Dawn of Swords (47 page)

She immediately thought of Vulfram—Vulfram, who now lingered in the Tower Keep, a shell of the man he’d once been. Often he cowered in his father’s studio, watching Ibis sculpt whatever masterpiece he was currently working on. Other times he stumbled aimlessly through the empty halls, drink in hand.

He had not been sober since the day he rode through the castle gates with mind bent on murder, and his outward appearance was starting to suffer for it. His formerly bald pate began to grow stubbly, and his posture, slumped and defeated. At all times his eyes were bloodshot from drink and lack of sleep. He was like a man wasting away, and Soleh feared for both his health and his sanity. The fear that she kept silent—the one she was reluctant to whisper even to herself—was that he might end up like Adeline, ranting and raving like a loon. It pained her that all she could offer him was a loving shoulder to cry on each night as he bemoaned the fate of his daughter and the treachery that had brought about that fate.

Staring across the palace courtyard at the arriving envoy, she wondered if the Highest might indeed be responsible for it all. Clovis was many things—rude, pompous, at times irrationally violent, and impatient to the needs and qualms of the common populace—but he was not a deceiver.

“Worship is done for today,” she announced, her eyes still fixed on Clovis, and she descended the podium amidst the confused mutterings of her parishioners. The convoy trod a wide path around the quad, heading for the rear stables. It was then, as she drew closer to them, that she finally peeled her eyes from Clovis and noticed the long red hair that was flopping over his son’s shoulder. She stopped in her tracks, jaw agape, as her flock slowly drifted toward the gates.

Red hair was an extremely rare trait east of the Rigon, so rare she could not remember ever setting eyes on it. In Neldar, those who originated in the north were typically fair skinned, with the characteristic silver, blond, or chestnut hair color, whereas those from the south, such as Soleh’s entire family, were generally darker of flesh, with curly tresses that ran the gamut from deep brown to black. Over the last ninety-some-odd years much interbreeding had occurred, causing some of the physical attributes to blend, but still…Soleh had never seen anything like that shock of red before in the east.

The red-haired girl riding behind Crian Crestwell leaned back, and Soleh caught a clear glimpse of her. She was small and looked very much like a child. Her cheeks were flecked with numerous tiny blemishes that seemed even brighter beneath the light of the deepest pair of blue eyes she had ever encountered. Unlike the northern Neldar blue, which seemed almost as clear as ice, this girl’s irises were solid, like the azure hue found on the chests of hummingbirds or in the sky when the clouds cleared after a summer rainstorm.

This girl—whose wary expression conveyed an agedness that belied her youthful appearance—was from the western Paradise. In fact, she looked very much like Isabel DuTaureau, the matriarch of the second of Ashhur’s First Families, whom Soleh had last seen forty years earlier, just after Karak had left his children on their own and she had relocated to this drab, chaotic city. She picked up her pace, lifting her dress so she wouldn’t trip on the hem. Why was one of Ashhur’s children here, and why was she riding so close to Clovis’s youngest, her arms wrapped around his waist?

Soleh neared the entrance to Tower Justice, hoping to reach the procession before it moved out of sight, when the door to the tower flew open. Captain Gregorian stepped out, chest huffing, his skin red beneath his collar. She stopped short, staring up at him, as his one good eye found her two.

“Minister,” he said, respectfully bowing. “Your presence is requested in the Arena.”

“By whom?” she asked, trying to peer around the broad Captain. She caught one final glimpse of those scarlet locks before they disappeared around the edge of the tower.

“I cannot say,” the Captain replied. “I only know that you must come.
Now.
”

His insistence captured her attention. Captain Gregorian was a man prone to neither over-excited utterances nor secrecy. His every word was measured and had been ever since he first stood before her, seeking judgment for his crimes. When he spoke with urgency, it was best to listen.

He nodded to her, silently communicating that she must go alone, and she brushed past him, dashing across the antechamber and down the stairs to the main dungeon. She shoved open the door to the Arena, running into the chamber so quickly that slamming into the sandstone balustrade was all that stopped her from toppling over the edge of the raised platform.

