The Emerald Crown

by L J Chappell

And there was the wind, the biting chill wind that lashed the skin, that seemed to simply cut through clothing, that hammered everything with a fierce cold such as he’d never felt before. Of course it was cold in Corvak during winter, especially at night, but nothing like this – so cold that, inside his gloves, the tips of his fingers hurt at its touch. When that wind blew, it was a dreadful journey: a bitter, awful time.

  They had arrived a few days before most of the pilgrims, and they had unlocked the stone buildings that served as Temple and lodgings and refectory. They had cleaned and inspected them, warmed them and made such repairs as were required. The compound lay empty and unused between Festivals so the weather took its toll. And it was old – a thousand years or more; the rooms below ground were far older. When they arrived, it was tired and it smelled bad and it needed patched. There was a pack of dogs that had moved into some of the ground floor rooms, and they were initially very reluctant to simply leave.

  Bringing the Temple back to life over the following two days had been difficult, arduous, but the Priests were used to that. Even in the Temples on Elagion, the fight against decay and entropy was hard. The Priests, including Neophytes of all ages and ranks, carried out the physical work themselves. Rather than employ external workmen, they passed on the skills and the various trades required from generation to generation among their own number – carpenters, builders, painters and so on.

  As well as an annual calendar of festivals, ceremonies, feasts and holy days, there was another calendar that governed their lives – the rota of tasks that were required to keep the buildings clean and intact, to keep the gardens planted with herbs and flowers and staple crops, to keep the roofs from leaking or being overrun with nesting birds and to prevent the shores from being eroded by the gentle but persistent waves. Everything was written down, divided into a hundred or a thousand tasks, assigned to a particular time and divided out.

  Even Father Ykerios could sometimes be spotted rooting out weeds in the gardens, whitewashing the walls of the outer compound, or scrabbling across the roofs replacing tiles.

  Only those who were weak and infirm through poor health or age were exempted from the rota, together with the very youngest Novices. They were given lighter work instead – sweeping out the buildings, preparing ceremonial cakes, making candles, preparing incense and so on.

  So Pireon and the others were well used to physical effort, and the blisters and calluses on their hands were long-established.

  Father Ykerios had them open the outer Temple doors on the first day they arrived (“What use is a Temple that is closed?”), but it wasn’t until evening on the second day that the Temple was in a fit enough state to unpack the more delicate fabrics, the icons, the relics and the treasures. The curious had come inside anyway, as the Priests worked to prepare the place; they had walked around the Temple pointing up at the murals, the mosaics and the central dome; some had lit a candle, muttered a quiet prayer, and moved on.

  But after the fluttering silks were hung from the ceilings and the shining icons placed in their bays where the torches and shadows made them live with warm orange fire – after that, pilgrims came and stayed and prostrated themselves and prayed. They lit lines of candles, and they donated generously: everyone came to see, and everyone came to leave something. As Darkfall became busier and busier so did the Temple compound of Corvak. Although they had no direct link with the Festival, it was as if they were the centre of things.

  If there was an order of seniority among the religions, then the religion of Corvak seemed to sit naturally at the top. Everyone who had come on pilgrimage to Darkfall believed in the Dead God, in one form or another; somewhere at the back of their stories and their myths sat the Dead God. And most of those who believed in the Dead God also believed in the Twelve – the Gods of Corvak.

  Of course, when the Dead God had been a Living God he had also been a God of Corvak.

  The delegation had come from Elagion, the Island of the Mother Temple, but it was the Temples in the larger cities that were packed on Feast Days. The Hierarch and members of the Assembly might call Elagion home, but most of the believers and therefore most of the money, the Temple hierarchy, the titles and the ceremony were elsewhere. The younger Neophytes had never seen such a throng as visited them here in Darkfall.

  Even in the busiest Temples in Corvak, there would be nothing like the variation they saw across the worshippers here: no-one with such alien dress, smell, habits, rituals and customs … and beliefs, of course. Pireon had never met people who believed anything different. In Corvak there were people who believed the holy books and the teachings of the Temple, and there were people who thought they were mere superstition. But there were no people who believed different things, who worshipped other Gods.

