“There’s no time to waste,” Stefan commanded. “Mount up.”
After a slight hesitation and a pained look to both his father and the woman he’d grown to love, who he still cared for to a great extent, Ancel climbed atop Stefan’s horse.
“Don’t stop. Don’t look back until you reach Eldanhill.”
As his father was saying those words, Kachien drew even with them. Ancel opened his mouth to acknowledge her at the same time that she glanced down at the giant. She sniffed, rubbing a thumb across her nose. Then her head jutted forward a bit, her eyes narrowed, and her hands slid imperceptibly closer to the handles of her daggers.
Before Ancel contemplated her reaction, his father slapped the rump of his mount and sent him on his way.
Chapter 4
Head held high in defiance, Irmina Nagel regarded the Tribunal Assembly’s members arrayed before her. Tiered alabaster steps formed a semicircle like an amphitheater of old. Spaced along every stone stair were chairs of the finest mahogany behind matching balustrades. Upon each chair sat the Tribunal High Seats, the twelve colored stripes on their sleeves unmistakable.
Depicted on the walls behind them was Denestia’s creation by the Annendin, taking his lifeblood to produce Mater. He separated it into the three elements and made the worlds. He further broke down the elements into the essences and bestowed them onto the gods. Other murals showed the gods passing their essences down to the Eztezians. Mixed in were the wars with the netherlings, the shadelings, and men with black boiling from their bodies—supposedly, the Skadwaz after the god Amuni changed them. Thinking back to Ryne’s story of the man he faced near the Vallum of Light and their battle in Castere’s Keep, she averted her eyes from that specific section.
Directly ahead of her, on a seat positioned higher than the others, sat High Jin Quintess, leader of the Raijin. Wiry and imperious, auburn hair cut short, she regarded Irmina with cold, golden eyes. To Quintess’ right sat High Shin Hardan, the Pathfinder overseer, silver robes matching his hair. While he studied her, he stroked the corner of his mouth with his thumb. A habit she still found as disconcerting as his piercing eyes. As usual, his expression reflected little to no emotion.
In positions sloping down from the center, according to importance, were High Shin Neftana, sniffing at a perfumed cloth, mouth upturned as if something reeked; High Shin Cantor, black skin shiny against his whiter robe; and High Shin Berenil, his complexion the opposite of Cantor’s. Each led the factions pertaining to an element of Mater—the Streams being foremost, followed by the Forms, and finally the Flows.
Nine other Tribunal members, including High Shin belonging to various divisions, were seated according to the essences they represented. Sigils and colors on display, their expressions were serene though some had revealed pride at Irmina’s success in Castere. The victory had gained them another foothold in Ostania. Quintess and Hardan however, showed no such pride. Quintess’ line of questioning had been particularly scathing.
She grimaced as she regarded the one High Shin in the inky black robes of shade. Though Streamean worship taught equality among the religions, the same way the Tenets governing the elements spoke of harmony, she believed any representation of the shade was blasphemy, even if the color was required. The world suffered enough by those who worshipped its chaos. There were those who would argue that light was to shade as order was to chaos—one could not exist without the other; the world required balance—but she did not care. When questioned, Shins made it seem as if the shade’s representation was of no consequence, a mere symbol in respect to teachings passed down through time immemorial.
Irmina knew better.
Some within the Iluminus worshipped Amuni and his shade. As weak as they were, the Shadow Council existed, as did the Gray who claimed to remain neutral. The White Council opposed them with its dedication to Ilumni, Bragni, and Rituni, the three most pious gods. And yet, not even their subservience to the light was allowed to appear as if it dominated. Unless of course, one wanted to forget that almost everyone within the Iluminus gave their praises to Ilumni. Irmina smiled at the thought. Such a fine distinction to show whom the Ashishin really served.
Irmina wondered who belonged to which sect. Jerem had made it clear that of the three, the Grays might be trustworthy, and then only to a certain degree. She shook her head. The man found conspiracies in seemingly inconsequential acts.