Soleh was surrounded by the flickering light of hundreds of torches, which revealed that the gates to the Judges’ cages were open. Kayne and Lilah lay in the center of the arena, their heads resting in Karak’s lap as he kneaded the furry flesh beneath their jowls. Her god’s eyes were fixed on the massive beasts, a loving smile on his face, while purrs of ecstasy vibrated from the lions’ throats.

“Sweet Soleh, come down here,” Karak said without glancing up at her.

She descended the staircase mechanically, joy spreading through her body, though not enough to quash the uncertainty of everything that had happened over the past few days. Walking into the arena, she kept her head bowed low in reverence to the one who created her, the only entity she had ever truly loved.

“You have been busy,” Karak said, continuing to knead the lions’ necks. “I am proud of what you’ve done. When I entered the city on this morn, I felt respect from all I came across. Mothers presented their babes for me to bless, and men fell to their knees to pledge
their thanks for the lives they have been given. The city appears to be much more at ease, much more…ordered…than before.”

“I have only done as you asked, my Lord,” she whispered, reverence dripping from her every word. “All is not perfect, however. I still have much work to do.”

“You do,” replied the god with a bob of his divine head. “But I am proud of you nonetheless. You never cease to prove that you are my most precious of creations. However, that is not why I called you here this day. We have other matters to discuss.”

“What is it, my Lord?”

Karak lifted his right hand from Lilah’s fur and held it up to her, palm raised. “You are carrying a deep concern in your mind as well as in the pouch on your belt. I wish to see the letter.”

“You…you know?”

Karak’s eyes met hers, and in them she saw the benevolence he had always displayed to her, but those golden orbs seemed different somehow, duller.

“I know many things, sweet Soleh. I am your creator, and your heart in particular sings to me from miles away.”

She removed the folded parchment and placed it in the god’s huge hand without hesitation. Karak leaned back and opened it. The letter looked so small in his godly clutches, like a useless scrap and nothing more.

“Vulfram brought this to me,” she said. “It was given to him by the father of a boy he judged in Erznia. My son thinks it was written by the hand of the Highest, that there is a scheme to dishonor him and—”

“There is no scheme, sweet Soleh,” Karak said, shifting his head to stare at her. He pinched the note between two fingers and held it up in the air. It caught fire before her eyes, burning from one corner to the other until it was nothing but a tiny, glowing cinder that dissipated in the arena’s moist air. “This letter was not written by my Clovis.”

“Then by whom, my Lord?”

“I have no way of knowing for certain. However, I can tell you with the utmost certainty that none of my most precious children had a hand in it.”

“Could Broward Renson have written it?”

Karak shrugged. “Perhaps. It could be that the doomed man wished for the commander of my army to doubt his calling and hence spare him. But your son is a strong man, one of the strongest of my children, and I know that doubt does not come easily to him.”

Soleh dropped her gaze. Part of her was relieved to hear that no conspiracy was afoot, but relief quickly turned to dread when she thought of telling her god the next part of the sorry tale. She didn’t want to open her mouth but knew she had no choice.

“But you are wrong, my Lord,” she said softly. “Vulfram
has
doubted. His faculties seem to have left him, and he has turned to drink. Each day he spends wallowing in the Tower Keep, muttering to himself of murder, treachery, and conspiracies. I fear that if Lyana is not returned, he will never become the man he once was.” She knelt before her god, causing Kayne and Lilah to stir when she did so, and clasped her hands before her. “Please, my Lord, is there a chance of bringing Lyana back into the fold?”

Karak sighed, and Kayne and Lilah both lifted their heads from his lap, staring at her with shimmering golden eyes that seemed to convey more intelligence than ever.

