Theft Of Swords: The Riyria Revelations (45 page)

“Your Holiness Archbishop Galien,” Saldur said after they had entered, “may I introduce the princess Arista Essendon of Melengar.”

“So pleased you could come,” the old cleric told her. His mouth, which had lost many of its teeth, frequently sucked in his thin lips. His voice was windy, with a distinctive rasp. “Please, take a seat. I assume you had a rough day bouncing around in the back of a carriage. Dreadful things, really. They tear up the roads and shake you to a frazzle. I hate getting in one. It feels like a coffin and at my age you are wary of getting into boxes of any kind.
But I suppose I must endure it for the sake of the future, a future I won’t even see.” He unexpectedly winked at her. “Can I offer you a drink? Wine, perhaps? Carlton, make yourself useful, you little vagabond, and get Her Highness a glass of Montemorcey.”

The little man said nothing but moved rapidly to a chest in the corner. He pulled a dark bottle from the contents and drew out the cork.

“Sit down, Arista,” Saldur whispered in her ear.

The princess selected a red velvet chair in front of the desk and, brushing out her dress, sat down stiffly. She was not at ease but made an effort to control her growing fear.

Carlton presented her with a glass of red wine on an engraved silver platter. She considered that it might be drugged or even poisoned, but dismissed this notion as ridiculous.
Why poison or drug me? I already made the fatal error of blindly blundering into your web.
If Hilfred had defected to their side, she had only Bernice to protect her against the entire armed forces of Ghent. She was already at their mercy.

Arista took the glass, nodded at Carlton, and sipped.

“The wine is imported through the Vandon Spice Company in Delgos,” the archbishop told her. “I have no idea where Montemorcey is, but they do make incredible wine. Don’t you think?”

“I must apologize,” Arista blurted out nervously. “I was unaware I was coming directly here. I assumed I would have a chance to freshen up after the long trip. I am generally more presentable. Perhaps I should retire and meet you tomorrow?”

“You look fine. You can’t help it. Lovely young princesses are blessed that way. Bishop Saldur did the right thing bringing you here immediately, even more than he knows.”

“Has something happened?” Saldur asked.

“Word has come down”—he looked up and pointed at the ceiling—“literally, that Luis Guy will be traveling with us.”

“The sentinel?”

Galien nodded.

“That might be good, don’t you think? He’ll bring a contingent of seret, won’t he? And that will help maintain order.”

“I am certain that’s the Patriarch’s mind as well. I, however, know how the sentinel works. He won’t listen to me and his methods are heavy handed. But that’s not what we are here to discuss.”

He paused a moment, took a breath, and returned his attention to Arista. “Tell me, my child, what do you know of Esrahaddon?”

Arista’s heart skipped a beat but she said nothing.

Bishop Saldur placed his hand on hers and smiled. “My dear, we already know that you visited him in Gutaria Prison for months and that he taught you what he could of his vile black magic. We also know that Alric freed him. Yet none of that matters now. What we need to know is where he is and if he has contacted you since his release. You are the only person he knows who might trust him and therefore the only one he might reach out to. So tell us, child, have you had any communication with him?”

“Is this why you brought me here? To help you locate an alleged criminal?”

“He
is
a criminal, Arista,” Galien said. “Despite what he told you, he is—”

“How do you know what he told me? Did you eavesdrop on every word the man said?”

“We did,” he replied passively.

The blunt answer surprised her.

“My dear girl, that old wizard told you a story. Much of it is actually true; only he left out a great deal.”

She glanced at Sauly, whose fatherly expression looked grim as he nodded his agreement.

“Your uncle Braga wasn’t responsible for the murder of your father,” the archbishop told her. “It was Esrahaddon.”

“That’s absurd,” Arista scoffed. “He was in prison at the time and couldn’t even send messages.”

“Ah—but he could, and he did—through you. Why do you think he taught you to make the healing potion for your father?”

“Besides curing him of sickness, you mean?”

“Esrahaddon didn’t care about Amrath. He didn’t even care about you. The reality is he needed your father dead. Your mistake was going to him. Trusting him. Did you think he would be your friend? Your sage old tutor, like Arcadius? Esrahaddon is no tame beast, no honorable gentleman. He is a demon and he is dangerous. He used you to escape. From the moment you visited him, he calculated your use as a tool. To escape he needed the ruling monarch to come and release him. Your father knew who and what he was, so he would never do it. But Alric, because of his ignorance, would. So he needed your father dead. All Esrahaddon had to do was make the church believe your father was the heir. He knew it would cause us to act against him.”

“But why would the church want the heir dead? I don’t understand.”

“We’ll get to that in due time. But suffice it to say his interest in you and your father got our attention. It was the healing potion Esrahaddon had you create that sealed your father’s fate. It tainted his blood to appear as if he was a descendent of the imperial bloodline. When Braga learned this, he followed what he thought was the church’s wishes and put plans in motion to remove Amrath and his children.”

“Are you saying that Braga was working for the church when he had my father murdered?”

“Not directly—or officially. But Braga was devout in his beliefs. He acted rashly, not waiting for the church
bureaucracy
,
as he used to call it. Both the bishop and I speak for the whole church when we tell you we are truly sorry for the tragedy that occurred. Still, you must understand we did not orchestrate it. It was the design of Esrahaddon that set the wheels of your father’s fate in motion. He used the church just as he used you.”

