“Is that a hunch, or is that the hearthstone talking?”
She halted. She’d never had a conversation with the hearthstone, and never brushed against what she thought was a personality, either. Why was Kyrkenall always speaking as if the hearthstone was a hungry entity ready to devour? “I think it’s what’s needed.” She lifted the stone from her pack.
“You don’t sound sure. It may be some kind of magical trick.”
Elenai ignored the firm hand suddenly gripping her arm and pressed her hearthstone to the man-high crystal.
The resulting magical light blinded her. She gasped and staggered, dropping her link with the stone immediately lest the flaring energies sweep her up.
Kyrkenall pulled her back and pushed her into the space below the stair. She blinked repeatedly to clear her eyes, and could just glimpse her hearthstone, shining but no longer blinding. It had affixed itself to the surface of the crystal block, also glowing from within. The satchel she’d carried it in lay on the floor.
Kyrkenall cursed ferociously and unsheathed his sword.
Golden light flashed over the block’s crystalline surface. And then, in an eye blink, the block’s energies shrank and intensified into two stones smaller than her own. All three dropped away and struck the rug.
A tall, russet-haired swordsman was left where the crystal had stood, his Altenerai robe half undone, his hair tousled. He turned their direction, the long, straight length of Irion shining in his hand and glittering under the light of his sapphire ring.
Elenai’s hand was already on her sword hilt, but she paused with the weapon half drawn.
For facing them was none other than the man who’d once given her his winesac. The warrior who’d led the armies of Darassus to a dozen victories and staved off the Naor invasions. The legendary commander and hero, N’lahr the Grim.
11
Record of Truths
Varama led him from the city at dusk, out through the suburbs and up the lonely way to the great dark bluff where the dead were housed. With stars glittering above and city lights shining below, she found her way to N’lahr’s tomb and reined in outside it.
Rylin wasn’t sure what was in the shoulder pack she asked him to take from her horse, though it felt heavy. She set her sapphire ring into the indentation beside the stone door engraved with N’lahr’s solemn life-size image. The door swung outward with the mildest of grating noises, and her ring bathed the crypt’s recesses in eerie blue light.
Rylin willed his own into brilliance and followed her, playing the light through the chamber. The lack of dust and cobwebs inside surprised him until he recalled the chamber had been cleaned after the bodies were removed. He didn’t see any of the bottles Varama had mentioned, and he supposed they’d been discarded.
A stone bench was built into three sides of the small, windowless structure, and a stone sarcophagus lay along the building’s axis. The life-size image of N’lahr at rest was carved into the sarcophagus lid, eyes closed, hands crossed over his chest. There was no missing the stone ring crafted to resemble the Altenerai badge of office, complete even to the tiny first lines of the oath inscribed in the setting. It was a stunningly detailed and artful creation.
Varama stopped and looked down at her friend’s image, then made the Sign of the Four over her chest. Her voice, though soft, was high and curiously bright in the grim place. “I’m sorry, old friend. This is for the good of the realm.” She motioned Rylin forward, then dug through the pack until she produced a mallet and chisel. She glanced at Rylin. “I wish we had time to take more care.”
She struck the chisel deftly and with surprising force even as Rylin opened his mouth to object. The sound of metal-on-metal reverberated off the hard, close surfaces and the brittle lid cracked, sending pebble-sized fragments flying. Varama slammed the hammer a second time and the crack widened to split the image of N’lahr’s head.
Rylin was aghast at the careless destruction of a priceless artwork. “Couldn’t we just lift the top off?”
“Sealed,” Varama answered, and smashed a third time. A wedge of stone slid off part of the carving’s chin and dropped onto something within, for there was no clattering sound.
There was no stench. Rylin supposed that there might not be from a body lying here seven years.
Varama set the mallet aside and tugged on a wedge-shaped section beside the image’s neck loosened by her destruction. Rylin shook off his misgivings and helped her pull it free. In the stone receptacle below he saw fabric, the shoulder of a blue Altenerai khalat.
