Reckoning (The Empyrean Chronicle) (19 page)

While Elias flexed his shoulder in wonder Danica regained
her senses. She cast a look at the twisted, revolting corpse of the assassin
and promptly emptied the contents of her stomach. Elias gathered her hair to
keep the vomit from getting tangled in her black tresses. When her heaving
ceased he took her in his arm and began to walk her toward the door.

The assassin’s screams had stirred the occupants of the Inn,
and presently their party came crashing through the door with Bryn in the lead.
Under different circumstances, the sight of the shapely red-head crashing
through the door barefoot, in her sleeping clothes, and wielding a rapier in
one hand a long dagger in the other may have been a subject for jest. Lar,
close on her heels, barged through next, and lastly the flustered doctor.

Bryn blanched as she beheld the grotesque cadaver. “What in
the nine hells has happened?”

“Inside,” Elias said. The prudent doctor had already begun
to help him with the wan Danica.

Once inside a dram of whiskey did much to restore Dancia’s
color and she calmed visibly. “Now we’re even,” she said. “You’ve saved my life
once, and I’ve returned the favor. I suspect you’ll change your tune about
wanting to leave me behind.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Elias replied. “I did have that mug, and
it was mighty stout,” he said seriously. “I could have fended him off.”

“I can’t believe you two are making light about this,” Lar
said in a tremulous voice. “This is no laughing matter.” He stormed over to the
bar to procure more whiskey.

“It is our way,” Elias said soberly to his back.

By now the innkeeper had worked up his courage and poked his
head around the stairwell. His drawn features displayed concern and fear in
equal measures.

“I’ll take care of this,” Bryn said and approached the
innkeeper with spread hands and a beaming, if crooked, grin. Seeing the buxom,
half naked Bryn approach, did much to pacify the Innkeeper.

Elias waited until Phinneas escorted an uncharacteristically
compliant Danica to bed and returned before filling the party in with a hushed
voice. He briefly explained the circumstances of the ambush and Danica’s
fortuitous entrance. Quickly, so as not relive the memory too keenly, he
described the ill begotten fate the assassin suffered at the hands of Danica.

“How is such a thing possible?” Bryn asked. “Danica’s
training has only just begun. There is no way she could command the power to do
such a thing.”

Elias and Phinneas shared a look. “Not to mention that kind
of power,” Elias said.

“What are you two about?” Bryn asked as Lar looked on,
speechless, already well on his way to inebriation.

“It confirms a theory we had only hours ago discussed,” said
Phinneas. “It is my belief that under the hands of Slade, Danica endured a kind
of psychic torture.”

“In fact,” Elias said, “the good doctor believes that Slade
actually entered her mind with his dark powers.”

“Whether by accident or design,” Phinneas continued, “the
touch of his magic in some capacity warped and changed her own spark of the
arcane, twisting it.”

“I’ve never hear of such a thing,” said Bryn.

Phinneas struggled to keep his expression neutral. “We’re
largely in the realm of conjecture here. I’m no magus, trained in the knowledge
of the dark arts.”

“Then what in God’s name are we going to do?” whispered Lar.

“Don’t look so defeated, friends,” Phinneas said. “Danica is
the strongest willed young woman I know. Whatever is behind this affliction, we
will find a way to set it right.”

The doctor’s words did little to bolster the morale of the
others, but his efforts did not go unappreciated. The four sat in silence for a
time, each struggling to cope with this newest hurdle.

Elias broke the silence. “The body still has to be dealt
with,” he said.

“I suppose a late-night visit to the town undertaker is in
order,” Phinneas said. “I will deal with this. I am no stranger to the dead.”

Elias shook his head. “No one goes it alone this night. I
will accompany you. Lar and Bryn, you stay here and safeguard Danica. Assuming
all goes well we should try to get a few hours sleep. I want to be gone from
this place at first light. The last thing we need is a lot of questions or people
poking their noses around in the morning.”

Elias paused at the courtyard door. “Phinneas, do you know what
Senestrati means?”

“No,” said Phinneas.

Troubled, Elias opened the door, for Phinneas Crowe had lied
to him for the second time that week.

†

Sarad stirred from his slumber with a start as a
maelstrom of darkling energies swept through his bedchamber.

A confused specter keened before him. Threads of puce and
scarlet ectoplasm lashed from it in wild arcs.

“What is your name, spirit, and what business have you with
me?” With some surprise, Sarad felt his heart hammer against his ribcage.

White-cloak and brown-coat...twin stars of
destruction...you’ll burn too...