Arista glared at the archbishop and then at Sauly. “You knew about this?”

The bishop nodded.

“How could you allow Braga to kill my father? He was your friend.”

“I tried to stop it,” Sauly told her. “You must believe me when I tell you this. The moment the test was done, and your father implicated, I called for an emergency council of the church, but Braga couldn’t be stopped. He refused to listen to me and said I was wasting valuable time.”

Fears of her own murder fled and anger filled the vacuum. She stood up, fists clenched, her eyes filled with hate.

“Arista, I know you are upset, and have every right to be, but let me explain further.” The archbishop waited for her to sit down again. “What I am about to tell you is the most highly guarded secret of the Church of Nyphron. This information is strictly reserved for top-ranking members of the clergy. I am trusting you with this information because we need your help and I know you’ll not extend it unless you understand why.” He took the glass of wine, sipped it, then leaned forward and spoke to Arista in a quiet tone. “In the last few years of the empire, the church uncovered a dark and twisted scheme whose goal was no less than to enslave all of humanity. The conspiracy led directly to the emperor. Only the church could save mankind. We killed the emperor and tried to eliminate his bloodline, but the emperor’s son was aided by Esrahaddon. His heritage contains the power to raise the demons of
the past and once more bring humanity to the brink. For this reason, the church has sought to find the heir and destroy the lineage whose existence is a knife at the throat of all of us. After so long, the heir might not even be aware of his power, or even who he is. But Esrahaddon knows. If that wizard finds the heir, he can use him as a weapon against us. No one will be safe.”

The archbishop looked at her carefully. “Esrahaddon was once part of the high council. He was one of the key members in the effort to save the empire from the conspirators, but at the last moment, he betrayed the church. Instead of a peaceful transition, he callously caused a civil war that destroyed the empire. The church cut off his hands and locked him away for nearly a millennium. What do you think he’ll do if he has the chance to exact revenge? Whatever humanity he might have possessed died in Gutaria Prison. What remains is a powerful demon bent on our destruction—revenge for revenge’s sake; he is mad with it. He is like a wildfire that will consume all if not stopped. As a princess of a kingdom, you must understand—sacrifices must be made to ensure the future of the realm. We deeply regret the error that occurred in respect to your father but hope you’ll come to understand why it happened, accept our apologies, and help us prevent the end of all that we know.

“Esrahaddon is an incredibly intelligent madman bent on destroying everyone. The heir is his weapon. If he finds him before we do, if we cannot prevent him from reawakening the horror we managed to put to sleep centuries ago, then all this—this city, your kingdom of Melengar, all of Apeladorn will be lost. We need your help, Arista. We need you to help us find Esrahaddon.”

The door opened abruptly and a priest entered.

“Your Grace,” he said, out of breath, “the sentinel is calling the curia to order.”

Galien nodded and looked back at Arista. “What say you, my dear? Can you help us?”

The princess looked at her hands. Too much was whirling in her head: Esrahaddon, Braga, Sauly, mysterious conspiracies, healing potions. The one image that remained steadfast was the memory of her father lying on his bed, his face pale, blood soaking the covers. It had taken so long to put the pain behind her, and now … had Esrahaddon killed him? Had they? “I don’t know,” she muttered.

“Can you at least tell us if he has contacted you since his escape?”

“I haven’t seen or heard from Esrahaddon since before my father’s death.”

“You understand, of course,” the archbishop told her, “that be this as it may, you are the most likely person he would trust and we would like you to consider working with us to find him. As Ambassador of Melengar you could travel between kingdoms and nations and never be suspected. I also understand that right now you may not be ready to make such a commitment, so I won’t ask; but please consider it. The church has let you down grievously; I only request that you give us a chance to redeem ourselves in your eyes.”

Arista drained the rest of her wine and slowly nodded.

“Do you think she is telling the truth?” the archbishop asked him. There was a faint look of hope on his face, clouded by an overall expression of misery. “There was a great deal of resistance in her.”

Saldur was still looking at the door Arista had exited. “
Anger
would be a more accurate word, but yes, I think she was telling the truth.”

He did not know what Galien had expected. Had he thought Arista would embrace him with open arms after they admitted to killing her father? The whole idea was absurd, desperate measures from a man sinking in quicksand.

“It was worth it,” the archbishop said without any conviction.

Saldur played with a loose thread on his sleeve, wishing he had taken the remainder of Bernice’s bottle with him. He had never cared much for wine. More than anything, the tragedy of Braga’s death was the loss of a great source of excellent brandy. The archduke had really known his liquor.

Galien stared at him. “You’re quiet,” the archbishop said. “You think I was wrong, of course. You said so, didn’t you? You were very vocal about it at our last meeting. You were watching her every move. You have that—that—” The old man waved his hand toward the door as if this would make his fumbling clearer. “That old handmaid monitoring her every breath. Isn’t that right? And if Esrahaddon had contacted her, we would have known and they would be none the wiser, but now …” The archbishop threw up his hands, feigning disgust in a sarcastic imitation of Saldur.

Saldur continued to fiddle with the thread, wrapping it around the end of his forefinger, winding it tighter and tighter.

“You’re too arrogant for your own good,” Galien accused him defensively. “The man is an imperial wizard. What he is capable of is beyond your comprehension. For all we know, he may have been visiting her in the form of a butterfly in the garden or a moth that entered her bedroom window each night. We had to be sure.”