They tugged broken pieces away from the upper third of the left side of the sarcophagus.
Varama shone her light down, and they looked at a pale, drawn face. N’lahr’s eyes were closed, but otherwise he might have been sleeping.
Rylin drew an involuntary breath. “Gods. He hasn’t decayed at all.”
Varama leaned into the sarcophagus, apparently feeling for the sword, for she reached deep inside.
“No sword.” Her voice echoed hollowly at him. “I didn’t think there would be.”
Finally she withdrew, her hair mussed and dusty, and Rylin groaned in dismay as she touched the dead man’s face. Hadn’t this gone far enough? Whatever they’d hoped to prove wasn’t here.
“There’s definitely something odd here.”
At such a bland remark, Rylin struggled to fight down a scoffing noise. This whole exercise was beyond bizarre.
“The skin is fresh. Here. Feel.” She encouraged him to touch the corpse’s face.
Repulsed, Rylin nonetheless echoed the gesture. She was right. Cold flesh. But then flesh sitting there so long should be decayed or devoured. “It’s got to be some kind of magical spell to preserve him, doesn’t it?”
“Do think before you speak, Rylin. Look again.”
He frowned as he withdrew his hand, wondering why he hadn’t used his inner sight first.
In one swift motion, Varama pulled a knife from her belt, leaned in, and sliced off a chunk of flesh pinched between her fingers.
Rylin swore in amazement.
“It’s not real.” Varama stood up and lifted a hunk of dead hero. Rylin grimaced, then forced himself to stare harder.
“It’s all the same color,” Varama announced. “There’s no muscle fiber. No bone.”
Rylin mouthed another oath and stared down at what should have been a gory mess. But as he shone his light at the wound in N’lahr’s cheek he found Varama’s summation completely accurate. N’lahr’s body was the same color inside as out.
Rylin looked up. “What is this thing? And where’s Commander N’lahr’s body, really?”
“I wish I could say. It seems we have another mystery.”
“Like how they created such a perfect imitation. And why.”
“Now you’re thinking.”
She unceremoniously tossed the scrap of fake flesh past him into the sepulcher. Even knowing it was artificial, Rylin cringed.
“It’s time to take a look at the hall of the auxiliary. Just as we planned.”
As they rode back toward the city, Rylin tried not to dwell on how much his perception of it had changed over the last few days. Those lights had once represented ease and comfort. Now they seemed only to provide sources for the shadows eating away at all remaining security. He hadn’t thought the sword would be hidden in N’lahr’s tomb, but he’d never imagined N’lahr himself would be replaced with a horrific duplicate. Any lingering doubts as to the truth about a conspiracy had completely vanished.
They paused at Varama’s workshops to leave their horses and don their semblances, then openly approached the portico to the Mage Auxiliary. The squires on guard stepped aside without a word.
Rylin had wondered if he’d have to imitate Thelar’s gait, but it came naturally to him; shoulders taut, hands clenched. Perhaps the semblance stone transferred that information along with the man’s image.
He expected the central corridor might be filled with men and women who were o
ff duty, like the squire halls sometimes were at night, so he breathed a sigh of relief to find it empty, dark save for the flickering lanterns that threw indistinct luminous circles on the inlaid marble floor. He tried not to hold his breath as they strode past the stairs that led to the living quarters. Those, too, were empty.
They both had anticipated some challenge accessing the Great Hall, and Varama carried specifically chosen tools for that eventuality, yet the elaborately fashioned door opened to her hand. Rylin wondered only briefly why the auxiliary would leave the entrance unwarded at night, then his eyes tracked to the pool of light at a nearby oaken table. Verin sat beside a large, opalescent sphere nearly the size of an adult’s head, resting upon a lump of dark fabric. He looked up from his study of a collection of papers and stared hard at Rylin.
Had Rylin made some error? Was the semblance fading?
