Rules of Ascension: Book One of Winds of the Forelands

by DAVID B. COE

  “Yes, of course you would. So how can you expect me to do any less as I seek justice for my daughter?”

  Still Javan said nothing. What was there to say? The two dukes merely stared at each other, as if with swords drawn for a battle that would determine the fate of the entire kingdom. At last Aindreas looked away, though only so that he could nod to the captain of his guards.

  An instant later the captain gave a sharp order to his men, and Javan, Xaver, and Fotir were led away to Kentigern’s prison tower.

  After nearly half a turn in the castle prison, Tavis was too stiff and weak to walk on his own. And after all he had done that night, bending the minds of the guards, helping Fotir break the iron bars, healing some of the young lord’s wounds, Grinsa could hardly carry him. At another time, in almost any other place, the gleaner might have found the situation amusing. But scrambling down the side of Kentigern Tor in the shadow of Aindreas’s great fortress, half supporting Lord Tavis, half carrying him, he saw nothing funny in it at all.

  The boy hadn’t said a word since they left the castle, though he had cried out in pain several times and was now sucking air through his teeth with almost every step.

  “Do you need to rest?” Grinsa asked him. He didn’t want to stop. They were only halfway down the tor. Grinsa couldn’t even see his mount yet. But neither did he want to kill the boy.

  “I’m fine,” Tavis managed. “Don’t stop.”

  The gleaner could tell that he was lying, that his fear of returning to the dungeon was simply more powerful than his pain. But Grinsa took the boy at his word, continuing to steer him down the mountain.

  “I have a horse ahead,” he said. “Not far from here.”

  “I’m no more fit to ride than I am to walk, gleaner. You’ll have to sling me across his back like a corpse.”

  “If you can lie still enough, that may get us past a guard or two.”

  In spite of everything, the boy laughed. Perhaps there was more to him than the spoiled child Grinsa had seen at his Fating.

  “Where will we go?” he asked a moment later.

  Grinsa started to answer, then faltered. With all the boy had to fear just now, he didn’t need this as well.

  “A place where you’ll be safe,” he said at last. “I can’t tell you more than that right now.”

  He expected an argument, but Tavis merely nodded, gasping once more as an awkward step jarred him. The moons were obscured by clouds at the moment and while their light might have helped the gleaner navigate the tumble of rocks and clumped grass, Grinsa was just as glad to see them darkened. Panya’s bright glow was not their ally tonight.

  The moons emerged again just as they reached the bottom of the tor and the ground started to level off. Panya’s light touched the city once more, revealing Grinsa’s mount standing in the field where the Qirsi had left him.

  “This way,” he said, leading the boy toward the horse.

  Before they got to the animal, however, the gleaner heard a cry go up from the castle.

  He whirled, nearly knocking Tavis to the ground.

  “Already?”

  “What is it?” Tavis asked.

  “I fear they’ve already learned of your escape.”

  “Perhaps the gods aren’t with us.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, hurrying the boy to the horse and lifting him into the saddle.

  Grinsa swung himself onto the beast as well, sitting just behind the young lord to keep him from falling. The shouting in the castle had grown louder. Fires were lit in the towers overlooking the city, to be answered a few seconds later by bright flames atop the city gates. If Grinsa had been planning to leave the city, all would have been lost. But he had another place in mind, one that was far closer, but just as safe.

  He kicked the horse into motion, drawing another soft cry from Tavis. He needed more healing and a good deal of sleep. Grinsa needed rest as well, but first he had to get them to the far side of the city.

  The street that ran past the field connected the castle road to the city gate nearest the Tarbin, both of which were sure to be crawling with guards by now. The gleaner steered his mount across the lane and through a narrow yard between two small shops. They came to another field and, crossing that, reached another small lane. Grinsa pulled the animal to a halt and looked around briefly, getting his bearings.

  “Are we there?” Tavis asked, sounding sleepy.

  “Almost,” the gleaner whispered.

  They started forward again, turned onto the next street, and followed it in a wide arc to the gated walls of Bian’s Sanctuary.

