Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (26 page)

“Careful,” Bryn said. “It’s as deadly as it is comely. Like
me.”

“Bryn, it’s beautiful.”

“Just a little token for saving my life, twice. May this
blade return the favor one day.”

“I’m touched.”

Bryn rolled her eyes. “Don’t go getting all soft on me now. Just
make sure you don’t lose it on our race back to the stables.” With that, Bryn
ran off down the deer path toward the horses. Elias, laughing, followed after.

A Strange Encounter

The two guards glared stoically at Elias as he waited
outside the Prelate’s audience chamber. The guard’s breastplate featured the
sunburst that was the insignia of the One God—the symbolic image of the One God
as the first proto-star that created all life in the universe—even though the
Church’s regulars, the Knights Justicar, had been officially disbanded when
Elias was but a child.

A thin man with an angular face opened one of the ponderous
cherrywood double doors that led to the Prelate’s chambers. “The Prelate will
see you now, Marshal.”

Elias followed the man down a swath of scarlet carpet which
bisected a room easily twice the size of his dining room at home. The
cherrywood paneling and flooring gave the chamber a warm and inviting aspect,
deep in contrast with the cold marble corridors of Lucerne Palace. The Prelate
stood stooped over the fireplace. “May I present, Marshal Duana, Father,” said
Elias’s escort.

The Prelate turned from the fire with a kettle in hand. He wore
a simple linen tunic and brown breeches. With a nod he indicated a couple of
oversized arm chairs set across from a tea table laden with an impressive
assortment of pastries, biscuits, and other dainties. “Please, Marshal, have a
seat,” Sarad said as he walked toward the table. “I hope you forgive my attire,
but it is my understanding that this is something of a social call, so I
thought it permissible to eschew the ponderous vestments of my office. Tea?”

Elias nodded. “Thank-you.”

Sarad took a biscuit and chewed on it thoughtfully. “I can
never resist the urge to indulge in these when I have guests. I’ve developed
something of a sweet tooth during my time in Galacia. We don’t have much access
to sugar in Aradur.”

Elias took a sip of tea and asked, “Do you miss your home?”

“I don’t mind telling you that I don’t miss the climate. Aradur
is an arid land with large stretches of desert between cities and oases. Yet
Aradur boasts architectural feats of surpassing beauty. The ancients of the
deserts were perhaps the most skilled wizards of all time and they used magic
to raise and bolster their structures. There are palaces and ancient temples
whose age we can only guess at, but surely measure in millennia.”

“Do you know much about the arcane?” Elias asked casually as
he set his cup down. The porcelain clicked noticeably in the pregnant moment of
silence.

Sarad sat back and took a sip of tea. “It’s interesting to examine
how men of faith view magic, for no two clerics seem able to agree on its
origins and how it fits into God’s plan. Many of my brothers view wizards as
little more than alchemists, bending natural law through formula. Others feel
that magic is drawn from trafficking with demons and spirits, or from the pit,
and the Lord of the Fallow Field has seduced men with the arcane. They say that
is why the faithful can heal and wizards can destroy, because God heals and his
twin, Lord Fallow, destroys.”

“What do you think?”

“I think that the One God created all that is and the
universe has an order. If magic exists it is because the One willed it, either
for the benefit of mankind or as a lesson to teach his children forbearance and
the judicious use of power. Either way it is a gift.”

“It is an interesting perspective.”

Sarad smiled. “Yet, you are no stranger to the arcane, are
you Marshal? You single-handedly saved the queen. As I recall you anticipated
the attack before it even came. Are you gifted with prescience as well?”

Elias ignored the question, unsure of the Prelate’s tone and
the glint in his pale blue eyes, though his expression remained neutral. “Not
quite single-handedly, sir. We are in your debt for saving Lady Denar. Your
actions were like something out of the One Book.”

Sarad sighed and grinned sheepishly. “I can see you are as
curious as my fellow clerics and the entirety of the capital for that matter, and
rightly so. The truth is that I understand what happened little more than you. I
acted on impulse, moved perhaps by the spirit of God, and am glad that my
instinct served me well.”

“As am I, yet I must confess that I am as curious about your
abilities as you are mine.”

