The Arcanist (22 page)

And then there was the fact that the false king had also thrown all the sparks and flames in the realm into the dungeons. At least the ones that they knew of. The ones from the city. Further afield, out of the city, he was worried that Simon might have taken things one step further. After all, surely it wasn't a coincidence that his brother's place had been attacked.

“None of faith. None of magic. Maybe he has reason to fear them?”

“No reason that we can see Count Severin.” Her unexpected use of the wrong title distracted him. Maybe it was meant to. But still, he felt the need to correct her.

“Lord Marcus. I am not the lord of the house, good maiden.”

“And yet you may be soon. Your father is the current Count Severin, but ill from what we've been told. Your eldest brother is surely to be disowned and you are next in line. That places you squarely in the seat of the heir.” She was right too, and it was a thought that Marcus had been studiously avoiding for the past few days. It was something he didn't want to think about. Not when his father was elderly and his brother in serious trouble.

“Hog's breath! My father is not ill! Why do you raise this unpleasant thought?”

“Because the Mother believes an understanding can be reached between the House of Barris and the temple.”

And just like that an attempt to help his brother had been turned into a political scheme. Marcus wanted to scream with rage. By the Seven he hated politics! It was one of the reasons he had thrown himself so deeply into soldiering. A soldier's life was simple, straight forward, and while often bloody, at least it was honest work. There was no deceit at the end of a sword. Still, he had to listen. And he would have to bring whatever she said to his father when he finally arrived. If he finally arrived.

“Go on.”

“Your sister, April. She has the gift of faith and the spark. She desires only to find her calling. It may be that she can find it with us.” It took a moment or two for Marcus to realise what she was saying, and then another to understand why.

“You are speaking of a marriage of sorts. A union to bind the House of Barris to the Temple of Tyrel.”

Of course she was. A strange one, though not such a poor match as some, and he suddenly had the feeling that progress had already been made on the matter. That was why she knew of him. And why she was in this particular alehouse.

“You have already spoken to April haven't you?”

Of course they had, probably long ago, and he doubted even his father knew about it. If he had known he would have been upset, and everyone knew when Father was upset. So it didn't come as a surprise when she nodded. The next question was obvious, even if he wanted to choke on the thought. What had been said?

“My sister does not speak for the House of Barris, and no more can I. All I can do is carry a message. So tell me what your message should be. The House of Barris could give you shelter for your sisters across half a dozen cities and several realms, access to the various courts, a defender in the realm of Therion if and when it returns to its rightful rule and even add to its legitimacy as a faith. What is it that Tyrel's Temple can do for the House?”

“Information across a dozen realms, trade routes through them as well, introductions to certain courts, a secure supply of vermillion leaf and root, additional guards and if the worst should happen, an unassailable bastion for the family. It would be a useful alliance in these difficult times.”

She was right though he hated her for it. But what she was proposing was also a risk if Simon remained on the throne. He would see the temple and the house united and perceive them as a direct threat. A challenge to his rule. And if he didn't then his advisor would. According to everyone who had seen him he was sharp.

“With the blessing of Virius my father will be here in a matter of a week or less. I will speak to him then of your proposal. Perhaps you or one of your sisters could visit us at that time and terms could be discussed. We are staying here in the Basilisk's Stool as you are aware.”

Long before that though he would be speaking with April. He needed to know exactly what had been discussed and more importantly if anything had been agreed to. She was a good sister but she was young and naïve. Twenty three was too young to be dabbling in politics. Especially for someone who felt the calling of the divine. They should never dirty their hands in such matters.

“Perhaps so Lord Marcus. I will convey your words to the Honoured Mother.”

The handmaiden turned to leave him then, looking to force her way through the press of bodies all trying to drink. But then she turned back to him abruptly.

“I am Anatha by the way. And I am sorry for your brother's plight. Lord Edouard has shown himself to be a friend these past weeks and if there is anything we can do to help him we will.”

The handmaiden even managed a polite bow to him, before she turned once more and headed for the door. And all the while as he watched her leave Marcus couldn't help but feel that a bad situation had just become worse.

He reached for his ale. In wine there was truth perhaps, but in ale there was comfort.

Chapter Twenty

The temple was just as pretty as it had been the first time he'd visited Marcus thought. The long grass and wildflowers were soft and pretty underfoot. The trees stood tall and proud to the sides of the long meadow. And there was a hint of honeysuckle and roses in the air. It was a living paradise. But this time Marcus knew the temple for the trap it was.

He had learned something of Tyrel's power on his first visit. And he had learned a lot more from Edouard since. But in truth the thing which had most persuaded him that this was less a priestly temple and more a rival house were the handmaidens themselves. They dressed demurely. They spoke of priestly things. Of ideals and virtues and the wrongs that their Mother said needed to be corrected. But then they brought with them written documents outlining in detail the terms of their proposed alliance, and he knew the truth. These were women of the world concerned with material things.

