Soulbreaker (30 page)

4
5

G
rand Chantry Revisited

A
month after the attempt on Ainslen’s life, Queen Terestere once again found herself in the Grand Chantry, this time as a part of her husband’s retinue. Even before she had settled in she received word that the Patriarch and Matriarch had accepted her request for an audience.

“Hamada, Merisse,” she said to the two Elders who stood before the Benediction Chamber’s entrance, “I’m ready.” They bowed as one, pushed open the door, and let her in.

The room was as she recalled: the dais with its statues, the two throne-like, gem-encrusted chairs set in front of them, and the scent of jasmine. Corgansetti and Janania occupied the seats, dressed in shimmering robes, each with the Star of the Dominion hanging from a gold chain around their necks. The Patriarch watched her coldly, the lines around his eyes pulling even tighter. Janania appeared almost devoid of emotion, and considering her age, she was beautiful, silver hair falling in waves, her skin unblemished.

Behind them, the looming statues gave the impression that Terestere was about to be judged by the Dominion themselves. A nice touch, the queen had to admit. She strode to within a dozen feet of the dais. Before her was a table with a game of Dragon Gates.

“I guess I can now rightfully refer to you as Queen Terestere once more,” Corgansetti said, offering a wry smile.

“Congratulations on your new wedding and the work you’ve done in bringing the Empire together once more,” Janania added. “May the Dominion be praised.”

Amused by their lack of understanding or awareness, the queen couldn’t help her smirk. “Last time I was here I meant to tell you that I had never stopped being queen.” She gave Corgansetti a frosty stare.

His mouth opened and then snapped closed. An expression of puzzlement followed. He seemed to gather his faculties as he said, “Why did you ask to see us?”

“Why did you come,” she countered.

“Because we were told you asked for an audience?” Janania replied, frowning.

Tired of having to look up at them, Terestere manifested her own dais and throne to match theirs. She strode up the four short steps, smiled at the surprised gasps behind her, faced the Order’s leaders, and sat. Corgansetti’s face was purple, as if he was choking. Janania’s had grown pasty. The Matriarch licked her lips.

“What is the meaning of this,” Corgansetti demanded. “By all accounts you cannot meld.”

Terestere glanced down at her manifestation, then back at the Patriarch. “I can’t? Oh, dear.” Corgansetti’s knuckles tightened on the armrests as he made to stand. “Stay seated,” she urged, one hand patting the air as if she spoke to a pet. Corgansetti complied without hesitation.

“How’s this possible?” Janania’s face was regaining a bit of her complexion. “Did some fool induce you?”

The queen sighed. “No, my dearest, I’ve always had this ability.”

“Impossible,” Corgansetti said. “I had you tested several times. A few of the examiners even claimed they saw little to no soul around you.”

“Quite possible. Tell me, why do you think Jemare chose me for a wife and then Ainslen? My beauty? My skills in bed? My intelligence? Luck?” She chuckled. “It would take more than raw attraction to snag those two.”

“What do you mean?” Janania asked.

“Again, I ask, why did you come here? Better yet, why is there a game of Dragon Gates on that table?”

“Because we were told that is what you required,” they answered as one.

“Exactly. Isn’t it strange that you would bow to the whim of a queen you barely recognize?”

Janania was the first to catch on, her eyes growing wide with the recognition. The Patriarch’s reaction came a heartbeat later.

“Mesmer,” he hissed.

“You do me an injustice, Corgansetti. I’m much more than that, but for the sole purpose of what has happened to you, then you’re correct.”

Soul flared around the Patriarch. Terestere watched curiously as he produced a small bell from beneath his robes. He shook it furiously, but it did not ring. He continued to shake, face contorted, arm flapping. At last he let it fall from limp fingers.

“Come now, Patriarch, I expected better. I know men can be driven to desperation, but that?” Terestere shook her head. “You did not think I would allow you to call in your guard, did you?” She snaked a hand into her cloak’s folds and pulled out the real bell, holding it by the tongue. With a snap of her fingers, she broke the metal.

“What do you want?” Janania asked, her voice somewhat steady.

“Your deaths … and more.”

“Why?” Sullen-faced, Corgansetti slumped in his chair.

