The Record of the Saints Caliber (20 page)

Nuriel tore herself away from Isley and stepped into full view of Egret. “No.”

A murmur rippled through Umbrial and the other Saints, each of them scowling with contempt at her. Lord Tarquin’s face curled into a sneer and he said, “Celacia promised us loyal Saints.” he looked at Egret and fumed. “Already the deal turns sour!”

Egret pursed his lips and folded his arms over his chest, eyes fixed on Nuriel. She tried to steel herself again by looking at the stained glass mural of the angel as it bathed in the starlight, but for some reason it was the picture of Darkendrog that now captured her eyes. Nuriel felt a shudder through her body, unsure if it was from the sight of the black serpent or the hateful stares from the others. Nuriel felt her right hand readying itself to draw her claymore should it come to that.

It was then that she noticed a change in Egret’s face. He seemed to soften as he looked upon her. Something in those icy eyes of his almost seemed to praise her even. “No man of Duroton can make a promise on behalf of another.” he said at last. “A vow not made by oneself is no vow at all to the Lands of Duroton. I know not what vows and promises you have made in the past, Saint Nuriel. Those belong to you and the lands you have come from. Duroton is a crown that sits upon the heads of the other kingdoms. A promise to Duroton cannot be broken. Many have been sent to spend a long night in the Blue Wilds for their broken words. If you will not speak beneath the Duroton sky, then so be it.”

Here Egret addressed all those before him. “Saint Nuriel shall not speak with us this day beneath the Duroton sky, and therefore the lands of Duroton shall take no witness of her.”

Nuriel could see the displeasure of this in Tarquin’s eyes, and all the Saints but Isley seemed taken aback by Egret’s leniency. Egret now looked back at Nuriel and addressed her alone. Beneath his stern demeanor and words spoken with great authority, he almost seemed to be smiling at her. It was something she could sense from him within her very Caliber. It was not mocking; it was not disdain. It was, in fact, a great respect.

“Saint Nuriel,” he said. “Since you shall not speak with us beneath the Duroton sky, you shall be taken to the Chamber of the Unwitnessed to await our adjournment.”

Nuriel nodded softly. She had no idea what the Chamber of the Unwitnessed was, but somehow the fact that they had one made her feel better. Perhaps it was not uncommon for people to decline speaking beneath their sky, she thought.

“Lord Tarquin,” said Egret, addressing his lieutenant. “Take Saint Nuriel to the Chamber of the Unwitnessed.”

Tarquin bowed his head slightly and turned away and Nuriel could see his scowl. He looked at the other Saints and gestured with his hand. “Come.” he ordered.

Isley and the rest looked at each other with some confusion. Umbrial shrugged his shoulders and began following Tarquin, and the rest followed suit.

“Not Isley,” said Egret. Tarquin stopped in his tracks but did not turn around. “Saint Isley shall remain under my command. The rest of the Saints are yours.”

Nuriel could clearly see Tarquin as he pursed his lips, his eyes narrowing in anger.

“Saint Nuriel,” said Egret. He looked at her more sternly than before now, and she almost sensed a type of apology coming from him. “Before you go there is something you must know. Lord Tarquin has been made Captain of the Saints Alliance. You and all Saints within Duroton shall fall under his command.”

Nuriel bit her lip and looked up. She could see Lord Tarquin sneering at her. Tia smirked. She looked at Isley briefly, who returned a soft smile to her. She looked at Egret and nodded softly.

Lord Tarquin approached her and brusquely grabbed her around her arm. Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric all followed as Tarquin led her across the Stellarium. At the other end of the chamber there was a steel door. Tarquin threw it open and pushed Nuriel inside. There was a long hall carved out of the very mountain with various wooden doors on either side, lit along its length with gaslamps.

“Move,” demanded Tarquin, pushing Nuriel forward.

She looked back for a brief moment to see Gamalael and Arric giggling and Tia smirking at her. Umbrial looked upon her with indifference. “Move!” shot Tarquin, pushing her forward.

Nuriel grimaced and walked forward. Tarquin exuded none of the honor or respect that Egret did and she found herself feeling very uncomfortable in this lonely hall with only him and the others without even Isley to keep the order.

“You’re a pretty little thing. But that was really stupid.” said Tarquin between his teeth.

