The Dead God's Due (The Eye of the Lion Saga Book 1) (25 page)

Prandil touched a finger to his
chin and grinned like an imp. “It was my understanding that
most of them would rejoice in her passing.”

Maralena shrugged. “Probably
true, but irrelevant. A crime against the empress is a crime against
them. She is a symbol, else why maintain this charade we all play
into? They will say, ‘Tasinalta cannot protect Nihlos. She
cannot even protect
herself
!’
They
know
Southlanders have entered the city. How long do you think it will
take them to go from panic to rebellion?”

Narelki nodded her agreement.
“It is as she says. This is almost a direct quote from the
Book of Amrath.”

The other elders were in
general agreement. Polus, as usual, chose to ask the difficult
question. “A lovely sentiment, but whom exactly do you propose
to execute?”

Maralena took a deep breath and
let it out again, slowly, dramatically, a look of deep disquiet on
her face. “You won’t like my answer, but it’s the
only one I have. There are a number of parameters to be met. Someone
close to him, someone who may well have conspired with him, so that
the public will believe justice is being done.” She paced back
and forth on the platform, looking at each of them, as if she were
actually thinking on the matter. “Someone whose loss he will
feel keenly, because it is part of his punishment. Someone unhoused,
and thus not subject to Tasinal’s Mercy.” She took
another deep breath, then let the words tumble out of her quickly.
“I propose Lara, Aiul’s wife.”

Time seemed to freeze for a
moment as the Elders sat in dumbfounded silence. At last, Maranath
broke the quiet. “You are mad.”

Maralena eyed him with a cool
gaze. “I am practical, Meite. That’s supposed to be one
of your virtues.”

Maranath rose to his feet. “She
carries House Amrath’s name!”

“Irrelevant. She is not
of noble blood.”

Maranath shook his head
vigorously in denial. “Nobility be damned! A name given cannot
be taken back!” He looked to Narelki for support, but found
little there to aid him. He waited for several moments, then called,
“Narelki.”

The Matriarch of House Amrath
was ashen, as if she were suddenly very ill. “It is a gray
area.”

Maralena sighed. “No, it
is not a gray area at all. There are several precedents. One of them
even involves
you
,
Narelki. You had a husband put to death, as I recall.”

Narelki’s icy manner
shattered at this, her eyes burning with rage as she answered. “A
former
husband,
who tried to force his way back into my bed and my life! He did not
bear the name Amrath.”

“I beg to differ,”
Maralena said. She was emotionless now.
She’s stolen
Narelki’s ice.
“As Maranath noted, there is no
provision whatsoever for stripping a House name from anyone. Even
Aiul runs no risk of that. Perhaps it was your convention that he no
longer use your house name, but it was not a matter of law. There is
precedent for what I propose.”

Narelki rose to her feet, fury
twisting her face now. “Executing a rapist is hardly the same
as executing an innocent!”

Maralena tried and failed to
suppress a giggle, then covered her mouth with her hand, looking
embarrassed. “No one is innocent.”

Ariano sighed and joined the
argument. “Even if we accept this line of argument, she bears
his child. There can be no question that the child carries noble
blood.”

Kariana matched Ariano’s
sigh with her own, twice as loud. “Oh, I assure you, there can
be plenty of questions. A noble father, a common mother, things are
never
settled.”

Maralena nodded her agreement.
“And in any event, the child is unborn, hence unnamed.”

Prandil, too, had heard enough.
“So you would have us all participate in a mass self delusion
that because the child is unborn, it is somehow not real? You and
our empress share a remarkable ability to retreat into self delusion
at will!”

Maralena was unmoved. “Again,
I note that there is
ample
precedent. Unborn children are not protected by the law. Many a
noble women has aborted an unwanted pregnancy with herbs, or with
surgery, and they were not treated as murderers. Aiul has
himself
performed such surgeries. How can anyone argue otherwise?”

