The Arcanist (27 page)

Chapter Twenty Five

It was good being back in his home, for however short a time it was going to be, and with some good food inside him and a cup of hot wild-flower tea Edouard was almost feeling good again. It would have been better if he could have had a bath but time was too limited for that and so he'd settled for washing his face and hands and finding some fresh clothes.

He was sure the others were feeling closer to their old selves as well, though he knew it would be a long time before they were fully recovered from their time in the dungeon. A longer time again before the pain of their injuries and imprisonment had gone. Still, fresh clothes had been found for them as well and they were in good cheer as they ate greedily. It was the first decent food they'd had in weeks. And they were also enjoying the tales of Mara as she told them of the battles. Or at least the ones she chose to tell them.

Edouard had the feeling that she was only giving them the good news and sparing them the bad. After all, Simon's dreams could not have suffered nothing but setbacks in the previous two or three weeks, or he would already have been deposed and his head would be adorning a pole somewhere. There was only so much failure a king could suffer before the court, even frightened and bullied as he was certain they were, rose up as one against him.

Still, he needed some cheer, and he was enjoying Mara's tale of how the would be king's forces had foolishly decided to take on Linstrum in Silverdale a week before. Apparently he was still hell bent on destroying anyone with magic for whatever reason. But clearly he didn't know how to pick his targets.

“That would have been fun,” Gwen told them.

And it would have been, but not for Simon's soldiers. So it wasn't surprising when he heard the others chuckling at Gwen's sarcastic comment. Taking on a flame, especially a summoner, would have been as close to suicide as anything he could imagine. The soldiers would have been eaten by an army of beasts, some of this world, some from the other realms. He doubted many of them had returned from the attack.

“But what could have possessed him to do something so stupid?” Gwen was right to ask the question. It was stupid. It was madness. And Simon was neither of those things. But unfortunately he knew the answer.

“That black robed adviser of his, Vesar.”

Edouard didn't want to speak his name, it somehow seemed to bring the darkness closer, but it was the truth. Whoever or whatever that miserable creature was, it was slowly becoming obvious that he was running the kingdom even if Simon claimed the throne. He had an agenda, and top of the list was getting rid of anyone with either magic or faith.

“A truly miserable worm. I should very much like to see him drown.”

Gwen's spark was in the domain of water, and it was always her first thought when it came to matters of attack and defence. Her talent was her life. And she had an extra reason to be angry with him. When the soldiers had come for her in her home, they'd burnt it to the ground.

“If he can drown.” Fergis was dubious, possibly from the after effects of the drugs. He certainly wasn't the angry young man he’d once been Edouard thought. But then his fire was still calm and he couldn't yet raise a spark. That had to knock his confidence.

“Everyone drowns. If they breathe then they can drown.”

“You're assuming that he breathes.”

Janus surprised Edouard with that. He surprised them all and a sea of faces turned to him.

“What are you saying healer? That Vesar doesn't breathe?” Gwen sounded dubious and with good reason. He was a man after all. And yet a part of Edouard still wondered if the healer could be right. Maybe he wasn't. Whatever Vesar was he knew that there was something very wrong with him. Something not human.

“You still don't know what Vesar is?” Janus seemed surprised by the idea, as if everyone should know. It was strange since up until then he'd refused to speak his mind about the advisor, claiming he only had an idea. Actually he'd refused to say anything of him at all. Edouard shook his head and the others did likewise.

“A black robed priest covered from head to toe in dark fabric, veiled and hooded so that almost no light can touch him? A man who stands in shadow, always behind the kings, urging them to war?” Janus it seemed was in no hurry to tell them, just to leave them guessing. But then he thought he knew something that they didn't and it was never beneath him to hold that over their heads.

“Seven bells for seven hells, did none of you pay attention in your history lessons?” Edouard shrugged helplessly. He had done reasonably well in learning his history. Or at least his tutors had seemed to think so. But that was a long time ago. And looking around at the other blank faces he didn't seem to be alone in his ignorance.

“The reign of the Dragon King? The time of the Cabal?” Now that Edouard did remember from his lessons, and the understanding shocked him. Not least because it was impossible.

Three thousand years before the Cabal wizards had struck. Worming their way into positions of power in scores of realms. They were never the king or the lord, always the advisers and majordomos. The ones who pulled the marionettes' strings. And one by one they had led the thrones into conflict. Feuds, uprisings, invasions, holy wars and purges. In a mere seven years they had destroyed half the world. Millions had been killed. Many more had been made homeless, without a land to call their own. Even the Dragon King's vast empire had been threatened.

Those seven years had later become known as their arrival. They had only ended when the true war had begun. When the advisers had pulled together the remains of the kingdoms they had destroyed, gathered together as one, and started assembling their armies. Tens of thousands of mercenaries and machines of terrible power had been sent against the Dragon King and his empire, seeking to destroy it and all of mankind with it.

That war – the last great war – had raged for another seven years and in the end despite all their vaunted power, the Cabal had lost. Those seven years were later to become known as their departure.

