Cethe (58 page)

engaged with two Hunters while two more were attempting to batter down the door to his brother’s apartments. Seeing him, the

Hunters faltered, a bad decision for the man fighting the duke. The other threw down his sword and dropped to his knees. His

companions quickly left off their assault on the door.

“Get out of here,” snarled Severyn.

The men didn’t argue and were gone, their rapid footsteps fading swiftly.

Severyn looked at the door. Then he knocked quietly. “Arami? Arami? It’s me! Sev! The Hunters are gone! Let me in!”

There was a long silence.

“It’s too bad you don’t have any witch powers,” Severyn muttered to Lord Damon. The duke gave him a slight, sympathetic

smile. “Come on, Arami! I’m not here to drag you away to some howling mob! I want to talk to you!”

But stil there was no answer. In despair, Severyn fel back against the door, sliding down to sit on the floor. Arranz walked to

the corridor window and looked out.

“Hunters?” asked Severyn.

“No. Royal Guard. Looks like Corliss has been busy.”

“Good man, Corliss.”

The door behind him moved. Severyn jumped up. The chain was drawn across it; the face peering out was that of a servant,

pale and terrified. “Y-your Highness? Is… is it you?”

Severyn bit down on his impatient response. “Yes. David, it is, where’s my brother?”

There was a slight jerk of David’s head toward the interior of the apartment. “He says… he says you can come in, Your

Highness, but only you.”

“I’l keep guard,” said Arranz. “Go ahead.”

“Al right. Arami? I’m coming in.”

“Just you! Swear it?”

“I swear.”

The door closed. Severyn heard the chain rattle, then the door opened just enough to let him through. A quaking David quickly

shut and locked the door behind him while several other servants shoved furniture against it. Al of them looked in various states of

shock and their eyes on him were fil ed with terrible hope.

“What happened?” he asked David, the oldest and most trusted of Arami’s servants.

“He — His Majesty was il ,” said David. “He’d not had any… anything for almost a week. Then last night, His Eminence came

up with Her Majesty. I-I couldn’t hear what it was about, Your Highness, but there was a dreadful row, everyone shouting. Then they

left. Shortly after that, His Majesty… His Majesty went down to the Queen’s apartments.” The man blinked rapidly, tears flooding his

eyes. “He came back a few minutes later. His Majesty was crying and laughing and covered with… with blood… ” Unable to go on,

the servant broke down, weeping into his hands. “He told us to lock the doors and let no one in. He said… he said he would be

dead soon and not to let anyone… ”

Severyn didn’t hear the rest. “ARAMI!”

He tore through the spacious apartments, through the rooms reeking of pelthe and scattered with the objects of his brother’s

skittish amusement. At the doors to Arami’s bedchamber, he stopped. The smel of pelthe was nearly overwhelming. He tried the

door, but it was locked. “ARAMI!”

“I said go away!” came a slurred, muffled voice. “Go away!”

Severyn stepped back and kicked the door open.

The luxurious chamber was in ruins, bed-curtains torn down and in shreds al over the floor, furniture tipped over, the contents

of drawers scattered everywhere. Seated in the middle of the bed, propped against the tal , ornately carved headboard, was his

brother.

Severyn scarcely recognized him. Arami was ghostly white, dark circles under his sunken eyes. Half-closed, they glittered at

Severyn from the shadows of the bed. In one skeletal hand, he gripped his pelthe snifter. His fingertips were black with soot from the

matches. His clothing was stiff and black with dried blood.

“Suppose… I suppose you’ve heard?” he greeted Severyn.

Rooted to the spot, Severyn could only nod his head.

“Stupid bitch… ” Arami’s lips twisted. He paused to take another long drag of the vapor gathered in his glass. “Tired of her

…her and her damned brother….always holding my pelthe over my head… ”

“Did you have to kil her?” asked Severyn final y.