“I often dreamed of what I would do on this day,” Terestere admitted. “Would my hate for the Order override my other emotions and see me tearing you two apart? Would I be able to control my need for vengeance? Would I decide to show you the mercy you did not show mine? I even considered if I would do as so many of yours have done, feeding off the soul of those you killed.”

“Vengeance for what?” the Patriarch blurted.

“For what you and yours did to the Dracodar, to the remnants of my people, for what you and Jemare and the armies he led did to my children.” She had pondered how to go about this, doubting her ability to remain calm, to restrain herself. A man deserved to know why he died, even if he did not provide the courtesy to others.

“The Dracodar brought about their own downfall when they betrayed the Gods, treachery that saw them banished to the Ten Hells.” Spittle flew from Corgansetti’s lips. “They were the chosen, relied on to keep the world safe as the Dominion slept. Instead, they usurped their position, killed Hazline and Rendorta. Now, the Thirty-two Winds run rampant, changing men’s fates on a whim, and the world was set back thousands of years, losing much of the knowledge it once had. Do you wish to blame us for the Dracodar who tossed their own into the Dragon Gates also? Or is such a form of appeasement accepted? If so, what blasphemy was committed for such a heinous act to be seen as redemption?”

Quivering at the man’s words, Terestere had to close her eyes to quell the tide rising in her chest. It was a storm, a flood to drown all others. A prickling sensation eased across her face. When she gazed at Corgansetti and Janania their mouths were agape.

“You really
are
Dracodar,” Corgansetti said.

Her scales receded. “The oldest living member of my kind, at least that I know of. As for the so-called betrayal you mentioned, there’s good and bad in every race. It still does not excuse the act of one of your founders, the death brought to the Dracodar by Cortens Kasandar.”

Janania peered at Terestere through narrowed eyes. “You are she, aren’t you? You’re Elysse the Temptress. All this time hunting you and there you were, next to Jemare.”

“The best place to hide from your enemy is beside him,” Terestere said.

“Impossible. Elysse is dead,” Corgansetti said. “Jemare killed her.”

“So he and Ainslen thought, and in ways they were right. Elysse, as you knew her, died with one of her husbands and an army of her children during the Red Swamps. To this day the faces of my loved ones haunt me. My precious children. Such innocent fools my progeny were, believing Jemare and Ainslen would follow the Kheridisian fighting code. I warned those two that they would pay, and they’ve felt my pain and wrath since.” She grimaced, as images of dead Dracodar in human form tumbled through her head. “Such slaughter is but a small part of the suffering for which your Order is responsible.”

“The Dominion punished you for your betrayal,” Corgansetti insisted, “not us.”

“I’ve always found it amusing how quick the Order is to shirk the blame for terrible acts committed by their members, as if the Gods themselves did the slaying. No.” The queen made her voice hard and cold. “It was Cortens Kasandar who returned from his pilgrimage to the Farlands with Vasys Balbas’ secret weapon against my people. It was he who poisoned the rivers and lakes, the food that your people served to us. He did it in the name of the Order and is seen as a hero for the Dracodar genocide.”

“So Ilsindin’s tyranny played no part in Cortens decision?” Janania asked.

“You cannot make one man responsible for an entire race.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Corgansetti argued.

“No. I am simply punishing the Order of the Dominion and the line of kings who continued with your heinous change to Far’an Senjin, the ones who treated what was left of my people like nothing more than breeding grounds to empower your own.

“You murdered and raped without thought, made the Smear like a Purgatory, driving parents to give you their children. And the ones who dared resist? You had them killed by their own.” The queen shuddered. “Oh, I have been tempted to make you all pay, but then I would be no different. Besides, Vasys Balbas and the Farlanders present a greater threat. You two and Ainslen were steps to ensure I got close enough to him to do what must be done.”

Corgansetti threw his head back and laughed, a low throaty cackle. “You will die before that ever happens, either by the westerners or by the Farlanders themselves.”

“My poor, poor man,” Terestere said with a shake of her head, “you really do not see it, do you? You think it was coincidence that the western kingdoms declared war when they did? Nothing in life happens without a reason. You might not see the intricate threads woven to bring about a circumstance, but they exist. The sad part is that I wish I could let them run rampant over the Empire, let them spill the blood they seek, that of you and Ainslen, but then my son could not be king if they did.”

