Into the Dark Lands (33 page)

She nodded.

“There are, or so Sargoth tells me, others—stranger than the three, with their own odd laws. It does not trouble me; only Sargoth has had the patience and time to find the pathways to them.”

He walked toward her, risking the touch of the sun's last rays. They were uncomfortable, but weaker in their dying than they were in their beginning.

“But come, you have not seen all of my palace—and only the smallest portion of my lands.” He saw her face darken slightly, but she nodded. He couldn't help but smile; his order must already have reached the high priest, and from this eve on, the Sarillorn would know some measure of peace within his walls.

But he did not tell her; not yet. Rather, as she discovered the architecture and glory of his palace, he wished her to learn it for herself. They began to walk side by side down the long, tall cloisters.

 

Geslik placed the scroll on the council table. “This is the reason I have summoned you.”

Serlin, the second most senior member of the Church, raised an eyebrow over the near black of his eyes; he was strong of blood, but old. “The seal of the First. Is there a great danger from the front?”

“It is worse than that.” Geslik leaned forward, his eyes darkening. “The First Servant requires us to cease all blood ceremonies within the confines of his palace.”

Only Derlac had any suspicion of the news, but even he fell silent as it was confirmed for the first time. As ever, he kept his own counsel.

Serlin found voice first. “Pardon?”

“It is as I said.” Geslik handed the offending scroll to Serlin. “Read it if you cannot believe it. You will find it bears his mark.”

Normally Serlin would have bypassed such an offer, but the import of Geslik's message did not allow it. He scanned the document, pausing at the last to note the faint glow of the Lord's mark. The scroll fluttered gently to the table.

“Why?” he asked, visibly shaken. “The Church's heart is
within the south wing of the palace. It is here that the nobility comes to worship; it is here that we deal with the blooded leaders. He cannot expect—”

“He can,” Geslik replied bitterly. “He has.”

“Surely God cannot allow—” A new voice broke in, younger but harsher, as befitted the craggy face that accompanied it.

“Don't be a fool, Morden. The Dark Heart does not interfere with the general of his forces.”

“But why would the Lord choose to cripple His Church in this fashion?”

Uncomfortable glances were exchanged as the question remained unanswered.

 

“Sarillorn.”

She turned her face away from the open breeze that touched her hair. “Yes?”

“Do you see the lights of my city?”

She nodded. “Yes. But they look so far away.”

He smiled. “It is the effect of the spires; they are very tall.” He was not sure why he added the last piece of information; it was obvious by the way she gripped the stone that she was aware of it.

“It isn't just the height,” she answered softly. “Elliath—my home—has more light than this, though I doubt it's a tenth of the size.”

“It is smaller, yes. Less grand than my work.”

She fought the urge to reply immediately and found it less difficult than she had expected. “It's darker here.”

“Yes. But I do not need the light to see by.”

“Oh.”

“Would you care to see more of the city?”

“Now?” she asked, looking doubtfully into the dark night sky.

“It is the only time I can show it to you.”

“Oh.” It was true, of course. But to wander the heart of the empire she'd fought so long against, by the side of its ruler . . . She pulled back from the edge. “I—yes. Yes.”

She turned to walk back to the large door and froze as he touched her arm.

“This way, Sarillorn.”

She drew back, and he let her go.

“And if she is not the cause, what is?”

“But she's only Lernari—and he is the First of God. He could not—”

“He can do whatever he wishes. He has the power for it.”

“He cannot wish to allow this—this taint to corrupt the Church. It is not within the realm of the believable.”

“Then what else can be the cause of it? She is here, yes.” Geslik frowned, recalling the moment of elation he had felt upon first seeing her. That had vanished as soon as the First Servant had made clear that she was not to be given to him. “And she is not dead. She has not graced the altars of God.”

“No.”

“I begin to believe there is truth to the rumors.” All heads turned to face Derlac, who had so far been silent.

“Rumors?” Geslik said testily.

“Among the Swords. The Karnar that accompanied the army attempted to secure the Sarillorn's death. He failed, purchasing his own in the bargain.”

“She killed him?”

“No. The First did.” Derlac paused for effect. “During the dawn.”

Silence then.

 

The streets were dark, darker than she could have imagined from the heights of the spires. Only once before had she spent time in the darkness of city streets, but that was Karana, and it had fallen. Buildings pressed in at all sides, impossibly tall, impossibly close. She thought them stone, for the most part, with wood used occasionally as an afterthought, but there was little grass, little tree cover, and no forest voices to lessen the night. Erin walked slowly, letting her feet touch uneven cobblestone before taking a firm step. Here and there lamplight made circles upon the ground, but they were small, and Stefanos avoided them.

“Sarillorn, do you see this?”

“Not clearly. It looks like a square.”

“It is. And around it, statues that commemorate—” He stopped as she stumbled again. “Why do you not call your light, little one?”

She looked back in the direction of his voice. “Because I know it makes you uncomfortable.”
And I don't know if I could stop with light, not here.

Her answer surprised him, as she so often could. He reached out, touching her right shoulder with his left hand.

She froze again and he released her.

“I see,” he said, as if to himself. Very slowly, he held out his arm. “Would it trouble you to accept my aid?”

