Caile grabbed Makarria by the hand again and pulled her away from the gruesome scene. Beyond the torture chamber were a dozen more cells. Makarria’s heart sank as she passed by each one only to find it empty. Each and every one until only one remained.
“The last cell,” Makarria said.
“Do you even want to look?”
“Yes.”
They walked together and peered inside. Makarria started to cry at seeing the two prisoners slumped on the floor at opposite sides of the cell. After all we’ve gone through to get here. No survivors. Two of my soldiers dead. All for what?
“We came too late, Caile.”
“No look,” Caile said, going to the nearest prisoner. “He breathes. We’re not too late at all.”
“Too late for what?” the other prisoner wheezed, stirring. It was a woman’s voice.
Makarria gasped. “You’re a woman.” She rushed to the prisoner’s side and helped her sit up.
The woman was emaciated, but strong enough to raise her head. “What else would I be but a woman?”
Makarria couldn’t help but smile. “I don’t know. I’m just glad we found you and that you’re still alive.”
“Of course,” the woman replied, smiling in return, the dried skin of her lips cracking over the top of her front teeth. “I would never give Don Bricio the satisfaction of dying here.”
Tears poured down Makarria’s cheeks she was so happy to have found this woman, and the man too. Could it be Conzo?
“What’s your name?” Makarria asked the woman.
“Fina.”
“And your partner there. His name?”
“Thon,” the woman replied.
“Not Conzo?”
“No, not Conzo. Conzo was here once, but he died a long time ago.”
Disappointment filled Makarria, but only for a moment. The light in this woman’s eyes—the joy of being rescued—made Makarria realize she had done the right thing. No one deserved this sort of incarceration and torture. She and Caile had found only two survivors out of perhaps dozens of prisoners, but still two, and that made her forget everything else: the fatigue in her, the chamber they had found full of decayed bodies, her fallen soldiers, and even the peculiar behavior of Lorentz.
2
Ravens Descend
Any ordinary man in his position would have turned tail and run as far from Col Sargoth as possible. Indeed, that was what the High Houndkeeper had done—disappeared from Lightbringer’s Keep with dozens of Emperor Guderian’s innermost confidants and advisors the day the dreamwielder had killed the Emperor. Natarios Rhodas was too clever by far to be ordinary, though. Where there was turmoil there was opportunity. With the demise of Guderian, the Sargothian Empire would be no more, and for the first time in decades, each of the Five Kingdoms would be truly sovereign. There would be a new order of power, and Natarios meant to be part of it.
When everyone else in his position was off running, he had marched right back into Col Sargoth, took charge of the Houndkeeper’s tower, and nominated himself as a member of the high council in charge of electing a new Sargothian king. His boldness had been rewarded; he received everything he demanded, and now here he was—a virtually unknown Houndkeeper from Pyrthinia—brokering deals that would shape the Kingdom of Sargoth. If all went to plan, it would make him more rich and powerful than he dared to hope.
A squawk emanated from the perch at one of the four windows in the tower chamber and Natarios hooted in delight. Just in time, his raven from the Kingdom of Golier had arrived! He grabbed a jar from a storage cabinet, lifted away the stopper and dumped the grisly contents into a wooden bowl. No matter how many times he had smelled it before, the stench still made him gag: chicken livers fermented in their own blood. Not what he thought of as a delicacy, but the other ravens in their cages were clamoring for it, crescendoing in a cacophony of yawping. Natarios ignored their racket and placed the bowl down for his new arrival to eat, its reward for dutifully returning to Col Sargoth from Lon Golier. The bird quivered in delight as it choked down the rotten meat, oblivious to Natarios, who removed the folded parchment from the leather sleeve attached to its right leg.
Natarios broke the wax seal away, opened the letter and smiled as he read. The bribes had been made. They would have enough votes when the council met today. He refolded the letter and slipped it into a pocket on the inner breast of his black robe. Already, the messenger raven was finished and crying for more fermented livers.
“Sorry, you’ll get more when you return to Lon Golier next.”