“Wouldn’t give it to me.” Arami shook his head, lank hair flying. “Said I had to… had to disinherit you… wouldn’t give it to me ‘til

I ‘greed. Wanted that fucker, Maz… Mazril to be heir. Pah! A fucking priest as king? Stupid whore and her stupid whoreson brother!”

“She wouldn’t give it to you? Give what?” A chil ran up Severyn’s spine.

“My pelthe, ‘course! Whadja think? Her cunt? As if I wanted that smel y thing!”

“You got your pelthe from Eleanor?”

“Ooooh. Look at you! So amazed. Sweet lil Eleanor. Pious little Eleanor. Butter wouldn’t melt in her fucking mouth!” The mist

was gone from the snifter. With a hand that shook terribly, Arami reached for a bottle beside his bed and poured more into it. “I did it

for you, y’know.”

“Eleanor? Where did she get it?”

“I dunno. Mazril? Don’t matter. She’s dead, the bitch.” He rummaged among the bedclothes and brought out an unlit candle.

Lighting it, he started to heat the pelthe. Severyn broke from his paralysis and grabbed it, blowing it out. But when he tried to snatch

away the snifter, Arami suddenly lifted it to his lips and downed the contents!

Horrified, Severyn jumped to his feet. “You fool!” He seized his brother by the shoulders and was aghast at how frail and bony

his shoulders felt beneath his robes. “ARAMI!”

Arami only laughed, wildly and long, his body convulsing with the force of his macabre mirth. Then he doubled over and

vomited it al back up al that he had just swal owed.

Severyn knew enough about pelthe to know why it was merely inhaled and never ingested directly. “I’l get a healer!” he said

frantical y, “David! DAVID!”

“No!” Arami’s hand shot out, gripping Severyn’s sleeve with surprising strength. “No! I forbid it! I…” His next words were lost in

a fit of coughing. With a sickening plunge of his heart, Severyn saw blood and knew it wasn’t the murdered Eleanor’s.

“Oh, God, Arami, what have you done?”

David arrived, looking panic-stricken.

“Get a healer! Hurry!”

“No!”

David froze, gazing at them both with anguished eyes.

“If you love me, Davey, you’l do as I say, not him.” Arami’s voice turned soft, gentle. His long-time servant could only shake his

head, tears trickling down his face. The king coughed again. He wiped his mouth and his wrist came away smeared with red.

“I want this, Sevvy,” he said hoarsely, using the nickname Severyn hadn’t heard for nearly fifteen years. “I’m tired. So tired.”

He fel back against his pil ows, licking blood from his lips. They were grey. “It’s what you want, anyway, isn’t it? To be king?”

“Not like this,” whispered Severyn, sinking to his knees beside the bed. “Not like this. Ari, I swear.”

“Tanyrin wants it.” Arami’s hands fel to the bedside, twitching. “The nobles want it. Most of al , Locke fears it. Al those fat,

sanctimonious Celestial hypocrites fear it.” He laughed, a terrible, bubbling sound. “Hel , that makes it worthwhile al by itself.”

“I’m getting a healer,” said Severyn, pushing himself to his feet.

“No! Damn you! For once, just do as I say!”

“I’ve ALWAYS done what you said!” Severyn shouted.

Arami smiled then. It was a curiously serene smile and it transfixed Severyn. “I know. I know, little brother. I just wish…” He

closed his eyes. “Wish it had been you born first. Al I wanted was to paint. Just paint.” He broke off, drawing a deep, shaking

breath.

“Arami?” Severyn’s voice broke. “Arami!”

His brother’s eyelids fluttered. He spoke, but Severyn could barely hear him. “Hold me, little brother.”

Tears flooded Severyn’s eyes; he barely noticed them, climbing up into the messy, stinking bed, thrusting aside the soiled

covers. He gathered his brother’s bony frame in his arms. David ran from the room.

“Always wanted to paint,” whispered Arami, head fal ing back on Severyn’s shoulder. “Great scenes… Colors…. Would have

been a good… ”

“You’re a superb artist, Ari.”

