The Splintered Eye (The War of Memory Cycle) (73 page)

He hated being here during the pilgrims’ audiences.  It felt like living in a flytrap.

The only two points of stronger light in the chamber came from the dais: one a broad circle in the wall above the throne, like a captured sun, and the other the Emperor himself.  Kelturin did not look at him, wanting to avoid that for as long as possible.  Instead he focused on the lesser chair stationed to the side of the throne, and the woman who occupied it.

She was still beautiful, his mother, sitting primly in her white dress, with her sun-streaked hair braided in an elaborate net and her hands laced in her lap.  Perfect as a doll, the same way she had looked nine years ago when he left—the same she had looked when she arrived here, it was said, before she had borne Kelturin and screamed her mind away.  Now her face radiated the same reflexive rapture as the pilgrims’, and he dared not meet her vacant eyes for more than a moment.

Beneath the Imperial couple stood several men, one to each step, their uniforms and robes standing out like jewels on white silk.  Kelturin recognized them easily as he approached.  General Tamorant Lynned of the Golden Wing Army held the second step from the bottom, his fair hair nearly matching his heavily gilded armor, and the teardrop pendant gleamed at his throat as he flashed a grin that Kelturin did not reciprocate.

One step above stood General Senvayl Demathry in the dark blue Trivestean-style uniform he preferred to his Sapphire Eye armor.  He was a lean man, made leaner in comparison with Lynned’s bulk, with short hair greyed significantly since Kelturin had last seen him.  He inclined his head to Kelturin, and that gesture Kelturin returned.

Higher still stood the man Kelturin least liked to see: his own commander, Field Marshal Argus Rackmar, High Templar of the White Flame and only two steps below the Emperor.  If Enkhaelen was the Emperor’s left-hand man, Rackmar was his right.  Big, bearlike and bearded, he disdained armor, preferring to dress like a high-court noble in velvet and gilt.  His only concession to his own military rank was the steel pectoral around his throat, etched with the signs of the three Armies and the Emperor’s White Flame guard.

At the step just below the Emperor stood Lord Chancellor Jashel Caernahon, a drab man in drab finery, but with keen eyes that watched all from his aged, aristocratic face.  His attention set only a moment upon Kelturin before sweeping over his shoulder to the hilt of his greatsword, as if the prince was merely its bearer.

None of them bore the marks of the Palace’s reverential aura, hardened either by mentalist shields or their own long exposure.  The Emperor enjoyed his worshipers, but seemed to realize that vacuous obedience was a bad trait in his advisors.

The Lord Chancellor hissed something to the White Flame guards at the base of the dais as Kelturin and his escorts approached, and immediately the White Flames moved to disperse the pilgrims.  Their keening song fragmented into adoring cries as they were pulled up, pushed away, herded by pike and shield from the throne, and Kelturin saw with distaste that many of them left bloody tracks in their wake.  Penitents, he guessed—the fanatics who came to the Palace to be cleansed for crimes both real and imaginary, who lashed themselves and lamented in the streets and who cut or burned their own feet to allow the Palace’s influence further entry into their flesh.

Their frenzied ecstasy sickened him, directed as it was toward his father, who watched with detached amusement as if they were puppets in some mildly interesting play.  If not for his own limited immunity, he knew he would be groveling before the throne himself, but could not understand why someone would do so willingly—would come here to be debased and invaded by the proxy of an unknowable god.  He had lived with the Emperor so closely, for so long, that even the mention of the Light made him want to scream.

One by one, the bloody footprints disappeared into the pristine Palace tiles as if absorbed.

As the pilgrims dispersed, five more figures approached the dais from the other side of the chamber: a Gold soldier, two women in mages’ robes and two masked, hooded haelhene.  Kelturin looked the women over with automatic interest, then stopped short as he recognized the one without the Archmagus mantle.  The last time he had seen that shapely form, those loose dark curls and distinct Amandic profile, had been last night.  In his bed.

Right after he had locked away the scroll-case she now carried.

“Lilinya, you thief,” he hissed, a phantom fist clenching in his chest, yet it did not surprise him.  She was an accomplished Warder and could easily have opened the warded locker he kept his missives in, but more than that, she had accepted his odd habits without question.  He should have known better than to trust her.  The enthralled look she gave his father only made the betrayal hurt worse.

Beside him, Enkhaelen snorted.  “Ah.  Your newest ex-lover.”