Natarios nimbly snatched up the bird, pinning its wings against its sides and avoiding its sharp beak, and tossed it into the cage with the three other Golier messenger ravens. It would be back to a vegetarian diet for all of them for the time being. In the three other cages, the ravens from Norgland, Pyrthinia, and Valaróz squawked their protest.
“Leave me be, you rotten creatures,” Natarios hollered, covering his ears. He grabbed a bag of nuts and seeds and threw a handful into each of the cages. “There now. Be quiet.”
With that, Natarios stepped out of the chamber into the spiral stairwell and ascended the steps to the uppermost chamber in the tower, the scent-hound chamber. The creature within—half-woman, half-dog, splayed out and melded onto a giant compass—did not stir when he entered. Talitha, the sorceress from Issborg, had ensorcelled it into perpetual slumber almost a year before. It was a good stroke of luck she didn’t have the courage to kill it when Guderian died. In recent weeks, the steam-engineer’s guild had been pushing for the re-awakening of the hound to help enforce the sanctions they were demanding on sorcery. They were out to inhibit the manufacture of any vehicles powered by magic that might threaten their booming steam-wagon industry—that was the sort of quibbling the Sargothian council had devolved into, when its entire purpose had been to elect a new ruler. It was all the better for Natarios.
In reality, the scent-hound would do the steam engineers no good. It detected and pinpointed the usage of magic, yes, but even with only the meager emergence of sorcerers and magical doings since Emperor Guderian’s death, the poor creature would be overwhelmed and go mad, howling and spinning itself in circles on the axle through its navel every time a stormbringer summoned a breeze to push ships out with the tide or a beastcharmer coaxed a plowhorse to pull harder. No, the scent-hound was obsolescent now, but Natarios didn’t tell anyone, of course. If the steam-engineer’s guild thought he could help them, all the better.
In the meantime, he had to keep the idiot creature alive. That meant pouring a meat broth down its gullet with a funnel twice a day. Unsavory, but not any worse than tending to the ravens. He tried not to think about it too much, but still he couldn’t help but feel a bit of pity for the hound. He had tended to the scent-hound in Kal Pyrthin for almost ten years before King Casstian’s sympathizers killed it and chased him out of the city. Casstian was dead now, but as far as Natarios was concerned, his daughter, the bitch Queen Taera, was one and the same: closed-minded and meddlesome.
She and the dreamwielder both will be in for a surprise soon enough, Natarios consoled himself.
When he was done feeding the hound, he bounded down the steps, all one hundred and sixty-seven of them, and into the main pentagonal hallway of Lightbringer’s Keep. With its basalt floors and dark-stained walls, the cavernous hallway was dim and dreary, even with the full light of day shining in the bay windows. Natarios was well accustomed to it now, though, and hardly thought of the clear, warm days in Kal Pyrthin anymore.
From the main hallway, it was a short jaunt into the inner council chambers of the keep where a half-dozen council members were trickling in for their afternoon meeting. Natarios found Ambassador Rives already seated at one side of the massive, oblong table that dominated the room, and wordlessly handed him the raven’s note. The Golierian ambassador glanced over the letter and gave Natarios an almost imperceptible nod.
It happens today then! Natarios could hardly keep himself fr
om openly grinning as he took his own seat.
Over the course of the next quarter hour, a procession of council members entered the chambers to take their seats at the table. In addition to Rives, there were the ambassadors from the other three kingdoms, and then there were the guildmasters, a baker’s dozen of them representing everyone from the steam-engineers and sorcerers, to craftsmen, farmers, and sailors. These were the voices that had bogged down the search for a new ruler with endless proceedings and proposed laws. Aiding them, though perhaps not willingly, were the scholars and scribes who were slavishly dogmatic about the ancient laws and texts of Sargoth Lightbringer, the original founder of the Five Kingdoms. And then there were the power players: the noblemen who had made claim to the throne. There were seven claimants in all, and also Lady Hildreth, who, while not eligible to rule under Sargothian law because of her gender, had insisted on her right to vote in the proceedings.