  Stopping once more, Grinsa dismounted and stepped to the nearest gate.

  A heavyset man emerged from the small guardhouse and regarded him coolly, glancing for a moment at Tavis, who still sat on the horse, before looking at the Qirsi again. The man was clean-shaven, with long silver hair that was tied back from his face. He wore a simple grey robe tied at his waist with a piece of rope. He didn’t appear to be carrying a weapon; the clerics of the ancient gods rarely did.

  “Good night to you, Brother,” the Qirsi said. “This boy and I are weary from our travels and we seek rest in your sanctuary.”

  Guards were shouting all through the city now, and bells tolled from the castle as well as from the gates of the city wall. Grinsa tried to hold the man’s gaze, but he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder as the shouting grew nearer.

  “The prioress likes to know of all who seek refuge among us,” the man said, his voice gravelly, his face betraying nothing. Refuge, not rest. He understood all too well. “Who shall I say has come?”

  “Is Meriel still prioress here?”

  The man’s eyes widened, though only for an instant. “She is.”

  “Then tell her that Grinsa jal Arriet has come seeking her aid.”

  “And him?” the man asked, pointing at Tavis.

  “He’s a friend,” Grinsa said, meeting the man’s gaze as best he could. “He needs healing and rest.”

  The man gave a slight frown. But after a moment he nodded. “Very well. I’ll return shortly.”

  “Thank you,” the gleaner said as the man walked back toward the center tower of the sanctuary. He looked back again. Torchlight flickered in the distance. “Be quick, Brother,” he murmured.

  Grinsa walked the horse slowly to the gate, marking the approach of the torchlight as he did.

  “Where are we?” Tavis asked, warily eyeing the gate and buildings beyond.

  “At a sanctuary,” Grinsa told him. “I know the prioress here. I believe she’ll be willing to help us.”

  “Are we still in Kentigern?”

  “Yes,” the Qirsi said, hoping the boy was too weary to put the pieces together.

  Tavis nodded, but didn’t say anything more, and Grinsa allowed himself a soft sigh of relief.

  A few moments later, the heavyset man returned, unlocking the gate and waving them inside.

  “The prioress will see you in the shrine,” he said, locking the gate once more. “I’ll take your mount to the stable.”

  “Thank you, Brother,” Grinsa said, helping Tavis off the mount and leading him toward the shrine.

  Like those in the sanctuaries of the other gods, the Shrine of Bian was simple, almost stark. Unadorned on the outside save for the narrow spire that rose above the other buildings in the sanctuary, the shrine contained several rows of dark wooden benches, and a stone altar that held a bowl and knife for blood offerings, both of which were also made of stone. Narrow tapered candles burned at either end of the altar, resting in plain wooden holders that were caked with wax. Behind the altar stood an enormous window of stained glass, a stunning contrast to the austerity of the rest of the shrine. In one corner of the window, raked by angry flames of orange and yellow and tormented by black demons, the damned writhed in anguish, their mouths opened in silent screams. On the opposite side, the honored walked in a garden filled with brilliant blooms of red, blue, violet, and gold. In the center, abo
ve all the dead, stood the Deceiver himself, cloaked in a shimmering multihued robe, his arms lifted before him, as if he were controlling both the flames and the bright silver light that shone on the garden. His ageless face wore a strange expression, one that seemed to change continually with the flickering of the candlelight. There was anger in it, even malice, but Grinsa thought he sensed kindness there as well.

  He glanced at the boy once more, but Tavis was nearly asleep on his feet. He would learn soon enough where he was, but for tonight, at least, he was too consumed with his own weariness and pain to notice.

  “Do you care to offer blood?” someone asked from behind them.

  Grinsa turned toward the voice, knowing already whose it was.

  “Gladly, Mother Prioress,” he said, “if that is the price of our safety.”

  Meriel strode toward the altar on long legs. She was tall and straight-backed, though the years had left lines on her face and bold streaks of silver in her red hair.

  “This is a sanctuary. There is no price for refuge here.” Reaching the altar, she turned to face him. “I merely asked if you wish to offer blood to the god.”