  Surprisingly quickly, everything that had seemed alien and foreign when they first arrived became routine and commonplace. The more senior Priests discharged the duties of the Temple during daylight hours, leaving Priests-Acolyte and Priests-Assistant, together with the less experienced Initiates to take care of services, sacraments and worshippers in the early mornings and late evenings. In theory, these Neophytes had a busy schedule of lessons and observances to fill the rest of each day, but in practice many of them simply sat in alcoves in the refectory and dormitory blocks on the upper level and watched the streets below.

  They saw Humans, alone and in groups. Pireon had seen very few before this trip – a number of Human communities lived in Corvak, despite their association with the widely-hated mages, but they never visited Elagion. They walked so oddly, as if they were forever on the point of falling over. And there were soldiers and guardsmen, carrying weapons. Pireon hadn’t seen them visiting the Temple: perhaps they did, but not when they were dressed as soldiers.

  Iera, who trained at the Oracle on Elagion, had speculated – probably hoped – that he might see a mage. Obviously there were none in Corvak: the Defences made sure of that. She had hoped that he might see a Dragon Lord as well. But he had seen neither.

  She would never travel like this, because of her infirmities, but before he had left she told him: “Go out and be my eyes.” And there had been so many little things that he noticed that would interest her, during the journey as well as here in Darkfall, that he was beginning to think he should start writing them down in case he forgot.

  Pireon had heard the horn sounding yesterday afternoon, and knew what it signified: it was a reminder of just how alien this place actually was. He could think of dozens of references to the sacrifice of hostages and prisoners in the scriptures, but these sacrifices seemed almost beyond belief. They were live sacrifices, killed in the cruellest way that he could imagine, and not just animals, but people as well – the Empire’s hostages from the Inner Sea. That was despite the Empire being the one place in the Three Lands that was most similar to Corvak.

  And there was the Emerald Crown itself, of course. It felt like an integral part of the legend of the Dead God, but it should actually have seemed peculiar and out of place: it wasn’t a thing of Corvak, didn’t appear in the scriptures, and there were no images of it in their icons or religious art. So how exactly was it a holy thing? Perhaps later, when he had thought of a way to phrase the question, he would talk to one of the older Priests about it.

  He felt a yawn coming on, and ducked behind a column so as not to be seen as he tried to stifle it. It was early in the day, still dark outside, but even at this hour there were dozens of devout pilgrims visiting and therefore there were tasks that needed performed. There were candles to be changed, mud to be cleaned from the door, incense to be swept away, and donations and sacrifices to be moved so that the altars were never more than a third covered. The rest of the time, he had simply to look busy: never rushed, but never still.

  He glanced over at Dach.

  Together with the other Priests-Acolyte and the younger Initiates like Pireon, his brother’s Temple duties were mostly scheduled during the early and evening sessions. During their
stay in Darkfall, he would also perform minor tasks during some of the main daytime services. As a priest, dressed in white and gold, Dach was allowed to simply stand – as much an immovable part of the Temple as the icons and the silks. It was impossible not to admire his brother’s impressive and confident aura. He carried an easy authority, especially for his young age, and had commanded even more respect since they reached Darkfall.

  Three years earlier, Pireon had been too young at twelve for the long journey to Darkfall, but his brother had been here. On his return, Dach hadn’t been interested in sharing any of his experiences: the things he had seen were not of Corvak, and that meant that they didn’t demand much of his attention. But now, that prior experience had acquired significance: it had become like a badge or rank, an initiation that gave him greater authority over the others. Certainly over the ones who hadn’t been before.

  He carried at least a part of that authority across to his duties in the Temple. His unhurried movements and gestures were smooth, practiced and confident, as if he was born to them. That was particularly obvious at times like this, when it was quiet and there were very few older Priests in attendance; the difference between him and the others was even more marked. As Dach stood there, tall in his fine bright robes, supplicants simply paused and bowed their heads before him as they passed. He blessed them, and they left with calm restful smiles, feeling whole and at peace.