Polus nodded, almost despite
his inclinations. “You know the law well, Maralena.”

Maranath bristled at this. “She
twists precedent to serve her ends! Those are early pregnancies.
Aiul’s child is nearly born!”

Maralena shrugged. “It
matters not. This is a point of law, not vague morality. And we
waste our breath in pointless arguing. We’re not going to
change one another’s minds, are we?”

Maranath nodded agreement.
“Aye, enough of this masturbation. Is there even a second?”

Kariana sighed. “As much
as I don’t like it, I am forced to agree.”
There.
Quite literally true. “
I second.”

Maralena called out, “Then
let us vote. Empress?”

Before Kariana could even
speak, Maranath slammed raised his cane overhead, then slammed it
against the floor. “Opposed!” Ariano and Prandil
followed suit immediately. Lucreta and Davron also raised their
hands.

Kariana officially noted the
vote. “Five opposed.”

Maklin cleared his throat and
raised a hand, still scribbling furiously in his notebook. “Just
a moment, I will vote against you. I vote that we put you to death.
I just need my hand here a few moments longer.”

Kariana couldn’t actually
muster any ill will toward the old fellow, Meite or not. “Noted.
Go on with your work.”

“Thank you, Empress.”

Maranath stared at Narelki,
shock and anger on his face. “Narelki! Will you not stand for
your own blood?”

Narelki’s face was ashen,
haunted. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked about the
courtroom, but she did not rise.

Kariana waited for several
moments, then announced in a deadpan tone, “Six opposed, and
one aside vote to have me put to death. In favor?”

Prandil snickered. “Of
having you put to death?” He raised a hand.

Kariana rolled her eyes. “Oh,
I think that matter needs a second and a vote of its own. We must
follow procedure, eh?”

Prandil’s grin seemed
suddenly much more than humor to her. He
was
flirting. Even after the mess she had caused, and even after putting
her down.
Odd. I should think
he would hate me now.

Kariana raised her own hand.
“Well?” Maralena raised her hand. Polus and Olemus also
raised theirs in support, followed by Narelki.

Ariano’s eyes grew wide.
“Faithless bitch!” She started forward, but Maranath put
a hand on her shoulder to restrain her. “Pathetic weakling! We
should have killed you the moment we saw your taint!”

Narelki met Ariano’s
volcanic gaze with her own glacial stare. “Amrath cursed
hypocrisy above all else.”

“It is not hypocrisy to
change your mind!”

Narelki smiled wryly. “I
have not changed my mind. I would change nothing I have done.”

Ariano shook her head in
disgust. “A lie for these fools, as we well know. Have a care,
Narelki, there are things you don’t know that will make the
poison in your soul work faster!”

Maranath shook his head in
disgust. “A minor inconsistency moves you to abandon your own
blood? You are worse than faithless. You are a slave. But we knew
that already, didn’t we?”

Prandil cleared his throat and
glared pointedly at Maranath. “That’s enough, I think.”

Maranath responded with a grunt
and turned away, fuming. “The level of cowardice in the
chamber astounds me. We should never have allowed any but Mei’s
loyal to stand as Elders!”

Sadrina sat in silence, her
mocking eyes brimming with mischief.

“Choose carefully,
Sadrina,” Ariano said, her eyes boring into the lone holdout.

Sadrina smirked, obviously
pleased with herself. “Why should I? Have I something to fear
from you?” She giggled. “You and your kind are nothing
but bullies, flexing your muscles whenever you choose, sneering at
the rest of us as if we are children.”

Narelki spun toward her, eyes
full of fear and fury. “Shut your mouth, fool!”

Sadrina was not inclined to be
obedient. “I have been silent this whole affair! Now, I hold
the power. I will speak my mind!” She rose her feet, her fiery
red hair seeming to bristle with her rebellious mood.

