The Ouroboros Cycle, Book Three: A Long-Awaited Treachery

by G. D. Falksen

  “Brothers and Sisters,” Margaret said, suddenly the benevolent monarch, the matriarch reassuring her children through her own authority, “I have no wish to confine you any more than has been necessary. I want to return all of you to your studies as quickly as possible, for the work we do here is both significant and glorious. You are, each of you, greater and more worthy than all the Nations of the world. Ours is eternity or some greater part at least.” This statement was made, it seemed, for the benefit of those who still walked in the Shadow. “In each of you rest the knowledge of a thousand Libraries of Alexandria, the wisdom of a thousand Solomons, and a glory that the emperors of neither Rome nor China shall ever match.

  “For too long have we been shackled to archaic laws and customs incompatible with our greatness. We have all been taught that the Law of Shashava is wisdom and justice. But tell me this: Is it wisdom for the greatest of minds to suffer a world governed by the foolish? Is it justice for the great to be confined by the whim of the small? We cloister ourselves in this hallowed place of knowledge, while beyond our borders all the world is dark with ignorance, ruled by corruption, and guided by malice. We have been told that we must keep ourselves secret, for else the world will fear us and destroy us.”

  Her face hardened and her tone fell into a sinister growl. “Why would they fear us, unless they were truly unworthy of us?” She let this thought linger for a moment before she continued, “Ours is the glory, my brethren. We should stride this world as giants, seeking knowledge where we wish it, unafraid of what the meek will think of us. For we are lions...and they are rats.”

  “This is heresy!” someone shouted from the crowd. “Lies! These are the words of a Basilisk!”

  “A Basilisk, you call me?” Margaret asked, laughing. “You call me that like it were some unclean word? Like it still has some meaning for us now?” She extended her hand and pointed in the direction of her accuser. “Why should we be Shashavani when Shashava has kept us confined in darkness, without even the courage to remain with us and guide us into the light! We have languished in Plato’s cave for too long. Those who came before us lied to us and promised us the light of wisdom, but they have denied it to us, shackling us with rules and tenets that have hindered our work and kept us barred from Truth!”

  Again, while many of the prisoners reacted with outrage at her words, others, especially the young, seemed to offer a tacit agreement with her. Varanus knew how they felt: many of the protocols binding the Shashavani to secrecy and harmony had a tendency of obstructing or at least slowing the progress of research.

  Especially when it came to the matter of sharing books, she thought.

  Having made her point, Margaret offered her enemies a kind smile again, perhaps demonstrating to them—or more likely, to the undecided—that she was magnanimous even toward her detractors. Then, catching sight of something at the far end of the hall, her expression hardened.

  “Brothers and Sisters, I would like nothing more than for this succession to have been easy and quiet,” she said, “rather than this unfortunate inconvenience and show of arms. But know this: the steps I have taken today have been for your own protection, for we are all in danger.”

  The crowd parted amid gasps of shock as a figure began to walk the length of the Great Hall toward the dais. It was Thoros, and he was dragging something along the floor behind him.

  “Earlier today, just as the Council had agreed upon my appointment,” Margaret continued, raising her voice to reclaim the attention of her prisoners, “Philippa the Nicaean attempted the usurpation of the throne with the collusion of certain disloyal elements within our House and our Army. It was only through foresight and certain necessary precautions that the Council and I managed to stop them. They had with them a list of names of those who were to be killed to ease Philippa’s ascent and to destroy any who might question whether we should be shackled to codes and conduct that have no further place in our world. My name was on the list, as were my supporters on the Council.” She paused before adding, “And so were the names of many I see among you here, for it seems that anyone who has held disagreement with Philippa’s philosophy has been deemed too radical to live.”

  She let this statement sink in for a moment.

  “Now these traitors hide across the river, gathering their strength and plotting our deaths!”