The specter cowered, panting like a feral beast, and then
scattered in an otherworldly wind.

Sarad cursed vehemently. Rafe, despite being warned, had
suffered Slade’s fate. Judging by the state of turmoil exhibited by his shade,
he had met a terrible end. This Marshal from the south, seemingly risen from
the ether, presented a more dire threat than anticipated.

He couldn’t imagine how the upstart could have come upon
knowledge of his order and its motives, but based on Slade and Rafe’s cryptic
warnings he had done just that. Perhaps the Galacians had been more vigilant
than he and his masters had surmised.

He had a sinking, gnawing intuition that this Marshal could
be the end of him. He would have to summon all of his available retainers. If
the Marshal proved as much a threat as his fallen comrades feared, he may have
to move against the throne sooner than anticipated.

Sarad threw off his bedclothes. There would be no more sleep
for him this night.

Lucerne Palace

The remainder of their journey to Peidra passed without
incident. The arid prairies of the deep south gave way to dense forests and
snaking brooks before opening up to rolling hills and then the fathomless
golden sea of wheat, Galacia’s breadbasket and most coveted resource.

Peidra rose high into the sky, a shimmering white city set
afire by the late-summer sun. The limestone capped palace and city walls shined
atop a behemoth, gnarled crag of black granite, which set a stark contrast to
the landscape, as if it were the remnants of some ancient, mountainous titan that
had fallen amidst the plains only to be covered up by eons of growth. Towering
Keeps sprouted from the outer walls at strategic locations and served both as
housing for the city guard, the Blackshields, as well as a means of lookout in all
directions across the plain, Bryn explained as they rode up the single, wide
avenue that led to the city gates.

Phinneas, who knew Peidra well, endured her tutelage with an
indulgent smile, while the others from Knoll Creek gaped in wonder at the
majestic sights, dazzled by architecture of a breadth and scale they had only
seen inadequately represented in illustrated books. Pleased by their reaction, Bryn’s
sapphire eyes sparkled. “Wait until you see Lucerne Palace,” she said.

Bryn took them on a circuitous route through the city and
pointed out sites of note such as Arcalum, the Keep that hosted the Summit
Arcana and housed students of the arcane, Market Square, where vendors peddled
both domestic and exotic wares, and the Theater District, where thespians stoked
the imagination with a variety of productions, many performed street-side. If
anyone minded the extra time in the saddle they didn’t speak up.

All the sights they had hitherto seen paled in comparison to
Lucerne Palace. Marble blended with limestone to give rise to sweeping towers, parapet
walks worked with elegant statuary, and a massive, gilded central dome. None,
even Bryn who spent the majority of her life within palace walls, were unmoved
in the presence of such majesty.

Lar marveled that even the stables dwarfed his humble
homestead. Bryn laughed, a clear, bright sound. “Wait until you see the great hall
and throne room, Master Fletcher,” she said.

The party saw to their horses and unburdened their mounts of
their possessions. Elias cast an appraising glance at the stableboy who tarried
nearby and then turned to his mount. “Don’t worry, Comet, you’re in good
hands.”

“That’s a strange name for a horse,” the ruddy-faced
adolescent observed.

Elias shrugged. “The night he was foaled a comet passed
overhead. It seemed like the thing to do.”

The boy nodded sagaciously, as if learned in the ways of
signs and portents. Elias found that he liked the thoughtful youth. “Well, sir,
I will see to it he is rubbed down by myself and fed a green apple,” the boy
said.

“A green apple?”

“Yes. A horse with a special name like that deserves a special
treat, don’t you think?”

Elias found himself chuckling despite the anxiety that had
his stomach wound in a knot since he woke that morning. “Well said, my young
friend. And you needn’t call me sir. My name is Elias.”

“All right, Elias,” the stable hand said with an
ear-splitting grin as he stuck out his hand. “I’m Seven. Seven Winters.”

“Seven Winters? Is that your name or how old you are?”

Seven Winters grinned sheepishly. “It is my given name. I am
my parents seventh child, and I s’pose they grew tired of coming up with names.
My Pa is well known as a famous joker in these parts.”

Elias laughed again and clapped Seven on the shoulder. The
boy’s saucer-shaped, brown eyes fell onto Elias’s sword. His lips pursed in
thought. “That is a strange sword. Are you a knight or something?”

“Something like that.”

Seven leaned closer and asked in a half-whisper, “Is it
magical? It looks like the fancy kind of thing that would be, you know.”

