Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (26 page)

He handed her the writ of execution that they’d taken off the dead slaver. She noted Tashi’s name, Dhagmurna’s signature, and a date before the death of Kragen. “Interesting. The Brotherhood leadership wanted this villain dead as well. I wonder why?”

Transferring her gaze to the bodyguard, she softened. “It’s good to have you back here, Morlan. You know I can’t trust any of these vultures. But you’re different.” She gave the compliment a moment to sink in. “I wanted you by my side before we launched the warship.”

Her guard stiffened at the news, but held his composure. Even if he could have spoken, he would not have contradicted the Lady. But no one could be sure that the repairs to the mighty vessel would hold. Many of the skills needed to build and employ such a ship had been forever lost in the Scattering. Even worse, the Inner Sea still boiled in places, blanketed by an impassable, sulfuric haze. Because of the random destruction by earthquakes and creation by lava flows, few of the nautical charts from the old times were usable any more.

However, none of these obstacles were new. Kragen had assembled the wizards with these challenges in mind. If any group alive could do this, the sept could—but only if they remained united. More than anything else, the sudden increase in the scope of the conflict worried Morlan. What was the new objective? He raised an inquiring eyebrow.

She continued, walking around him as he stood at attention, focusing every sense on the Lady. “Our lord’s ultimate goal was the reunification of the empire under his dynasty. Although his dream may not have been achieved in the way he anticipated, we are moving to make it a reality in this generation.” As she passed by, her favorite scent trailed behind in the air. The effect was distracting for Morlan.

“You’ve also made victory attainable with the funds you have brought back. Their worth was considerable, as was your risk. I want you to know my gratitude,” she whispered. As she walked, the robe parted slightly, revealing a V of flesh that extended down to her waist.

The bodyguard trembled. Morlan was a full decade older than the Lady, but his body was responding to this woman like an adolescent. Humi looked uat him with adoring eyes, her face radiant, her young body still firm and undistorted by the pregnancy. She was so close that he could feel her warmth. Rather than risk a breach of propriety, Morlan gestured to the bedroom window seat. There were cushions on each wall so that the Lady’s back would not have to touch cold stone as she gazed out over the Inner Sea.

“I’m sorry,” she said effusively. “You must be exhausted.” Humi sat on her cushion and commanded, “Come, sit beside me.”

There was a long silence as her bodyguard reluctantly obeyed. Morlan avoided her flawless face and stared at his own lap. His hands wrung at the House symbol embroidered on the hem of his kalura. Her eyes watched Morlan’s motions for a while, trying to read his thoughts and feelings. “He’s gone,” she said, echoing his grief.

Humi rested her head on his shoulder and clung to the large man. “Kragen was my life as well,” she said into his chest. “We can’t bring him back, but we can bring his vision to life. We can make him proud of us.” Her voice sounded like a small girl’s as it broke with emotion. Gradually and quietly, so as not to disturb her, Morlan began to weep as well. His desires passed from lust and loyalty to something deeper. From that moment, it was an understatement to say that Morlan would have done anything for her.

The Lady fell asleep in his arms, at peace for the first time in a week.

****

Dhagmurna knew when the hawk returned without the slaver that there would be trouble, but he never imagined the magnitude. He couldn’t sleep from reading all the casualty reports and contract cancellations. The guildmaster sat, staring out at the watch fire in the courtyard below. The feud had him dumbfounded.

Dhagmurna was never the best swordsman in the guild, nor the tallest, nor the handsomest, but he had enough of all three that he made a natural leader among the Brotherhood of Executioners. His darker-than-normal skin set him apart from the crowd. His deep, booming voice, audible above even the most intense fray, made him famous. He had a knack for delegating chores to others and having the performer feel indebted to him in exchange. He rose to the top by becoming everyone’s friend. Through years of constant effort, he knew all the right people and where all the bodies were buried. But despite his facility with the men, he lacked the financial and political backing for a more permanent position as the head of the guild. Every seven years, the elders met to elect a new master. Not noble by blood, Dhagmurna was still awed by the guildmaster’s official mansion. Once ensconced, he determined to do anything to stay there.

