The Arclight Saga

by C. M. Hayden

  Five Inquisitors came to stand beside Vexis, and each gave her a contemptuous look.

  Each of the Inquisitors, three males and two females, clearly held themselves in high regard. They were proud, straight-backed, and serious-looking men and women. Each had an impressive array of complex tattoos running along their skin, just as Vexis did.

  The Shahl looked over his children as if he was counting them, each time his gaze fell on one he’d utter a name. “Praxis, Cecil, Sura, Edan, Calia…where is Kadia?”

  The one called Praxis answered. He was the man Taro had seen arguing with Vexis outside. His clean-shaven beard and slicked hair made him look much older, but he was probably only a few years Vexis’ senior.

  “Her mind is still much too fragile, Father,” Praxis said. “The farseers and doctors are working to help her; but without Dr. Halric, I fear it might be some time.” From his tone, it seemed as though they’d had this very conversation before. He spoke as one speaks to a forgetful old man.

  The Shahl nodded as if he’d just remembered. “Yes, of course.” He waved his misstep away and turned his attention to his children.

  Calia and Sura were girls, both on the far half of twenty. They were the spitting image of Vexis, though both had sharp blue eyes to Vexis’ green eyes.

  Cecil was the polar opposite. He was well into his forties, with a huge hulking frame and a thick neck. He was bald, and his bare arms had tattoos different from the others. They must’ve served a different purpose, but Taro couldn’t guess what it might’ve been. The Deific words were so complex and intricate that he couldn’t make them out.

  Edan, on the other hand, was a small, lanky boy of no more than fifteen. His hair was white, unlike the other Andurins, and he had a meek, mouse-like demeanor and crooked eyes.

  “My Inquisitors,” the Shahl said. “This is a threat to our very existence. To our family. Were I able, I would accompany you personally, but as it stands.” He took a huff of his medicine. “I cannot. Go now, with my blessing. Find the Netherlight. Do whatever it takes.”

  While the others nodded in submission, Vexis took a bold step forward and held up her wrists to show the magistry cuffs still in place. “Father, I can help. I won’t disobey you again.”

  “You will,” the Shahl snapped. “You’re too like your whore mother. Conniving. Untrustworthy. If I didn’t have to save your worthless body, the Sun King wouldn’t have come here, and this could’ve been avoided.”

  Vexis glared at him, not a hint of a smile on her face. “You really know how to win over hearts and minds, don’t you?”

  “You want me to lie? To tell you ‘good job’?” He coughed hard. “It was foolish of Halric to grant you your powers in the first place. Your clumsy, low-cunning ways will get us all killed.”

  Taro felt a chill rush through him, and Vexis’ magistry cuffs began to crackle with magical energy. The assembled crowd seemed to feel it too, and took a step back as her gaze tunneled into the old man.

  “The power of the Old High Gods is a heavy burden,” the Shahl said. “Reserved for those with whom they find worthy. I mete out their will, as best I can, and their will tells me that you are no longer worthy.” His eyes narrowed. “Perhaps if you can retrieve the Netherlight without your magic, it would go a ways toward changing their minds.”

  “Pitiful old man,” Vexis muttered, almost to herself.

  “What was that?” the Shahl put his hand to his ear. “Did you say something?”

  Vexis spoke her words in staccato bursts, each punctuated by seething malice. “I am your daughter. I have done nothing but serve your interests since I was old enough to stand.”

  “You’re a bastard conceived by a bar whore. When she brought you to me, I considered disposing of you right then and there. Perhaps I should’ve listened to my instincts. Now, look at you. You’ve gallivanted around like a bull, breaking everything you touch. Shitting on everything I do. I ask you to bring me a fragment of the Arclight, and you try to conquer the city like a simpleton.”

  “I was trying to bring you a bigger prize. And to save Kadia’s mind,” Vexis insisted.

  “There is no bigger prize than the Arclight; and Kadia, bless her soul, would understand that. She was your better any day of the week. Were her mind whole, she wouldn’t have failed me as you have.” He waved Vexis away. “Get out of my sight, I tire of your presence.”

