Midnight Falcon (29 page)

'It is not called a crime. It is a crime,' said the priest. 'Cultists have been named as traitors by the Stone elder himself, and these views have been enshrined in law. Merely to be a Cultist ensures the sentence of death. Are you a Cultist, Persis Albitane?'

Persis stood very still, and Norwin saw him draw in a deep breath. 'Had you asked me that question a few moments ago I would have told you – with all honesty – that I have never been a Cultist, that I have never attended any of their meetings. But as I look at you and the evil you represent I realize I was wrong to avoid them. I was not a Cultist. But you have convinced me that I should be. And I thank you for it, priest.'

'Condemned out of your own mouth!' shouted the priest. 'And you will die with these other traitors.' Surging to his feet, his face almost as crimson as his beard, he gazed malevolently at the public gallery. 'Does anyone else here wish to speak on behalf of these enemies of Stone?'

No-one had, and the prisoners, including Persis, were herded back to their cells. They were held for three days, then transported in chains to Stone. Norwin and Persis had been separated for most of the journey, and had only been reunited that day, being transported from the dungeons under the Stone Temple to this place beneath the arena of Circus Palantes. One of the guards had taken great delight in telling them of their fate. 'Your teachings say you are to be a light to the world,' he told them, with a wide grin. 'And tomorrow you will be. You will be dressed in oil-soaked rags and nailed by your arms and legs to tall posts set around the arena. Then you will be set afire, my dears. And you will scream and burn.'

'You are a sad man,' Persis had told him. 'And I pity you with all my heart.'

The guard swore and ran at Persis, punching his face and knocking him to the ground. Savagely he kicked the fallen man, then turned and strode from the dungeon. Norwin had helped Persis to sit upright. 'Oh, my friend, what have you done to yourself? You shouldn't be here.'

'No-one should be here, Norwin.'

'Why did you speak up for us? Did you hear the voice of the Source?'

'I heard no voice,' said Persis.

'Then why?'

Persis leaned his head back against the cold rock. 'I have no idea – save that I felt ashamed when I saw what was happening.' He forced a smile. 'Anyway, you would have missed me.'

'Aye, I would have,' said Norwin sadly. 'You are a good man, Persis. A better one than you know.'

Slow hours had passed. The prisoners did not talk to one another, but sat listlessly, each lost in his or her own thoughts. Then the door opened and a young woman was hurled into the dungeon. She landed heavily, striking her head on the floor. Persis and Norwin moved to her side as she struggled to sit. She was young and dark-haired, her face bruised and swollen. Long streaks of blood had stained the back of her dress, and Norwin saw the marks of a whiplash across the top of her shoulders.

'Don't look so holy now, does she?' sneered the guard. 'Without her veil she's just another doxy. Should have heard her scream as the lash fell.'

Persis cradled the woman to him, careful to avoid touching her mutilated back. She lapsed into unconsciousness, her head resting on his chest. There was no water within the dungeon to clean her wounds, no bandages to bind them. But Persis held her to him, and whispered soothing words to her. She curled up against him like a child, and he stroked her hair.

After a while she opened her eyes. 'Who are you?' she whispered.

'Persis Albitane. Rest now.'

'I will rest soon.' He helped her sit, and she slumped against him, her strength all but gone. 'I do not know you, Persis Albitane,' she said.

'Nor I you. It doesn't matter now.'

She fell asleep again. Norwin sat gazing at her in the torchlight. 'She is so young,' he said. 'Little more than a child.'

In the far corner a man began to chant a prayer. One by one the others joined in. When it had finished there was silence in the dungeon once more, but a sense of calm had settled upon them.

'I wish I had time to learn about the Cult,' said Persis. 'It would be nice to know what I was dying for.'

'You'll have plenty of time to learn, my friend,' said Norwin. 'After the burning.'

Nalademus had not slept. He had stalked his apartments throughout the night, his mood alternating between ecstasy and fear. Now the dawn light was bathing the city, and he was tired and irritable. Where was Voltan? Why had he not brought news of Jasaray's death?

Pushing open the doors to his balcony Nalademus stepped outside. The air was sweet and cool, the city stretching out before him, pale and beautiful. This was his day, a day of glory and cleansing. Sixteen months of planning, and the collection of thousands of names. Today would see the Cultists utterly destroyed, and with them the increasingly feeble Jasaray.