Elias eyed the peculiar Seven and wondered how he should
answer. He was loathe to lie to the boy, but, as his father often said, there
was difference between lying and full disclosure. “It belonged to my father,
who served the queen. Because it reminds me of him and bears his mark, one
could say it has a kind of magic.”

Seven nodded as if this was a good answer. “Your father must
have been a great man. One day I will be a knight too, and do great things.”

Elias met the boy’s eyes. “I believe you will. I must go
now, Seven, my friends are waiting on me.”

“Bye, Elias.”

Elias adjusted his baldric to rest comfortably on his left
hip and walked toward his companions. After a few steps he turned on a whim and
said, “I’ll come visit Comet soon, Seven. Perhaps we can go exercise him
together.”

“I’d like that, Elias!” Seven said, with ready enthusiasm.

As Elias walked away he could hear the boy whistling to
himself as he set about rubbing Comet down.

Danica arched an eyebrow when Elias caught up to them at the
edge of the stables. “Making new friends?”

“One could always do with more,” Elias replied.

Danica cast a pointed glance at Bryn. “He never could help
befriending the strangest of people, particularly strays. There was this
dullard named Onrick who had a fascination with fire. No one could stand the
half-wit, but Elias insisted poor Onrick was a redeemable lad, and always
invited him to parties even though we all cursed him for it.”

“Seven is not strange,” Elias said. “He happens to be a very
sharp young man.”

“Seven?” Danica replied. “His name is Seven?”

Elias sighed and waited for the outburst of laughter to
abate.

They followed a granite walkway toward the palace, passing
by the outer courtyard and a number of courtiers and palace staff going about
their business.

Elias allowed his eyes to wander over the grounds and
released a low whistle. He had always dreamt of walking such gallant environs
but had long ago dismissed the notion that he would ever see more of the world
than the few counties beyond Knoll Creek. The dream of his youth had come to
pass, but not in the least way like he had imagined it in his childhood
fantasies. The sting of his loss still burrowed its way inside him, though the
pain grew less acute with each passing day. He could now conjure up the faces of
Asa and his father in his mind’s-eye without his breath catching in his throat
and the cold cement of fury and despair dragging on his heart like a millstone.

The wild neighing of a horse and a string of vehement curses
drew Elias from his thoughts. He looked to the commotion and saw a man tumble
from the back of the largest horse he had ever seen. Elias, acting out of
instinct, sprang to the man’s aid. He grabbed the man under his arms and
dragged him out of the path of the rearing stallion.

Meanwhile Bryn spoke to the others from the side of her
mouth. “He’ll earn no thanks from that one. That’s Lord Geoffrey Oberon, and
the only thing he disdains more than advice or an offer of help are those
beneath his station—which is practically everyone.” She pointed to an over-fed,
pock-marked youth cowering on the far side of the horse. “That one over there
is his attendant—some distant cousin—I believe his name is Ronald.”

Elias helped the slight man to his feet and clapped him on
the shoulder. Oberon stiffened under the familiar gesture and his pale eyes
narrowed to slits. “Easy there, fella,” Elias said. “Are you injured?”

“I am fine, thank-you very much,” Oberon said tightly.

“No doubt the only thing injured is his pride,” Bryn said
mildly.

“
Lady
Bryn of House Denar,” said Oberon, speaking her
title as if it tasted bitter in his mouth.

Oberon’s attendant rushed to his Lord’s side and offered him
a handkerchief. “You would do well to unhand Lord Oberon at once, sir.”

Elias pulled his hand from Oberon’s shoulder and raised his
eyebrows at the youth whose attempts to appear refined, despite his flushed
face and the beads of sweat pouring down his face, were laughable. “A thousand
pardons, young master,” Elias said sketching a mock bow. “I shall be cognizant
in the future not to interfere in the affairs of equestrians and persons of
stature, whose station is above mine own humble origins.”

Elias’s wry comment took Bryn—and Oberon’s lackey—aback and
she found herself failing to suppressing a grin. The distiller may be a man of
few words, but his father had educated him well.

Due to Elias’s practiced deadpan, Oberon’s attendant found
himself unsure how to take the distiller’s comment. He settled for saying,
“Very well then.”

“Shut-up Ronald, and go fetch my crossbow,” Oberon said as
he smoothed back his oiled hair and adjusted his ornate, royal-blue riding
jacket. “My Lady, have you brought some distant kin to enjoy the hospitality of
the queen’s banquet?”

“Not hardly. Lord Oberon, meet Marshal Duana.” Elias cringed
inwardly at Bryn’s brazen introduction, but also enjoyed no small measure of
satisfaction at the astonished expression that stole over Oberon’s features.

