Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen (31 page)
Read Temple of the Traveler: Book 02 - Dreams of the Fallen Online
Authors: Scott Rhine
Sarajah stopped briefly at the ruins of her old temple. The cloak didn’t make her invisible; rather, e
veryone viewed her as “one of us.” Nobles thought of her as “just another servant.” She retrieved a few useful items considered garbage by those clearing away the rubble. Afterward, they thanked her for her help and gave her some food for her journey.
Then, Sarajah walked to the easternmost edge of the biggest, oldest city on the planet. She stopped at the intersection of roads where the route to Turiv crossed the ones to Semenea and Reneau. It was the farthest she’d walked in the last decade. When she arrived, the quiet at the crossroads filled her. This was where she needed to be.
The seeress sat on the lowest branch of a giant tree and watched the crowds go by. Between troops and guests arriving for the wedding, half the world was coming into Reneau. No one remarked at her perch.
After an entire day of observing this ebb tide of humanity, something changed. At twilight, she saw the first person coming
out
of Reneau. Odder still, this person looked up at her face as he approached. That’s when she realized that the seven-foot creature with the head of a black panther was not human.
“Greetings, sister,” said the regal Dawn creature, sniffing the air. He’d spoken one of the three elder languages, the one most common among the Fallen.
“Where goest thou?” she asked in the same arcane tongue.
“I answer the call, the fountain of power that shoots into the sky to the north.”
She nodded. “The Final Temple, the last Door to Eternity.” Surely, they’d gather like deer at an open corn crib.
The creature picked up the tone of her thought, but not the exact words. “Many of the hungry can collect crumbs from this feast. Bread falls from the sky. Hurry there before all the good mana holes are gone.” Sniffing, he noted, “You have our smell and sound, but not the form. And your eyes are a beautiful cat-green. Why?”
“I’m a seeress and have walked with the Dawn folk for long years. I grew up in the plague lands, but have nowhere to call home now.”
The panther man leapt onto the branch beside her. “You sadden me, child. How may I help?”
She thought warmly about the beauty of its pelt and said aloud, “I am constrained by the meddling of a human.”
The panther bridled at this concept and growled, “Tell me his name and I’ll crush his bones.”
“I won’t be in any male’s debt right now. Yet, I have an item of value to trade,” she offered, taking out a single, clear brick.
He gasped. “This is a treasure beyond price.”
She nodded. “It took fourteen years, two complete cycles, to clean. Would you like to touch it? It absorbs spells, curses, and even guards against the negative effects of the nightmare path.”
He reached out a clawed finger and stroked the glass. The very act brought him bliss.
“How many days of service would such an offering buy me?” she asked. “Ten?”
“Three.”
“How about seven, one for every two years this took me,” she countered.
He agreed, unable to take his black eyes off the brick from the City of the Gods. Pricking the back of his arm with a claw tip, the panther man drew a single drop of his own blood and touched it to her lips. “I’m Bagierog. Call my name, and if I’m within seven leagues I’ll come. I’ll defend you as my closest friend.”
“I’m Sarajah.” She presented him with the brick, one of three she had rescued from the Temple of Sleep.
“What could a mere human have done to incur the wrath of a witch of your considerable skill?”
“He sent a criminal to kill me while I was chained, powerless, in a collapsing building. Then he had the gall to post a bounty on my head.”
“Why not drink his life yourself?”
“I only have one dress and I might need it to go to this wedding,” she said, making him laugh. “What’s your name?”
“A few days ago, I would’ve, without a trace. I could still order certain humans to obey me. But this would be more poetic. I want his death to be an example, an object lesson for men to talk about for years to come.”
“Tell me the human’s name.”
“Hisbet, the Viper.”
The cat purred. “That would be an interesting hunt, and his hubris offends me as well. I won’t charge for him.”
“Only him,” she insisted. “He has a walled home on the northwest border, red curved shingles. I think it belongs to a countess.”
The panther rumbled, “Can I play with him first?”
“Until sundown tomorrow.”
“Talk to him?”