  Most of the Seminary on Elagion believed they were lucky to count Dach among their number, but Pireon’s own feelings were mixed. He felt a permanent sense of competition with his older brother. Who else was he to measure himself against, other than his own family?

  He had grown up in the shadow of someone else, and that “someone else” was his older brother.

  A quiet bell sounded faintly, deep within the Temple compound, indicating that it was almost time for the Dancers of Linatt to perform. That would include Ajiila. As well as the Priests and their party – and six representatives of the Oracle – Corvak’s delegation to Darkfall included some twenty Dancers. Most were accomplished performers of many years’ experience, but there were a number of younger Dancers among them: Ajiila, Heptila, Riaphylan, Lysitha, Ephinnia. When they were not performing, they often formed a giggling group that stood slightly apart from everyone else.

  The Temple comprised an inner and outer wall, and the space between them comprised narrow passages that afforded subtle views and access at various locations, enabling Priests to navigate the complex without passing through any public space. They also allowed the Priests to observe the interior of the temple, unseen, and Pireon sometimes watched the Dancers from that concealment. This morning, though, he was on duty in the Temple so he would find somewhere as quiet as possible to stand and watch instead.

  At certain times and in certain places the Dancers performed to a musical accompaniment, but in Darkfall they only ever danced to percussion. Here, in the quiet of the morning, Mother Vissia quietly tapped out a gradually developing rhythm to accompany them. They didn’t dance, of course: not in the sense that people danced at parties or weddings or celebrations. Instead, they performed complex sequences of ritual moves and expressions in time to the rhythm, moving their bodies in angles, rotations and patterns that were living echoes of the same ancient patterns inscribed on some of the mandalas. The Dances told stories sometimes, but mostly they represented the more abstract lessons of the holy texts.

  Although the rotations of the dance sometimes brought her briefly to the front, Ajiila mostly performed at the back of the group as one of the less experienced Dancers. Even so, she stood out from all the others, at least for Pireon. She seemed to own the dances in the same way that Dach sometimes seemed to own the rituals of the sacraments.

  He found her hypnotic to watch – her eyes were somehow remote and intense at the same time; her beautiful long legs moved with precision and grace. She somehow made the moves seem fresh and natural, almost spontaneous, even though he had watched them a hundred times; watched her a hundred times.

  After the Dance was complete and the Dancers had left, Pireon visited the chapel of Asfahal, the Goddess of Love and Desire: he said a prayer in front of her image, and lit a candle.

  2

  A little after the Company woke and ate, one of the Innkeeper’s lads appeared. He knocked loudly, even though both doors were open, and asked ‘Are you The Queen’s Players?’

  ‘Yes, we are,’ Tremano said.

  ‘There’s a gentleman downstairs to see you.’

  Kiergard Slorn had come to the opposite door. ‘Thank you. Tell the gentleman that we will be with him presently,’ he passed the boy a small coin.

  ‘Yes, sir. I will, sir.’ The boy turned and ran back downstairs again.

  ‘Excellent. Lisamel, Tremano – come with me. And Bane. And you too, Master Wizard. Let us present an interesting and varied appearance to our visitor. Leave your jackets here, otherwise we look too much like pilgrims. And let’s not take any instruments, in case he asks Lanvik to play.’ The others chuckled as they left.

  Together they descended the two flights of stairs that led to the front hall of the inn.

  Kiergard recognised the portly over-dressed man at the desk, calling to him: ‘My good Master Pendisson, Imperial Master of Amusements!’ He gave a florid bow, and then strode rapidly over to the man: ‘May I say, on behalf of our humble company, how grateful we are … how very grateful we are that you are giving us an opportunity to change your mind.’ He clapped his hands together – part entreaty, part joy, part prayer. ‘Ah, let us play for you; let us audition. We can be ready at very short notice. And once you have heard us, I know you will reconsider your decision.’