Grey lips stretched into a smile. “I was terrible.” His breathing had become labored. “You…you… be good king, Sevvy…

Always thought so… Used to get so angry… People always loved you…”

“Arami, don’t.” Severyn pul ed him closer, kissing the lank, brown hair. “Please, Arami… ”

“Always loved you… ” Arami whispered.

Then the body in his arms was stil . Arami was gone.

“And I always loved you,” said Severyn and, lowering his head, he let the tears come freely.

Although Aramis I was the greatest member of the Lothlains, the family’s history is long and distinguished, with the first

Lothlain, Stuart Manard Egrel, appearing in recorded history around 899 YLD. The main line of the family continued unbroken

until the assassination of Aramis IV in YLD1422. Childless at the time of his death, the crown went to the head of the family’s

secondary line, descended from Aramis’ younger brother, Robert. Martin Denali Lothlain, upon his coronation, took the name

Arami in honor of his illustrious ancestor. Henceforth, it has been the tradition of the Tanyrin kings to name their firstborn sons

Arami.

from:
A Modern History of Tanyrin
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1505

It was purest good luck that Michael met Marin on the road to Shia. His servant was one of a party of half a dozen men

gal oping along the southern road out of Fornsby. When Michael hailed them, Marin’s face lit up.

“Where is he?” Michael demanded as soon as they were within speaking distance. “Where’s Stefn?”

The guards with Marin looked amazed, but Marin replied at once. “They’ve taken him to Zelenov!” He jerked his head toward

one of the riders. Startled, Michael saw a young h’naran man wearing the royal blue and gold, his pale hair half-hidden beneath his

helm.

“His name is Clare. He was Abbot Drummond’s slave.”

Michael’s heart plunged. He looked mutely at the Penitent.

“This is Lord Arranz,” said Marin to the youth. “The duke’s grandson. Tel him what you told me.”

The h’nar bowed his head, looking awed. “My lord,” he said. “They brought the earl to the abbey, men from Zelenov. One was

a Dragon; they cal ed him Lieutenant Brant. Lord Eldering was drugged. I heard them talking. They were to take him to Zelenov, to

the Archbishop.”

“How long ago?”

“Four days past, my lord.”

Four days. Michael remembered that moment of harrowing awareness. He nodded. “Did they say why?”

“They said he was compensation, to replace what was stolen from the Archbishop. That was al I heard. I’m sorry.”

“No. No, you’ve done wel . Thank you.” He looked at Marin. “You were on your way to Blackmarsh?”

“Of course. I assume we go after the earl?”

Michael nodded, wheeling his horse about. The men fel in behind him. Marin came up to ride at his side. “Tel me more,”

Michael ordered in a low voice.

“Men came from the vil age, asking for Lord Stefn’s help. Of course, he went with them, taking no escort!” Marin shook his

head at the foolishness. “When his lordship didn’t return, Lake and I went in search of him. We eventual y found a vil ain by the

name of Carter. He was persuaded to reveal the involvement of the abbey.”

Marin’s smile was grim. “Drummond refused to say a word. Fortunately for him, his Penitent was not so close-mouthed.”

Marin’s face twisted in disgust. “You wouldn’t believe what the old bastard was using him for!”

“Heh. Wouldn’t I?”

“Why take Stefn? I don’t understand that,” Marin said, shaking his head.

“I do,” replied Michael. “We go to Tantagrel.”

“Lord Michael?” Marin turned in the saddle, looking earnestly at him. “They’ve only a few days on us. Surely you can find him

with your magic? If we move quickly, we might catch up to them before they reach the Midders.”

“The Dragon who has him is concealing his life pattern from me,” said Michael. “I can tel Stefn is alive and moving, but that is

al . Besides, without my cethe, I’m no match for him.”

“But surely you’re not giving up?”

Michael shook his head. “Oh, no,” he said. “There’s another cethe in Tantagrel, my friend, and I mean to have him.”

Stefn wedged himself at the furthest end of the seat and wondered where they were. Since the beginning of this terrible