The Arcanist (42 page)

Chapter Thirty Nine

Simon couldn't understand the tree lady. Not really. Her words were clear enough but the thoughts behind them seemed to make no sense. Besides, he was too tired to concentrate. Too tired to listen to her anymore. It had already been a long day, far too long, and he was tired. All he wanted to do as he lay on the grass staring up at her was sleep. Sleep and heal. And in time to start hunting down those who had wronged him. Vesar who had stolen his throne. And Edouard who had burnt him.

The hatred for them both burnt inside him. It burnt so hot that he knew just killing them would not be enough. They had to suffer. They had to scream in agony for what they'd done. They had to burn.

They had committed terrible crimes against him. They had to pay. But the tree lady didn't seem to accept that. She just kept haranguing him about all his mistakes. Talking to him as if he was a naughty little child. And he didn't want to hear it anymore.

Maybe she liked Edouard. Or she found him useful. It was the only thing he could think to explain her endless diatribe as she chastised him, listing his many failings over and over again. She surely guessed that he had plans for his little brother. Plans she wouldn't like. Plans that Edouard would hate. And besides, while it had come as a surprise to realise that Edouard had some sort of connection to the tree lady's temple, it also made sense. His brother had after all brought the handmaidens to the city.

If she did it didn't matter though. He had done what he'd said he would. He had told her everything he knew about Vesar. Everything about the temple he'd been building and the funny stone he'd used to stop the sparks from being able to use their magic. In truth he'd babbled a bit. At first the pain had robbed him of some of his wits. And then when the handmaidens had dressed his wounds with those poultices and the pain had miraculously gone away, the relief had undone his thoughts in turn.

Even so it had been done. He had kept his end of the deal. And a deal was a deal. It was her turn to do as she'd agreed. To finish his healing and get him to safety. But all the tree lady seemed to want to do was lecture him about his mistakes. To call him names and accuse him of crimes he simply didn't care about. It was getting tiresome. And the late afternoon sun was warm on his face, the grass soft beneath him. He desperately wanted to sleep.

“Tyrel please.”

Simon held up his hand hoping to make her shut up. Maybe it was a mistake. All the stories he'd ever heard had spoken of her great power and her fanatical hatred of men. But he was beginning to think they were exaggerations. In the end she was just a twelve foot tall woman with bark for skin and ferns for hair. Frightening perhaps, probably dangerous, but in the end nowhere near as dangerous as the bards claimed. He'd expected that. Vesar might be frightened of her, but no true man would be. And the deal had been made.

“You wish to say something in your defence?”

“I don't need to. The deal was agreed to and I have fulfilled my part of it. Now you have to fulfil your part. The rest of this doesn't matter.”

Most people didn't understand that. They didn't have trader's blood in their veins. And so they often wanted to talk about completely unimportant matters, or justify their actions. They didn't understand the nature of the deal. That it was the only thing that mattered.

The hamadryad stared at him in silence for a bit. Perhaps considering his words, maybe just annoyed by his bluntness. But a deal was a deal and he didn't care what she was thinking about. So he waited peacefully for her to realise the same thing. To understand that she had to do as she had agreed. It was that or be known far and wide as one who broke their bargains. An oath-breaker. And even a power wouldn't want that reputation. Especially a power. He knew little of them but he knew that they valued their names.

“You know there are few creatures in this world as disreputable as you. Few who have never done a single kindness for another.”

Simon sighed quietly, realising that she was once more about to start into a lecture about his evil ways and all his misdeeds. He didn't want to hear it.

“And I don't care. Healing and safety. That is what you agreed to. I expect you to honour your words.”

“And I shall worthless child.” Her voice was low and angry and the ground seemed to tremble ever so slightly as she spoke. “But do not think that I don't see the evil in your soul. The desire to do harm to others. To those you believe have wronged you. Do not think that I will allow you to cause harm to more innocents.”

“That's not your choice.”

“That is my choice! I will heal you and I will send you to safety. But I will also make certain that you can never harm another innocent for the rest of your life. I will cleanse this corruption from you. I will wash away every illicit desire that stains your soul. I will rinse out the poisonous dreams and foetid memories. And when I am finished there will be nothing left but the purity of the new born.”

“That's not the deal!”

Suddenly Simon was wide awake again, terror having driven away every thought of sleep, and he screamed it at her. But she wasn't listening to him. Instead she was staring at him intently; her strange eyes had gone wide, and he could feel something happening inside his flesh. Inside his mind. And then his hair started falling out.

“That's my deal.”

“No!” Simon screamed at her having no idea what was happening but knowing that it was bad. Something was happening to him that was beyond description. Something that was enveloping his whole body. His mind as well. He screamed some more for good measure, terrified, trying to resist her. But there was no resistance. He was changing somehow. His body and his thoughts both. And there was no stopping it.

“Please!” He begged her then, but there was nothing of mercy in her eyes. Nothing that said she cared at all for his words.

“You bitch!”

In the end insults were all he had left and that was the first and only one that came to his mind. He was finding it hard to concentrate on his words. Hard to think. But he still meant it with everything he had. Not that the hamadryad cared in the least.

