Blades of the Old Empire Read online

  The fit ended as suddenly as it began as the man collapsed, twitched one last time, and went still.

  A silence fell onto the chamber. Then Mother Keeper slowly reached down and felt his pulse. “He’s dead.” She let out a short breath and wiped her hands on the edge of her robe.

  “Dead?” Kyth’s voice came out as a whisper. “But–” he faltered.

  Mai leaned over the prisoner. His long fingers punched the pressure points at the base of the neck, but failed to produce an effect. Finally he straightened out and exchanged a look with his fellows in rank.

  “I doubt this was what His Majesty had in mind when he asked us to conduct the interrogation,” he said.

  Mother Keeper shook her head. “It was useless to question him, Aghat. He wouldn’t have told us anything.”

  Kyth found his voice again. “Wh-What did you say to him?”

  “A few words in the old tongue. This used to be the Kaddim Brotherhood’s motto, crudely translated as ‘he who destroys in faith is rewarded’.”

  “Why would these words kill him?”

  “It’s an old way of conditioning, Your Highness.”

  “Conditioning?”

  “Yes.”

  “What the hell does it mean?”

  The older woman’s gaze slid over him with a semblance of pity. Kyth clenched his fists until his nails bit into his palms, forcing himself to relax. Whatever happened, he had no business to raise his voice at this woman, who was a lot older than him. The prisoner was dead, nothing to be done about it.

  “It’s the most effective way to ensure one’s secrets are safe, Your Highness,” Mother Keeper said. “The Magister and I suspected it after seeing the way he reacted to Aghat Mai. The mere threat of an effective interrogation made him sick. When pressed, he died rather than reveal any information. I’m afraid the fact that this man reacted to the Kaddim motto confirms that this was indeed the true identity of your attackers.”

  Kyth slowly let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Don’t you think we should have tried to extract the information in milder ways first?”

  The older woman shook her head. She looked weary. “It wouldn’t have worked, Your Highness. He wouldn’t have been able to give us any information at all. All he brought was danger.”

  “Danger?”

  Her gaze darkened. “The Kaddim were known for their ways to communicate with each other through the same link that protected their secrets from the outsiders. Keeping this man alive would have been like keeping a spy in your midst.”

  Kyth looked down at the prisoner’s body, dead fingers clenched around his throat as if tearing at an invisible garrote. He thought he knew a lot about the Keepers. But in all his knowledge there was no room for an explanation of how this frail woman with a kind, motherly smile could kill a man with a few words. Or, how she could be so calm about it.

  “If it’s of any consolation, Your Highness,” she said, “I didn’t kill him. His own brotherhood did. The same would have happened if Aghat Mai proceeded with his interrogation.”

  Perhaps. But now we’d never know, would we? “How can you be so sure? Perhaps his death was a coincidence? Perhaps he had a poisoned pill under his tongue.” Kyth had read about spies and assassins ordered to take poison and die if caught. He supposed this was also a conditioning of sorts, just one with a more rational explanation.

  Once again there was a touch of pity in Mother Keeper’s gaze. “The signs were clear, Your Highness. We couldn’t possibly mistake them. You see, such conditioning was first invented by the Keepers.”

  “You –” Kyth felt at a loss for words. The image he had of the Keepers, peaceful scholars traveling the lands as healers and teachers, fighting to save the lives of gifted children, had just been shattered. He had always thought that their order had earned its high standing because of their selfless quest to improve people’s lives through studies of the Book of Knowledge. Perhaps it was naïve of him, given their proficiency in politics, but he had never thought of them as anything but kind, generous, and somewhat idealistic. This short scene in the dungeon changed this view forever. To think that each of them was conditioned to die in agony if interrogated about their Order.

  He looked at the two figures in white robes. They were supposed to be on the same side. And yet now, for the first time, he wondered what it truly meant to be their allies.