“Marshal? Whatever are you talking about, my Lady? The
Marshal order is a relic from before the Quarter Century War. Their traditions,
enchanted baubles, and incantations are outdated—myths meant to strike fear
into enemies and promote obedience in the masses. We have entered an age of
reason where such tactics are no longer necessary.”

Bryn made a show of examining and buffing her nails. She
looked at Oberon lazily from beneath her long eyelashes. “Are you done?”

“Quite,” said Oberon, whose ears had reddened.

“Very well,” said Bryn who then proceeded to introduce the
rest of the party. Phinneas inclined his head nobly, and Lar followed suit. Danica,
however, winked.

Elias looked to the horse. The prodigious beast had not
bolted, but stood nearby and watched them with indifference. At first he had
thought the horse’s coat black, but upon closer inspection saw that it was a
rich clay-red, so deep in tone that only direct exposure to the sun dispelled
the illusion.

Elias turned back to Oberon. “Why did you send your man to
fetch your crossbow?” he asked, though he already knew the answer.

“So that I may put this beast out of his misery. Some
creatures, no matter how hard you try to civilize them, cannot be broken. This
one is a lost cause. He will have to be put down.”

Elias drew himself up. “I can break this steed,” he said.

“I think not,” Oberon replied with a derisive snort. “My
family is descended from a long line of masters of animal husbandry. This beast
was bred from the finest stock designed to produce a stallion of uncommon size
and strength. An unfortunate byproduct was an equally sized temper. If I can’t
break this beast none can.”

Ronald returned with Oberon’s crossbow, which he passed to
his master. Elias stepped between Oberon and the horse. “I can break this
stallion.”

“Step aside Duana. This is none of your concern. I own this
horse and I will deal with him as I wish.”

“Then I will purchase this mount.”

Oberon cocked his head and regarded Elias with a bemused
expression. “Very well.” He named an absurd figure several times the horse’s
worth. “What is it, Duana? Marshaling doesn’t pay as well as it used to?”

Elias fixed his black eyes on the smirking nobleman. His
purse could ill afford such an expenditure, but he couldn’t allow the
self-important Oberon to murder an innocent animal. Still, he had little
recourse.

“I will pay this price,” Bryn said.

Both men turned to her as one. “Oh?” Oberon managed, while
Elias broke into an irrepressible grin.

“You will have your coin tonight,” she said.

Oberon opened his mouth, at a loss for words. He hadn’t
expected Duana to actually pay the named price, but he didn’t figure on the
capricious Bryn. “So be it,” he said at last. “However, don’t expect me to help
you get the foul tempered beast into the stables. I’ve suffered enough at its
whim.”

Elias approached the horse with careful, measured steps. He
opened his hands and held them up. Padraic Duana had taught him that most
people saw animals as stupid, feelingless beasts, and that was a grave mistake
in handling them. All creatures could sense intent to some degree and wished to
be treated with respect. The stallion snorted and reared its head, but didn’t
make to bolt.

“Whoa,” Elias said gently and reached not for the reins but
the horse’s nose. At first the steed pulled away and fixed him with a baleful
eye. Elias persisted in exaggeratedly slow movements and held his hand out for
the horse to sniff. He began to hum low in his throat, as he had seen his
father do time and again. The horse’s ears twitched and lowered against his
head. “
Orush en bach inwaria,
” he sang under his breath.

The horse nickered gently and suffered Elias to stroke his muzzle
and then his thick, sinewy neck. Elias continued to half-sing, half-chant, and
lay his head against his new steed’s neck. He breathed in the musky scent of
horseflesh, and the horse breathed in his, becoming familiar with his new companion.

Trying to exude an aura of confidence and ease, Elias put a
foot into the stirrup. He waited a moment to gauge the horse’s reaction. The
stallion turned its head and fixed an eye on him, its head tilted quizzically,
as if to say, well on with it then! Elias needed no more encouragement and
mounted the horse. It looked like he’d be seeing Seven sooner than expected. He
leaned in and whispered in the stallion’s ear. “I will call you Brand, for you
are like a smoldering brand of redwood. Now, let’s show them what you can do.” He
prodded Brand with his knees and cried, “HA!”

With a tremendous adrenal burst, Brand erupted into a dead
gallop as if possessed of the strength and vitality of ten steeds. Elias felt
his stomach plummet and the sudden upstart of wind almost unseated him. He
clenched his thighs along the saddle and lowered his head and shoulders. “HA!”
he cried again and the world blurred about him.