The Eye of God (The Fall of Erelith) (18 page)

Blaise felt his brows rise toward his hairline. “I suspected as much. After all, you are the Emperor’s man. Doesn’t seem like a position for a sane man. Go on, I’m listening.”

General Horthoe drew a deep breath. “The Heart of God sang for you. That’s why I believe there’s more to you than the white coat you happen to wear.”

“You heard the Heart of God?”

Still refusing to look Blaise in the eye, General Horthoe stared at the wall. “I’m not the strongest of Speakers, Bishop, but I can hear things sometimes. Every time I Spoke tonight, I swear I heard a song fighting against me, turning my words aside. I can still hear it, haunting me.” The man fell silent, a puzzled expression on his face.

Blaise swallowed his laughter, coughing so he had an excuse for the tremble he doubted he could hide in his voice. “Did I not tell you that the Heart, the Eye, and the Hand belong to Him, General? God’s Words won’t work on things He created unless He allows it to.”

“I almost believe you.”

“You’re not insane, but I admit, I’m surprised. That was the Heart you heard. Some can hear it. Cassius could, too. That’s why I told you to verify with him,” Blaise said, lifting a hand to rub at his chin. Down-soft stubble lined his jaw. He frowned. Had he been so worn out he’d forgotten to keep it rough? He shook his head. So long as no one touched his face, he doubted it’d make any difference at all. If someone did ask him about it, it’d be just another half-truth among the many he’d told over the years.

General Horthoe remained silent.

“I can’t promise to kill him,” Blaise admitted, and wondered at his reluctance to devour the boy destined to be devoured by Lucin. “But, I might be able to do something for you.”

“What do you mean?”

Blaise considered the problem. “Perhaps I could make the boy disappear. So long as he and the Hand of God do not meet again, it should be fine, yes? The Hand of God won’t accept a new vessel so readily. That’s obvious from the string of corpses the Emperor has created looking for someone compatible with it, don’t you think?”

“You weren’t supposed to know about that,” Horthoe muttered.

“Leviticus, you’re a fool if you believe we aren’t aware of it. Your failed vessels escape often enough. The first place they come is here, seeking the Heart of God. That’s the nature of the Hand’s obsession.”

Lucin’s lust and desire for Aurora hadn’t faded, not even after her soul had been devoured in the divine’s greed.

“How did you know about my slave being the vessel?”

“Leopold reported it to the Archbishop,” Blaise replied.

The man jumped to his feet, spewing curses. “They’ll be the end of us all.”

Blaise held out his hands in a placating gesture. “Please, be calm. Why do you say that?”

“Because that fool of an Archbishop intended to give the Heart of God to the Emperor—permanently.”

Blaise’s breath escaped him in a sigh. Pushing off of the wall, he crossed the room to his cot and sank down on it. “Sit.”

General Horthoe sat on the other end. “He meant to take the Heart next month, exchanging the real one for a fake. The Archbishop agreed under several conditions.

“This is the first I’ve heard of it.” Blaise didn’t bother hiding his scowl.

“The only people who know of this are you, me, the Emperor, and the Archbishop, and I don’t even know all of the truth, only what they needed me for. They intended to switch the Heart out for a fake, maintaining the position of the Erelith Church of God while putting the real control in the Emperor’s grasp.”

“That old fool. Did he really believe a fake would be enough to fool anyone?”

“He knew you would say that, you know. He knew, and that’s why he insisted on a few conditions. Your name came up often, Bishop Blaise. You were accounted for. That’s why the Heart of God was in your hands tonight. It was all planned, even before the Hand of God and my slave were stolen. You almost undid all of their scheming by being in the Arena. With you in hand, they could control the entire church. The Archbishop may be the face of the Church’s power, but it seems like many of the faithful watch you as much as they watch him.”

Blaise pressed his lips together, the heat of his anger flushing his cheeks. Rising to his feet and pacing the room didn’t ease his anxiety. “And?”