“Goodbye Simon of no house and no family. We shall never meet again.”

Chapter Forty

The warehouse was full when Marcus arrived and Anatha was already speaking, giving her report on what Simon had told their Mother. So he quickly took a seat, nodded his apologies to everyone and pretended to listen as the handmaiden carried on with her report. He was late. But he was late for a reason.

Now that Simon had been disowned he had become the heir to the House, and in time he would become the next Count Severin. So he had to show his face in public, even here in Bitter Crest. He had to meet with other members of the Court of Therion, those who had fled with them to Bitter Crest. He had to discuss contracts and terms with their suppliers and those they supplied. In short he had to do all the things that he hated. Things that a soldier never had to do.

At the same time as the former captain of the Royal Guard, the soldier who in time might well have become the Right Hand to King Byron, he had to help with the defence of the realm. Arranging the patrols that rode through the edges of the realm. Taking the information they brought back and sending it to their allies. Occasionally organising skirmishes where the enemy looked to be advancing. Sourcing weapons and armour for his soldiers, not to mention training them. And arranging for some of the smaller towns and villages to be evacuated. All while in exile. It was a nearly impossible task, and it took up most of the hours of his days.

He was also late because he'd mistakenly headed for their quarters in the Basilisk's Stool instead of the warehouses and they were on the opposite sides of the city. It was a natural mistake to make. He'd been meeting with many nobles and traders in the alehouse beneath their quarters over the past weeks and months. But those meetings were one on one. This meeting was different because the entire family had to attend, and the warehouses were the only properties they had in the city large enough to hold it. Thus far.

In time there would be a new house for them in the city. His father had had plans drawn up by the local artisans and already construction was under way. But it would be at least a year before the new house was built, and that was still dependant on finding enough masons and workers. Such people were in short supply.

Privately Marcus was still unsure of whether it was the right thing to do, rebuilding in Bitter Crest. The city was too close to Therion and these rock gnomes. It was a trading city with only a small population of permanent residents and many more visitors. And he also wasn't enthused about the idea of having the family home just behind their warehouses and market. But his father had made the decision. They needed to have a home. Somewhere where their suppliers and customers could meet with them. Somewhere where they weren't all squeezed into a single attic. And Bitter Crest was the closest city to Theria. It was still close to the heart of their trading concern. And they already owned property in the city.

Besides, as they were to build their new home on the land, the handmaidens constructed their new shrine beside it. That was the agreement that had been reached as part of their alliance. Every house would have a shrine. And that meant that the warehouses were the most convenient place to have meetings with Tyrel's handmaidens. After all, they could just step through the portal at Tyrel's temple and be with them a heartbeat later.

His far shorter journey by contrast had taken much longer.

All of his family save for two notable exceptions were there already. Simon was not coming naturally. From what they had been told he was alive and no longer in pain, but he would never be free again. Tyrel had spoken and his fate was decided. What that fate was they still didn't know however. That was something that April said they would be told in time.

Naturally his parents were upset about that. Th'yssen had been weeping openly for days while the Count maintained a painful silence on the matter, refusing to discuss it with anyone. But it was not a matter they could interfere in. Not when the handmaiden was busy reading out a list of Simon's crimes. His confession. A fifteen page document that was now being given to the scribes for reproduction. Soon everyone from Therion would know the truth. And most of them already knew that he should have swung from a noose.

The other notable absence was Edouard. He had claimed that he was too busy, but Marcus knew the truth. He had listened very carefully to the reports from the handmaidens, and especially from April. There was a poison in his brother's soul that prevented him from taking comfort in family. It had been there ever since his return from the dungeon. But since he had half killed Simon it had started consuming him. The wounds to his flesh were slowly healing. The wounds to his soul were opening up wider.

As a soldier Marcus understood that. He knew what torture could do to a man. He had seen it. Whether it brought the truth to those asking the questions he didn't know. He doubted it though. Men in pain would say whatever they needed to say to escape the pain. Truth or lies – it didn't matter. But afterwards, those who survived were changed. Always for the worse. The suffering robbed men of their joy. It stole away their confidence and destroyed their trust in others. And always it brought anger. Terrible anger born of hatred and fear.

Edouard's mother Laurine had visited him once, brought through the portal by the handmaidens, and what she had seen had upset her greatly. She had left to see him with fear in her heart and returned with tears in her eyes. She still wept. That troubled him. She was not a woman given to outbursts of emotion. And that she would not speak of what she had found worried him even more.

But there was nothing to be done. Not now. Not while these rock gnomes were everywhere and the city was still closed. Not when they still had a war to fight.

It seemed that Simon's abdication had only slowed things down. Even blowing up the temple as he claimed to have done, hadn't stopped them. And the reports from those who had managed to escape the city in the confusion suggested that the work on the temple would continue. It was only that without Simon's wealth behind them to pay for work to continue, they'd have to turn to a new system. Slavery. They'd already begun according to some.

There were reports from those living outside the city and in the rest of Therion that the rock gnomes were gathering in numbers. With no gold to pay them the mercenaries would leave, but the veiled guards would replace them.