In her simple blue tunic and trousers, the situation reminded her of a senjin player in Ishtar’s renowned arenas before an announcer prepared to declare the sport’s results. In her case, the High Shin represented the judges who determined the subsequent reward for the victor and punishment for the vanquished. Depending on the circumstances, the sentence could be death.
“So,” High Jin Quintess said, “you believe killing a king was the right thing to do?”
“I was under orders from High Shin Jerem,” Irmina answered.
Murmurs spread through the gathered elders. Qunintess raised a hand and the whispers died.
“As much as High Shin Jerem is a senior member of the Tribunal, he overstepped his bounds in this case,” Quintess said, voice calm, but her eyes burning with anger. “We were not prepared, nor do we condone his actions.”
“But—”
“Think, Shin Irmina.” Quintess cut her off, using her title as a reminder of her proper place. “You have been on enough missions now to realize you have placed us in an almost untenable situation. Already, many of the other kingdoms have fled not only Castere, but Astoca as a whole, retreating to their own countries and consolidating their positions not only against the remnants of the shade’s armies, but against us also.”
“I was under the impression the Tribunal always wanted to gain a stronger hold in Ostania, Jin Quintess.”
“Ashishin Irmina,” Quintess paused, “it is Ashishin Irmina Nagel, isn’t it?”
As tempted as she was to say she knew her name only too well, she bit her tongue and nodded.
“Do not forget to whom you speak. Last I checked, you are not on this Assembly, and therefore would not begin to know what our intentions might be.”
Irmina nodded again. “Yes, High Jin. Please accept my humblest apologies.” She said the words with as straight a face as she could mange.
“Good. Now, let us play along with your scenario, shall we? For over a thousand years, we have subtly influenced the Ostanians with our Devout priests.” The strain of trying to remain neutral echoed in Quintess’ voice. “On the other hand, when conflicts arise, Ashishin such as yourself act as mediator for some. For any other … shall we say … more direct deeds, we call on our Raijin. Now, at a time when we have influence among ranking nobility, despite the resistance and whisperings of some concerning what our intentions may be, we lead an attack on the most prominent Ostanian city for all to see. A city, I might add, whose rulers have resisted almost every overture from us. That is, until recently, when they finally requested our help against a common foe.”
“Exactly,” Irmina protested, “a common foe. We saved not only them but a few other Ostanian cities from armies of Amuni’s Children and shadelings.”
Quintess tapped a finger on the desktop in front of her. “In truth, that is what happened, but sometimes events are not portrayed truthfully, but are painted with a delicate brush by those who would benefit.”
Irmina frowned. What in Ilumni’s name was the High Jin referring to? No one who witnessed what occurred in Castere could deny the wickedness they’d defeated, the devastation they’d prevented. Or could they?
“By your expression, you begin to understand. From what we gathered, a certain Lieutenant Rosival, once King Voliny’s right hand, was quite a bit more … shall we say adept … at taking advantage of the situation we created. In fact, what he did was no less short of genius. He employed the same tactics we have for years, using r
umors spread throughout Ostania and fear that dates back to even before the War of Remnants.”
Irmina squinted, trying harder to understand how Rosival could turn the slaughter by the shade and its invasion into an advantage.
Quintess continued, her tone sober, as if she spoke to a child, “You see, Shin Irmina, the local Ostanian populace are as much affected by myth as anyone else. For years, the impression that we lay with the shade and employ shadelings has spread among them. Can we rightfully deny it?”
For a moment, Irmina considered answering with a yes, despite knowing the contrary. She glanced toward the High Shin representing the Streams’ essences. Light, heat, cold … and shade. She thought of the Devout priests’ jobs, spreading Steamean worship and its values of equality and balance even among the religions and their individual gods. A smart enough man could easily spin that into something more sinister.