Elias circumspectly fingered his father’s badge as he
adjusted his duster: cool as a mint julep on Midsummer’s. He frowned inwardly,
for the tingle crawling up his spine whispered that Mirengi had lied, but for
his badge which remained inert. Little did Elias know that the myriad wards
wrought in Sarad’s chambers worked to blunt foreign magic, including arcane
artifacts.

Elias cleared his throat and took a sip of tea, offering
Sarad an apologetic smile. “They say that you have performed other miraculous
feats like healing plague victims and making statues weep tears of blood. Were
those acts of instinct as well?”

“They do talk, don’t they? No, the case in the throne room
was unique for in those other instances I merely prayed and, as I believe, the
One God answered. That’s all.” Sarad took another cookie and offered the plate
to Elias who absently selected a dainty at random. “Am I under investigation,
Marshal?” the Prelate asked with a broad, easy smile.

“Of course not. I am only curious because when I use the
arcane I do it out of instinct as well.”

“Ah. Well, God answered my call, perhaps he’s answered yours
as well and that is why you have been gifted such abilities. As the book says,
for
he shall ward the corpus in its entirety of the childer whose heart is just and
true.
What you call magic and I call an act of faith may not be as separate
as man has always assumed, for all that is originates from him who made us.”

“Forgive me for being frank, Prelate, but you sound more
like a mystic than a cleric.”

Sarad laughed, a clear bright sound. “There you have it. My
ideas are somewhat different than classic church cannon, but the Holy Father is
open to new interpretations of God’s will. The Church has been stagnating since
the end of the great war. A new age of reason is dawning, of science and
alchemy, which is exciting, but it has also meant that some men feel they no
longer require religion to light their way in the dark. If times are changing
so must the church if it wishes to remain a viable entity in the future. It is
not the One God’s will that men be chained by dogma but set free through
enlightenment.”

“The Shining One must be pleased, for you have certainly won
over the court here in Peidra. Rumor has it that Lord Ogressa suggested the
queen make you an advisor to the council.”

Sarad arched an eyebrow. “Rumor, I imagine, is all it is,
although Vachel can be a little…enthusiastic at times, as men who have regrets
often are.” Now it was Elias’s turn to raise an eyebrow. “I’ll say no more,”
Sarad smiled apologetically, “for it is a necessary requirement of my vocation
to keep confidences.

“Tell me, Marshal, are you a spiritual man? I find with men
at arms there isn’t usually any middle ground but one of two extremes: either
they are very pious, presumably because they know they may meet their maker on
any given day, or they deny religion and live in the moment. So tell me, which
are you?”

Elias considered the Prelate’s question. The man had
presence and charisma, of that there was no doubt. Perhaps he had been hasty in
his judgment of him, for he seemed genuine, yet something still tugged at the
back of his mind, like a memory that he couldn’t quite recall but that he knew
was paramount. “I suppose I am one of the rare individuals who inhabit the
middle ground. My father cautioned me against extreme ideals and advised me it is
usually best to take the middle path.”

“Your father was a philosopher as well as a swordsman, then.
He is still close to you.”

Elias felt himself involuntarily stiffen. “My father is
dead, sir.”

The Prelate offered him a gentle smile. “I know, but still
he is close to you, in spirit. You feel this to be true, yes?”

Elias grew still and felt his breath catch in his chest. The
conversation had taken an abrupt turn, and he sensed it to be significant,
although he wasn’t sure why. He chose his next words with care. “In a manner of
speaking, yes. His values and memories will be kept alive in me, and my sister.”

The Prelate’s smile turned crooked. “A thoughtful answer
from a thoughtful man. I’m quite sure your father is proud.”

Elias searched the Prelate’s expression and tried to guess
at the other man’s thoughts. “You are most kind.”

They fell into an idle conversation and after about a
quarter of an hour Elias said, “Well, I think I’ve taken up enough of your
time. I sought this meeting so that I could thank you for your actions on the
night of the banquet. The queen and Lady Denar send their regards.”

The Prelate rose and took Elias’s hand his own. “I’m glad
you did. Will I see you at services this week?”

“I will try to make it if my duties allow.”

After the Marshal left Sarad sat a long time, lost in
thought. He looked at the chair across from him that was lately occupied by
Elias Duana and was currently occupied by Padraic Duana. The shade remained
silent, peering at him with those same unnerving eyes as his son.