“Because of your dedication, because of the fixation of the church’s most faithful, you’ll be made Archbishop with the Heart of God held as a ransom for your good behavior. Even now, I suspect the Emperor and the Archbishop scheme, likely planning to reveal that the broken one was a ceremonial fake to appease the people. You’ll be told that the broken one was a fake, and you’ll be expected to believe it—or, at least, lie very convincingly that you believe it,” General Horthoe said before stretching out with a low groan. “Everyone will believe it a fake, althought we know it was not.

Drawing long and slow breaths so Blaise wouldn’t let his rage escape, he let the silence stretch out between them. Not even the chill of Aurora’s presence cooled his anger. He didn’t speak until he was confident he could keep his tone low and even. “Why are you telling me this?”

“I believe he meant to use the Hand of God, and soon. I believe he’ll use it as soon as he finds it and its vessel.”

“For what purpose?” Blaise asked. The cold swept over him, and he wasn’t certain if it was from his despair or Aurora’s presence reacting to words he wasn’t sure she even understood.

The stench of General Horthoe’s fear choked off Blaise’s breath.

“To find the Eye of God, of course. To find it, so he can use its power to crush any who might defy him.”

Chapter 8

Terin ran, uncertain of why he took the steps leading to Upper Erelith City two at a time, unaware of why he’d awoken with the need to hurry, or where he needed to go once he reached the plateau’s top. With every breath burning in his throat and chest, he struggled upward.

The sun crested the horizon when he reached the top. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he staggered to a halt, gasping for breath. When he could see through the glare without his eyes watering, he watched the sun rise over the city. A bank of clouds marred the north-eastern sky, stained red and gold in the early morning light.

The promenade circling the city was empty, and the shops lining the cobbled way were shuttered and dark. A few birds warbled from their hiding place among the scrub, their songs accompanying the rumble of the falls below. Terin drew several deep breaths, uncertain of which way to go or what to do.

Doubt held him in place. If he wanted to be found, all he had to do was reveal himself to the first gray-clad soldier he saw. He’d be taken back to the Arena. From there, his master would claim him, one way or another.

An alternative existed, and he shook his head trying to dispel it from his thoughts, but the temptation gnawed at him. It wasn’t impossible; he could wait and watch, listening to the Citizens, and learn the truth. If Zurach had lied, he’d learn of it. The Citizens would surely talk about something as unusual as an escaped slave wanted alive.

He’d know for certain whether or not he was poised to step into a trap.

Terin shivered. If he waited, he’d taste freedom, alone in the city without order from his master—without order from anyone. Terin flinched and waited for the collar’s punishment.

Nothing happened. The metal remained cold and inert. He lifted his hand to touch the band where it rested against his neck, wincing at the tenderness of his raw skin. No matter how many times it’d burned him in the past, the pain lingered. Taking a deep breath, he looked himself over, cringing at the sluggishly bleeding cuts from his escape through the sewers.

If anyone saw him, they’d know he was an escapee based on his appearance alone. If he wanted to learn the truth, he needed time to rest, to heal, to plan, and to get a change of clothes.

Hiding was something he could do, something he’d done many times before, although at the bidding of his master. He could pilfer from one of the guard houses before the changing of shift. No one would learn of his theft. No one had before. Places to sleep littered the city for those willing to climb.

Terin glanced up at the elevated aqueducts far above. The shadowed nooks sprinkled among the arches weren’t just for the birds, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’d made use of them while waiting.

Everything he needed, he could acquire from within the city until he learned the truth. Hope sped up the beat of his heart, and it pounded in his throat and ears.

The collar didn’t punish him for his thoughts.

Shaking from more than the chill of the morning wind whipping down from the neighboring peaks, he shuffled to the nearest alley, warily watching the nearby buildings for shopkeepers preparing to open their doors for the day. He let his hand fall, tugging at his shirt in the fruitless effort of hiding his slave collar.

Climbing the nearest building to the roof, he lay in wait for the day to begin in earnest, ignoring the unhappy rumbles of his empty stomach.

~*~

Terin wasn’t quite awake, but he wasn’t asleep either. He jerked to full consciousness at the deep tolling of a bell counting out the noon hour. Yawning, blinking, and rubbing at his eyes, he stretched out his legs along the curved arch of the aqueduct. The bell sounded one final time before it fell silent, leaving the rush of falling water to mask the sounds of his movement from those below.

