Blood and Iron: The Book of the Black Earth (Part One) (29 page)

As she braced herself to be discovered, a powerful emotion sprung up inside her. She might be dead soon, or held captive in this awful place, and two things jostled for prominence in her mind—that her mission would go undone, and that she wouldn't see Horace again.

Her heart leapt into her throat as a loud squeal erupted behind her. She spun around as the metal door opened and a shrunken man in a gray robe stepped through. Alyra reached for her knife, but the man cringed from her as if she were a fearsome creature. No, he was flinching away from her light-rod. Without a second thought, she hit him in the forehead with the rod and ran past him, into the passageway beyond. After a dozen steps she came to a T-junction. She darted to the left, listening as she ran for sounds of pursuit. For a few seconds there was nothing, just silence, then the distant patter of sandaled feet behind her.

The corridor curved gradually to her left as she sprinted down its length. She passed another iron doorway on the right-hand side, but it was locked or otherwise secured. Worried that she might get lost down here, she continued her flight. When she came to a fork, she picked the left-hand branch again. Sweat ran down her face. Her lungs ached from breathing the noxious air of these catacombs. Then she noticed light coming from ahead, a steady orange glow. She ran faster, hoping it was a way out.

Relief poured through Alyra when she arrived at a tunnel mouth and saw that it opened into the main central chamber. A quick glance revealed that she was back on the top level. She poked her head out and spotted the exit tunnel on the other side of the catwalk. There was no one else on the metal walkway. Taking a deep breath, she ran for the exit. A voice shouted from below, and heavy footsteps rang on the ramps beneath her, but Alyra kept running without looking down. She darted into the tunnel and followed its winding upward curve as quickly as she dared. She didn't think any of the tunnel dwellers had seen her face. Her hood was down, and she had chosen this cloak because it was bulky enough to conceal her figure. She just hoped the outer door was still propped open. If not, she didn't have any more of the enchanted sand to open it again, and she didn't want to think about trying to survive alone in these tunnels.

Fortunately, the big metal door remained wedged by her rolled-up pouch. As she slipped through and the cool air of the upper palace swept across her face, Alyra couldn't help but sigh in relief. She closed the heavy portal and put her back to it. She wanted to rest, but pursuit could be right behind her.

Ten minutes later, she stepped into the petitioners’ hall on the ground floor of the palace, adjacent to the grand atrium. Because of the lateness of the hour, the hall was empty. She had hidden her cloak and light-rod in a supply room. Walking as if she belonged here, she crossed the hall toward the slave wing. If she could get back to the suite without being seen or stopped, she might be able to clean up and change her clothes before Horace returned.

Please, Mother of Heaven, let me get back undetected. There is so much I need to tell.

She was composing a message to her superiors in her head when a shadow detached from the darkness of the corridor in front of her. Alyra's sandals slid on the smooth marble as she stopped. Then she saw a familiar face and let out the breath she'd been holding. “Sefkahet! You nearly frightened me out of my skin.”

The slim chambermaid drew near and spoke with a low voice. “Alyra, we've been worried about you. Did you…do it?”

Alyra looked about to be sure they were alone. Sefkahet was one of her contacts within Erugash and a cautious woman by nature, but the queen's palace had many ears. “Yes. I was able to get inside. Sef, you would not believe what I saw there. I'm not sure I believe it.”

“Later, Alyra. There is something you must know first. The queen's flying ship has crashed.”

Alyra's relief at escaping Lord Astaptah's lair evaporated. “Where? Was anyone hurt?”

“Little is known except that they were returning when it happened. A ship has been dispatched to find the queen's party.”

Alyra juggled the times in her head. “How long ago?”

“About one turn of a glass.”

Alyra took a deep breath to calm herself. “Thank you, Sef. You'd better get back to your wing.”

“What will you do?”

The question struck Alyra between the eyes as the knowledge sunk in that
there was nothing she could do. “I'll be in Master Horace's chambers. Please get word to me if you hear anything else.”

“Of course.”

The women touched hands, and Alyra gave her friend, and sometimes lover, a quick kiss on the lips. Then Sefkahet hurried away down the dimly lit corridor, melding easily into the shadows. Alyra went to the stairs and hurried up the cold, stone steps, not caring now if she was seen by anyone. The queen might be dead at this very moment. Or Horace.

With a pounding heart, she climbed.

Seven hundred and seven stairs ascended to the temple's summit. Arched windows set in the outer wall every fiftieth step showed glimpses of the city. From some of the views the city was highlighted by the rays of the setting sun, while from others the homes below lay swathed in twilight's growing shadows, as if Erugash were two cities occupying the same space. Out on the western terrace, the holy brothers were chanting the sunset vespers that ushered the sun to its nightly rest and praying for its swift return the next morning. Those same songs were being sung at every Temple of Amur across the empire. Normally that thought brought him comfort.

Rimesh paused at the top landing to catch his breath. He wanted to approach this meeting with a cool head, but his pulse was racing, and not only from the long climb. Before he arrived in Erugash, he'd heard rumors of the difficulties he might face in the pursuit of his mission, but he didn't lend them enough credence. Now he sensed deeper schemes at work. Between the queen's attitude and the mood of the court, the advent of the foreign abomination, and now this recent news, the city was spiraling out of control. He would include that in his report as well.

Surely the Council must see the danger. Erugash is the empire's first line of defense against the West. If it should crumble from the inside, it would be a disaster of the highest order.

Two acolytes, tall and sturdy youths, stood outside the high priest's door. One raised his hand, but Rimesh cut him off before he could speak. “You know my authority comes from the Great Temple. Be silent and stand aside.”

The acolytes looked past Rimesh and then stepped away from the door. Rimesh didn't bother to knock.