The armoured winds were being seen more often as well. Whatever they truly were no one knew, but everyone knew they were dangerous. Especially against walls and static defences. The only defence against them if you weren't lucky enough to be in a warded region was speed. But speed and a lance made for a good attack. If a man on horseback was quick enough and could get the point of the lance between the steel plates, they would part and the wind inside would be released. Thus far it was the only weapon they had against them.

Occasionally Marcus wondered if the rock gnome soldiers still called themselves royal guards with no king to serve. But that was an idle question for a quiet moment. His true fear and what he and the rest of the court that had escaped were trying to prevent, was that with so many workers in the city dead and work slow because of it, soon they would start enslaving the entire kingdom.

Because of that fear, riders were being sent to all of the towns nearest the city, warning people to leave. But success was limited. Not everyone believed them. Out in the more pastoral regions the people were still adjusting to the fact that King Byron was dead. They hadn't actually heard the rest. Time moved more slowly away from the cities and news crawled. And of course many of the riders were not returning. It was dangerous riding through a land filled with enemies.

“Thank you Anatha.”

Marcus looked up when he heard his father speak, and he realised that the handmaiden had finished her report. He'd given up on listening after the first ten minutes. In the end it was just a list, and while terrible and a stain on the family honour, one crime was much the same as another.

Others in the family were looking shocked though. Not so much about the crimes Simon had committed to take and hold the throne – they'd already known the gist of them. The whole city knew them. But about all the crimes Simon had committed before that. Thirty years of crimes. Betrayal, treachery, theft, murder, extortion, swindling – there seemed to be no act that his older brother had not been willing to do. Not if it brought him gold. And to finally have it stated that Simon not only traded on the black market but actually ran most of it; that was another mark of shame for the family to carry.

There was so much shame. That was the thing that weighed so heavily upon him. Upon his father too – and as he looked at him Marcus could see the burden it left on his ageing flesh. It made him look tired and old as he had never been before.

But still there were other matters to discuss. The progress the handmaidens were making in building their shrines. Any problems they might be having with their people in their various houses. What they could do to make things easier between the house and the temple. As his father had said, it was one thing to forge an alliance and another thing entirely to maintain it. Which was why the Count asked her to continue with the other orders of business.

“There is another matter yet to deal with before then.”

Everyone looked up at the handmaiden, worried by her words. And why wouldn't they? With everything they had already heard they could not conceive of anything good being spoken. Not this day. Not of Simon.

“Surely there cannot be yet more crimes of my son to hear.” But Marcus knew that in his heart his father was only saying the words. It wasn't that he didn't believe that Marcus had no more crimes to confess. It was only that he couldn't stand to hear them. There had already been too many.

“No. His crimes are known. The Honoured Mother was most thorough with Simon.”

Thorough was an understatement Marcus thought. Whole teams of torturers could not have extracted such a confession. But even as he wondered what was left to speak of his attention was distracted by the sound of a baby crying. Why was there a baby in the family's warehouse? Marcus turned to look as did the others, but he could see no one. Only hear the crying.

“It is the matter of his fate that must be told.”

Th'yssen gasped and the rest of them turned back to the handmaiden in a hurry. Simon's fate had been decided and perhaps the sentence carried out. Suddenly Marcus felt unbelievably sorry for Th'yssen and his father. The expressions on their faces was a study in pain. No parent should ever have to face the loss of a child. Even a child like Simon.

“He should face justice for his actions.”

The Count had said that from the beginning, and he had to keep saying it Marcus knew. Even though it pained him terribly it was what had to be. So Simon would swing from the end of a noose if he hadn't already. No one had asked. No one wanted to know what had been decided.

“This is true and Tyrel is in agreement. But her hands were bound by the deal she made with Simon. She could not do as was proper and so had to devise another fate for him.”

She hadn't killed him? Marcus was shocked by that. After all that Edouard had told him of Tyrel he would have thought that that would have been done immediately. But of course there were political matters to deal with. It would be a difficult day for the alliance between the House of Barris and the temple if the temple were to execute the son and heir to the house. Maybe that had played into her decision. And maybe Simon had counted on it when he'd made his deal with her. And why was there a baby still crying somewhere nearby?

“So she decided to give him another chance.”

Th'yssen gasped once more, torn between the hope that her son still lived and the fear that he lived to commit more crimes. His father just looked ill. Because the truth was that they could not control him. Simon's greed and lack of morals was matched only by his ability to turn and twist others to his ends. And it suddenly seemed to Marcus that Simon had even managed to twist a power. Could that be?

He was prevented from asking by the arrival of another handmaiden who turned up out of nowhere carrying a baby in her arms. The same one that had been crying as the list of Simon's crimes was read out. Why was she there? Why bring a baby to the meeting?

“The poison that had corrupted his soul was both deep rooted and old and his crimes have also spanned nearly thirty years. If Simon was to truly be given a second chance the Mother knew that all would have to be wiped away. Every trace, not just of the poisoned soul that committed these terrible deeds and the memories of them, but also the child that grew up spoiled and bitter to become the man. So that is what she did.”