Last to enter the chambers was Talitha of Issborg, mightiest of sorcerers in the Five Kingdoms, and lord of the proceedings, as decreed by the conqueror, the dreamwielder Queen Makarria of Valaróz. Talitha wore a simple brown dress and had her walnut hair pulled back in a ponytail, and while she carried her head high and shoulders back, Natarios could see the weariness in her. The subtle wrinkles on her face had deepened over the course of the last year, and dark circles had formed beneath her eyes. Natarios had no sympathy for her. Politics doesn’t suit everyone. You shouldn’t be here if you don’t like it.
Talitha took her place at the head of the table and rapped her ebony gavel three times to silence everyone. “I bring this meeting to order,” she began, and the scribe sitting beside her began scribbling every word she uttered. “The couriers have delivered you each the day’s agenda. Are there any new orders of business to add before we proceed?”
Ambassador Rives stood. “Yes, I motion that before we proceed, the council shall vote on the matter of new leadership.”
Talitha shot up one eyebrow in surprise, but Rives continued on before she could object.
“The council has become mired in bickering over orders of procedure for too long now. We have before us seven worthy candidates to the throne, and instead of weighing their merits and electing one, we argue over voting procedures that delay matters, which leads to arguing over intermediary laws to keep the realm at peace, which only further delays voting. It is not only Sargoth that suffers, but also the other four kingdoms. Golier cannot be expected to guard the Gothol Sea all alone indefinitely.”
“These are the very things I have been saying for weeks,” Talitha replied, rubbing her brow in clear annoyance. “If we could set aside our brinkmanship for a day even, and hear the candidates out rather than playing these backdoor dealings to win candidates to our causes, I believe our choice will become clear. We can vote and let the new king be the arbiter of law and order.”
Rives shook his head. “It’s too late for that. As leader, you are responsible for our path and this path is one that leads nowhere. Again, I motion that we vote for new leadership.”
“I second the motion,” said the leader of the steam-engineer’s guild.
“Of course you would,” Talitha remarked. “We all know here that the two of you are only out to protect the steam-wagon industry.”
Natarios wrung his hands beneath the table in excitement. It was plain by the look on Talitha’s face that she had been caught off guard. No one had ever challenged her in this capacity before and now it would all be over before she had a chance to even fight back.
“The motion is seconded,” Rives said, ignoring Talitha’s accusation. “All in favor of voting on new leadership?”
All but five hands raised up in the air, and of those five, one of them was Natarios’s. It was all part of the plan, to abstain from voting so as to appear neutral.
“The motion is passed,” Rives said. “The council is now open to discuss and vote on the removal of Talitha of Issborg as lord of proceedings. I herby motion that she be removed from her station and the counsel entirely, and that a new lord of proceedings be elected, one who is neutral and has done all in his power to assist these proceedings in moving forward in a fair and equitable manner.”
And here it comes…
“I nominate Natarios Rhodas.”
“I second the motion,” said the steam-engineer’s guildmaster.
Natarios tried his damndest to look surprised.
One of the scholars stood. “A vote on this matter needs a third confirmation of the motion before proceeding to voting.”
“I third the motion,” the leader of the sorcerer’s guild said without pause.
That was unexpected, the motion coming so willingly from the sorcerers, but Natarios didn’t mind. It simply meant they were looking for a favor from him.
Rives nodded. “Very well then, we move to vote.”
“Wait,” Talitha said, rapping her gavel and rising to her feet. “The floor is still open for discussion. You will hear my piece before you proceed with this ridiculous vote.”
Rives did not sit but waved at her with a flippant motion, indicating she was allowed to speak. This time, Natarios couldn’t help but crack a smile. It had been so easy for Natarios to steal her power away, without saying so much as a word.