When Anatha had brought the first draft document to them for approval, Marcus had nearly fallen down in shock. The document was a masterpiece of the negotiator's art. And it had nothing in it about priestly matters. Nothing at all. Instead it spelled out trade routes, introductions to various courts, the sharing of certain information, and the duties and responsibilities of the two parties. In short it was exactly the sort of formal alliance two rival houses would craft as they prepared to combine their resources for the struggle ahead. And from the details written it appeared that Tyrel thought there was a struggle ahead for her temple just as there was one looming for the House of Barris. Why else would it dictate the conditions of shelter in such unequivocal terms? Or for that matter make them the central tenet of the alliance?

In essence the terms were simple. Every member of the temple was accorded the same protection as if she was a member of the House of Barris. Similarly every member of the house was accorded the same protections as the temple's handmaidens. It was a practical condition but also one with serious implications. As well as meaning that the temple and the house stood firm together against whatever was coming and thus strengthening them both, it also meant that they combined enemies. The enemy of each suddenly became the enemy of the other as well.

On the more mundane side of things there were some conditions that were going to affect the family's daily lives. The condition that every dwelling and trading establishment of the House of Barris would have a shrine established on its land meant that there would be no getting away from the handmaidens. And the condition of unrestricted access meant that they might well be staying in their homes and joining them at the dinner table.

Yet only two days before, his father having only just arrived in the city and learned what had befallen Therion, had taken one look at that first draft and agreed in principle. There were things that needed changing, terms that had to be negotiated, words that were either not specific enough or too much so. But he had agreed. And Marcus knew that could only mean one thing. He thought the house was in very grave danger. Perhaps he was right.

It was good he thought that his father was finally back. And not simply because he was his father. He was also a master when it came to practical matters; someone who always seemed to know what to do. Especially in matters of trade and the Court. Marcus knew little of them and he wanted to know less. But that was no longer an option for him, and the life of a simple soldier was no longer to be his.

As he walked beside him Marcus couldn't help but think that his father looked older than he had a month or two ago. He looked ill. And maybe he had reason for that. After all his eldest son, now disowned, had killed his old friend King Byron and seized the throne. An act of both treason and shame. And then he had probably killed Edouard in the most despicable manner, by publicly whipping him and then throwing him in a dungeon to die. He was a kinslayer, the most terrible criminal imaginable. To add to his troubles he had returned to find his family homeless, the trading concern foundering without its base in the city, and the family name reviled.

But despite all of that he had set about repairing things as best he could. Simon had been publicly disowned. Announcements of his fate had been sent throughout every city in which the House of Barris had a market or a warehouse. He had had messages sent out to every one of their employees advising of the family's new home and of the loss of their warehouses and markets in Therion. He had even begun planning for the family to make a new home in Bitter Crest, something Marcus thought unwise given what he suspected Simon's plans were. He had done everything he could to repair the damage just as he always did.

He refused to give in to pain or despair. He refused to show any sign of weakness. And even here in this most dangerous of places, he walked boldly, showing no signs of either the infirmities of age or the crushing weight of his pain. To look at him you would think nothing was wrong. That he was simply a spry white haired gentleman in his best suit marching to a routine meeting. Marcus had to work hard to present the same demeanour as he walked beside him.

At least for the signing they weren't going to have to meet with Tyrel. After having lost his armour, clothes and weapons in the blink of an eye the first time, Marcus was not eager to speak with the power again. Ever. Edouard had been right about her. She was far beyond anyone he had ever met in terms of her might. And he had also been right about his need to be more circumspect in the company of the handmaidens. He could get himself into some serious trouble if he wasn't. Hopefully Denetta would understand, though he doubted it. There was nothing of discretion in her nature.

This time however, they were to meet with a woman by the name of Liandra Bowen, the head of the temple and the one who ran it. It would not be proper to expect a power to sign a deal with a mortal so they had been informed. Tyrel was beyond such matters. It probably wouldn't be safe either. And he was grateful for that.

“Count Severin, Lord Marcus.” A handmaiden came to greet them, and for once she was neither human nor demoness. Long glossy black hair hanging freely, skin that was just a tinge on the green side, and ears that poked up through her hair like arrow heads. She was a dryad, the traditional servant of Tyrel according to the stories. He wasn't sure if that meant anything though. Since his first visit to the temple he wasn't sure that the stories they'd been told had any basis in fact at all. “If you'll come with me.”

“Thank you my dear.”

Father was in a strange mood Marcus thought. At once both polite and almost grandfatherly as he smiled at the handmaiden and likely offended her with his words. But equally both serious and worried, though he hid the latter. If she was upset though the handmaiden said nothing, she just smiled politely and then led them further into the temple.

