Children of the Blood (38 page)

“I venture when called.”

“And what has called the Second of the Sundered on such a journey?”

The third Servant stepped forward. “You already know, Stefanos.” Her voice, like Kirlan’s, sounded hollow but smooth. It had none of the rasping quality of the Second’s.

Stefanos met her eyes for a moment and then gave a terse nod. “Perceptive, Vashel.”

“Always; yet not so much as the First. I believe that you know why we are called.” Her bow was low; her words were a gesture of respect for power that was not yet her own.

The fourth and last of the Servants stepped forward.

“But perhaps it needs to be expanded upon.” A grim malice contorted his face. “We were summoned by the Dark Heart, Lordling. Malthan bade us come in the company of this—” he did not bother to grant Vellen his title. “You shelter something he seeks, Stefanos. And we mean to bring it to our God. Stand in our way and perhaps you will no longer be First among us; you are weaker now than you have been. ”

“That may be true, Algrak.” Stefanos inclined his head slightly, and the Servant smiled triumphantly.

Too soon. In a blur that Vellen could barely see, Darclan crossed the ten feet that separated him from Algrak. His hands closed round the Servant’s throat, and his eyes flared, first silver, then a bright crimson that engulfed all present. With contemptuous ease, he hauled Algrak off his feet.

“There is always a fool in any order, Algrak, even that of the Sundered.” His voice was low and furious. “You insult those of us who are not by behaving like a mortal fool; but anger me further in my domains, and I will see you destroyed.”

No one made move to interfere. Vellen gave Algrak one disdainful glance before turning to speak with his Swords.

“Stefanos, you are ever First among us,” Sargoth interjected.

“Algrak has spent too long in mortal lands, but even he must remember this now.”

“Perhaps, but perhaps not..” With casual ease, Stefanos murmured
a few words while Algrak clawed, almost effectively, at his hands. The First Servant’s eyes flashed silver again, and with an almost gentle push, he caved in Algrak’s throat. Algrak’s eyes widened in agony at the red claws in his flesh.

Stefanos looked down the hall, and the doors swung suddenly open, slamming into the stonework.

“High Priest, please have your men move to the side. ”

“At your command, lord. ” He nodded slightly, and the Swords moved toward either wall.

Stefanos looked down at Algrak. “Remember this if you are capable of it, Algrak. I have never suffered fools gladly. Repair the damage to your chosen form as you are able—but do not dare to replenish the power you spend from any who dwell within my halls.” He lifted Algrak over his head and threw him out of the opened doors. He made another gesture, and the doors slammed shut.

His expression was still smooth, but none there could mistake the red-fire that swirled in the lines of his face—they were all of the Dark Heart’s blood.

What surprised Vellen was that the Servant survived at all.

As if that surprise were spoken, Stefanos turned to stare at him.

“I believe your rooms will be ready if you care to retire.

“That would be greatly appreciated, lord.” Vellen smiled.

“But as high priest, there are duties that I must attend to. ”

“I understand.” Stefanos played smile for smile while the Servants watched with vague disinterest. “But surely your journey was somewhat tiring. These duties can wait until the morn. ”

Sargoth’s gaze swung to Stefanos and remained there as if riveted.

“Morning, Lord?” Vellen asked.

“Indeed. I have already arranged for breakfast. I believe if you join me on the terrace, we will have more time to consider our respective situations.”

“Perhaps you are correct. The journey here has been tiring. I believe, if you will have someone guide us to our rooms, we will be thankful for the opportunity to relax.” He smiled, but he was seething.
Algrak is a fool.

But Algrak had served the purpose of the First well; the demonstration was not lost upon the high priest. He bowed.

Stefanos nodded.

Neither relaxed; the time for that luxury would come soon enough.

“I will lead you to your rooms personally to assure myself that nothing is lacking.”

“We are honored. ”

Stefanos led them to the east wing. It was seldom used, but had been designed to impress visiting dignitaries of any importance ; it was easily the most magnificent portion of the castle.