  The Qirsi hesitated, then nodded. “I think I had better,” he told her, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I sent a man to the Underrealm last night.”

  The expression on her handsome face did not change and her dark eyes continued to hold his. “Step forward then. The knife and bowl await.”

  Grinsa helped Tavis onto one of the wooden benches, then stepped to the altar. He held out his arm, turning it so that the underside was exposed. The prioress placed the bowl under it and raised the stone knife so that the milky white blade shone in the light of the candles.

  “Hear me, Bian!” she said, her eyes closing and her voice ringing like the castle bells. “A man comes to you offering his life’s blood for a life he has taken. Deem him worthy and accept this gift. Make room for the one who has died.” She paused, looking at Grinsa. “Do you know the name of this man you killed?”

  “I knew him as Honok. He was an assassin sent to kill me.”

  At that her eyes did widen, though only for an instant.

  “And you offer blood for him?”

  He shrugged. “I killed him.”

  After a moment she nodded. Closing her eyes again, she raised the knife a second time. “Make room for the one who has died,” she repeated. “Judge him as you will. And remember Grinsa jal Arriet, who gives his blood. When his time comes, consider this gift.”

  She dragged the blade across Grinsa’s arm, catching the dark blood as it welled from the wound. Though he had offered blood before, he could not help anticipating pain. The blade of the stone knife appeared jagged and uneven. But it was honed to such a fine edge that he barely felt the cut at all.

  After a few moments the bleeding subsided and Meriel wrapped a cloth around his arm. He could have healed himself, of course. But he chose to let time mend this wound.

  The prioress lifted the bowl and swirled it gently so that his blood covered the entire surface. Then she placed the bowl at the middle of the altar.

  “Will your companion make an offering as well?” she asked, facing him once more.

  From the way she asked the question, Grinsa could tell that she knew just who the boy was and what he was said to have done.

  “There’s no life on his hands,” he said as forcefully as he could. “And he’s already had more blood taken from him than he deserved.”

  “I’m the god’s servant,” Meriel said, “and my dukes all turned to the cloisters long ago. But I’m still a woman of Kentigern. I’ll need more than the word of one man to trust that he’s innocent. Even if that man is you.”

  “I understand, Mother Prioress. You’ll give us refuge?”

  “How could I not? Others in my family may have disapproved of you as a husband for Pheba, but I saw how she looked at you.”

  He felt the old grief rising within him, stronger than it had been in years. Perhaps it was being with Meriel again, or just the added pain of Cresenne’s betrayal. “Her mother saw that as well,” he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice. “It didn’t seem to matter to her.”

  “My sister was small-minded and selfish. She cared more for what people said of her than she did for Pheba’s happiness.”

  Grinsa nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  Footsteps echoed off the ceiling of the shrine and the Qirsi turned, seeing a robed cleric standing beside a door he hadn’t noticed earlier.

  “My pardon, Mother Prioress,” the man said, “but there are soldiers at the gate.” His eyes flicked toward Grinsa. “They are inquiring about our guests.”

  “Thank you, Osmyn,” Meriel said. “I’ll speak with them in a moment.”

  The man nodded once and withdrew.

  “What will you tell them?”

  “A lie,” she said easily. Then she smiled. “I serve the Deceiver.”

  Grinsa merely stared at her, and after a moment her smile faded. “I’ll tell them I haven’t seen you or Lord Tavis.”

  It was the first time either of them had spoken the boy’s name, and the Qirsi shivered slightly.

  “When they don’t find him elsewhere, they’ll come back. Aindreas wants him dead.”

  “The sanctuaries cannot be violated, even by a duke bent on vengeance. Aindreas knows that.”

  “He tortured me, though it risked war with my father. Do you really believe he’ll show any more regard for the sanctity of your shrine?”

  Grinsa turned to look at Tavis, awake after all and very much aware of his surroundings. He was as pale as a Qirsi and he appeared to be trembling, as if the very act of sitting there was taxing him to his limits. But the look in his eyes was keen and alert.