The people remained ignorant to Terin’s presence, going about their business without looking up at the aqueduct or at the water tumbling down from the fountains to fill cisterns or feed the sewers below the street.

“The Gates to the Garden open in silence and welcome all with light and warmth,” he murmured, twisting the scriptures and bending it to his will so he could move in silence, undetected by those who might look up. If it worked, all they’d see was sunlight on stone, and nothing more.

Terin’s hands shook when he eased his way to the edge of the arch to take hold of the vine-patterned carvings that decorated he stones. Testing each handhold, he climbed upward, staring up at the channel above. It took him less than a minute to climb, but he gasped for breath when he hauled himself up on the walkway lining the quick-flowing water. His muscles trembled with exertion and weakness.

His side still ached, but he could feel the wound stretching as it healed, and the sensation comforted him. It was healing, and that was enough to keep most of his worry over the injury festering at bay.

Cupping his hands together, Terin drank, shivering at the cold that bit his mouth and throat. After taking a few more sips, he got to his feet and walked along the edge, staring down at the buildings below. Focusing on the spires of the church district, he circled the city from above until the cathedral loomed before him.

Terin wrinkled his nose and got onto his hands and knees, staring down at the rooftops below in search of one of the district’s small military supply houses. The splash of a purple flag against pale stones drew his eye.

He eased his way down a support arch to the roof of a shop and worked his way toward the single-story structure marked with Imperial violet. When he drew close, he crawled over the rooftop of a two-storied shop and stared down at those on guard. Two white-tasseled cadets whispered to each other, their heads pressed together, ignoring the steady stream of Citizens passing them by. An alley stretched along the length of the warehouse, and Terin crawled over the rooftops until he came to one of the arches crossing the street.

Waiting for when no one approached the alley, Terin darted across the rooftops and scrambled down to the ground. Dark windows lined the warehouse. The glass was shadowed by the taller shops flanking the building. He glanced each way before pressing close to the wall, palm flat to the window. Words fell from his lips in a haphazard mumble. Blue and red streaks rippled over the glass. With a pop and crackle, it crumbled to sparkling dust under his touch.

The back of his right hand itched and he scratched it against the stone with a soft hiss. His skin ached and stung from the abuse, but the itch remained. Muttering a few curses, he glanced down the alley before wiggling his way up and through the window to drop down among neat rows of crates and stacks.

Crouching low, he took shelter behind a canvas-wrapped pile. The windows did little to illuminate the open room. Large stacks of crates cast long shadows across the floor. Holding his breath until his lungs ached, he listened for the guards. All remained still and quiet. Letting out his breath in a slow hiss through his teeth, Terin crawled toward the doors the cadets guarded and put his ear to the crack.

The two young men rambled, discussing the women and the rare horse passing them by. When they bored of their talk, they fell silent. A muffled voice called out, and one of the cadets replied with a wordless grunt.

“Do you think they’ll find it?” one of them whispered after a long moment, his deep voice rumbling.

The other snorted, and boots scuffed against stone. Terin tensed. The scuffs didn’t draw closer, and he bit his lip to keep from sighing with relief.

“Heads will roll if they don’t,” the deep-voiced cadet continued. “Especially seeing the trick the Church pulled on the Emperor last night. Rumor has it he’s fit to kill someone over it.”

“We should’ve gotten rid of those interlopers long ago. They belong in Lower Erelith City with the foreigners and the rest of the curs,” the other replied. One of them sighed. “More trouble for us. Double shifts on the worst guard posts in the city. Just our luck.”

“The Erelith Church of God serves its purpose, keeping the Citizens quiet and happy,” the cadet with the deeper voice replied. A boot tapped on stone. “Better them than one of those foreign gods coming in on our turf.”

“The Emperor would never allow some foreigner’s god here, Carlis. It’s bad enough he has to let them have their way as it is. It’s not like the church really makes anyone happy, anyway. Has it made you happy?”

“Do I look like a groveler to you?” Carlis asked.