses in small passages above brought down light; a strange yellow light that never dimmed or brightened whether it was day
or night in Marradan.
On a small stool sat a youth, perhaps thirteen or fourteen summers old. His skin was well-tanned, cut with a few of the sect's runes but otherwise bare, the first curls of adult hair showing under his arms and above the loincloth he wore around his waist.
Unlike the rest of his body, the boy's face was covered in fleshy etchings. Every piece of skin was scored or marked in some way, creating a tracery around his eyes and lips that seemed to delve into itself, forever spiralling into smaller and smaller patterns until one could not follow the miniscule cuts any more. When he blinked there were more runes on his eyelids, and there was a delicate tracery of white scar tissue inside his ears.
"Greetings," said the youth, bowing forward on his stool, his supple spine allowing him to place his forehead on the floor between his feet. "I have expected your return with excitement, Brother."
"Greetings, Herikhil," said Leraates, pulling up a stool so that he could sit facing the youth. "Can you reach Lakhyri for me?"
"Oh, the high priest himself!" The boy clapped his hands in delight, his sigil-scribed face splitting with a toothy grin. "I am blessed."
"Yes, you are," Leraates said patiently.
Herikhil closed his eyes and sat with his hands on his knees, his feet together on the floor, back straight. His breathing slowed and deepened, until it seemed to Leraates that the youth had fallen asleep. The Brother knew better and watched closely as Herikhil's eyes began to move back and forth beneath the closed lids, as though scanning the room for something only he could see.
"He is away from the precinct for the moment, but he hears me," said Herikhil. "He will return shortly."
"I will wait," said Leraates. He pulled out a roll of parchment from the inside of his robe. The Brother hummed tunelessly to himself as he unrolled the sheet, revealing a coloured map of dawnwards Salphoria. It covered his lap and folded over his knees, and the detail was remarkable. The map was Askhan, of course, and so showed every track, stream and village within three hundred miles of the border. The map was so recent that Magilnada was not on it.
Leraates began to trace his finger along the grey lines of newly built Askhan roads and old Salphor trails, trying to figure out where to start his search for Ullsaard. The Brother was going to proceed on the assumption that the true king had learnt of his son's action and would assemble a fighting force before crossing into Greater Askhor. From what Anglhan had said, this made the most sense.
Looking for somewhere from where it was possible to march swiftly into Ersua left only half a dozen places within easy reach of the main turnpike that had been laid in the wake of Ullsaard's advance. The Salphors did not have the right sort or number of ships to bring the troops into Ersua by river, so the road was the only option. Once the Brother knew where to find the former king, it would not take much to convince Ullsaard that Leraates was working against Urikh, and once he had wriggled into Ullsaard's confidence he could get close enough to slay him; settling Lakhyri's problem and dispensing with the need for Anglhan at a single stroke.
Leraates glanced up at Herikhil's face, but the youth seemed to be in a pleasant slumber, his lips half-raised in a gentle smile. Returning to the chart, Leraates procured a wooden framed tablet of wax and a stylus, and started to write names and directions and distances onto the tablet.
A moan from Herikhil attracted his attention. The boy's face was twitching, every muscle moving of its own accord, his eyes roving around unseeing behind closed lids. Thin rivulets of blood seeped from the wider scars, and soon Herikhil's face was a mask of blood. He made no cry and showed no signs of pain, but beneath his fair skin bone and muscle contorted, reshaping to lengthen his cheeks and narrow his mouth, eyes sinking deeper into sockets that broadened even as his brow became sharper above them.
"What news from Ersua?" Though the voice was Herikhil's, the tone – the hard words and lack of preamble – was totally Lakhyri's. "Has Anglhan found Ullsaard yet?"
"The former king is still in Salphoria, to the best knowledge of the traitor," said Leraates. "I have said it before, but I do not know why you let that venomous, verminous man live. If I spent half as much time looking for Ullsaard as I have keeping an eye on Periusis we would have him by now."
"Your objections have been noted before, and discarded," said Lakhyri. "The Salphor is not only the means by which we can deny involvement in Ullsaard's execution, he will also be the bait that lures the old king out of hiding."