Ariano clenched her fists in
frustration. “You stumble blindly into things you cannot
possibly appreciate! There are dark forces that
hunger
for men of will, men who have lost everything! It is madness to
create such monsters! Why else do you imagine a tyrant like Tasinal
would stay his hand?”

Sadrina sneered. “Please!
I have listened to you fools spout about invisible gods and demonic
forces since I was born. There is no denying you have power, but I
see no special enlightenment in you.”

“How can one as blind as
you expect to see anything?”

“Go on, witch! Tell the
rest of your fairytale, so we can all laugh at you.”

Polus stamped a boot against
the floor. “You humiliate us all, Sadrina, with your petty
jealousy.”

“You are a fool,”
Ariano declared. “The Dead God has
always
lurked, waiting for the right moment. The Fallen prophesied his
return long ago! Amrath wrote of it in his book!”

“Amrath is dead, as are
all the other founders!” Sadrina shouted. “And they were
superstitious fools! There are no gods.”

“It would be the height
of irony to see Tasinal return and rip your traitor’s heart
from your breast,” Prandil told her.

“Ignore their threats,”
Kariana said. “With your vote, I will be empowered to break a
tie. You will be on the victorious side.”

Sadrina jammed her hand into
the air, glaring at the Meites. “I care nothing for the
outcome, here!” she told them. “I simply stand against
you and your bullying!”

“Then die for your
pride!” Ariano shrieked, her voice once again multi-harmonic,
her words solidifying as she spoke them. Maranath and Prandil,
however, sensing her intent, were already moving to restrain her,
hauling on her arms in an attempt to disrupt her aim.

“Bitch!” Ariano
shrieked. The single word shot from her mouth, a dagger of glassy,
pointed sound. It impacted the wall inches from Sadrina’s
head, leaving a smoking crater the size of a man’s fist.
Sadrina screamed in terror, as Maranath and Prandil struggled to
restrain Ariano.

Maranath slapped her face.
“Control yourself!” he demanded.

Maralena, secure in her victory
now, tried to be magnanimous. “I understand it is an emotional
issue, for some, but it is settled now, unless the Meites intend to
destroy a thousand years of tradition and defy the council.”

Prandil cracked his knuckles
and cast a withering glare at her. “If that were our intent,
we would have simply done away with you out of hand.”

Kariana cleared her throat and
rose.
Do I dare? Oh, who am I kidding. Of course I dare.
“There
is one tiny matter of procedure. The vote is a tie. I do still need
to cast the tie breaking decision.” She blinked innocently at
the rest of the council. “Just to be official.”

Prandil looked at her, a
mixture of contempt and curiosity on his face. “Ah, yes. Just
to be official.”

Kariana smiled. She’d
made a bargain to vote with Maralena. She’d said nothing about
breaking any ties.
You
shouldn’t have pushed me, bitch. I would have been on your
side if you hadn’t
. “I have reconsidered my
position. I vote to break the tie in favor of the opposed.”

The courtroom erupted with
shouts of surprise, some of victory, others of defeat.
Such
lovely chaos
. Kariana felt herself slipping into near
drunkenness. She felt as if she could pass out. Maralena was right.
The irony was quite delicious.

Maralena and Sadrina were
looking at her, fury and terror in their eyes. Kariana gave them a
leer in return. She sat back in her chair, feeling pleased with
herself, when she saw the old woman, Ariano, looking at her. They
locked gaze for a moment, and the old woman gave her a faint smile,
a nod of recognition. There was something so terribly familiar in
those green eyes of hers.

And something so terribly,
frighteningly young.

Sandilianus woke with a start.
Someone had opened cell door. Was it morning so soon?

He was surprised to see not the
stern, square face of his hateful guard, Caelwen, but the wrinkled
features and burning green eyes of the sorceress Ariano. Prandil and
Maranath followed behind her.

Sandilianus leapt to his feet
and stood at attention. They were enemies, true, but they had
honored him. He would return their respect.

Maranath waved him off. “Relax,
Southlander. This is no court room. Sit.”