Duana was a hard man to read and Sarad could only guess at
his motivations or insights, but it seemed that he could sense the spirit of
his father, if only on an unconscious level. Occasionally as they spoke the
Marshal’s eyes flicked to his father’s shade momentarily, only to flitter away
again. At other times, when the Marshal was silent it appeared that he and his
father were in telepathic communication. Surely if Duana could see his father
he wouldn’t have any reason to suspect that Sarad could, which suggested three
possibilities: one, that Duana didn’t perceive his father’s ghost on a
conscious level, two, that he did but didn’t want to appear distracted or be
seen interacting with people that weren’t there, or three, Duana somehow
suspected that Sarad was a necromancer and summoned his father’s shade to try
to draw him out by eliciting a reaction. As this last thought occurred to him,
the ghost of Padraic Duana smiled.

“Suspicions he may have but I gave him nothing,” Sarad said.
“I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than your son.” Even as the words left
his mouth Sarad realized they weren’t really true, for he had attempted to draw
Duana out by directing the conversation to his father’s immortal soul so as to
read his reaction. The Marshal gave him nothing, while he tipped his own hand. The
unassuming Duana was more clever than he had suspected, and potentially a great
deal more powerful as well, for only two kinds of people could sense the
spirits of the dead—a necromancer or an Innate. The question was, which one was
Elias Duana?

Sarad had grown weary of sharing space with Padraic Duana’s
shade. He pointed a finger at the spirit and with a litany of guttural words
wove a charm of banishment. As he spoke a red symbol set inside a circle
appeared in the air before his hand and as he uttered the last syllable of the
spell it shot toward Padraic. When the symbol reached Padraic’s space it
dissolved in a burst of golden light. Sarad stood up and backed away on shaky
legs. “It cannot be.”

The power of the pit, of his masters, had never failed him
before. Padraic continued to look at him with his bemused smile and depthless
eyes.

Sarad rushed toward the door of his study. “Talinus!”

Talinus materialized in the door way. “Yes, master?”

Sarad pointed to the sitting area, but as he turned back he
saw only empty chairs. He shivered despite himself. “Follow the Marshal. Watch
his every move. Learn what he knows of us.”

†

“What’re you saying—that you think the Prelate is the
mastermind necromancer of the Scarlet Hand?” Bryn asked.

“No, of course not, but there is something off about him,”
Elias said, feeling his ears burn as he looked at the faces of his companions
around the table in the queen’s private audience chamber. The newest members of
the Sentinels were all present, including Danica, Lar, Phinneas, and the queen’s
uncle Josua, head of House Antares. “Mark my words, that man is hiding
something. He may be in Oberon or Ogressa’s pocket.”

“I’m telling you, the man is clean. Everything about him
checks out,” Bryn said. “And he did save my life, albeit it with your help.”

“It seems like an awful lot of trouble to go to if he is
against the crown,” Eithne said. “Surely Oberon or Ogressa would have been more
than happy to see Bryn skewered as it would mean one less ally for me and a
burr out of their saddle.”

“Save that acting the hero draws suspicion away from him,”
Elias said.

“Except that he wasn’t under suspicion in the first place. If
he’s as clever and artful as you fear then he wouldn’t risk exposure when he
already enjoyed anonymity.”

Elias sighed. “A point well taken, Your grace. I suppose all
I have to go on is a gut feeling.”

“All the same, Elias, I value your instincts—they’ve saved
me once, as it were. Why don’t we keep an eye on the Prelate, his maneuverings
and interactions. Satisfied?”

Elias offered her a tight smile. “Yes. Thank-you.”

“What of your other efforts, Sentinels?”

Elias sighed and exchanged glances with Ogden. “We still
have yet to uncover any leads in the conspiracy against you, Your Grace,” Ogden
said. “But we are remaining ever vigilant and Captain Blackwell has tightened
security and rotated any men he can’t trust completely to the city guard.”

“My sources have uncovered little in regard to any
suspicious goings on in the court,” Josua said, “although Ogressa and Oberon
have been seen skulking about together a little more than usual. Likely just
their regular scheming, but it warrants keeping an eye nonetheless. Also,
Oberon has recently bought a herd of Aradurian stallions and a handful of
Aradurian mercenaries to bolster his household guard. Again, nothing all that
out of the ordinary for him. Still, I don’t like it.”