“I heard you had your own run-in with that smug alten,” Verin greeted him.
“So.” Rylin answered flatly, unsure of Verin’s intention. He didn’t have to strive to imitate Thelar’s growl; it occurred without effort.
“He tricked me into letting him in,” Verin continued, now tapping papers in order. “So, the commander’s had me running errands and organizing back paperwork ever since.” He turned to Varama. “You might have warned us your old boyfriend was set to invade.”
Rylin’s companion arched an eyebrow and tightened her lips. Was that a slight smile? “Errors are often more instructive than triumphs, Verin. What are you working on?”
“That strange new hearthstone they found last week. The queen’s been making notes about it and I’m supposed to index and file them.”
Now that was interesting. Rylin desperately wanted to ask more, but didn’t want to betray his own ignorance. Instead he moved closer to the referenced hearthstone, which looked little like any of the others he’d glimpsed. Its surface was far more regular than the typically jagged crystal lumps he’d noted before. He resisted the urge to study it through his inner sight, though. Verin might be able to sense the magical energies were different from Thelar’s. “Is she coming back tonight?” Rylin asked.
“Who can say?” Verin said. “She keeps odd hours these days.”
“You look tired,” Varama offered. “Do you want us to file those for you?”
Verin considered her quizzically. “Is there something wrong with your voice?”
Varama put a hand to her throat and coughed delicately. “I think it’s Spring.”
“Do you want help or not?” Rylin inserted quickly.
Verin brightened. Probably Thelar wasn’t in the habit of being nice to people, and his surprise at the generosity was reflected in the sound of Verin’s voice. “That’s awfully kind of you. I was afraid I’d miss the whole game, but if I get over to The Lion quick, I might be able to join a few hands.”
Rylin shrugged as though the matter were inconsequential, but Verin looked as if the sun had come out.
“Can you lock up?” Verin hesitantly offered a key, almost as if he expected to be ridiculed for suggesting it.
Rylin sighed, so as not to be too eager. “Fine.”
“Thanks, Thelar. I really appreciate it.”
Rylin grunted.
Verin, with a last look over his shoulder, left the room.
Rylin watched the great door swing shut and listened to the sound of receding footsteps.
“Good enough,” Varama asserted quietly, then bent to examine the strange stone. Rylin considered the papers, overflowing with Queen Leonara’s script. He’d seen her signature at the bottom of various proclamations over the years but never studied any actual documents from her hand. He was surprised at how looping and undisciplined her letters were. The actual words were a little challenging to read. “How much time do you want me to spend with this?” he asked.
“You be the judge. This is very strange. It’s like no hearthstone I’ve seen before.” She folded it up in its cloth and then tucked it into the pack she unslung from her shoulders.
Rylin blinked at that. “So we’re not worried about being caught?”
“Caught, yes. Come.”
She walked—swayed, rather, given her semblance—on toward the counter in front of the long rack of books that stood perpendicular to the rows of shelves holding hearthstones behind it.
She moved behind the counter as if she owned it and immediately searched the titles.
Rylin followed with the notes and struck a match to a lamp he retrieved from a nearby counter, then turned it low as Varama bent to examine lower bookspines. Rylin couldn’t keep from admiring her backside as she did so. Illusory or not, Tesra was a striking woman.
She handed him a book.
He strove for a normal tone, though he kept his voice low. “What’s this?”
“Find out.”
Had she chosen the book at random? The title on the spine read only Volume 6.
Varama selected a text of her own and set it on the counter, flipping it open. Rylin did the same with his, abandoning the tedious papers. He didn’t know if merely anyone was allowed access to these records, but in case someone were to enter, he cultivated the attitude that he belonged.
He tried not to wonder just how much time they had left. They’d already been under their disguises for a quarter hour. Should he suggest they drop the semblances and only wear them if someone came in? Varama didn’t seem inclined to do so.