  4

  REVEREND FATHER

  Kyth barely had time to wash and change before the news of the reverend’s arrival was brought in by a group of Kingsguards, armed to the teeth and determined to accompany him to the throne room whether he liked it or not. Their fervor made Kyth wonder if his father had made it a priority to discuss the castle’s security issues with their captain. He felt pity for these men as he marched inside their ring, tight enough to shield him against a minor avalanche.

  When he entered the throne room, the greeting party was in assembly. The king sat on the throne, surrounded by the Majat. Next to him lingered the royal house priest Brother Bartholomeos, his bald head covered with a hood, his chain of office resting over his black robe in glimmering golden links. The other side of the throne was taken by the Keepers, their white cloaks a pale spot in the gray afternoon light.

  There was a newcomer in the Keepers’ group. A young woman with an oval face and dark almond-shaped eyes stood between Mother Keeper and Magister Egey Bashi. As Kyth approached, he noticed a loose strand of her dark hair coil up her neck like a miniature snake and wind its way into the tight bun at the back of her head. He blinked. The woman noticed his gaze and gave him a conspiratorial smile before sinking into a deep curtsy.

  “Allow me to introduce Odara Sul, Your Highness,” Magister Egey Bashi said. “Initiate of the Inner Circle and a member of the Keeper’s Council. She arrived from our Order this afternoon.”

  “A pleasure, my lady.” Kyth kept his eyes on the woman’s hair. A few loose wisps wavered in the light draft, but their movement didn’t seem to be anything but natural. I must have imagined it, he thought. Then he caught Ellah’s and Alder’s prompting gazes from the side of the crowd. He edged closer.

  “That woman’s hair,” Ellah whispered. “I saw it move!”

  “I saw it too,” Alder boomed, in his version of a whisper. Kyth opened his mouth to hush him, but the sound of fanfares prompted him to hurry to his place at the side of the throne.

  The doors at the end of the hall opened, letting in the newcomers.

  The hooded man walking through the central aisle toward the throne had a slight build, shorter and slimmer than many in his retinue. The richly embroidered ceremonial cloak draped down to the ground, its ends sweeping the floor. Clearly, the new owner had no time to shorten the garment properly before the trip. Twelve priests moved in his wake with a stalking grace not usually seen in the peaceful servants of Shal Addim. For a moment their silent approach made them look like an attack force. The Majat closed their circle around the King, forcing the procession to halt.

  “Father Cyrros, I presume,” King Evan said.

  The man bowed, pulling his hood back to reveal the thin features of his hollow face. “At your service, Your Majesty.”

  A chill went through the chamber as he spoke. Kyth’s skin crept as the reverend’s glance paused on him briefly, singling him out of the crowd.

  “We were sorry to hear about Reverend Boydos’s illness,” Evan said.

  Cyrros’s pale lips twitched. “Brother Boydos,” he made a slight emphasis on the title, “is regretfully highly unlikely to recover. The conclave was forced to make a speedy decision in replacing him. I took the liberty of bringing a letter detailing his condition to Your Majesty.” At his sign, one of the priests brought forward a folded parchment, handing it to Brother Bartholomeos. There was a pause as the King received the letter and read it through.

  “This is highly unusual,” he said. “It’s my understanding that each meeting of the conclave is arranged in advance and the King must be pro
perly notified before the event.”

  “I have a notification letter right here, Your Majesty, as well as the attestation to the conclave’s decision.” More documents passed hands. “I must apologize, but we had to act so quickly there was no time to send a separate messenger. I assure you, Majesty, I was properly elected, and these venerable brothers,” the priest nodded at the silent figures behind him, “could testify to my words.” He paused and once again Kyth had a sense of a strange power reverberating through the chamber.

  “I appreciate your bringing the news in person, Holy Father,” the King said. “Your willingness to make the trip on such short notice is commendable.”

  The reverend held a pause. His eyes flicked to the Prince and hovered over the Majat surrounding the throne. Kyth imagined they stayed on Kara longer than the others, but he couldn’t tell for sure.