She understood clearly now. Rosival had whispered the right words to the right ears to paint a picture that the Tribunal’s own minions had attacked Astoca. The Tribunal’s reason? To gain control of another swath of land similar to the one they held in Felan. For those who witnessed the battle at Castere, he’d kill the ones unwilling to be a part of his conspiracy. As far as the others? Men will betray much for the promise of titles and riches. With the Tribunal preferring to be tentative, even secretive about their true intentions, and with an impending revolt from Astoca coupled with a chance of war against the Cardians, the Harnan, the Banai, as well as the imminent threat of Amuni’s Children and their armies, that left the Tribunal no choice but to relinquish their hold on the city.
Despite those who would acknowledge the Tribunal’s rightful allegiances, the recent events in Eldanhill and several other territories further compounded matters. The Setian, hated by all in Ostania since the days of the Shadowbearer War, had declared their existence here in Granadia. She imagined the rest of the world’s shock at such a revelation. Not only did the Tribunal harbor an enemy, one who had decimated much of Ostania, they had seen to their well-being. What could be worse? The Setain war machine, led by Nerian, had ground entire cities to dust. They spared no one. Although the dregs from the wars still lived, they were considered so vile that peoples across the world refused to name those survivors as Setian. They were Amuni’s Children, monsters, inhuman, creatures akin to shadelings, poisoned by their worship of the shade and its god, Amuni.
And the Tribunal had saved them. Simply brilliant.
Deception after deception, inject enough truth where necessary. The Tribunal had been tinkering with men’s lives for years in the same fashion.
Irmina couldn’t help the slight twitch of her lips. She was beaten even before this inquisition began. They could easily lay the blame for it on her shoulders. Even if she claimed Jerem’s involvement, he himself was not present when they killed Voliny. He probably would not deny what happened, but as a Raijin in training, she was technically the commander of the Tribunal’s Matii. Sure, there was Knight Commander Varick, but she was certain his centuries of service would absolve the man of any wrongdoing. Which left her. Irmina felt her shoulders slump.
“High Jin Quintess,” Irmina said, meeting the woman’s unflinching gaze. “What would you have of me?”
A slow smile spread across the High Raijin’s face.
“If you say I made the right decision, then why do I feel like shit?” Irmina asked as she tried her best not to snap at High Shin Jerem.
Gasps issued along the hallway from several students in the blue robes bearing the incomplete figure eight insignia of novices. A few others, in various shades, glanced over, some muttering amongst themselves, adding to the susurrus of voices. Irmina ignored their reactions as she trudged through the Iluminus’ pillared walkways with Jerem at her side. The shining walls and vibrant colors on the windows surrounding her were supposed to evoke certainty, a reflection of positivity through light. They failed miserably.
Jerem, his withered, skinny arms clasped behind his back, arched a wispy eyebrow.
“I-I’m sorry.” Irmina shook her head.
“You should be.”
“No need to rub it in.”
“As for the way you feel,” Jerem shrugged, the crimson robes about his shoulders moving slightly, “you are supposed to feel that way. It is the point of the Raijin exam. Find a person’s weakness and use it against them. See how they react, judge their control. One of the reasons they make aspiring Raijin wear those ridiculous outfits, by the way.” A slight smile graced his thin lips.
Irmina cringed at the thought of the kilt that covered so little she might as well have been naked. The top had exposed her ample cleavage, and the bottom left little to the imagination. Only through great effort did she manage not to gut some ogling ruffian or drunk. Thank the gods she now wore the plain blue tunic and trousers. Dressed as she was did bring a raised brow here or there, but not the lusty looks and comments of her old garb. “Ability to act logically when faced with an extreme situation,” Irmina quoted.
“For the most part, yes.”
“Really? There wasn’t much sense in what I did,” she argued, thinking back to her choice. “If Ryne is truly who Voliny said, how does not killing him when he was weak make for a correct decision?”