  Vexis took a long breath, looked down at the marble floor, then around at the assembled gentry and courtiers. When her gaze touched her brothers and sisters, she was met with only sickened stares. Finally, she glanced back to her father and she curtsied mockingly.

  “I pray you live forever, Father,” she said, then turned and left the chamber to hushed whispers.

  When she was gone, the Shahl seemed to forget her. He looked to his other children. “You know what to do. See it done.”

  “What about the girl?” Praxis said as the others went to leave.

  “Is she ready?” the Shahl asked.

  Praxis nodded. “More than ready. She’s remarkable, in several ways. Besides, it’s a big city, and we’re short one Inquisitor.”

  The Shahl gave it a moment’s consideration. “Trust to your discretion, but keep a close eye on her.”

  Much to the relief of the crowd, the Shahl propped himself back up on his iron frame and limped out of the throne room accompanied by his guards.

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Hard Lessons

  Kyra didn’t see her extended family much. Most of them—cousins, aunts, and uncles—were scattered across Arkos. Her closest uncle, Lord Cassian, was a governor in the Foothills of Solis Enor. Her eldest cousins—Marcis, Orlin, and Ruen—were knight-warders stationed along the Helian and Serran border fortresses. Her aunt Ellesane was governess of Mesere. There were many others, more than she could remember at the best of times, and they were all quite far from the capital.

  That’s why when Axel came to her rooms and announced that her grandfather Aegyn had arrived, her first reaction was disbelief.

  “Who?” Kyra said, momentarily setting down the bag she was packing.

  Axel seemed to shrink under her glare, and didn’t peek more than half his body from behind the chamber door. “Lord Aegyn, my lady. He’s here. He’d like to speak with you.”

  Kyra looked at him like he was an idiot. “My grandfather is over a hundred years old and blind; there’s no way he could make the trip from Celosa Edûn.”

  A haggard voice called from the other side of the doorway. “You don’t give me enough credit. Quit torturing the boy.”

  Kyra immediately recognized it as Aegyn’s and hurried out the door, almost knocking Axel over. Her grandfather was in the corridor, sitting on a marble bench beside a statue of Amín. He was dressed plainly for someone of his station, a simple blue and gray robe and a cane with metal hawk on the tip. The cane was a new addition since she’d last seen him, and there were magistry runes running along the base that kept it upright even when his hands weren’t on it. He had thin white hair and pale gray eyes. Though he was blind, he seemed to know that Kyra was coming in for a hug and opened his arms to receive her.

  “Careful dear, you’re going to break something. Weren’t you just telling that fine young man how frail and old I was?” Aegyn said, pulling her closer.

  “Grandfather! What in all gods below are you doing here?” Kyra said, her face lighting up. She pulled away, holding onto his hands for just a moment longer.

  Aegyn rubbed his wrinkled hand across her cheek and gave her a kiss. “I was hoping to see my granddaughter and son-in-law.”

  “Dad’s away,” Kyra said.

  “So I’ve heard. Helia, isn’t it? Dreadful.” Aegyn tottered to his feet, with Kyra’s help, and motioned for her to follow him down the corridor. “Walk with me. My doctor tells me I need the exercise.”

  Aegyn’s free hand held onto Kyra’s arm as they walked toward the arboretum. On the surface he seemed to be in a pleasant mood, but there
was clearly something going on behind his smile.

  “Will you be staying long?” Kyra asked, testing the waters. “I can arrange for a room in the palace.”

  Aegyn raised his hand in a dismissive motion. “That won’t be necessary. I’ve got a villa uptown that serves me well. With the Arclight restored and the weather not quite so inhospitable, I decided to pay Lyra a visit.”

  Kyra paused and took a shallow breath. Lyra was her mother. “I haven’t been to her grave in a while. Dad visits when he can, but it’s been so long since…”

  Aegyn patted her on the hand. “It’s okay, little one. I’m not here to bring you tears. I simply wanted to see you again.” His voice faded into a mutter, and he seemed for a moment to be at a loss for words. They arrived at the arboretum a moment later; it was a large, circular greenhouse with a duck pond in the middle. It bursted with flowers, trees, and long vines that ran up the sides of the walls and ceiling. On the other side was a door that led into the palace courtyard.