  ‘Yes, yes,’ the startled functionary backed away a step, seemingly concerned that Slorn might touch him. ‘You are still free this evening? Yes?’

  ‘This evening? Yes, yes we are. Of course we are. Even at such short notice, we can be ready at any hour, with any programme that suits. You need only hear us play, and that will remove any doubts from your mind.’

  ‘No, no. I’m sure you will be fine.’

  ‘But surely you want to hear us first?’

  ‘I have perused your references in some detail and that is sufficient. We have a two hour booking available this evening, from the ninth hour. We will pay a fee of forty-five Crowns for your services.’

  ‘Will there be an opportunity for patrons to express their appreciation directly?’

  ‘There will not. You will not interact directly with any of the Imperial delegation.’

  ‘Then I’m afraid our fee for a two hour booking is sixty Crowns.’

  ‘Sixty? The Imperial Court pays a fixed rate, and that rate is forty-five Crowns for two hours.’

  ‘Forty-five is too low,’ Kiergard shook his head. ‘We are a large company, with many costs. We cannot perform for less than fifty.’

  ‘Forty-five,’ Master Pendisson repeated.

  Kiergard paused, and seemed to consider. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Forty-five is not enough. We are a professional company, sir, not some group of rag-tag amateurs such as abound in Darkfall at this time. We will perform for fifty and no less.’

  ‘Fifty, then,’ Master Pendisson said, slightly exasperated. ‘Payment on satisfactory completion of your performance.’

  ‘Immediately on completion?’

  ‘Immediately on completion, yes.’

  ‘Then we have a deal, Master Pendisson. We have a deal.’

  ‘Your booking is for the ninth hour. There is a short break between performances, so you may take the ten minutes before nine to prepare any equipment or other staging requirements that you need. Will ten minutes be sufficient?’

  ‘Ten minutes will be more than sufficient,’ Slorn assured him.

  ‘Good.’ Master Urbold Pendisson brought out a small scroll of paper. ‘This is a standard contract.’ When he unrolled it on the innkeeper’s front desk, it was revealed to be two identical nested documents. He filled out a numbe
r of details on both, and passed them over. Slorn scanned quickly through one of them and then signed both. Master Pendisson counter-signed one, passed it back and then handed over an additional document. ‘This pass will allow your company admission to the Imperial Compound a half hour before your booking. You must be punctual.’

  He nodded curtly and then turned and left.

  ‘Thank you!’ Slorn called after him. ‘You won’t regret this!’

  Once Pendisson was out of earshot, he turned to the others: ‘That was gratifyingly easy. And I suppose fifty Crowns is an acceptable rate.’

  Back upstairs, their new costumes had been delivered and some of the others were inspecting them. From the trunks in Stormhaven, they had brought a set of bright blue costumes, with white and silver trim, and they had commissioned a new red set in a matching style.

  ‘And there go most of our fifty Crowns,’ Slorn shrugged.

  ‘More than that,’ Vorrigan said. ‘We are badly down on the deal. I told you they were over-priced.’

  ‘The material is not of a quality to justify half such a price,’ Tremano was looking through them.

  ‘Why do you need to wear costumes?’ Lanvik asked. He had seen dozens of companies of musicians and dancers and actors in Darkfall and almost all of them were wearing normal clothes, normally with thick jackets on top.

  ‘It helps mark us out as a professional company – a company of quality,’ Kiergard told him. ‘And it stops people looking too hard at us, thinking about us, finding other ways to remember what we look like. It is like a livery: they see our outfit, and they think they know who we are. Without it, we become someone else. I imagine it’s the same reason that mages shave their heads.’

  Lanvik nodded. ‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘I’d been thinking that.’

  ‘Why do mages shave their heads?’ Thawn asked. ‘I’ve always wondered.’

  ‘I think it’s so other people think they know what mages look like,’ Lanvik explained.

  She looked at him blankly for a few seconds.