“Everything is not in black and white, light or shade, truth or lie. There are myriads of grays to consider, plenty of dimness, many a half-truth and more. All helping to bring about what we are and strive to be.”
Resisting the urge to snort, Irmina said, “Similar to how you’re talking now?”
Jerem’s lips twitched. “Precisely.”
“You mentioned more. What else could there be?”
High Shin Jerem stopped.
Drawing her brows together, Irmina glanced around to see if some inattentive pupil had crossed their path, but they all maintained a wide berth. Every student gave a quick nod of deference first to Jerem then to her as they hurried by, eager to be at their classes. When she returned her attention to her mentor, Jerem’s white eyebrow, so similar to the pure snow falling like puffy ash outside the Iluminus’ windows, was raised again.
Her forehead furrowed even more. She expected him to say she knew the answer to her own question. The ensuing silence as they resumed their walk confirmed her suspicion. She followed, this time a step behind, face flushed like a scolded schoolgirl back when she first met the tall, waif of a man whose youthful effervescence belied his stature. Mind working furiously, she bit her lip, pondering why she’d been given the particular test of facing her most hated enemy and having to choose between assisting him or driving her sword through his back when given the opportunity.
A sudden smile bloomed across her face. “Control. Everything it means to be any type of Matii hinges on emotional control.”
High Shin Jerem grunted.
“They risked my life … no … you risked my life to see if I could control myself? You gave me the chance to relieve myself of all the daemons haunting my dreams only to snatch it away from me?” This time, she was the one who stopped and stared at the High Shin.
“I never deprived you of anything.” He kept on walking. “You accomplished that yourself.”
Irmina’s hand clenched against her side. Remembering her words from a moment ago, she sought the deep place within her mind where she walled herself away from her emotions while they flitted outside. The Eye brought her comfort, but her rage still existed, buzzing like a nattering fly beyond its surface. With an exaggerated breath, she stalked after Jerem.
She caught up with him as he turned down another hall past several columns. Guards stood at attention, tasseled lances held before them. On the breast of every surcoat shone an emblem of the sun with three lightning bolts striking in front of it. The Lightstorm insignia appeared brighter against their silver armor. Unlike the main thoroughfare, no windows lined this hall th
at led deeper into the Iluminus. No one traveling down this walkway wore the colors of students and apprentices or even the paler red with gold sleeves of Ashishin. The few people walking this way displayed the bright crimson, silver, gold, and stripes of High Ashishin.
“Good for you to maintain control even now,” Jerem finally said. “You will need it.”
Another test. She almost groaned.
Similar to the walls along other corridors, the ones here shone, imbued with light essences that kept the Iluminus in perpetual brilliance and chased away any possibility of a shadow. Even the floor and ceiling glowed. Tapestries and paintings lined the walls, displaying various battles. Some were actual recounts, others, stuff of legend.
A series of paintings depicted the Tribunal’s history, dating back several millennia. They showed the first among the Exalted: Trucida Adler, Jenoah Amalie, Sol Remus, Damal Adelfried, and others. Men and women all said to be related to the Eztezians—the direct descendants of the gods themselves given the task to protect the world. Damal, in particular, was displayed larger than life, a giant to rival Ryne’s size, if not larger. The man reminded her of the brief glimpse she’d gotten of some sort of spiritual presence back when Ryne defeated Voliny.
The same drawing showed them bowing before a form wreathed in light—a representation of Ilumni—as they received the Principles governing the elements of Mater and the Tenets for each individual essence. The script beneath said Ilumni also handed them the ideas behind the foundation of Streamean worship: the triple unity. The coming together of the gods, the three religions, and of man.
The writing continued to wax poetic about justice, social understanding, the belief in nonviolence, and compulsory education. Above all, it stressed the founding ideals of the harmonies of life. Do good and so would fortune shine on a person. Do evil and reap the rewards of darkness.
Aegis of The Gods: Book 02 - Ashes and Blood Page 4