“Yeah Nuriel,” squawked Tia. “What’s up with your attitude? You better not be getting the rest of us in trouble.”

“Why do we have to come down here?” asked Umbrial, his deep voice resonating loudly in the stone hall.

“I want you all to see the Chamber of the Unwitnessed.” said Tarquin. “To see where this one shall spend her time, and to see a place in which the lands of Duroton take no heed.”

Spending time in a lone chamber did not bother Nuriel, even though she now had an inkling that her stay in the chamber might not be so brief. It was something about the way Tarquin said that it was a room in which the lands took no heed that bothered her. A chamber of the unwitnessed; a place given no heed by the lands these men all seemed to hold so dear. Nuriel’s mind conjured some sort of infernal dungeon where dark things occurred; where terrible things were done to others and it could be made ok because the lands took no heed. Nuriel’s legs suddenly felt heavier and she began to wonder if she should be letting this strange man, this Lord Tarquin, take her anywhere.

“Move,” commanded Tarquin. He pushed Nuriel on the shoulder again, urging her further down the hall. Nuriel steeled herself and moved forward. At the end was what appeared to be a large mirror and Nuriel could see herself reflecting in it. She could also see the face of Tarquin behind her, twisted in anger, and the ever smirking idiots, Gamalael and Arric whispering in each others’ ears. As she neared, she came to realize that it was not a mirror per se, but rather a door made of solid, polished silver. Above the door, engraved into the very stone, were words that Nuriel could not read, but she hazard a guess that it said it was the Chamber of the Unwitnessed.

“In the Chamber of the Unwitnessed the lands of Duroton take no heed of anything.” said Tarquin. In the perfect reflection Nuriel could see Lord Tarquin’s face clearly. He had a wicked sort of smile that did not sit well with her. He extended a hand and Nuriel could feel him release some sort of power and the door swung open, revealing a room of mirror-polished silver. Upon the back wall was a plain wooden bench, and jutting from the silver wall was a pair of burning gaslights.

Tarquin pushed Nuriel inside. She stumbled in. The floor, the ceiling, all the walls were made of solid polished silver and her star-metal boots chimed like bells upon it. It was awkward seeing her reflection in every direction; in patterns of a million identical scenes that faded into infinity. It was strange and disorienting. She turned and looked at Tarquin and the rest.

“Let me ask you something, my pretty little bundle of spirited defiance,” said Tarquin venomously. “Why do you think Celacia sent you here with the rest?”

Tia was smirking and Gamalael and Arric were snickering to each other. Umbrial folded his arms over his chest and looked upon Nuriel as if he knew something and was waiting to see if she did too. Nuriel bit her lip and then looked at Tarquin. “We’re supposed to be helping to deliver a gift,” she said, completely unsure of her answer. “The dragon skull.”

Tarquin laughed with cruel mocking. “No, no, little one.” he said, shaking his head, looking at her with those harsh, stormy eyes of his. “The gift you were delivering was yourself. You have all been given to me and Duroton.”

Nuriel started at this.

“What’s the matter, Nuriel?” asked Tia, smirking. “Didn’t Isley tell you?”

Umbrial huffed. “Of course not. Even he knows she ain’t cut out for anything.”

“She’s supposed to be one of the most powerful Saints,” squawked Tia. “But she can’t even be trusted to be told anything.”

“It’s a shame,” said Tarquin, looking at Nuriel, that lingering gaze now replacing his sneers. “When Celacia told me about you I was excited. Now I see that excitement was misplaced. At least you’re as pretty as she said.”

“Don’t judge the rest of us by her,” said Tia.

“No judgments,” said Tarquin, his eyes still on Nuriel, looking her up and down. She wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly uncomfortable with his stares. “The King’s horses were very spirited, just like you.” he said. “Icelandic Great-Hoofs are some of the toughest horses to break. Very spirited and with a will all their own. Training them is something of a hobby of mine. You see, all creatures can be broken to my will.” He winked at Nuriel and the others all sort of laughed.

He turned to Umbrial. “Take her sword. No weapons in the chamber.”

Umbrial pushed his way forward and held out his hand, flicking his fingers. “Come on,” he said.

Nuriel looked at him and bit her lip. There was no way she was giving up her weapon.