His wife stirred in the darkness behind him. Had it been anyone else, he would have drawn a weapon. She was the sole person who could creep up on him or speak her mind without fear of repercussion. The latter she did often, but only in private. She was a consummate businesswoman; with her aid, both his fortunes and the Brotherhood had flourished. Named for a rare flower found in the high crags of the Tamarind, Nerissa provided everything he had been lacking: money, legitimacy, and the support of the old guard. She even helped write his speeches. Tall for a woman, she had long, intricately-woven, raven hair, and a regal air. Having been raised in these halls, she knew every twist in the mansion, and each person who’d ever passed through them.

Nerissa held back from the light, wearing a veil of shadows. Her sleep had been troubled as well. “Our tragedy is no doubt punishment for trying to kill him.”

Dhagmurna winced. She was going to nag him about this failure again. Softly, and with great control, his deep voice rumbled, “Our spies and the last report from the band we sent after him say he is finally dead.”

“That’s what they said last time,” she accused. “I’ll believe it when I see the cold body. I warned you it wouldn’t be easy.”

He closed his eyes. The murder contract had been her dowry. To his shame, in his heat and in his haste, he had agreed. Now, having enjoyed her many virtues, he was honor-bound to complete this heinous crime—if for no other reason than he could no longer function as guildmaster without her. “But he’s your brother.”

Nerissa snarled, “Adopted.”

The mighty leader of the Executioners’ Guild avoided this discussion like the plague. “How do we end this senseless feud?”

A pragmatist, Nerissa suggested, “Can we reach the surviving enemies with a second team? I hear the first one took out three or four wizards, half the sept.”

Dhagmurna shook his head. “I still don’t know why they did it. But the first team only succeeded because no one believed anyone would be that stupid. I can’t even get the location of their leaders. We’re fighting on a strictly defensive level now. No one will aid us. No one wants to hire us. Their organization has more arms than a squid. That Kragen had his finger in every rotten pie around. Our best option is to weather the siege in our stronghold.”

Nerissa shook her head. “We’re already too weakened. The longer our men stay in one place, the more likely they are to go native. More importantly, we’re losing face. If we run away with our tail between our legs, our reputation as the best fighters in the world will be destroyed. Our future will be set on the downward path into impotence and extinction.”

In frustration, he growled “Don’t you think I know that?!”

She soothed him by kneading his tight shoulders. “What does King Zandar say about this affront? An assault on you erodes his power base.”

Dhagmurna looked haunted. He hadn’t shared this burden with another living being until now. “His highness refuses to meddle in ‘local disputes between families’. It might be misconstrued as favoritism.”

Nerissa was not fooled by the moral wording. “What’s the slime’s real reason?”

The guildmaster sighed. “It’s a valid one. He’s loaned a large part of his army to the Prefect of Bablios to guard the road to their capital. The Prefect of the Vineyards has repositioned their armies further north and east.”

His wife was more astute in such matters than most of his lieutenants. “He’s hanging us out to dry.” After a brief pause, Nerissa asked, “So what does the sept want?”

A shadow from the darkest corner of the room detached itself, musing on the new data it had gleaned. “It’s one woman, really. The lord’s concubine,” Tumberlin rasped, barely above a whisper. Adrenaline shot through both man and wife. The actions of seconds could mean the difference between death and life.

“To arms! Defend your leader!” bellowed Dhagmurna.

His mate removed a long, pointed, metal hair ornament from her dressing table and hurled it dagger-style at the intrud. It would be her task to open the door for the others while Dhagmurna drew his sword from the sheath that hung from the bedpost. Impossibly, the ornament passed harmlessly through the apparition. The aristocratic flower startled Tumberlin with her muttered insults toward the new Lady Kragen, ending with “gutter-slut.”

The fallen apprentice laughed for the first time in a month. Nerissa froze in terror at the chilling sound. The half-naked guildmaster held a useless, steel blade between them. “Originally, she just wanted to destroy you all. Now she sends me with a gracious offer, good for tonight only. If you refuse, all food shipments to your fortress will be halted, and the wizards will start sending in spirits.”