“Listen to me, all of you,” Talitha said, letting her gaze sweep across the table. “You are only here at Queen Makarria’s bidding. She was in her right to claim Sargoth as her own if she wished, or to choose her own despot to rule the kingdom, in the same way Thedric Guderian chose Don Bricio to rule Valaróz. She could have kept Guderian’s empire intact if she had so desired, and ruled it with an iron fist as he did. She chose otherwise, though. She instead put the power into your hands, the hands of the people who were for so long under the rule of a tyrant. She returned to her own kingdom and gave you the opportunity to make Sargoth whole again, to raise your kingdom back to a height it hasn’t seen since the Hundred-Years’ Peace. And you’ve squandered it, fighting for scraps of the realm like carrion birds. Choose whom you will to oversee your proceedings. I have no ties to Sargoth and am happy to return to my people in Issborg, but know this: I have fought at every moment to ensure these proceedings have moved on justly, so that the people of Sargoth may have a ruler worthy of them. If you send me away and remake this kingdom into what it was when Guderian ruled; if war and chaos breaks out to spill over the border into the other four kingdoms; I can promise you that the dreamwielder and I will return.”
“Thank you for your lecture,” Rives said. “The child-queen had her chance to create a new order and she chose instead to flee. She can barely rule her own kingdom if the rumors are to be believed. Our fate is in our hands now and we take it gladly.”
Natarios shot a glance at the ambassador of Valaróz, sitting at the opposite side of the table from Rives, to see if he would object to the insult of his queen, but the man was either too much a coward or too prudent to speak up. It was all but done now.
“All those in favor of removing Talitha of Issborg from this council and electing Natarios Rhodas as lord of proceedings, raise your hand.”
The hands shot up around the room, all of them but Talitha’s and the ambassadors’ from Valaróz and Pyrthinia.
“It is done,” Rives said.
Talitha glared openly at Ambassador Rives and then turned to Natarios. For one terrifying moment, Natarios thought she might turn him to flames, but she simply set the gavel down on the table and walked out of the council room, defeated.
Natarios smiled and stood when the door closed behind her. Now it was time to really put things into motion.
“Thank you all for your trust in my loyalty and abilities. I have to admit, I am much surprised, but I do not take this charge lightly. As my first order of business, I move that we proceed to the candidate voting process immediately. Each candidate will have up to two days to present his claim, and we’ll allow for an additional two days of recess for the council to debate matters in between. That is
little more than two weeks total, lords and ladies. Sixteen days until we elect the next King of Sargoth. Do I have a second motion?”
Rives had a surprised look on his face, but Natarios paid him no heed. Did the man think that Natarios was his servant and not the other way around?
“I second the motion,” the steam-engineer’s guildmaster said.
“All in favor?” Natarios demanded.
Again, a near unanimous vote in his favor.
“It is done then,” Natarios said. “Lord Penter shall be first, making his case before us on the morrow and the next. I call this meeting adjourned.”
And like that it was all over. Ambassadors and candidates alike crowded around him to shake his hand and congratulate him, to thank him for moving forward so expeditiously. He took it all in, knowing that the next two weeks were going to be very busy for him. The backroom negotiating he had been doing thus far would pale in comparison to what faced him now. It was all in his hands, just the way he wanted it.
The only surprise waiting for him as the counsel members poured out of the chambers was Talitha re-entering the room to approach him. Natarios tried to ignore her, pretending to be immersed in conversation with someone else as he made his way toward the door, but she barred his passage.
“Congratulations,” Talitha said. “I hope you fare better than I have, houndkeeper.”
Natarios merely nodded, not trusting himself to speak. It was one thing to undermine her power behind her back and through bureaucratic proceedings, quite another to insult her to her face.
“I have a favor to ask,” Talitha went on. “I assume you’ll be notifying the other monarchs of the impending vote. Would you mind sending along a note from me with your raven to Sol Valaróz?”
Natarios wet his lips as a new thought came to mind. Talitha had an airship at her disposal—the only one of its kind, in fact—and if he refused her, she would be sure to jump aboard and go running to the dreamwielder in Valaróz along with the beast of a northman who was her man servant. Natarios wouldn’t have to worry about her meddling around here in Col Sargoth anymore. It was so perfect, he couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of it before.
Souldrifter: The Dreamwielder Chronicles - Book Two Page 3