Tapestries, depicting scenes of battle, lined the walls with their dark, rich colors and their legacy of death. Frescoes on the arched ceilings portrayed the fall of each of the Dark Heart’s true Enemies, many of whom the high priest could not identify.

At the end of the hall, Stefanos paused in front of a set of large double doors. He opened them and stood to one side.

“I hope you will find these suitable, High Priest. I was expecting your personal company to be larger; there are subsidiary rooms which will house the Swords.”

Vellen motioned to his men, and they entered, disappearing from view.

“I look forward to our meeting on the morrow, Lord.”

“And I.” He, too, bowed, and then walked away.

Lord Vellen watched him leave. He had developed a grim understanding of how such a Servant had built the Empire of Veriloth and ruled it for so many centuries. He did not understand why the First harbored the last of their ancient enemies—nor indeed how that event had come to pass. Nor was it clear to him how the well of the Enemy had been released. Not that it mattered now—he had met the Servant face to face and knew that whatever the reasons, there was still no weakness in him.

Not that Vellen’s success was in doubt, but he could appreciate now why the Dark Heart had called four of the Sundered to aid him; they would be necessary—it would be close.

Still,
he thought,
a pity.

 

The night held a faint breeze that fanned Stefanos’ hair gently.

He stared bitterly through a haze that human eyes could not see. The barrier.

“You still wander the night then.”

“And you, Sargoth,” he replied without turning.

Sargoth drifted over to Stefanos’ side. “Yes. though this is the first time in centuries that I have wandered for a reason other than hunger.”

“That hunger has been satisfied for the time?”

He felt, rather than saw, Sargoth nod. He did not look back; the sight of the barrier, translucent and red, still held him fast.

“It is powerful, is it not?” How like Sargoth, to avoid answering a question by asking another.

“Indeed. ”

There was a glint of teeth. “No, Stefanos. It is not mine. Had I the power, I doubt I would waste it so. The Sundered of the Enemy have long since passed, and they alone were worthy of such a display. ”

“You never cared much for our descendants.”

“Your
descendants.”

“And the Lemari?”

“Precocious mortals, deserving of some notice in the past, but then only the Line Elliath—the Lady’s children.”

“I see.”

They were silent, the darkness robed around them.

“Do you remember the first time we stood upon the body of the world? There were more of us then; we were stronger.”

“Are we weaker now, Sargoth?”

“Not all of us.”

Again, silence. Any other would have suffered for those words.

“Word reaches far.” Stefanos began to walk again, crushing the grass beneath his feet. Sargoth followed behind.

“Do you even remember what it is like, Stefanos?”

All Servants had perfect recall, should they choose to exercise it; Sargoth knew this well, but Stefanos chose not to rise to the comment. “I remember.”

“Ah.” The hiss of something, perhaps a sigh. “And yet you refrain. It is curious; I would have thought the only interest that humans could have would be in the dying—but in dying, they achieve some spark of glory. Nothing feels pain quite so clearly.”

“Sargoth—”

“You were First among the Sundered, First of the Servants, the strongest of our number. Tell me, have you become sundered anew?” He paused to place one cold hand upon Stefanos’ shoulder. Slowly, the First turned to face him.

Sargoth wore a veil of darkness around his form, one too thick for even Stefanos to penetrate without expending power. “I am curious.”

“As I have been about you in the past, before the mortals caught my interest.”

“If that was ever true, it was long before the Twin Hearts rose to shape our existence. May I?”

“I am hardly likely to waste the power necessary to stop you. I can ill afford it.”

Sargoth nodded, and a ring of red rose from the darkness, encircling them both. It flared once around Stefanos, a fiery aurora, and then faded into gray.

“You are changed, but I do not know how,” Sargoth said.

“Yes.”

“It is strange. I would like to meet the one that you shelter.”

“No.”