  “Is something the matter?” Kyra asked warily.

  Aegyn took in a lungful of air and ran his hands along some dandelions sprouting along the footpath. “I don’t want to trouble you.”

  Something was terribly wrong. She moved closer to him, touched his chest with her left hand, and his forehead with her right hand. A soft glow emanated from her fingertips; after a moment, she released. “You’re…”

  “Very ill,” Aegyn said, clearing his throat. “I know.” He picked one of the flowers and smelled it. “I’m afraid it’s beyond even the power of the Arclight to heal. Still, it helps ease the pain considerably.”

  “Grandpa…”

  “None of that,” Aegyn said. “I’m an old man. Older than I care to admit. But nobody lives forever, and the doctor says that with the Arclight and my medicine I could linger on for some time.”

  Kyra slumped to the grass and wrapped her arms around her knees. “You came to say good-bye?”

  Aegyn sat on a stone bench beside the duck pond. A flock of geese swarmed them, pecking at the ground and looking up expectantly. “Sorry, little ones,” Aegyn said to the birds, his hands open, “I’ve got no food for you.” He turned his attention back to Kyra. “I came here to see my granddaughter. And to offer some counsel.” He said these last words very carefully.

  Kyra looked up. “Have you been talking to Magister Briego?”

  Aegyn grinned sheepishly. “We’re old friends. Old friends talk.” He silenced her before she could say anything. “Hush now, don’t get all excited. I’m worried about you and frankly astounded that your father left you to run the kingdom. I thought he was smarter than that.”

  “He said that he could only trust family.”

  “Rubbish. If the king himself can only trust family, then the country’s in more dire straits than I thought. But what’s done is done, and I’ll chastise your father the next time I see him, the old fool.”

  Kyra’s expression lightened. “What about you? You could be regent until my dad comes back.”

  Aegyn shook his head. “A blind old man, two steps away from the Great Ship? No, no. Besides, I’m no Termane. Now, regardless of your father’s foolishness, you need to show some wit and tact. You can’t go gallivanting off to Helia on some fool’s errand.” He motioned to the ground. “You’re needed right here.”

  Kyra spoke carefully. “This is more complicated than that.”

  “Don’t speak to me as if I’m an invalid, young lady.”

  “Sorry,” Kyra said apologetically.

  “You need to let your father work for peace. If you head to Helia, it could be seen as an act of aggression. Are you prepared for a war?”

  “We might not have a choice.”

  Aegyn’s gray eyes narrowed. “Bite your tongue. Never speak of war in such a callous, flippant way. Especially a war that we might not win.”

  “Endra’s a powerhouse compared to Helia,” Kyra said matter-of-factly.

  “Oh, is it? Methinks you haven’t been paying enough attention to Lord Fenris, or you would know that Endra is in no condition to stage a prolonged conflict.” He tapped his fingers against the stone bench. “Tell me, regent, how many granaries are at full capacity?”

  Kyra hesitated. “I’d have to ask Fenris.”

  “And how much pork and beef and wheat and chickpeas are the farmlands producing this season? Enough to feed an army?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  Aegyn reached into his pocket and removed a single gleaming gold sovereign. On the front was the seal of the Sun King, and on the back was an image of her ancestor, Sun King Aldor. In an impressive move, considering his lack of sight and frail hands, Aegyn tossed the coin easily to Kyra, who caught it in the air.

  “And if you needed to muster an army of five thousand, which is rather on the low end, how many of these would you need to arm them?”

  “…a lot,” Kyra said dumbly.

  Aegyn nodded, his lips curving into a frown. “Yes. A lot. One thing you probably do know is that the Crown is indebted to Celosa by a considerable sum. Many millions of sovereigns. Understand, little one, strength of arms does not necessarily win wars. Nor does training, or even the number of men you have.” He pointed to the gold coin. “That wins wars. Hard coin. Do you think the lords of Solis Enor, family or not, will rush to send their boys to die if you can’t even pay them?”

  Aegyn laced his fingers together on his lap. “You see, the Shahl can answer all of those questions. He may be a despot, but he’s no fool. While Endra has been languishing in ice and snow, Helia has thrived.”