“Sweet Soleh,” Karak said, “the choices your granddaughter made were hers and hers alone. Though deceived by Renson, she could have declined to spread her legs or murder her unborn child. These are the laws I have decreed, and the penalties are binding. You know this. Lyana will forever be a Sister until the day she leaves the mortal coil behind. I am sorry, but that is the way it must be. Vulfram’s wounds will heal. Humans are a resilient breed, and I have faith in him.”

Soleh dropped her hands into her lap.

“I understand,” she said. “And I hope you are right.”

“I know you do, my child, and I am,” said Karak. The god patted the lions on their heads and then shooed them away. They sauntered back into their open cages without hesitation, and Soleh couldn’t help but feel shock when she saw them standing at their full height. They seemed even bigger than ever.

“There is something else I must discuss with you,” the god then said. “I have returned from visiting the troops that have massed in Omnmount. The day of reckoning in Haven is fast approaching, and I require my most faithful to be completely dedicated to the task at hand. Did you catch sight of the convoy returning this morning? They must have arrived no more than a few minutes ago.”

“I did,” replied Soleh.

“And did you see something strange, something out of place in our land?”

“I did. The western girl.”

Karak nodded. “Crian Crestwell has been engaged in a long-standing courtship with Nessa DuTaureau, the youngest daughter of Isabel DuTaureau, of my brother’s First Families. In so doing, he broke the Crestwell family law and will therefore be stripped of his duties as Left Hand of the Highest. That duty is to be passed on to Avila Crestwell. Crian will be repositioned at the lowest rung of the City Watch, with his new residence in the Tower Keep.”

“A dishonored Crestwell is to stay in our home?” gasped Soleh. “But why?”

“The Tower Keep is not your home, sweet Soleh, no more than Tower Honor is the home of the Crestwells. It is simply a lodging, far enough away from the castle that father and son need not see each other. I consider Crian to be an honorable boy, and his betrayal was one of the heart and loins, not the mind. He will be an asset to this kingdom, no matter what his function. He never renounced my name, as his sister Moira did. He may be a dishonored
Crestwell
, but I still look on him with love and affection.”

“And what of the DuTaureau girl?” asked Soleh. “Is she to stay, as well?”

“She is, on the condition of conversion. In three days’ time she will be baptized in my name, or she will be sent back to the land from which she came.” The god laughed, and Soleh’s ears rang with the hollowness of it. “I do not expect that the latter will come to pass, however.”

Soleh swallowed hard. “And what of Vulfram, my Lord? What if I cannot break him from his stupor? What if he is not ‘completely dedicated to the task at hand’?”

The god’s eyes stared through her, chilling her very soul with their coldness.

“Then you had best make sure he comes around. If by the day of young Nessa’s baptism he is still meandering in sorrow and distrust, the Highest will have no choice but to replace him as Lord Commander. I am sure you do not want that to come to pass, do you, Soleh?”

She shook her head.

“Make sure his soul has healed by then,” the god said. Karak rose to his feet and walked past her, saying nothing else. The torches burning on the wall behind her were suddenly extinguished, pitching half of the underground chamber into darkness. Wind rushed past her ears, followed by a
whoosh
that rocked her on her knees, and when she glanced over her shoulder, Karak was gone.

“I will try,” she said, and then departed, leaving the shadows behind.

His vision swam, his stomach cramped, and yet still Vulfram tilted back the skin, pouring more stinging liquor down his throat. He stumbled down the corridor, bumping into walls, toppling end tables, almost starting a fire at one point when he knocked over a
candle. He extinguished the flames with one of the many tapestries hanging from the walls, ruining the finely crafted embroidery in the process.

He didn’t care.

Using Darkfall as a crutch, the sword’s tip striking the stone floor of the Tower Keep with a hollow
clunk
with each wavering step, he continued mindlessly on his way. Images of Yenge, whom he had left behind without so much as a good-bye, and Lyana, who was even now performing whatever unholy servitude was demanded of her by the Sisters of the Cloth, wouldn’t leave his mind. He heard Adeline’s mad cackling echo from somewhere within the keep’s cavernous walls, and the sound made him tremble and cackle along with her.