“You may tell him why,” she allowed. “Do you mind if I prophesy his doom to him beforehand?”
“Please do. Sometimes the rabbit runs so hard his heart explodes.”
“Thank you, friend.”
The panther ran to begin his hunt.
Whthe beast was gone, Sarajah noticed another Dawn person sitting on a branch above her, dressed as a swordsman from the Executioner’s Guild. She sighed, “I suppose you want the cloak back, Mr. A.” She carefully avoided using his full name.
The archfiend waved his hand. “No, you’re the first one who’s known how to use it.”
She shrugged. “Act like a friend, and I’ll be treated like one.”
Archanon tapped his finger beside his nose. “Exactly. I love dealing with someone on your level. How’d you like to be head of my church?”
Sarajah made a face. “I don’t know. I just got out of another long-term relationship, and that didn’t work out well.”
“Saying no to authority? Now I’ve got to have you.”
“You say that to all the witches you find up trees,” she teased. He chuckled throatily. “Besides, your dress code is a little drab for me,” she said, pointing to the dark cloak.
“What color do you expect it to be?” he asked.
She glanced down and the shade shifted to a golden brown that complemented her dress. On a whim, she concentrated, and both the dress and cloak transmuted to green. This made her grin.
Archanon approved. “Now I won’t take no for an answer. You’ll be my High Priestess till Emperor’s Day, on a trial basis, no strings attached. If you don’t like it, give back the cloak and there’ll be no hard feelings.”
“What’ll your doctrines be?”
The swordsman shrugged. “Make them up, I don’t care. I only have one rule: there are no enemies. Give everyone a chance.”
“Ouch, the man I just sentenced to death might disagree with that,” Sarajah said.
Archanon spread his hands. “Just give him a chance to redeem himself, no matter how small.”
“What do I get out of that deal?” she asked.
“The same thing.”
She sighed. “Do I get any cool abilities?”
“Just the ones you have already.”
“That’s it?”
He shrugged. “I’m naturally lazy, and breaking free from the undergirding has taxed me. Besides, I only have one follower.”
“A reluctant, conditional follower,” she reminded.
“Is busting balls going to be one of my tenets?” he asked, wincing.
She snorted. “I haven’t decided yet. It might be fun.”
Archanon appeared on the same branch as her. “
You’re
fun. Square things with your old boss before leaving town,” he insisted. “You’ll find him at the marble gardensp>
He kissed her on the forehead and vanished. The spot where his lips had touched tingled.
She felt curiously light-headed as she leapt down from the branch and headed for the gardens of Cemetery Hill, where nobles signed up to be buried on the day they were born. There were no inns nearby, but Sarajah found an antique shop that was still open. The shop did a rousing business buying antiques from estates so that the deceased could afford bigger memorials from the artisan next door.
She popped in on a whim and noticed several unusual items. “You have this magnifying glass underpriced,” she told the thirty-five-year-old proprietor.
“Pardon?”
“The inscription on the handle means it came from the City of the Gods. It’s worth ten times what you have marked on it.”
“Indeed. You read that language?”
“My uncle is the expert, and I came to town to visit him. But it’s dark already, and I can’t find an inn. I’m sorry to tell you that this leviathan-bone dagger over here is a bad forgery. The real curve would be much more gradual.”
“You don’t need to visit some overpriced inn! My sister lives just down the street, and she has a spare room. With everything you just earned me, I insist that you stay with her.”
“Well, if it’d make you feel better. It is getting rather late,” she said, making a show of yielding.
“And perhaps tomorrow, we could discuss your appraisal skills over breakfast.”
She smiled. Who knew working for an archfiend could be this easy?
Sarajah the seeress found the new memorial shortly after sunrise. The crew was still arranging the stone when she
breezed into their frantic circle. When she read the name engraved on it, she shivered. With the Mute dead, the deck was shuffled again. Who was she kidding? The moment Archanon had made her the High Priestess, all bets were off. She shook her head firmly. “No, the headstone and name have to face Center. Lord Morlan was an Imperial.”