  “Fear of the Deceiver runs deep, Lord Tavis,” the prioress said, showing no surprise at the boy’s question. “It’s one thing to challenge another duke, even one who would be king. It’s another thing entirely to challenge a god. As you will learn soon enough.”

  The young lord frowned. “What do you mean?”

  “This is Bian’s Sanctuary, and the cycle of this moon ends two nights hence. Every turn, on Pitch Night, all who are in this place meet their dead. Lady Brienne will tell us if you are guilty or innocent. It’s ironic, isn’t it, that the truth of such things can best be learned in the shrine of the Deceiver.”

  Tavis had paled, but he did not look away.

  “I’ll go speak with the soldiers,” Meriel said, a thin smile on her lips. She started to leave, then halted and returned to the altar. “Your offering has been accepted,” she said, looking at Grinsa. “I hope that brings you some comfort.”

  She held up the stone bowl for both of them to see. It was as white as the knife, as white as it had been when first they entered the shrine. His blood had vanished entirely, as if it had been absorbed into the stone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Glyndwr, Eibithar

  Even before she reached the court hall, Keziah made up her mind to leave the banquet early. She had met the duke of Rouvin before and though he seemed a gracious man and a competent leader, he struck her as a typical Eandi lord: as bland as Wethy bread, too full of himself, and far less intelligent than he believed himself to be. The irony in this, one that Kearney was certain to point out to her, was that it had been her idea to invite him to Glyndwr Castle. “It would be wise to maintain good relations with our Caerissan neighbors,” she told Kearney at the time. “War may seem a remote possibility now, but by the time a threat appears, it’s often too late to win allies.”

  Her duke had agreed, as a wise duke will when his Qirsi minister offers sound advice. It had helped, of course, that she had made the suggestion in his bed, as she straddled his back rubbing his shoulders. She had known at the time what it would mean—a formal dinner attended by the duchess, and a night passed alone in her bed—but she knew as well that Kearney needed to do this. Tensions along the Aneiran border remained high, and the lords of Ca
erisse were divided in their sympathies between Aneira and Eibithar. If the kingdom could not depend upon the support of Caerisse’s northern lords in the event of a war, they had no hope of keeping their southern neighbor from allying itself with Aneira. With so much at stake, her personal concerns about the evening seemed selfish and small.

  She had been alone before, and she had spent a good deal of time in the company of her lover’s wife. One night more of one or the other would mean little to her.

  Much as Keziah disliked Leilia, the duchess, she also felt sorry for her. The woman knew of Keziah’s affair with the duke. By now she probably knew that he was in love with Keziah, and she with him. Yet there was little she could do about it. Yes, the love shared by the minister and her duke was forbidden by law—the sin of the moons—but had Leilia exposed them, she would have brought humiliation on herself as well. Besides, with other lovers would have come bastards, and a different kind of shame for the duchess. In noble houses of Eibithar, it was said, there were more bastards than there were heirs. But not in Glyndwr. Had Keziah become pregnant with the duke’s child, it would not only have exposed their crime, it would also have endangered her life, for Qirsi women rarely survived the labor that brought forth the child of an Eandi man. As things stood, Leilia was still the mother of all Kearney’s children, and Keziah and the duke were so discreet that few people, even within the castle, knew of their affair. Publicly, many noblewomen in the kingdom endured far worse than the duchess did. Her pain was private, a wound few could see. Keziah couldn’t say which she thought worse. In truth, each seemed a cruel fate to bear. At times she felt ashamed for what her love did to the woman. But on nights like these, when Leilia could claim the duke as her own before all the dukedom, Keziah envied the duchess. She might even have hated her.

  Stepping out of the cloister tower, the one nearest her quarters, Keziah crossed Glyndwr Castle’s upper ward toward the court tower. Elined’s turn was almost over, but here in the Glyndwr Highlands, the night air still carried a chill. She pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders and quickened her pace. The gown she wore was cut lower in the back than it should have been for so early in the growing season, but Kearney loved it, and if he was going to pass the night in Leilia’s arms he was going to do so thinking of Keziah in this dress. She reached the far side of the ward and entered the tower, nodding to the guards there as she did.