Sandilianus assumed a parade
rest stance, spreading his legs and clasping his hands behind his
back.

Maranath grunted at this, then
shuffled past him to take a seat on the tiny cot that filled most of
the room. “Fine, I’ll sit, then. We are too old to be so
formal. We have some questions.”

I am surrounded now.
He
pressed his back against the wall, facing them all as well as he
could, and said,
“I am Sandilianus Abu al Khayr,
Centurion in Prince Philip’s legions, serving under Tribune
Brutus Samir, and loyal servant to Ilaweh. I can say no more.”

Maranath was staring down at
his robe, picking at it, and didn’t bother to look up when he
spoke. “Oh, don’t think for a moment that we lack ways
of changing that. It’s just that we were hoping not to have to
resort to them.”

“I do not fear your
torture.”

“Well, I certainly fear
watching it. So lets spare me the grief, shall we?”

Sandilianus shook his head in
consternation. These were very strange people. “A soldier does
not give information to the enemy!”

Prandil’s face grew
bright with humor, and a broad grin spread on his lips.“Then
our problem is solved!” He raised both hands, showing he had
no weapon. “We’re not here as enemies, Southlander. At
least
hear
our
questions before you refuse to answer, hmm? Where are your manners?”

Sandilianus looked back and
forth at them, weighing their expressions, but if they had ulterior
motives, they hid them well. “What kind of questions?”

Ariano offered him no smile at
all. “Religious questions. You are not barred from speaking
about your religion with ‘enemies’, are you?”

Sandilianus considered a
moment, looking back and forth at them, trying to gauge their
sincerity. There were plenty of ways an enemy might try to trick
information from him. “You are not believers. You are kafir.”

Prandil’s humor vanished
as quickly as it had come, his gaze as intense as Ariano’s
now. “Oh, that is where you are wrong, Southlander. We are
very much believers.”

Maranath laid back on the bed
and shifted about, testing it for comfort that his expression said
he did not find. “There are few of us left in Nihlos. This
city is weak, as your eyes have seen, and she grows weaker with each
passing day. We rot from within.”

Ariano stepped toward
Sandilianus, her green eyes almost hypnotic as she looked up at him.
These sorcerers have a powerful presence. I must take care they
do not charm me. “
Why
came you here, Southlander? In the courtroom, you said you followed
a holy man seeking an ancient evil. Had it to do with a prophesy? A
prophesy of
Elgar
?”

Sandilianus tried to hide his
shock, but he could feel his eyes widening. The trio of sorcerers
nodded at one another, satisfied, and Sandilianus cursed himself for
a fool. They had pried information from him, even though he had not
spoken!

Ariano pressed her face closer.
“What do you know of it?” Sandilianus forced his face
into a stone mask, refusing to give away anything else, but she was
having none of it. She poked a bony finger at his chest. “Fool!
You know full well that we are not interested in military
information. This is larger than all of us, and you have pieces we
lack!”

Sandilianus licked his lips,
uncertain of what was acceptable to say. “Why do you need to
know this? You sound like Yazid.”

Prandil nodded. “With
good reason. We’ve read a summary of Tasinalta’s
interrogation, though we’ve no idea how much is true. Yazid
stepped forward as your commander, but he claimed no military title.
A non-combatant, then?”

They were getting to him. Did
it even matter if they did? What damaging information could he even
reveal? Xanthia could crush this city at will. Any information he
could possibly reveal would simply make them more aware of that, and
was it not good for an enemy to fear? “There are no Xanthians
who do not fight.”

Ariano’s eyes grew wide
at this, and she stepped back with a slight gasp. “No
civilians? Even children?”

“I do not remember a time
that I did not carry a sword,” he answered with a shrug.

Prandil shot Ariano a glare of
annoyance, then turned back to Sandilianus. “This Yazid, he
called himself Prelate. What is a Prelate to you?”