  “Actually,” Cyrros said, “I came to discuss another matter with Your Majesty. One that perhaps merits a more private setting?”

  Here it comes. Kyth bit his lip, trying to quiet the pounding in his chest.

  King Evan glanced around the assembly, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “State your business, Reverend Father. I have no secrets from my loyal subjects.”

  The priest hesitated, then bowed. “As you wish, Your Majesty. First, allow me to congratulate you and Prince Kythar on the joyous event of his eighteenth birthday. Age-coming, for a royal heir.”

  “Thank you, Your Reverence.” The king smiled, but a tense cord in his neck told Kyth how alert his father was.

  “A pity the celebration had to be cut short by King Daegar’s demise and the preparations for your coronation, Your Majesty.”

  Evan raised an eyebrow. “Forgive me, Your Reverence, but while it is a joy to hear your birthday wishes to my son, such a matter can hardly merit your request for privacy – or a trip to the capital, for that matter.”

  The priest’s face became still. “The matter I wish to discuss concerns Prince Kythar’s gift.”

  Kyth held his breath, but his father did not look in the least disturbed.

  “What about it, reverend?”

  “According to the standing law of Ghaz Shalan Testing, prince Kythar should not… be alive.”

  A smile creased King Evan’s lips. “Isn’t it too late to discuss that, Reverend Father? By Shal Addim’s will, the Prince is alive and well. Or, is there a suggestion somewhere in your words?” His voice rang with a hidden threat as he looked over the reverend’s head to his hooded suite.

  The priest bowed again. “I believe, Your Majesty, I may indeed have a solution to this problem. If you agree to relinquish the Prince – temporarily – into my care, I will be honored to escort His Highness back to the Holy City and perform an exorcism to rid him of the curse.”

  “An exorcism?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  The king shifted in his chair, leaning closer to his visitor. “And does such exorcism actually work?”

  “With our Lord’s blessings, there is a chance that–”

  “A chance.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  “And what if it doesn’t work?”

  The priest swallowed. “Surely Your Majesty is prepared to do anything possible to ensure that this court is not harboring an outlaw?”

  The silence was so complete that Kyth’s skin prickled. He never imagined such a large chamber could be so utterly still.

  The king leaned back in his chair, throwing a meaningful glance at his Majat escort. “Did you bring enough men to enforce this… this solution?”

  The priest lifted his chin. Again it seemed to Kyth that his eyes paused on Kara before returning to the King. “Please, Your Majesty. We are peaceful servants of our Lord Shal Addim. We don’t enforce anything. I merely hoped that–”

  “You hoped wrong.”

  The reverend held his gaze. “The dilemma must be resolved, Your Majesty. My sources tell me that people of Tallan Dar are having trouble accepting the rule of a king whose heir possesses a cursed gift. I see no other solution but to attempt to clear Prince Kythar of his unfortunate problem.”

  The King’s smile froze. “It’s funny that you mention other solutions, your Holiness. I fancy I have just the one that would settle this once and for all.”

  The priest fixed him with a heavy stare.

  “Since this particular law is giving us such trouble,” the King went on, seemingly oblivious to the reverend’s expression, “I think our only option is to change the law. Incidentally, this would save the lives of many gifted children that right now are being purged by the Church. I am certain the people of Tallan Dar would find such a solution more agreeable than yours, Reverend.”

  Not to mention easing the control that the Church has had over our lands for the past hundred years. Kyth saw the thought reflected in the reverend’s face.

  “This course of action, Your Majesty, is not only treacherous, but extremely difficult to accomplish.” The priest’s eyes flicked to the Keepers. “I hope you are not overestimating the value of Mother Keepers’s support, which she has undoubtedly offered to you in taking this shaky path.”

  Evan raised his eyebrows. “Shaky, Holy Father?”

  Cyrros drew himself up. “The Church will never support this, Your Majesty. No matter what you do, this change of law isn’t going to happen. So, if you’ve been planning any steps in that direction, I suggest you proceed no further.”