  “We’ve got magisters,” Kyra offered.

  Aegyn’s nodded. “A fine advantage, no doubt. And it’s true that the Shahl doesn’t have an army of magic-users. Still, he’s not bereft of magic. His family has access to some of the most brutal magic known to man. You’ve seen it, no doubt, used by his bastard, Vexis.”

  Kyra did remember. “There are more people with that kind of power?”

  “The Shahl for certain, and it was believed that his six children also have shadowmancy of different kinds. I’d known Valros had a bastard daughter, but didn’t know her name until just recently. Andurin is a common enough Helian surname to not draw suspicion, though I’m surprised she was able to slip through the cracks in the Magisterium.”

  “Magister Ross said her papers were forged. And she had a lot of help from the inside,” Kyra said.

  “The stories say her half-siblings are worse than she is. They’re called Inquisitors; they mete out the Shahl’s iron rule: Praxis, the eldest, who they say can bend a man’s mind to the breaking point; Sura, who delights in torturing her victims with horrific illusions; Edan, who can summon beasts from the Void without a sacrifice of blood; Calia, who they say dances with blades of shadow; Kadia, who can bring down entire towers with merely a thought; and Cecil, the Iron-fist. I’m sure you can guess what he’s known for.”

  Kyra said nothing, continuing to listen intently.

  Her grandfather continued. “The Shahl bred his children to be exceedingly efficient at killing sorcerers and magisters.” Aegyn opened his hands. “Of course, these are merely the stories milling about Celosa. But every story has a kernel of truth. Don’t trust that our magic will save us from an onslaught. Even the strongest magic has a counter, and even the strongest magister can be felled by a single arrow.”

  Kyra looked down at the grass. “I understand, Grandfather.”

  Aegyn smiled. “I don’t tell you these things to chastise you. I want you to understand the position the kingdom is in. You need to exercise caution. There’s a reason your father went to so much trouble to placate the dragonkin. If it means keeping the kingdom in one piece, he’ll kiss the Shahl’s boot as well.”

  They didn’t speak of politics, war, or his failing health for the next few hours. Rather, Kyra fetched a servant and had her retrieve some bits of stale bread, which she and Aegyn fed to the birds in the arboretum. They spoke of small things, and Aegyn t
old her stories of when her mother was a just a girl.

  Two hours later, Kyra offered to walk him back to his carriage, which he graciously accepted. They stepped out into the warm open air together. His carriage was inside the palace courtyard, and his coachman was leaning beside it, smoking a pipe and reading a bit of slush fiction.

  “We’re ready to go, Perin,” Aegyn called.

  The coachman tilted his feathered hat and put his book away. “Right away, my lord. To the villa, then?”

  Aegyn nodded, and was about to speak, but suddenly he put his hand to his chest and his legs wobbled. He almost fell backward, but Kyra caught him and he slumped to the ground. Perin dropped his pipe and riding crop and ran toward his master, using his hat to fan him.

  “He gets a bit dehydrated,” Perin said quickly. “I’ll get him some water.”

  “It’s not that.” Aegyn squeezed his chest hard and his body shook.

  Then Kyra felt it, it was like an iron beam struck her square in the chest. Her templar burned furiously and every nerve in her body felt like it was on fire. She was better off than her grandfather and was able remain standing. Not far from the palace courtyard was the Magisterium, and in the distance she could see every single recruit, magister, and artificer doubled over in pain.

  Soon, the pain passed. She was shaken but fine. Aegyn insisted that he was all right and resisted any attempts to take him to a hospital. “I’ll be fine, little one.”

  Perin helped Lord Aegyn to the carriage. Kyra hugged her grandfather one more time; but kept it short, knowing she had to get to the Magisterium as soon as possible.

  Kyra and Perin’s eyes met as he pulled on the reins. “Don’t worry, my lady, I’ll see him to a doctor whether he wants it or not,” he said as the carriage hurried out the gates.

  Kyra didn’t wait for a carriage of her own, rather she ran from the palace courtyard to the Magisterium in a dead sprint. When she arrived, many of the recruits and artificers were still doubled over in pain. The older artificers were consoling them, patting them on the back and bringing water.