The foreman’s eyes bulged. Had he neglected proper positioning, the perceived insult would have resulted in his beheading. “Many thanks, Miss . . . Who are you?”
“Just an old priestess that someone high up contacted last night to make sure everything goes smoothly. What time is the ceremony scheduled?”
“Noon. Anything else we should know?” begged the foreman. “We don’t have a body.”
“Do you at least have his Honor and a clean kalura?”
The men, ashen, all said, “No.”
She sighed. From Tumberlin and the emperor, she knew most of this knight’s story. “His sword was stolen by a sheriff a while back. The emperor’s sergeant of arms took custody of it.In all the wedding bustle, I doubt it’s been handed over to the Kragen house. Send one of your men to fetch it. There’s only one like it in the armory. Borrow an ebony sword rack from the antique shop over there. Tell the owner that the empress-to-be will be grateful, and he’ll loan it for free. I think Morlan was posthumously promoted to general. I’ll go see about a suitable kalura.”
The foreman panicked. “You can’t leave. You know too much.”
“Very well. At least let me sit down out of the way till the ceremony starts,” Sarajah sighed. She recalled a recent example of the emperor’s cruelty. “Emperor Sandarac recently demoted the wealthy Commander Penrose and gave his home to the hospital system. His wife, Marjoram, will be in need of some extra money. She’ll sell you clothing of appropriate pomp. It’ll be about a hand span too short, but without a body, no one will care.”
The man nodded eagerly. From then on, workers brought her tea and consulted her about every flower and prop. “No, use the new dragon banners. Ask the silk merchant or get one from the docks. If you have to, invite the captain of the ship to be part of the honor guard that marches in the flag.”
“Over an empty coffin,” suggested the foreman. “Yes, we’ve done that for sailors before. It’ll mean a few changes in the choreography and seating.”
She shook her head. “The emperor and empress-to-be prefer to be seated in their palanquins, on polished wooden stands—lemon oil, not wax.”
“Very good, your holiness.”
Subtly, Sarajah helped to order the eulogy and speeches so that she would provide the closing address. Koloscas, the royal wedding coordinator, showed up three hours later to arrange who sat where. He was effeminate, had a retinue of worker bees, and a flowing, white gown in proper mourning style. “You’re not wearing that, are you?” he asked her frostily.
She lied, “I’ve just been too busy. My assistant delivered the dress to that mausoleum over there. If one of your men could stand guard over the door, I’d appreciate it.”
“The peon over there said you have final approval of the seating chart,” said the coordinator dubiously.
Sarajah scanned the chart. “The royal couple will stay in their palanquins, the foreman over there will explain. Most of the plan looks fine other than that. Oh, don’t put these two men near each other. This one slept with the other’s wife. This judge is sick with a wasting lung disease. Put him on the far right. And, dear me, make sure to leave a blank space behind the Viper’s chair. He doesn’t like
anyone
within reach of his back.” She’d made up the bit about Hisbet, but it sounded good. More importantly, it gave her an easy way to mark him for the Dawn creature.
The coordinator bowed. “Your holiness, I am in your debt. Rudolfo, escort this lady to her changing room.”
She walked into the large mausoleum and willed her clothing to become the proper, snowy, mourning garb. “Bagierog,” she whispered.
While she waited, she pulled out the cards and did a reading for Sandarac. She had done this for him so often that he didn’t need to be present. She just concentrated on his pattern. The card for the present was a man dragging his ox through a storm. The storm was the key metaphor for everything happening to the emperor, and she should look to the background of each card for clues. Hs greatest challenge card was a thief, a new player. The deciding point was the tower of judgment, struck by lightning. What if it weren’t striking down, but up? Could the card represent the beacon of the Final Temple? Regardless, someone else held the power to decide Sandarac’s fate. His greatest help was grass bending in the wind—flexibility. Bowing down? Clearly, the Pretender wouldn’t succeed in his bid to be the emperor of all. He’d gained a Mute by joining with Kragen. However, with that Mute gone, he lacked the Arcana to succeed.