  Evan leaned forward in his seat. “I believe your support is not technically necessary, Your Reverence. The High Council has authority to overrule the Church with a unanimous vote.”

  “Unanimous vote, Your Majesty.”

  “Exactly.”

  “The council meets in six weeks, doesn’t it?”

  “Yes, it does.”

  The reverend’s thin lips twitched. “Are you certain you can bring all the members to assembly in that time, Your Majesty?”

  The king exchanged a quick glance with the Keepers. “I understand that my predecessors relied on the Church in all their decisions, but since we are having this conversation I should inform you that matters will be different from now on.”

  The reverend bowed. “I’m glad we have this chance to begin by stating our positions openly, Your Majesty. However, I will take the liberty to offer you a small piece of advice. I fully understand your wish to be, shall we say, independent, but this course of action isn’t necessarily wise.”

  “Given that you are new to your position, Your Reverence, I shall give you some advice too. I don’t like unsolicited advice.”

  “I assure you, Your Majesty, I’m only trying to help.”

  “Why don’t we leave this until the council meeting, Your Reverence,” the King suggested. “In the meantime, I expect you must be tired after your long and hasty journey. Our house priest, Brother Bartholomeos, has prepared accommodations for you and your men.”

  The reverend bowed again, his neck muscles bulging as he briefly clenched his teeth. “You are most gracious, Your Majesty, but I fear I must decline. I will be taking my residence in the Crown Temple. I humbly request to take my leave now.”

  At the King’s nod, he bowed and signaled his men. In the deadly stillness, they turned and left the hall.

  5

  PLANS

  “Exorcism,” King Evan said, looking into space. “Just what we need, a bloody fanatic on our hands.”

  Kyth kept to the shadows of the small chamber, watching his father’s contorted face. He had never seen the King so angry before.

  “Give me one reason,” Evan went on, “why I shouldn’t arrest this man and throw him in the dungeons for threatening my son and heir.”

  Mother Keeper leafed through the pile in her lap. “The paperwork appears legitimate, Your Majesty,” she said in her calm, soothing voice. “We are facing the Reverend Father of the Church himself. I don’t believe arresting him would go well with the people.”

  Evan’s chest heaved as he settled back into his ch
air. “Next you’ll be telling me I should entertain his suggestion.”

  Mother Keeper exchanged a quiet look with Magister Egey Bashi and Odara Sul, seated by her side. Then she looked across the table at Brother Bartholomeos.

  “Barring that, Your Majesty,” she said, “it seems we do need to ensure the full assembly at the High Council, so that the law could indeed be changed. If we manage it, the matter of Prince Kythar’s ability won’t arise again.”

  The King frowned. “Damn well I’m going to ensure the full assembly. I’m leaving for Illitand Hall tomorrow. If needed, I’ll drag the Duke and the Princess here to sit at the council. Whatever they think of me, they won’t stand for the Church dictating to the King.”

  Mother Keeper bowed her head. “I pray Your Majesty succeeds in this embassy. And, with your permission, I would like to accompany you. I hope this evidence of the Keepers’ support might further sway the Duke’s decision in your favor.”

  Not to mention keeping tempers at bay. Kyth remembered the scene in the dungeon. How did this frail, elderly woman manage to maintain such a soothing demeanour while commanding such a horrifying power?

  “Thank you, Mother Keeper,” the King said. “I’m certain your presence would speak volumes for our cause.”

  She bowed again. “Thank you, Your Majesty. However, I feel it is my duty to remind you that the Illitand’s and Shayil Yara’s seats are by far not the hardest to fill for the full assembly of the council.”

  The King stared at her for a moment without blinking.

  “The Cha’ori, Your Majesty.”

  The King leaned back in his chair. “You can’t possibly mean that. Those savages–”

  A smile touched the older woman’s lips. “Hardly, Your Majesty. The Grassland Wanderers are in command of the most ancient magic in existence. And, they’re at odds with the Church. Their alliance – if we can achieve it – may prove valuable in more ways than one.”