“Perhaps not yet, Stefanos. But the time will come, and shortly, by our standards. He waits.”

“I know it.”

“Have you spoken with Him?”

“No.”

Sargoth turned to face the barner. “It is costly, even for Him. The blood flowed freely on the altars of the priesthood for this; Algrak supervised it.” One dark limb passed thoughtfully through the perimeter. “Not even for the Lady of Elliath was such power used. And yet He uses it now. Do you not wonder why?”

“No.”

A low, broken hiss touched the air like a cloud. Sargoth was laughing.

“Changed indeed, Stefanos, if I believe your word. But I will tell you this—I am curious. I say again that I will meet your Sarillorn.”

Dryly, Darclan replied. “I do not think that meeting will give you much pleasure, Sargoth. I believe that was always your complaint about the Lernari; they died before you could consume them fully.”

“True. Yet if I recall correctly, Stefanos, it was yours as well. I did not work as hard as the rest of you to try to claim the reward of their death. And that is curious as well, for you wished to destroy one fully, but now that the means and time for this is at your disposal, you do nothing.”

Stefanos saw Sara then, briefly, as a glow in the heart of the night. Saw her smile touch his face and linger like kisses against his eyelids.

“Your curiosity was always your undoing, Sargoth.”

“Yes. But I at least have the courage to accept what will
unmake me.” He laughed again. “And you, you will not even ask Him why.”

“I leave that to those who care for the answer.”

“A pity. For I have asked Him often since I returned, and He will tell me nothing. I believe, if you asked, you would have the answer that I desire.”

“Then I will definitely not ask; I am aware of the difficulties that arise between Servants when one has what another desires.”

“And yet, if both have something that the other desires, there can be some sort of negotiation.”

“I was not aware that you have in your possession something that would serve me.” Stefanos chose his words with care.

“I do not have it yet, but I believe I shall. If that is the case, First among us, I shall make my offer then.”

Stefanos looked at Sargoth carefully.
You
were
always different, Second of the Sundered
. “Ah, Sargoth. Even when you come at Malthan’s bidding, you play your games.”

“But I still come at His bidding. You alone among us have ever refused—and even then, only once.” The hidden face turned away. “It appears that you have found a way to master the sunlight. If we meet again after this, perhaps you can teach me the same.” He began to drift backward.

“Answer one last question, Stefanos; the answer will not be of relevance to you, but I am—”

“Curious. Ask.”

“Has He not spoken of this affair to you?”

“No.”

“I see.”

He caught Gervin’s bow and looked in astonishment at Sara. Although she had become the best of his friends, he had never seen her in the slaves’ wing—and was certain that the lord would have forbidden it.

On the other hand, Gervin did nothing without the lord’s express command, and he stood at her side.

They were both tense, both silent.

After a moment, Darin realized that they meant to stand outside in the hall until he got out of the doorway, and he took a few steps back.

Sara entered first and came to a stop in the room’s center. Gervin followed and then closed the door gently behind them. “Your pardon, Darin,” Gervin said, his voice very quiet. “But we are to wait here for the hour.”

“Here? Why?”

“I’m sorry.” Gervin bowed his head. “But Lord Vellen of Damion has come.” He knew what the name meant to the boy, and was uncomfortable in even mentioning it.

Nor was he mistaken. Darin paled visibly. He reached for the staff of Culverne and drew it very tightly to his chest.

“I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?”

Gervin shook his head at the sudden fear in Darin’s voice. “It is not for you that he has come, I fear.”

Darin relaxed then; Gervin was not known for his ability to lie. But the words left a question hanging in the air. Darin felt guilty at the rush of relief he felt.

“Who?”

“Me, I think.” It was Lady Sara who answered. Her arms
were wrapped tightly around her shoulders. “Lord Vellen, of Damion.” She looked quietly at her feet. “The high priest.”

Gervin nodded.

“When?” she asked, as if to someone not present. “When did Derlac cease to lead the Karnari?”