Sandilianus found himself at a
loss for words. A prelate was, well, a prelate, but what exactly did
the word mean, when it came right down to it? “Prelates fight
for Ilaweh directly. They do not recognize earthly authority.”

Maranath sat up on the bed, a
broad grin of triumph on his face. “I told you it was
religious.”

Ariano’s eyes were
brimming with curiosity. “Free wandering holy men,” she
mused. “Have you more organized structures, churches and
temples, or is it all informal?”

Prandil cleared his throat and
snapped his fingers briskly. “Can we please save the
anthropology studies for later? If you really need to know all of
this, then go with him when we release him. We need to hear what he
knows of the prophesy!”

Release?
Sandilianus
eyed Prandil, trying to decide if the comment was a genuine slip or
a clever ruse. Their arguing certainly seemed very natural, as if it
were their normal method of relating to one another. “What do
you mean by that? I am to die in the morning.”

Ariano swung a fist to punch
Prandil in the shoulder, but he dodged the blow and grinned at her.
She was in no mood for humor, though, and for a moment it seemed she
might resort to something more violent, but Maranath intervened,
rapping his cane against the floor with a loud crack. The entire
cell shuddered, and dust filtered down from the ceiling. He scowled
at them a moment, then offered Sandilianus a grin. “I see we
once again have your attention.”

“You have a talent for
that, sir, there is no doubt.”

“I had intended to
present it with a bit more panache, but yes, that is our intent,”
Maranath said. “We need people to
believe
you were killed, but as for the actual killing, it doesn’t
much matter.”

Ariano shot Prandil a final
glare, then turned back to Sandilianus. “You are here to fight
something dark, yes? We need not be enemies, Southlander. We are, in
fact, quite natural
allies
for your cause.”

Sandilianus nodded. “Yazid
had done much research. I am just a soldier, so I don’t
pretend to know the whole of it, but I know what he told us.”
Sandilianus sighed, still uncertain as to whether telling the Meites
his mission would be a betrayal. The Meites said nothing, giving him
time to come to a decision. “There is a prophesy,” he
said at last. “Made by Carsogenicus.”

Prandil waved a hand in a
circling motion, gesturing for him to continue. “Odio
Sinistera, the Left Hand of Hate. We know him. Go on.”

“Xanthius and Amrath had
him burned at the stake for his evil. It is said that as the flesh
melted from his bones, he laughed and prophesied, until he was
nothing but ash. One of the prophesies was that Elgar would a
thousand years hence walk the earth, and his scion would rise from
the blood of Tasinal, in the city of nothing.”

“Built on nothing,”
Prandil said absently, his eyes clouded and distant.

Maranath clenched his jaw,
nodding. “Tasinalta.”

Ariano’s eyes glittered
with purpose. “We must slay her at once.”

“We dare not!”
Prandil exclaimed, alarmed. “Not without knowing the details!”

“Indeed,” Maranath
agreed. “It could be that her death at our hands is a
necessary component of some ritual. The Fallen would have found such
a thing the height of wit.”

“Then what do we do?”
Ariano asked.

Maranath rose to his feet. “We
watch her. And we wait. We thank you for your tale, Southlander.”
He turned to the others. “Shall we release him?”

Ariano seemed far away in her
mind as she answered. “How can we not? If we fail here, his
people would be the last bastion.”

Maranath nodded. “Do you
understand what we are saying, Southlander?”

“Aye,” said
Sandilianus. “The enemy of my enemy is my friend. And who is
not Elgar’s enemy?”

“Just so. Now, as for
your fate, we’ll need another corpse to show in your place. I
presume you’ve no problem if we substitute one of your
fellows? No one here will be able to tell the difference.”

Sandilianus smiled. “It
honors the dead to allow them to save a life.”

“Well said. Now, be
patient and wait here. Old men walk slowly, but we’ll have you
on your way in an hour or so.”