His Knights were marching from the barracks, hundreds of them. He watched with pleasure as they moved out into the city, column after column, the officers carrying lists naming traitors. They would be hauled from their beds and dragged back to the Temple. There would be too many for the dungeons, so they would be herded into the Barracks Square, before being transported to the various circus arenas for execution. More and more of his Knights filed out of the barracks. Nalademus watched them with pride. From tomorrow the people of Stone would march towards destiny.

But where was Voltan?

Nalademus stared out along the deserted avenue, hoping to see the Lord of the Stone Knights riding towards the Temple. He swore loudly, and moved back inside the apartment. One of the lanterns began to gutter, and oily black smoke sputtered from the wick. Nalademus blew it out. On the table were the remains of last night's meal, and an empty jug of wine. He picked up a piece of bread. It was stale now and he hurled it to the floor. His huge stomach rumbled. Calling one of the guards he sent the man to fetch him some food, then slumped down in a wide leather chair, his anger growing. Voltan had been growing increasingly arrogant of late. Soon it would be time to dispense with his services. Not yet, though. With Jasaray's death there was still the risk of civil war.

The guard returned with a plate of cold meats and a fresh jug of wine. 'Send Banouin to me,' said Nalademus, taking the plate, and stuffing a handful of ham into his mouth. Moments later there was a rap at the door, and the slim, dark-haired Rigante entered.

'My heart is pounding,' said Nalademus. 'Prepare me a tisane.'

'The emperor is alive,' said Banouin, his voice soft, almost sorrowful. Nalademus jerked, his great head coming up, his eyes peering at the younger man.

'What do you know of this?'

'Everything, lord. I am a seer. Among my people I would have become a druid. Last night I had a vision. It was one I first had several years ago. My friend Bane was moving through strange corridors, the walls alive and rustling. A beast was stalking him. There was an older man with him – a man I did not know. Now I do. His name is Rage. Last night a group of killers tried to murder the emperor by releasing a wild beast into the maze in his garden. A huge creature – a striped lion. It had been starved for some time. One of the assassins felled the emperor with a blow to the head, then smeared him with blood, and left him for the lion. Fortunately for Jasaray my friend Bane, and his comrade, Rage, entered the maze and killed the beast. Then Jasaray summoned his loyal guards and Voltan was arrested.'

Nalademus sat stunned, his mind struggling to grasp what the boy was saying. 'If this happened last night,' he said, 'why have the emperor's guards not come for me?'

Banouin walked past him and stared out over the balcony, where the last of the Knights were marching out into the city. Nalademus heard the sounds of marching feet, and his heart stuttered. Jasaray knew of today's cull. He was waiting for the Temple to empty.

Nalademus stumbled out onto the balcony and shouted at the departing troops. 'Come back!' he yelled. They did not hear him. He stood for a moment, his thick fingers gripping the stone of the balcony rim, his knuckles white. Then he looked into the calm face of the young man beside him. 'What can I do, Banouin?'

Banouin sighed. 'I am going home, lord. Back to my people. I should never have come here.'

'Help me!'

'No-one can help you.' Banouin turned away and moved towards the door. Nalademus lunged out, grabbing Banouin's arm.

'It was you!' screamed Nalademus. 'You betrayed me!'

Banouin lifted his hand and touched Nalademus lightly on the chest. The Stone elder's restraining hand spasmed open and Banouin continued to walk towards the door. Nalademus took a deep breath, ready to shout to the guards to kill the boy, to cut him down before his eyes. Banouin looked at him, and Nalademus found his throat constricting. Then the Rigante was gone.

Nalademus, his heart beating wildly, lumbered out onto the balcony. He felt dizzy and nauseous. Out on the avenue he saw a unit of foot soldiers marching towards the barracks, the morning sunlight shining on their silver armour and their white plumes. They were Jasaray's Royal Guards.

Nalademus stepped back, trod on his crimson robe and fell to the floor. He scrambled to his knees then ran to the dining table. Picking up a knife he sawed at his fat wrist. But the blade was too blunt.

The Royal Guards came through the gate.

Nalademus tore open the door to the outer corridor. There were two of his guards there. 'Give me your sword,' he ordered the first.

'My sword?'