“Whatever it is, we have no choice,” the guildmaster said loudly to distract the creature from his wife, whose hand was slowly creeping toward her jewelry box. Her broach with the lavender stone and sesterina trim might be usable as a weapon.

The apprentice was not fooled. He could see perfectly by the Compass Star. “I’ll suck your pretty face to a dry husk and be gone before anyone can arrive to stop me. Are you going to listen?” he hissed. In truth, the effort of such a long-distance projection had drained him too much to fight. Nevertheless, the bluff worked.

“The gutter-slut wants you to transfer your fealty from the King of Zanzibos to the Kragen heir.” The word ‘treason’ hung in the air unspoken.

Nerissa was not offended at all by the demand. Indeed, the low tone of the request made her opponent seem more substantial and manageable. “Sounds fair.”

“But our honor,” Dhagmurna protested.

“Is less important than our lives. How do you think this law-abiding monarch got our order’s loyalty to begin with? The kings of Zanzibos and Bablios snuck in with the help of a traitor and forced it out of us at the point of a sword. Then they took half of our swords and divided them as spoils between their troops. I think it only proper that we return the favor,” she reasoned.

“People will die,” Dhagmurna said feebly, trying not to seem hen-pecked in front of his visitor.

Tumberlin liked this woman more with every word. To her husband, he said, “People will die either way. The only question remaining is: will the dead be ours or theirs?”

The guildmaster felt the weight of the world fall on his shoulders.

The ride to the capital city of Semenea was a pleasant
one for Jotham and the boy. In spite of the chains and the ban on his speaking to the guards, they found the landscape lush and colorful, and the food plentiful. “It always tastes better when someone else does the cooking,” remarked Brent one breezy afternoon. They rode in a sealed wagon normally used to transport gold or weapons. The city gate lay ahead and the coming trial loomed large in both their minds.

“And does the dishes,” added Jotham, earning a giggle from the boy.

“I’m sure that members of the royal court don’t travel as well as we have this last week,” Brent said sincerely. After a sigh, the boy asked, “Why do they hate us?”

Jotham smiled, and patted his ward’s hand. “They don’t even know us. How could they hate what hey don’t know?”

“Even I have learned that people hate best what they don’t know,” Brent insisted. It was the priest’s turn to chuckle. “They hate your order, our order. Why?”

Jotham remained quiet for a time, listening to the plodding of the oxen. “At first, I would have said jealousy. We had access to the words and ways of the gods when no one else could. The Messenger spoke only to us. Then, when He fell silent, they blamed us. We were like a family member tolerated for his money. When that was gone, they fell on us for our homes and the belongings we carried. Nobody bothered to gather the true treasure—our writings. Nobody considered that one of the Traveler’s children would be best suited to coax him into speaking once again. Sometimes I don’t think that humans are fit heirs to the Dawn race.”

The guards of their small caravan stopped at the city gates for further instructions. The silence soon became too oppressive for the boy and he mumbled, “Maybe the Dawn people didn’t deserve it either, from what I’ve heard.”

The entourage was directed to the great cathedral in the center of town, near the walls of the Green Castle itself. Green Castle was the only royal residence whose courtyard was roofed with living trees, some over a hundred feet high. The upper branches provided look-out perches better than any tower made by man. In their wisdom, the founders had planted many fruit trees around the perimeter, and channeled a stream through the middle. The Garden of Semenea was considered one of the wonders of the civilized world. As they approached the mighty structure built flush against its walls, they heard the sound of many voices weaving together in harmony.

On the steps of the cathedral, young children in brown robes sang sweet melodies to encourage the masses to enter and worship. The entourage of the accused passed without slowing. When Brent looked away from the window slot in the side of the wagon, he noticed that the white-haired Imperial was gently weeping. The boy said, “Don’t worry; I remember everything you told me. I’ll be a good lawyer, sir. They won’t keep you long in prison.”

Jotham shook his head. “The singing. It’s just so beautiful. I had almost forgotten.” But he could never go back to those days. Jotham had seen too many things, done too many things, and chosen.