“Don’t be stupid,” said Umbrial, pushing his way past Tarquin and through the door. “Give it up, Nuriel.”

Outside Nuriel heard Tia, Gamalael and Arric laughing. “No,” said Nuriel. She grabbed her claymore off her back, but it wasn’t because she intended on giving it up.

“Lord Egret showed you great leniency,” warned Tarquin, brushing his way by Umbrial and coming into the room. “I can assure you he won’t show it again. And I won’t ask for your sword nicely twice.”

“Just give it up, Nuriel,” quacked Tia. “Apollyon below, why do you always have to be such a bother about everything?”

“She’s so stupid,” sniggered Arric, and Gamalael laughed.

“Nuriel…” said Umbrial, urging her to hand over her weapon with his wagging fingers.

Nuriel bit her lip and backed up a few steps. The room was far too small to fight effectively in. She weighed her options. Deep down, she knew attacking was out of the question. It wasn’t because she was outnumbered. She didn’t fear any of them other than maybe Umbrial and Lord Tarquin, and even they only gave her slight pause. What stayed her hand was Egret’s words. The way he felt to her Caliber. He was a man who knew honor and respect.

Nuriel exhaled deeply, handing her sword to Umbrial. In her head she knew it was a stupid thought—a silly idea—but if anybody would understand her plight, it would be Egret. And if there would ever be a way for her to be released from Celacia and go back to Sanctuary, it would not be by getting on his bad side.

“Good girl,” said Tarquin. He grabbed her chin and smiled at her. “We’ll be back for you later. Sit and reflect upon what I told you…that all creatures can be broken to my will.” He released her and looked around. Then those probing eyes of his focused back on her body. “In the Chamber of the Unwitnessed, where the lands of Duroton take no heed.”

With that, Tarquin and Umbrial withdrew and the door closed with a sort of clank that held a terrible finality to it.

Nuriel wiped her hands down her face and sniffled. She now noticed that the mirror-polished door had no handle, no latch, no way to open it from this side. She breathed deeply and looked at the lone bench. It was made of wood, well worn and completely smooth. It was an ancient thing, and she got a momentary smile out of herself by wondering how many Durotonese asses it had seen over the years. With a sigh she walked over to it and plopped herself down, her own reflection her only company.

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

A loud, metallic clank echoed in Nuriel’s sleep-dogged mind and she sat up with a start. She didn’t know how long ago she had laid down upon the bench, but based on how tightly sleep gripped her mind, she figured it must have been quite a while. In the mirror room there were no windows, and the steady glow of the gaslamps gave no indication of time passed. There was another loud clank. She rubbed her eyes and looked around. Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric were all in the room. It wasn’t quite registering in her weary consciousness yet, but there was something about the way they were all looking at her that wasn’t right.

Nuriel shook her head and rubbed her eyes again. Lord Tarquin was in the room too, she now noted. Those lingering eyes of his were plastered upon her. Part of her was aware that he held some sort of gun in his hand, similar to a bolt-thrower but thinner and lighter. She tried to pay him no attention. “Sorry,” she said, sleep still softening her voice. “I must have dozed off. How long has it been?”

Gamalael and Arric were giggling. Nuriel was now aware that the door to the room was closed. Umbrial stood before it, his arms crossed upon his chest. Tia was staring down at her with a crooked little smile. “Wakey wakey,” she sneered.

Nuriel stood up, the fog of sleep instantly lifting, her mind now attuned to the uneasiness her subconscious had first detected. Her hand went for her sword, but it wasn’t there. They had taken it earlier she remembered.

“There’s my spirited girl,” said Tarquin, his eyes and voice drooling on her.

Nuriel found herself wrapping her arms around her chest again. Tia was smirking and behind her Gamalael was whispering to Arric and the two were smiling ear-to-ear about something. She sniffled and looked down.

“I’m glad to see you’re rested,” said Tarquin. Nuriel didn’t bother to look up but she could still feel those heavy eyes of his upon her body. He was wearing his shroud over his armor with the gray spirals around the arms, and in one hand he was definitely holding some type of light bolt-thrower. “It’s a shame you had to miss the discussions, but let me just tell you that me and your friends here have had some time to get acquainted, and it seems we’re all well met.”