She looked at the arm he offered. Hesitantly, she touched it with her hand as if skimming the edge of a finely honed blade. She was shaking.

“Sarillorn, you have nothing to fear.”

He had said it so often, but in this darkness that was almost complete, she thought she might believe it—perhaps because she wanted to. Her grip was tentative and shaky, but she held on to him as he began to walk toward the center of the square.

He stared down at her, his vision giving him the advantage. Her lip was between her teeth, but she walked within the reach of his shadow. She had accepted his guidance.

“Here, Sarillorn.” He stopped in front of the foremost statue. “This is representative of the Second of Malthan.”

She shook her head. “I can't quite make it out.”

“Touch it, then. Let your fingers see what your eyes will not.”

She hesitated, and he touched her hand, gently guiding it forward.

“These,” he said, as her fingers ran along smooth, worn stone, “are how the mortals see us.”

“Cold,” Erin whispered, “and hard. Are they red?”

“No. No more than you are pale green. No more than you are the light.” He drew her away, knowing that she was disturbed again. There must be something in his city that would truly please her.

 

“And I must warn you again, High Priest,” Derlac said, bowing his head respectfully, “that your idea is not a wise or prudent one.”

“We have no choice.” Geslik stood, signaling an end to the meeting.

Derlac ignored this; a breach of etiquette, but not, he hoped, a dangerous one.

“The Lord must have some plan for her that he does not wish to share with us.”

Geslik frowned slightly—a bad sign. “What of it? If he wishes to play his games with the Sarillorn, he would be wise to restrict them to matters that do not affect the Church.”

No one spoke. Each of the council members avoided the eyes of the others. To thwart the First Servant was never wise. But to
cancel the blood ceremonies was also unthinkable; it would cost them too much of the power they needed.

“It is decided, then. In three days?”

Only Derlac spoke. “I caution—”

“Good.”

Thus dismissed, Derlac did not care to speak further. He heard the high priest call his Swords and command them to bring five of the slaves from the east wing.

Three days. Derlac thought carefully on all of his options, then nodded quietly to himself. Perhaps this was a good time to visit the lands of his family.

But first he had one duty to attend to.

 

It was just after midnight when they returned to the palace. Erin was silent; she drifted across the threshold of the gates as a ghost might. The road to the palace proper stretched on nearly half a mile.

“Sarillorn.”

She looked away from him. She hadn't realized how hard it would be to wander through Rennath, with its isolated meager light; to know where the nobility lived, in grand and glorious mansions; and know that there, too, dwelled the slaves that had once been free under the protection of the lines.

“Sarillorn.” His voice, for all its quiet, held the chill of the dark.

She looked up warily as she passed the gate. Here, at least, light shone in abundance, reflecting the red slash across the black armor of the Swords. No ordinary guards, these. She eyed them warily, but they gave no notice of her passing; she was with the First Servant.

“What—what time is it?”

“Midnight.”

She tensed visibly. He thought she might speak; she started to. But she bit back the words and walked on.

Midnight.
The time for the ceremonies. She almost asked him to take her back to the city outside of his walls. It was easier in that darkness to imagine that her companion was human. She did not ask it. She was Sarillorn, and in this land she could not dare to ignore the true meaning of darkness.

She listened; she couldn't help it. Even in the north wing, the screams could still reach her. She had become known for her hearing among the line with good reason.

There was silence. It stretched on, like a fabric pulled so taut it had to tear. And she walked along the edge of it, waiting.

The First Servant escorted her back to her rooms. “I have taken the liberty of ordering a meal that we might both partake of. Would it trouble you if I remained?”

She didn't answer. How could it not “trouble” her? How could she eat with the sound of the dying playing its dissonant chords in the background?

She walked, the edge growing fine and sharp beneath her feet.

I made my choice.

But it was hard. She had only managed to stay abed these last few days because she was too weak for combat. But tonight-tonight she should—

I made my choice.

She stopped when he did, realizing that they stood outside her rooms—rooms, so grand and glorious, that had probably housed priests or visiting nobility. Open these doors, and the richness of dark wood, with old, perfect chairs and low tables, would greet her eyes. Beyond that another room, with a fireplace that slaves attended to, and a dining hall, with twin doors that led to a bedroom more spacious than her house had been.

Everything that she had ever learned strained against her control. Soon it would start again. Soon, the priests would have their rituals, their blood, and their slow, agonizing death—and they would gain power from it, power to spread the law of the Dark Heart.

She leaned her forehead against the door, biting down on her lip until she drew blood.

“Sarillorn?”

She turned, then, her eyes blazing in the darkness. He took a step back, but went no further.

Her hands fell to her sides rigidly, ending in small fists. And around her, in his eyes alone, the light twisted and buckled. No. He reached out to touch her; she drew back, hitting the door with the force of the step.

He knew what words would calm her, then. Although he had hoped she might discern this for herself, perhaps it was better; this way he might see the easing of the light that looked so strangled.

“Sarillorn.” He touched her trembling jaw and she drew her head up, the way a horse might, in anger or fear. “There will be no ceremonies this eve.”

He waited, watching for some sign from her. There was none, and after a moment he continued. “There will be none in the palace from this day forward.” He drew back as the light continued to twist,
Perhaps,
he thought, as he watched her face,
I was wrong
.