It was all Kelturin could do to not strangle the mage.  Instead he fixed his gaze on his father, knowing that bastard had arranged this.

Aradys IV, Most Holy Risen Phoenix Emperor and Prime Scion of the Light, lounged like a venerable lion on the cushions of the lambent throne, trim-bearded chin propped in one palm.  He was the elder image of his son, broad-shouldered and handsome in a distant way, but garbed in sandals and a simple robe and breeches of bleached linen—more like a petitioner than their lord.   The Imperial crown rested on his faded golden hair, a thin circlet with a single winged diamond at the brow.

His eyes, pale as morning sunlight, found his son’s, and he smiled warmly.  Kelturin’s hackles immediately went up.

All of the others knelt or curtseyed before the Emperor, even Enkhaelen, but Kelturin refused.  He stepped through them to take his place at the center of the dais’ first step.  “Your Imperial Majesty,” he said tensely as his father inclined a brow at him.

“Arise, my servants,” said the Emperor, his voice smooth and deep and soothing.  Kelturin heard the rustle of cloth and jingle of mail as those behind him did so.  A moment later, Enkhaelen brushed past him to take his own place opposite Rackmar, completing the staggered circle of attendees.

“
As the Crimson General seems impatient,” the Emperor continued, “I believe we can dispense with the usual pleasantries and turn directly to the issue at hand.  Erevard, if you will.”

Kelturin glanced back to the pock-faced man as, without raising his head, he said, “Your Imperial Majesty.  Two days ago, while training in Akarridi, I responded to a perimeter disturbance on the south shore of Akarridi Lake and encountered three groups of trespassers engaged in a wild conflict.  One group was distinctly Gold Army; one was composed of unknown energy-manipulators; and the third included an individual who was familiar to me.

“I knew him as Cobrin son of Dernyel, slave-worker and my former camp-mate in the Crimson Claw.  Slightly more than a month ago, he fled the Claw after killing a fellow slave.  When I encountered him by Akarridi, he was manifesting some sort of spirit-power.”

Kelturin clasped his hands behind his back, trying to let only annoyance show on his face.  He knew that name all too well; it had plagued him since the spring, when the boy's astounding survival had drawn Kelturin into one of Enkhaelen’s projects.  He regretted not having Cobrin’s throat slit as soon as Enkhaelen asked about him.  It would have prevented so many problems.

“Interesting, yes?” said the Emperor, warm gaze focusing on Kelturin again.  “Would you care to speculate as to how a Crimson slave came to agitate us with spirit-power so far from his point of origin?”

“
No, Majesty,” Kelturin said stiffly.

“
Perhaps Magus Lilinya might shed some light upon that.  Magus?”

“
Your Imperial Majesty,” the woman said, and Kelturin heard the rustle of cloth that indicated a curtsey.  Then he heard the shift of parchments in their case.  “At your request, Majesty, I retrieved the Crimson Claw’s file on the subject KRD1184, Cobrin son of Dernyel.  It was one of the few files on any slave, and had recently been referenced.”

Right before we went to bed
, Kelturin thought, seething silently.

“
The file states, in essence, that the subject has been under direct supervision since Brin the 11
th
of this year, at which time he was the only survivor of a mist-wraith attack despite being shot in the torso with an arcane arrow.  Prior to that, he had been under the observation by the aenkelagi Vedaceirra Cerithe te’Navrin under the identity ‘Darilan Trevere’ for approximately five years—since 166 IR.  The reason for observation is listed as ‘potential for possession by Guardian spirit’.  In addition, the file indicates that he escaped the Crimson camp on the evening of Sebryn the 12
th
and was pursued—after a nine-day lag—by Agent Trevere, who had been designated Crimson Hunter, and by a Crimson team that proved insufficient to recover him.  The pursuit was closed on Sebryn the 23
rd
, two days after it began.”

Kelturin ground his teeth.  He wanted to object, to point out that he had sent a first pursuit immediately upon Cob’s escape only to have it destroyed by the slave’s flight up Varaku, and that Sarovy’s pursuit had only been called off because the Gold Army had whisked Cobrin out of the Crimson’s reach.

But he knew that look in his father’s eyes.  Interrupting would be foolish.

“
I believe Mistress Anniavela te’Couran can continue our troubling tale,” said the Emperor, drumming his fingers on the arm of the throne.