The chambers of the high priest were as glorious as any king's bedchamber. Pillars of golden marble supported a coffered ceiling. Huge open windows, trimmed with crimson silk curtains, gave entrance to the dwindling sunlight, which glimmered off the acres of gold leaf that encrusted almost
every architectural detail and molding. The only furniture in the front room was a pair of wide chairs against the walls. All in all, despite its opulence, or perhaps because of it, the place felt more like a mausoleum than the private quarters of the temple's leader.

Now that he had entered, Rimesh hesitated, unsure of his next move. He had come to confront a dire threat to the faith, and yet here, on the threshold of another priest's personal space, he wondered if this was a mistake.

Soft footsteps whispered as a slave appeared through one of the far doorways, her slender frame wrapped in a sheer tunic with a short hem that suggested more of her body than he was comfortable viewing. Rimesh cleared his throat. “I've come to see the high priest. Summon him at once.”

The slave scurried away, her tunic flaring up behind her and giving Rimesh another disconcerting view. He tore his gaze away and focused on one of the paintings on the wall, a fairly unimpressive rendering of a familiar scene from the holy texts: Amur appearing to Nidintu. The artist had given more attention to the young maiden than to the Sun Lord, and had also granted her with a more robust vivacity as she lay sprawled across a bed of grass than in other versions Rimesh had seen. There was also something in the way Amur was leering down at her that he found vulgar. He turned as more footsteps approached.

High Priest Kadamun wore a long robe of bright yellow, unbound by a belt. Its hem dragged along the floor, and the wide sleeves concealed his hands. He looked disheveled, as if he had been roused from a deep sleep, and something smudged his eyelids. It appeared to be red pigment like the makeup worn by some women of the court. Rimesh pressed his lips tight together.

“Yes?” said the high priest, his reedy voice echoing off the high ceiling. “What is the meaning of this, Menarch? My secretary informed me of no audience this evening.”

Rimesh held up a slip of papyrus, now wrinkled and a little moist from his sweat. “What is the meaning of this?”

Kadamun peered at the message from under his crimson-stained lids. “I am not accustomed to being interrogated in my own chambers like a street criminal. What is that you hold?”

Rimesh ignored the high priest's icy tone and shook the document. “This message just arrived from the palace. The queen's entourage was attacked over the Iron Desert. Her ship crashed with unknown casualties.”

“That is…unfortunate. But there was no need for you to bring the news in person. Any of the temple novices would have—”

“I'm not here to be your damned messenger!”

The high priest pursed his lips—which also had a faint ruby tinge—and Rimesh took a deep breath while he contained his anger. It was time for a different tact. “I apologize for the outburst, High Priest. But I am to ask you in person, as the representative of the Primarch and the Council of Hierarchs, if you had anything to do with this attack on the queen.”

“I do not answer to envoys, Menarch. If the Council wishes to question me, they have the right to—”

“We require that the queen remain alive, at least until she has wed your Nisusi princeling. Her premature demise could destabilize our hold over this city at a time when we need to be most vigilant. The mood in the streets is not good. A spark like this might be enough to—”

“Bah.” The high priest waved his hand like he was swatting at flies. “The streets of Erugash are never in a good mood. They breed resentment and false piety the way whores breed disease and fatherless whelps. You would do better to focus your attention on uncovering your suspected heretics than worrying about the city's politics.”

Rimesh drew back as his suspicions crystalized before his eyes.

“Don't glare at me in that manner,” the high priest said. “You would like Byleth removed from the throne as much as I. You need not deny it. She is a blight on this city, encouraging the people to seek out new ways, mocking the faith. And now she takes a savage to her bed. No, Menarch, do not reproach me. I know not what hand was at work, but while I must denounce the act in public, here in the sanctity of
my
temple I will applaud the effort.”

Rimesh rolled back his shoulders. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this, but the high priest had given him no choice. “Kadamun et'Hittsura-Amur, by the authority of the Primarch, you are hereby stripped of your rank and power.”

“Save your threats for lesser men. I've been the leader of this temple since before you were inducted to the cloth. Now you
will
excuse me. I was in the middle of evening devotions when you interrupted.”

As the high priest started to turn away, Rimesh snapped his fingers. The door of the chamber opened, and soft boots scuffed across the tiles as a quartet of Order men came to stand beside him.

“Leave your belongings,” Rimesh said. “You will go at once to the seclusion cells to dwell upon your actions until I send for you.”

He expected resistance, even a lengthy tirade about his abuse of the Primarch's authority, but Kadamun's shoulders slumped forward and his neck bent down in a long curve as if his head had suddenly become too heavy to hold up.

Two Brothers of the Order took the demoted high priest away to his new cell, and the others—at a gesture from Rimesh—went to remove Kadamun's painted slaves. The acolytes at the entrance peered inside and then ducked away when they spotted him. Rimesh gazed around the chamber with its gaudy decor.

I did not ask for this burden, but I accept it as the price of my duty.

When the servants were gone, Rimesh went to seek out a writing desk. He had much to report. And then he needed to revise his plans in the face of these new developments. If the queen was dead, that changed everything. He needed to position the Order and temple soldiers where they could respond to potential rioting. Also, the members of the royal court would need to be detained until the succession was decided. Speaking of which, perhaps they no longer required the prince of Nisus to control the city. Perhaps, finally, the temple could rule in word as well as deed. A return to the proper order of things. Of course, the kings of the other nine cities would expect some payment to ease their royal consciences, but the temple coffers were deep.

As he passed down a short hallway with several doors, Rimesh thought of the savage still in the queen's company. Horace Delrosa from Arnos. Best if the man was dead, too. An abomination such as him could not be suffered to walk free under the holy light of day.