The arrival and the departure. Fourteen years which had destroyed more lives than any other period in history. And the centuries that had followed had been nearly as bad.

In the aftermath of that terrible conflict the world had fallen into chaos. Anarchy. Kingdoms and empires had risen and fallen, sometimes within mere months. Disease and starvation had ruled the world as conflict dominated. And the older races had left the world. The dwarves, the gnomes, the elves; all gone. Now all that remained of them were relics and ruins. Just as all that remained of the humans of that time were the same.

Some scholars now claimed that the ancient races had never truly existed. That they were just stories. Others said that they had been gone long before the war. Many claimed that the races of man had sprung from them. That they were their children. No one knew though. Not at least in Therion.

The best part of an aeon had passed before peace had returned to the world in any form. It seemed that the conflict the Cabal wizards had begun had been a fire that refused to die out. That it had destroyed not just the Dragon King but his entire empire.

But that had been thousands of years ago. The Cabal was gone. Long gone. Long since dead. And all the damage they had wrought to the world as they had manipulated the kings and lords of scores of realms into endless wars had been healed and largely forgotten. All that remained of them were the legends, plenty of ancient ruins – the remnants of the endless cities they'd destroyed – and a few relics. More than a few actually. Some of those relics though were still capable of causing trouble if they fell into the wrong hands. The magic contained within them was powerful.

What Janus was saying was madness. Then again, no one knew who the Cabal wizards really were or where they'd come from. Why they'd set about doing what they'd done. Why they'd started all those terrible wars that had left scores of realms in flames. Or where they'd gone after their defeat. But it didn't matter. Not when thousands of years had passed since that time.

“Cabal? You think Vesar's of the Cabal?”

Kyriel clearly wasn't so convinced of their passing, and she surprised him with her question. But more with the sound of wonder in her voice. It was almost as though she believed the crazy story. But it wasn't possible Edouard knew. Not when it was three thousand years since their day.

“I know he's of the Cabal. Robed from head to foot so completely because he can't face the light. Carrying magic that appears impossibly powerful but always careful never to use it openly. Manipulating those of weak will and powerful greed to his ends. And frightened of those with magic or faith of their own. He is Vesar the Corrupt. I thought you must surely know that.”

“But that's –.”

“– Amazing!”

Edouard had been about to say it was madness, a word he'd been using far too much of late, but Kyriel had leapt in before he could finish his sentence. Apparently she had accepted the healer's story.

“After three thousand years? For a Cabal wizard to return? It's impossible and yet it matches perfectly with what we know. The Mother must be told immediately.”

Edouard looked at her and realised that she believed the healer completely. And it was then that he knew there was no point in arguing about it. She and Janus would not be swayed. And there were more important things that they needed to be doing instead of worrying about whether Simon's adviser could really be a three thousand year old wizard bent on destroying the realm. For a start they needed to plan their escape. And there was a place he needed to be.

“Perhaps we can do that on our way to Bitter Crest.”

“Pardon? Do you mean to run Lord Edouard?” She turned to face him, surprised and obviously disappointed though he couldn't think why. “You want to flee your own home?”

“Well, of course. It seems better than sitting here and waiting for an army to march through Breakwater and up the hill. After all, even Simon will know where to find my home.”

And that he knew could not be too many hours away. He had no idea when Simon would have learned of their escape, but he was sure he knew by now. He was equally certain that he would not take that escape well. Simon would hunt him down and he would use every soldier he had to do it. They had to leave before his soldiers arrived.

“You live in a fort, designed to withstand attacks by armies, and you want to flee.”

“No. Not armies. Small bands of outlaws and brigands. The occasional orc raiding party. But mostly it was built to be a lookout and home to a patrol of outriders who used Breakwater as their base.”

He had to be honest. The fort had been designed as a lookout post and base for riders, not a serious military installation. Why else would it have a single central tower instead of four defensive corner towers? Why else would its walls only be twelve feet tall? Why else would it be based on a remote hill overlooking the surrounding lands and a minor town instead of somewhere more strategic?

“And there is no patrol here, only us. We have few weapons and not much magic. We aren't soldiers. Most of us can't fight, and of those who can most are injured.”

“Nevertheless there are things we can do to make this fort more defensible.”

Kyriel wasn't giving up, and he wasn't sure why. The handmaidens had a far more secure location to retreat to. No one, not even a wizard of the Cabal if that's what he was would dare attack their mother's temple. To go against a power was suicide.

“And things we won't be doing.” Edouard thought it was time to be more forthright. There could be no more of this silliness. “Not against an army.”

“We will not stay here to wait for death. We ride. The other escaped prisoners and I will eat, bathe, dress and ride for Bitter Crest within the hour. Ladies you will return to your temple where you will be safe under Tyrel's protection. That is my decision as master of this house.”

“You may ride Lord Edouard, but my sisters and I will stay. We will not abandon our shrine.”

“Shrine? What shrine?”

Edouard was confused, first by the thought that they would even want to stay when soldiers were coming, and then by the idea that there was a shrine to Tyrel nearby. He didn't know of any shrine.