"If so, that is likely to happen soon," said Leraates. He looked at Herikhil's faces and saw displeasure wrinkle the boy's brow.
"What has happened?"
"Spies of Ullsaard, I believe, were found in Asuhas' palace today. I have checked the information with the captain of the guard and he confirmed that members of the Twenty-first legion disguised themselves as Brotherhood legionnaires. We do not know what they intended or if they succeeded, but Anglhan has shown me the records that link newly recruited members of the Twenty-first to Ullsaard's favourite legion, the Thirteenth."
"And these new recruits, have you found them yet?" Though Herikhil's eyes were the same bright blue as before, there was just a flicker of gold in their pupils, and the stare was penetrating.
"I have my soldiers searching the barracks and palace grounds, and Asuhas has ordered First Captain Lutaan to also find the infiltrators amongst his ranks."
"Lutaan is not to know that Ullsaard may be alive."
"Of course not," snapped Leraates. He calmed his manner, knowing that it was not wise to be too aggressive, despite Lakhyri's abrasive manner. "Forgive my outburst, but you seem short of temper today. Do I not have your trust anymore? I can handle this situation."
"It is not you, it is Urikh," replied Lakhyri. "Our new king forgets which powers placed him on his throne, and summons me to his court like a common chamberlain. Tomorrow he will receive a reminder of his place in the grander scheme."
"You are not going to tell him about Ullsaard, are you?" said Leraates. He regretted the question as soon as he asked it; Herikhil's boyish face screwed up into a derisive snarl.
"Though it is of no concern of yours, you are right. The less Urikh knows about the current situation, the better. The first he hears of Ullsaard's discovery will be seeing his father's corpse. If not, there is a chance that he might well decide to imprison Ullsaard or something equally counter-productive."
"I do not think that Urikh would be sentimental towards his father," said Leraates.
"That is highly unlikely. A more probable cause of interference by the king would be a desire to handle the matter personally. If Urikh decides that he wants to be in charge of his father's death it could threaten the successful outcome of our efforts. Regardless of Anglhan, Ullsaard, Urikh or any other distraction, you must stay focussed on the ambition we share."
"To see the rightful ruler installed, and the new empire created," said Leraates. He dipped his head in deference to the high priest. "I shall not forget."
Herikhil's features squirmed and changed again, dripping more blood down his bare chest, until his face resembled the youth once again. There was a beatific smile on the boy's lips as Lakhyri pulled away his presence. Eyelids fluttering, Herikhil regained control of himself, eyes slowly focussing on the senior Brother.
"Such light and sweetness," murmured the youth. He turned to a bowl and rag on a table next to him and washed his faces, splashing the floor with water and blood. Wiping his hands and brow, Herikhil looked at Leraates. "I am tired. Do you wish for me to contact anybody else today?"
"No, Herikhil, you may rest," said Leraates, gesturing towards the bare slab that served as the boy's cot. "You have done well."
Leraates left the youth as he lay down on his stone bed. Lakhyri had not said anything against Leraates' plan of action, and he assumed that he had the high priest's consent to search for the king in Salphoria. There was still much to organise – legions, bribed Salphor chieftains, Brothers – but he was spurred on by the thought that he was neari
ng his goal. In a matter of days, perhaps two dozen at most, he was sure he would have Ullsaard in his grasp.
VII
The rain was pouring down, the clouds blocking all light of moon and stars. The lights of Marradan could be seen a few miles to coldwards; thousands of torches on the city wall and lanterns lighting the streets were enough to create a glow on the horizon.
In a dell a little more than hundred paces from the main hotwards road another much smaller light glowed in the darkness.
The shuttered lantern, almost closed tight against wind and rain, only shed enough light to illuminate a circle no wider than a man's outstretched arms. In that dim glow, three men huddled behind a handcart turned on its side, their cloaks hitched over their heads on spears to create a rough awning. The three men sat on rectangular shields, arms crossed over bronze breastplates to keep warm. All three were sodden wet, their tunics sticking in folds to their flesh, leather kilts glistening in the lamplight.