Janania spared a glance for the Patriarch. “Why would they want your blood?”

“I’ve done nothing to them,” Corgansetti insisted. “They claimed Ainslen sent an assassin to kill their High King.”

“If you wish to call the wisemen you’ve sent to carry the Word into their lands nothing, then so be it.” Terestere shrugged. “As for the assassin, how would you explain that she bore a decree the High King once gave to Jemare decades ago, a decree with the new queen’s signature? And then she also had the Order’s writ of safe passage signed by you.”

Corgansetti appeared as if he would choke. He mouthed the name Rostlin. The queen smiled.

“Even if you managed to somehow usurp the throne, no one would rally behind you,” Janania said. “They all know what monsters the Dracodar are. The Order made certain of that.”

“Perhaps you did, but I doubt you would know true monsters if you saw them. After all, the Order helped bring the Farlanders here.” The queen cocked her head to one side. “Do you even know the origin of the leather worn by their warriors?”

“Deer, cows …” Corgansetti shrugged. “Who cares?”

“What if I said they took it from melders, human melders, Dracodar, innocents, criminals … it matters not to them so long as the soul is strong.”

A look of horror encompassed the leaders’ faces.

“You lie,” Corgansetti blurted.

“Do I? Men hunt derins for the same properties. You nobles search out Dracodar for similar reasons, auction our remains. If soul could be gleaned from men, why wouldn’t someone else follow suit? In fact, when your Order has taken the souls of those from the Smear for harvest, do you believe you’re doing something different? Many of those folk are more human than Dracodar.”

As realization dawned in Corgansetti’s eyes, Terestere smiled.

“You can’t do this,” Corgansetti was saying, tears trickling down his face. “You mustn’t. We made a mistake. We can rectify it.”

Hate blazed in Matriarch Janania’s eyes. “The only mistake we made was leaving any of you beasts alive.”

“I agree,” the queen said. With that, she willed their hearts to stop beating.

She sat back in her chair, waiting for the sense of satisfaction, fulfillment, euphoria. None of that came. Only emptiness, a void so deep nothing could fill it. As it had been when she orchestrated Jemare’s death, and when she had killed Joaquin.
Is this all that is left to me? Death and the dying? An existence that leaves me cold even when I achieve a goal?
She let out a long, slow, shuddering breath.

When she left the Benediction Chamber, Hamada and Merisse were waiting. “It is done. Allow someone else to discover the corpses.”

“How will we hide the way they died?” Hamada asked.

“No need. Their hearts stopped beating, such is the way with Matriarchs and Patriarchs. They die together.”

“What now, my queen?” Merisse asked, bowing.

“We kill a king to beget a king. Kasinian tradition, is it not? A people will rise from the ashes. Kheridisia will finally join the Empire. Tell the others to keep an eye on all their charges. Their time is soon.”

“Yes, my queen,” they uttered as one.

“How has my husband fared?” she asked.

“His wrath was sated. Jarod is no more.”

“Good.” Almost all the pieces had fallen. Only a few moves were left. “I’m certain it should have given him an appetite. I’ll see to him.” As she strode away, the queen considered the letter she would send to Thar.

******

A month after his brother’s death, Thar stood upon the bow of the raker, Moonstorm. Dark clouds scudded across the sky, blotting out Antelen’s glow. The events of the past weeks haunted him. Envald had led him through even older tunnels in the Undertow and out to the Treskelin Forest. The Dwellers’ leader brought the entirety of his people with him. They were all extremely strong in soul.

Deep in the Treskelin, they set up a pyre for Delisar’s body. Thar watched his brother burn until nothing but ashes were left. He scattered those ashes on the wind, as had been done with so many Dracodar descendants over the centuries. They drifted among the trees. When the ashes landed, roots and branches shifted, earth parted, absorbing that which was offered. The forest’s nimbus grew stronger.

Delisar was well and truly gone.
My brother is no more.
It had taken these past few weeks for it to sink in.

“Sir,” a member of the crew said, interrupting his reverie, “the Farlander ship is ahead.”

Thar took in the hauler. It was larger than any other vessel on the River Ost. From its main mast flew three flags: the Star of the Dominion, the Hand of Soul, and an ereskar. Guiding soul into his legs, Thar pictured coiled springs. Pressure built. He released.