Nalademus grabbed the hilt of the man's gladius, wrenching it clear of the scabbard. From below came the sounds of a commotion, and voices raised in anger. Nalademus moved slowly back into his apartment, and gazed around at the rich hangings and decorations, the shelves lined with tomes, the golden goblets. And through the balcony window he could see the white and perfect glory of the city.

He fell to his knees and reversed the sword. Wrenching open
his robes he placed the blade against his chest, the hilt against the floor.
Then he threw himself forward. The hilt slipped, the blade merely slicing
through the skin above his sternum and lodging under his collar bone. Hands
grabbed him, hauling him to his feet. 'No!' he wailed. 'No!'

During the four days that followed the arrest of Nalade-mus, and the ending of the power of the Crimson Priests, wild celebrations broke out in every district. Thousands of Cultists were freed from prison, returning to their homes. Many Crimson Priests shaved off their beards and fled the city. Others waited defiantly, continuing their duties, sure that the furore would soon die down. Most of these were arrested, summarily tried, and put to death quietly.

The prisoners in the dungeons below the arena of Circus Palantes knew nothing of the great events in the city above. They were the last to be freed, and, when the dungeon doors were opened, believed they were to be taken for burning. Many cried out, begging for their lives.

'Silence!' thundered the guard. 'You are to be freed on orders of the emperor.'

The prisoners huddled together, unwilling to believe him. Surely, they thought, this was just an attempt to lull them into walking obediently to their deaths. A white-robed councillor stepped into the doorway, holding a scented handkerchief to his face to mask the stench from within.

'What the guard says is true,' he told them. 'Nalademus has been arrested and condemned, and you are all free to go to your homes, wherever they may be.'

Persis Albitane heard the words, and felt an enormous wave of relief surge through him. He struggled to his feet, and turned to help the Veiled Lady to stand. Her face was ghostly white, and gleamed with sweat. Her flesh was hot to the touch, her eyes fever-bright.

'Leave her where she is,' said the guard. 'She's not to be freed.'

'Why?' asked Persis. Most of the Cultists had filed through the doors, anxious to be clear of this dreadful place. They left without a backward glance at the woman. At last only Norwin and Persis remained with her. 'Why?' asked Persis once more.

'Not for me to know,' said the guard. 'Now be on your way.'

'She is sick, and needs help,' said Persis.

'Stay with her then,' sneered the guard. 'I don't mind if you die with her.'

'They cannot stay,' said the councillor.

Persis knelt by the stricken woman. 'I am so sorry,' he said. Her eyes cleared momentarily and she smiled at him. No words were spoken, but her hand reached up and stroked his bearded face. As her skin touched his Persis felt a great warmth begin to flow through him. The searing agony of the abscess on his neck disappeared, and all the pain from the bruises and cuts upon his face and body faded away. Still the warmth grew, as if the sunlight was seeping through his skin, filling his veins with bright light. And with that light came a vast understanding that transcended any intellectual learning. His gaze locked to hers, and tears fell from his eyes. Her hand fell away.

Persis Albitane reached out and stroked her hair. He felt the power move within him. The three men remaining in the cell stood in astonished silence as they saw a pale light glowing round the dying girl. The dreadful, pus-covered whip wounds sealed themselves and healed without scars. The skin of her face began to glow with health, all her bruises disappearing. The light faded and Persis rose. He looked into the eyes of the guard.

'Don't hurt me,' said the man, backing away.

'How could I hurt you more than you are hurting yourself?' Persis asked him. He glanced back at the young woman. She smiled at him, and gestured for him to go. 'Do you have her veil?' asked Persis. The guard nodded dumbly. 'Then fetch it for her. And find her some clean garments and food. Will you do this?'

'I will. I promise,' replied the guard, still terrified.

'Then may the Source bless you,' said Persis. With one last look at the woman in the cell he took Norwin by the arm and walked along the dungeon corridor and up the steps towards the light.

Nalademus was put on trial before Jasaray's Council. The main witness for the defence was Voltan, who told of the murder plot, and also admitted Temple funds were used to help Stone's enemies in the east and prolong the war. Just before sentence Nalademus was allowed to speak. He at first railed at Jasaray – who was not present – accusing him of weakness and divisive policies, undermining the great destiny of Stone, but when sentence of death was passed he collapsed, and was carried from the chamber.