  By then, Thoros had reached the dais and joined Margaret. He held up the limp body of Marie of Toulouse for all to see. Marie’s body was still marred with the marks of her recent battle with Thoros, for it seemed that severe blood loss had prevented them all from closing quickly. Thoros’s sword had been thrust through her heart, leaving her exsanguinated and lifeless.

  Varanus scowled at the sight, and she heard her companions murmuring in anger.

  “Here is one of them!” Margaret announced, pointing to Marie’s body. “Marie the Cathar, Philippa’s spy! She and others have been left behind in our midst, like serpents hiding in the grass, waiting for our moment of weakness! Already Marie has committed countless murders throughout the castle, and she would have done more had Brother Thoros not brought her to heel.” She pointed her finger toward the crowd. “And had my soldiers not brought you here for your protection, it might be any one of you lying dead in the halls!”

  Varanus doubted that the prisoners really believed such a fiction, certainly not all of them; but she saw in their faces a slow, resigned acceptance, an eagerness to justify an accord with their captors so that they might return to their work. That was the great weakness of the Shashavani she realized: their scholarship. Only a few cared for politics and power, while the rest had their own studies and philosophizing, which counted more to them than the question of who ruled. If Margaret allowed them to go free, if she allowed them to carry on as usual, they might even start to believe her lies for the mere sake of convenience.

  “Even among the wise, liebchen, convenience speaks louder than truth,” Korbinian murmured sadly. “These fine scholars might debate the question of Caractacus’s uniform ad infinitum, but the question of who has the right to rule? A matter both boring and trite, no doubt.”

  Below, Margaret drew the sword from Marie’s chest and lowered the woman into a kneeling position, kneeling as well and holding Marie’s shoulders to keep her upright. Presently, the wound in Marie’s chest had closed enough for circulation to resume, and she began to sway of her own accord, struggling to move her limbs.

  “But I am not without mercy!” Margaret declared, as much to Marie as to the crowd. “Despite her crimes, despite her betrayal, Marie is still our sister! And I would be loath to execute any of my brethren.” She looked into Marie’s eyes and said, “My dear Sister Marie, I would still gladly welcome you to our cause. If you would only swear your loyalty, renounce Philippa and the archaic Law of Shashava, confess your crimes, and accept just penance, then I shall embrace you once again as my sister.” She motioned toward the crowd. “We all shall,” she said, once again emphasizing to the crowd that she and they were together arrayed on one side, against Philippa and any other who opposed Margaret’s will.

  “All you need do is say these words,” Margaret said to Marie, placing one hand on Marie’s cheek and the other upon her bloody chest, “with your lips and with your heart. Then you shall be free.”

  Marie struggled to speak against the dizziness of bloodlessness, but she managed to reply with a clear, “No.”

  Margaret pulled her hand away from Marie’s chest, her palm and fingers covered with blood.

  “You must be starving from your ordeal, Sister,” she said. “You need only convert to our cause and swear obedience, and I shall grant you a feast that would shame Croesus for a pauper. Swear yourself to me, and this will all be over.”

  Marie leaned forward and glared into Margaret’s eyes. As loudly as she could manage, she announced to all the room:

  “I will never renounce Shashava nor ever pled
ge myself to one such as you. I would rather die than betray the most sacred of oaths, one made to Wisdom and Truth and Justice.”

  Margaret seemed almost to smile at this for the briefest of moments, but perhaps long enough for Marie to notice. Then she stood, her countenance twisted with regret and resignation.

  “So be it,” she said. She motioned to one of the soldiers who stood nearby. “Master-At-Arms!”

  The Master-At-Arms—Jane Fairfax, if Varanus recognized her correctly—passed her halberd to another soldier and drew an executioner’s sword from a scabbard presented to her by a third. Fairfax walked onto the dais and stood behind Marie, lifting the sword and silently gauging the proper angle for the strike. Still almost bloodless, weak from trauma, and scarcely able to sit up, much less move, Marie simply folded her hands in her lap and murmured a small prayer. Her face was serene, somehow coming to terms with her impending demise, perhaps strengthened in her resolve by the knowledge that even after six hundred years of life, she had never once recanted her beliefs.