He turned to the task at hand. At first, he had trouble making sense of the long lists at the front of the book. Pages and pages consisted of nothing but signatures and dates and rows of numbers. After a little while he understood that these were records of who had examined which hearthstone, when, and then a notation identifying the pages where each examiner had recorded their own impressions.
As he leafed through descriptions of the hearthstones, he discovered that the mages had created a power scale of sorts that rated every one. Additionally, they’d analyzed them for which emotions they were mostly likely to arouse in their users, a peculiar side effect largely identifiable by the shade of hearthstone. He didn’t have to guess what the purple ones elicited, but smiled at Tesra’s apparently deliberate choice.
As interesting as all of this information was, though, none of it had anything to do with Irion, so he slid the book back into place and studied the other volumes’ spines.
Every single one of them was labeled the same way, and he found each similar to Volume 6: columns with notations and observations.
Varama/Tesra was engrossed in her book.
“Are you finding anything?”
Her answer was short, quiet, and a little sharp. “Yes.” She flipped forward a page, then rifled ahead.
He hefted Volume 1, idly wondering as he did so what book Varama was reading, since the others were in sequence. Maybe hers was more relevant to their search.
His book, at first glance, seemed identical to Volume 6. On closer examination, though, he discovered that the experiences with the hearthstones described in this book were very different. Several hearthstones recorded in it were far more difficult to engage, or left the users with disquieting and unpleasant effects. At the bottom of one page was a grim note: Experiment terminated. Mage convulsed during immersion in stone. Unable to be revived.
So merely using that hearthstone had killed someone?
He glanced at Varama, who was staring contemplatively into the middle distance. “What is it?”
“This book solely catalogs all the hearthstones that have been found. By whom, and when. The queen lists the first one, long in storage.”
Rylin nodded.
“Commander Renik’s name is all over the first few pages, then others, including Kalandra, but his name features prominently for years. Belahn turns up as finding some, and sometimes Kalandra in tandem with Asrahn—”
“Your pardon, but how is that important?”
“It’s a record of who and when, and there are some curious patterns. One in particular gives me pa
use.”
She turned to replace the book.
“What is it?”
“After Commander Renik’s time, the large discoveries of hearthstones die off. Today, the mages, Denaven, or Cerai are the only ones bringing them in, and only one or two at a time. But just seven years ago Denaven had a huge find. He brought in fifty-six. No one immediately before or after came in with more than fourteen.”
“Maybe that’s why he got promoted.”
“No. Think. The date coincides with the signing of the Naor peace treaty. Denaven was newly appointed commander, and there at Kanesh to witness the signing. How could he have found one hearthstone, let alone fifty-six of them?”
“So what does it mean?”
“It’s idiocy. I can’t believe that they’d just record it right here in the book like that. You think they’d break something so obvious up into different entries. Obscure it.”
“I’m not following you.” With Thelar’s voice, the statement came out like a growl.
She might have been looking at him with Tesra’s face, but the blank, disappointed expression was solely Varama’s. “Denaven got them from the Naor. That’s the real reason the queen signed the treaty rather than pressing on. N’lahr had won decisively, and we could have advanced right into the heart of Naor lands and defeated Mazakan once and for all, ensuring security for at least two generations, if not longer.”
Rylin breathed out slowly. He tried to compose himself. “So this means the peace treaty was engineered to obtain more hearthstones.”
“Yes.”
“So the Naor gave us the hearthstones, and we gave them breathing room to rebuild their offenses?”
She nodded once, sharply. “And maybe we gave them N’lahr’s sword. And maybe his head, since he would never have agreed.”
Rylin went cold. “Surely not.”
“They murdered Asrahn. Wouldn’t they murder N’lahr or give him to our enemies? He’s certainly not in his tomb.”
“But Commander N’lahr had just saved us from annihilation.” Rylin had only been a second-rank squire in those days, but he remembered the chill dread that preceded the astonishing victory. “We were outnumbered by Naor at least three to one and he still beat them—”
For the Killing of Kings Page 20