“
Majesty,” said Annia.  “Indeed I can, for the subject was brought to me in Thynbell.  And Crimson Hunter Trevere followed him.”

Her voice was cool and pointed, and as she continued, Kelturin found it hard to restrain the urge to turn around and silence her.  He had known her all his life—from the very cradle—and as intimate as they had been, this betrayal hurt far worse than Lilinya’s.

“I was unaware of the subject’s history,” said Annia.  “Hunter Trevere gave me a few indications of his powers but did not tell me what he was, and I heard nothing from the Crimson Army.  As the subject blocked all of my attempts to have him teleported to the Palace, I opted to send him along conventionally, at which point my caravan was ambushed by Corvish spiritists.  Hunter Trevere acted in concert with them and attempted to assassinate me before escaping into the Mist Forest with the subject, where we found his corpse.”

A tic began under Kelturin’s left eye.  Just above him, General Lynned’s shoulders twitched with the obvious effort to contain laughter, and Kelturin had to stifle his urge to yank the Gold General down the stairs and pound his face flat.

“Madam Archmagus Mithian,” the Emperor prompted.

“
Majesty,” said the woman in the Gold robe and mantle.  Unlike Lilinya, she appeared composed; either she was a mentalist or mentally-shielded against the Palace.  “After the fiasco on the Imperial Road, we compiled our report and put it in the Psycher Weave to benefit others.  Some time later—on the 6
th
of Cylanmont—we received a tip from a civilian in Cantorin about a spirit-vessel at large.  Initial attempts to apprehend him were disrupted by mist-wraith magic, and subsequently we learned that he had a history with the Crimson that had not been submitted to the Weave.  When questioned about this issue in conference, the Crimson General stated that he had not finalized his report.”

Smiling humorlessly, the Lord Chancellor cut in with, “Majesty.  I was included in this conference, and recall that when I indicated that I would inform you, the Crimson General stated: ‘Pike my father.’”

Kelturin winced.

The Emperor’s look of mild amusement never changed.  He inclined his head to the Lord Chancellor, then looked past Kelturin again.  “Continue, Madam Archmagus.”

“Yes, Majesty.  My subordinates kept an eye on the Mist Forest border and on the next day, the 7
th
, the subject was spotted again a significant distance to the south.  This time we assaulted him with a much larger force, but our portals and communications were abruptly cut off.  My force disappeared and the Watchtower Cantorin, which had initiated the tip, was destroyed, apparently as retaliation.”

“
It was annoying,” added General Lynned, slightly more serious.

“
I believe our haelhene visitors can detail the events that followed,” said the Emperor.

Kelturin shot a look at the two haelhene, indistinguishable in their masks and white robes.  They bowed deeply, then one said, “Honored Manifestation of Light, I was a witness to the battle by the airahene forest.  Myself and a comrade, now fallen, descended upon the subject when it became apparent that it would escape, for your Gold forces had become entrapped by enemy magics.  We removed the subject from the field, but not before I witnessed the disruption of your Gold portals and the opening of different ones.  I did not have the opportunity to trace them.

“My comrade and I brought the subject to a place of safe-keeping from which we knew we could properly transport it to your care.  However, we were pursued by its companions, most notably a fellow haelhene and an aenkelagi wielding an akarriden blade.  They were…lucky, and managed to wrest the subject from us and escape.”

“
Specialist Calett,” the Emperor said, “if you would complete our evidence.”

“
Majesty,” said the Gold soldier, his voice strained with rapture.  It was hardest for the converted to resist the Palace’s influence.  “I was among the Gold strike-force witnessed by Erevard.  We were sent to stake out the Amandic town of Turo, where we suspected the subject had fled, but upon arrival, I was confronted by an aenkelagi who identified herself as Crimson Hunter Cerithe, complete with the Hunter writ.  She explained that she had pursued the subject across the Heartlands and that he was ahead of us, moving east in to the Trivestean Tablelands.  I had no reason to doubt her claim, and so we pursued the subject in that direction, in fact finding him on approach toward Akarridi.  We attempted to apprehend him, but the Crimson Hunter turned on us and alerted the Akarriden, who did not immediately recognize us as allies.  Additionally, we were assaulted by...dark-energy wielders.  I don't know what else to call them.  The subject escaped us, and we could not pick up his trail.  On return to Turo, we learned that he and his comrades had been sheltered by Trifolders—the so-called Crimson Hunter included."