  Margaret turned and addressed the crowd, now suddenly the unflinching lawgiver burdened with neither doubt nor remorse.

  “Brothers and Sisters, see now how I will protect the faithful against their enemies. Our time of trial is almost done, but our enemies still lurk in the shadows, pretending friendship while plotting our demise. We cannot afford half-measures. We cannot hesitate. Only through unity and obedience will we be safe.”

  She raised one hand like Raphael’s Plato imparting wisdom to Aristotle.

  “Swear yourselves to me and to our cause,” she said, “and I shall grant you feasts of plenty and return you to your studies, stronger and unbound by archaic falsehoods. Refuse and I shall have no choice but to deal with you as traitors...for who but a traitor would hesitate to swear so noble an oath?”

  She paused a moment before she summarized in three simple words:

  “Convert—”

  Fairfax’s sword flashed in the light as it swung through the air. Though still of the Shadow, Fairfax’s arm was strong and her aim true. There were gasps from the crowd, but most of the prisoners were silent as Marie’s body collapsed onto the ground. Her head tumbled onto the dais and lay there, eyes closed, still basking in the serenity of moral certainty.

  “Or die,” Margaret finished.

  Chapter Eighteen

  •

  There was silence in the room. Varanus stared down at Marie’s lifeless body, unable to speak. She had witnessed much violence in her lifetime, but this was cold-blooded execution and committed by Shashavani against Shashavani. She looked at her companions. None of them knew what to say.

  “God preserve us,” Vaclav finally whispered.

  “She...she killed Sister Marie...” murmured Judith, her face pale at the sight.

  Joan frowned and stood, motioning to the others.

  “Come, we should leave,” she said. “We have waited here too long. They may send more guards to check on the two that we killed.”

  Vaclav nodded. “You’re right. Come.”

  “Wait a moment,” Varanus said, holding up her hand even as she stood. She studied the crowd of prisoners, searching for the one face she hoped both would and would not be there. “Have any of you seen Ekaterine?”

  “Not for some days,” Vaclav told her, placing a hand on Varanus’s shoulder. “She was sent to work in the archives after....” He quickly stopped and avoided addressing Varanus’s crime. “God willing she is alive, but we cannot know that now.”

  “I do not see her below,” Joan added, “whatever comfort that may give you.” She nodded toward the door. “But we must leave before we are discovered.”

  Varanus took another look at the prisoners in the hall, but she did not see Ekaterine, whose face she felt certain she could have picked out of a crowd of thousands. And besides, Ekaterine was not the sort to allow herself to be captured. She was not among the captives. She couldn’t be.

  “We will find her, liebchen,” Korbinian murmured. “Do not fear it. But first, you must not die.”

  “Yes, of course,” Varanus said, nodding to Vaclav and the others. “Let us find someplace safer where we may plan our next move.”

  She followed the others into the gallery and away from the Great Hall. No doubt Margaret would be busy for some time, receiving the supplication of the faithful and beheading anyone who refused; but it was likely that her soldiers would be out patrolling before long, hunting for any stragglers. Varanus needed to be armed and ready before then.

  She would find Ekaterine, and then the two of them were going to sort things out.

  “How many do you think will convert?” asked Magnus.

  “All of them, God willing,” replied Vaclav.

  “What?” Magnus exclaimed. “Why?”

  “Convert by word, not in thought or deed,” Joan explained. “If they do so, they will live long enough for Sophio to return and set things right. If they refuse....” She scowled at the thought of the fate that had befallen Marie. “It is a hard task to betray one’s philosophy in word while holding true in one’s own heart, but I hope that they can do it for all their sakes.”

  “What if they convert in their hearts as well?” asked Judith.

  “Then they will die when Sophio returns,” Vaclav said.

  “Do you suppose she will return?” Varanus asked.

  “She must,” Judith said. “She would not abandon us.”