But she didn't escort them towards the shrine at the end of the long meadow as he'd expected. Instead she turned to the right and led them through the trees lining the meadow. That struck him as odd. But not as odd as when fifty paces past the trees the grass suddenly started gently sloping downwards and he realised that there was a valley running beside the long meadow leading to the temple. A valley that couldn't be seen from the meadow.

It was more than just a valley though, there was a village in it. Quite a big one.

Stretched out in a long line dictated by the shape of the valley, he guessed there had to be at least three hundred houses in front of them. And that in turn meant that it was home to as many as a thousand people. A thousand people living in or alongside a temple! And by the looks of things they'd been living there a long time. The fields were bursting with crops. The houses and other larger buildings were well appointed, with their thatched roofs in good order, walls painted and gardens tended to.

Seeing it Marcus was surprised. But his thoughts were also racing as he realised that they were being shown something that no one had guessed. That Tyrel's temple was more than just a temple. What it was he didn't know, but it told him that the hamadryad had plans. Plans that no one guessed.

Those plans appeared to involve a school. An actual school where children were being taught their lessons out in the sunshine instead of the classrooms. But it was a pleasant spring day so perhaps that wasn't so remarkable. But the archery range was a surprise. Yet half a dozen women were practising with their longbows while by the looks of things, a couple of trainers worked with them. There were muskets too, scores of them hanging in their racks, and a wall of swords to one side. It seemed that the handmaidens were being trained in the martial disciplines. That didn't seem particularly priestly to him.

As they walked down the gently rolling hill towards the town, he realised that there were more surprises to come. The first came when he saw the town's residents. Not only were they of all races, humans, demons and dryads, but they were also of both sexes. There were men in Tyrel's temple! Living there.

Then he noticed the white hair. Several of the women and the men had long loosely braided locks of white blonde hair running down their backs and heavily tanned skin. More Tenarri. Edouard had mentioned that it seemed strange that one of the Tenarri should be acting as a handmaiden for Tyrel. Especially given that they lived so far away. What would he think of half a dozen at least? And what did this mean for their alliance?

“Father?” Marcus had to ask even though he knew that it might already be too late. They were after all in the lion's den. It might not be possible to leave any more. But his father seemed calm. Unsurprised even.

“I always wondered. There were rumours. But I never knew for sure.”

“Never knew what?” Marcus was in no mood for riddles and cryptic comments. Especially not when he was walking into a strange town without any weapons on him.

“About this of course. The hamadryads' temple villages.

“Villages? She has more than one?”

“They have more than one,” his father corrected him. “This is just Tyrel's village. But there are, if the rumours are true, many more.”

“The powers?”

“The hamadryads. Most of the powers don't concern themselves with mortal affairs. Most retain the servants they need but no more. But among them the hamadryads stand out as something else.”

“Something else?” Marcus wasn't sure what that meant, save that it apparently meant they had villages.

“The hamadryads are interested in us. None of the others are. But the hamadryads get involved in the affairs of the realms. They have villages. They trade. They make deals – and now it would seem, alliances.”

Was that a good thing Marcus wondered? In the case of most powers it wouldn't be. He didn't want dragons, giants, titans and minotaurs interested in mortals. The cost in lives would likely be beyond measure. But were the hamadryads any different? He said as much to his father and got a helpless shrug in return.

“All I know is that once these were dryad villages. The hamadryads it is said arose from them and so they have a natural regard for them. A sort of kinship. But over thousands of years the dryads have been joined and now many others call them home.”

“Not so Count Severin.” Their escort suddenly stopped and turned to face them her expression suddenly serious. “There are no “other races” here. All are one no matter their race.”

“As it should be.” Ever the diplomat the Count was quick to agree, quick to make sure no offence was received as he turned aside any thought of his words being a criticism.

It was a skill that Marcus was certain he would be expected to learn in time. But not one that he wanted to learn.

They carried on down the hill heading for a house at the end of the village. A simple cottage like all the others with wooden sides, thatched roof and a tiny puff of smoke rising from the chimney that told him that someone was home. Home and waiting for them. As they walked closer Marcus could make out a woman in a homespun gown like all the rest, standing in front of a table that had been set up in the garden waiting for them. This he guessed was Liandra Bowen, the head of the temple. And she was Tenarri.

There was something wrong with that. Profoundly wrong. He could have accepted a local human woman or a demoness in the role. He would have probably expected a dryad. But a Tenarri? A woman from thousands of leagues away? His father was right. There was something very strange about the temple.

Of course the strangeness grew as they walked into the garden and he realised that the woman was with child. Heavily pregnant. And that could surely only mean that there was a man in her life. And as he noticed the toys, wooden tops and balls neatly piled up against the side of the house, that man had apparently been in her life for some time. Long enough for there to be other children.