Maralena Prosin sat at her desk
in her private study. It was an austere place, almost monastic, her
one concession to a world where everything else must be dressed up
with artifice. Here, in her private place, the world was true, a
place without lies, deception, or vanity.

She poured a stiff drink and
leaned back in her chair, considering. The liquor burned in a
pleasant way, as opposed to the acidic sting of her humiliation in
court.

At some other time, Maralena
would have shrugged it off as simply business. She would have set to
work looking to repair the damage, to gain leverage, to find new
handholds. She would have held no grudges. Grudges were for fools.
They were barriers to seizing opportunities. Vengeance was not
something she had ever had the inclination, much less the luxury, of
indulging.

But this was different,
somehow. Perhaps it was because she had so favored poor Marissa. Yet
she had weathered similar losses in the past and maintained her
composure. One did not play at power. Blood was occasionally
spilled, often enough one’s own.

No, it was something else
entirely, something so trivial that looking directly at it was
decidedly unpleasant. It was no monumental thing at all that made
Maralena cast practicality aside. It was nothing more than the tone
of Tasinalta’s voice, the sight of her petulant smirk, a
childish, petty thing to which Maralena had, until now, fancied
herself far above.

But it burned like acid, and it
would have to be addressed.

Maralena took up a quill,
dipped it in ink, and began to write.

Lara:

You do not know me, and I shall offer
no name, but I am a good man, and I see much. Know that your husband
is not truly imprisoned. He is where he is by his own choice, the
better to spend all of his time with Tasinalta. It is too cruel a
game they play with you, and I will no longer stand by and watch. It
is my duty to intervene.

She admired her handiwork for a
moment. It was difficult to be certain if the words matched the
pattern of a man who rarely spoke his mind, and yet if she could not
tell, no one else could, either. She set the letter aside and began
another.

She had no idea how it would
play out. She was merely lobbing a bomb into a crowd. Whatever the
result, it should be quite explosive. For the moment, that was just
fine.

Kariana had some trouble giving
Caelwen the slip, but for all his vaunted duty, he was still human.
She had simply waited until nature called, and then fled. No doubt,
he was furious and frantic, and he would certainly locate her before
long. How long, she didn’t know, which made time of the
essence.

Negotiating House Noril had
been surprisingly simple. She had expected a chilly reception or an
outright refusal, but the slaves had simply ushered her in without
comment. Davron himself had nodded as she passed, as if they were
actually on good terms.
He must have visited his goat.
She
was lucky that Maranath had remanded the prisoners to
House Noril rather than House Luvox, or this would have been a much
more difficult proposition.

House Noril’s ‘holding
facilities’ turned out to be little more than a section of the
house with doors that could be secured, four rooms that joined a
common hallway. The only guard stood outside a fifth door that gave
access to the hallway. Kariana eyed him as she approached. He seemed
strong enough, but fairly bored.
Well,
it’s not as if Aiul is such a threat, but the Southlander
might escape at any moment!
She shuddered at the thought,
took a deep breath, and approached the guard. “I’m here
to see the traitor.”

The guard’s bored
expression did not change as he handed her a logbook. “All
visitors must sign in.”

Kariana could not help but
notice the signatures just above her own. The Meites had been here
within the hour. Why? She filed the point of information away for
later. She would find out soon enough. She scribbled something
unintelligible. No need to duplicate their mistake, after all.

The guard accepted the log,
then took keys from his belt and began unlocking the door to the
common hall. For a brief moment, Kariana feared he intended to come
with her, but he swung the door open and went back to his station.
“Scream if you need help,” he said with a chuckle.

Kariana scowled at him and said
in a deadpan voice, “I’ll do that.”

As the guard turned to unlock
the door into the hallway, Kariana began to count in her head just
how many times she had made a fool of herself of late.
I
don’t think numbers go that high.
Of course, the
previous times, she had at least
imagined
she had the right of it. This? This was idiocy. This was some kind
of trick. How could it not be? It was simply too much to hope for.