  “No, she would not,” agreed Joan. “Sophio will return in time. She is too bound by duty to abandon us. But I do not know what Margaret believes will happen then.”

  “Perhaps she hopes her loyal converts will fall upon Lady Sophio and slaughter her with their numbers,” Varanus suggested.

  Vaclav scoffed. “I think that Margaret is mad, that is what I think.”

  They turned a corner and almost collided with a man and a woman dressed in soldiers’ chokhas who were hurrying along in the opposite direction. The woman carried a double-barreled shotgun, the man a sword and a revolver. Varanus had seen them before in Luka’s company, members of the cohort he had been training. But she knew nothing else about them.

  “Anuka? Koba?” Vaclav exclaimed, recognizing them as well. But though he knew them, he did not lower his blade, and neither did Joan nor Magnus. “What are you doing here?”

  Koba relaxed as he realized to whom they were speaking. “Father Vaclav—” He began to lower his weapons, but Anuka clicked her tongue at him and shook her head.

  “We are going someplace, My Lord,” Anuka said to Vaclav, her tone respectful but cautious. “And you?”

  “The same.” It was Joan who replied.

  “My Lady,” Anuka acknowledged, nodding. She did not lower her shotgun.

  “Are you loyal?” asked Magnus advancing a step, his rapier leveled for a killing strike at Anuka.

  Anuka took a step back and shifted her barrel to cover Magnus’s face.

  “Of course,” she said. “But are you loyal?”

  Realizing that the matter was likely to devolve into either violence or a pointless back-and-forth of whose loyalty was more loyal, Varanus sighed and pushed her way past Magnus. Planting herself directly in front of Anuka and Koba, she asked them:

  “Whom do you serve?”

  Anuka and Koba seemed to recognize the question, and they quickly exchanged looks. Varanus sensed Joan shift position behind her so that she might slay them all the faster when they responded with the correct pass phrase.

  “Uh...” Koba stammered.

  “We serve...the...” Anuka said, sounding no more confident than Koba.

  They exchanged looks again.

  “The King,” Koba said.

  “The King,” Anuka agreed, with a nod. “The...the Winter King.”

  “Yes!” Koba exclaimed. “That one!”

  If thei
r hesitation hadn’t given their allegiance away, Koba’s final words certainly did. Anuka gave a resigned sigh and made ready to attack.

  “They’re not with Margaret,” Joan said, lowering her spear. She reached out and pushed Magnus’s sword away as Vaclav sheathed his own. “And nor are we,” she told Anuka.

  Anuka relaxed and pointed her shotgun away from them.

  “Marvelous,” Varanus said, clapping her hands together. “So we’re all finished with trying to kill one another?”

  “More or less,” Magnus replied.

  Varanus looked at Anuka and asked, “Have you seen Ekaterine?”

  “Not for some days, no.”

  “What about Luka?” Varanus asked.

  If anyone could help her find Ekaterine, it would be her cousin.

  “We’ve no idea,” Koba said. “We went searching for him, but there’s no sign of him anywhere.”

  “He accompanied the Strategos to a Council meeting several hours ago,” Anuka explained. “He took Seteney and Movses with him, and that is the last we’ve seen of any of them.”

  She sounded worried, which was to be expected.

  Vaclav raised a hand to gather their attention and said, “We should keep moving. Eventually someone will come along who does serve the Winter King.”

  “We still have not decided where to go,” Joan said.

  “To the armory, of course,” Magnus replied.

  Koba shook his head. “Guarded.”

  “Which one?” Varanus asked. After all, there were several throughout the castle.

  “All of them,” Anuka said. “The enemy has secured the main complement of arms in the castle, and they are guarding the gates as well. I overheard talk of loyalists escaping earlier. I think they mean to prevent that from happening again.”

  “If we cannot escape, where are we to go?” Magnus asked. “Surely, they will hunt us down and kill us like dogs.” He patted his sword. “Better to attack them head-on and attempt a breakout. If we die, it will be gloriously.”