The Guild of Assassins (27 page)

Kyth was amazed at how quickly and ruthlessly the Majat dealt with their defeated enemies, searching out and killing all survivors and making quick arrangements to dispose of the bodies, which were piled into carts and taken away Shal Addim knew where. In less than two hours the courtyard was empty again, its blood-stained cobbles gleaming with rusty red in the afternoon sun. In all the centuries of the Monastery’s existence it had probably never seen such a blood bath. Hopefully, it never would again. Watching the way the Majat operated, Kyth could finally fully understand how this formidable force was the one that truly commanded the kingdoms that had emerged out of the ruins of the Old Empire. No one else he had ever seen could possibly lead such a quick and efficient strike that finished the job once and for all.

It was nearly as impressive to see the way the Majat dealt with their own wounded and dead. While the disposal of enemy bodies was still underway, Mai personally led a small group that approached every man, examining their injuries, saluting the dead. Despite everything, Kyth had to admit feeling nothing but admiration at the way Mai genuinely cared for his men as he mourned his fallen comrades and gave aid to the survivors before arranging for their transportation back to Mistress Yba’s inn. Mai personally set Lance’s dislocated shoulder, bandaging his wound with the help of Egey Bashi. Watching Lance, weak with pain, barely able to sit up against the wall, Kyth wondered for how long he had been fighting after the orben hit him and how he was able to sustain the attack despite the injury.

The losses on the attackers’ side were fewer than Kyth had feared. Only six of the Majat were dead, with thirty or so wounded, their injuries ranging from light to severe. No one had an injury nearly as grave as Kara’s had been, leaving hope that everyone would recover, and soon.

After arrangements were made for the dead and wounded to be sent under escort back to the inn, half of the Majat attack force stayed behind to survey the Monastery grounds. Kyth used the time while Mai was occupied with dispatching orders to stride over to Kara’s side.

She looked dazed and appeared startled when she saw Kyth.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

A tense cord in her neck slowly relaxed, as if it had taken her a moment to recognize him. He hadn’t seen her so shaken in a long time.

“Yes,” she said. “You?”

Kyth shrugged. “I’m fine. I just feel I could have done better.”

She reached forward and patted his arm. “You did fine.”

Kyth shook his head. “If I had done everything right from the start, we would have had fewer casualties. Lance wouldn’t have been hit.”

Kara held his gaze. “In our training, we are taught never to give in to self-doubt or relive other possible scenarios. Battles don’t always go as planned. The only thing each of us can do is our best. You did yours, and admirably. Without you we would likely all be dead, no matter how well everyone could fight. You made this victory possible – that’s the most important thing.”

Kyth let out a sigh. How could she always make him feel so good with so few words?

“They were trying to pull you into their vortex, weren’t they?” he asked.

Her face darkened. “They nearly succeeded too. Mai came in the nick of time.”

Kyth nodded, his eyes trailing to Mai giving orders at the other side of the courtyard. He saw what Mai had done to save Kara, and what would have likely happened if he hadn’t mounted an inhuman effort to break through his attackers’ line and reach her side. Despite everything he felt toward Mai, his gratitude to the man couldn’t possibly be expressed in words.

Was it enough to step aside and give Kara up to him?

It isn’t my choice
, he reminded himself.
Not Mai’s choice either. It’s Kara’s.
He realized with sudden clarity that whatever choice she made, he would trust it to be the right one for her. Mai was a worthy rival; he saw that now. If Kara chose him over Kyth, it would be shattering, but he would be able to accept it and wish her happiness from the bottom of his heart.

He turned back to her, his face relaxing into a smile at the sight of her beauty and radiance. She had been through a lot, too much for a nineteen year-old. She deserved to be happy, whatever path she chose for herself.

“I am so glad you’re fine,” he said.

She smiled. “So am I.”

They turned and walked toward Mai side by side, just as the first of the scouts he had sent out started trickling back into the courtyard, herding groups of disheveled priests.

Kyth gaped as he watched the Majat lining the holy men along the far wall and ushering them to pull off their robes, leaving them wearing only flat shoes and crude sleeveless undershirts that draped to mid-thigh like flaxen sacks.

Kyth had never seen a priest without a robe before. The sight was terrifying in its misery. Removal of their garments of authority reduced the spiritual leaders of the kingdom to a huddled group of shivering men, eyeing the Majat in terrified fascination as if beholding devils themselves. They looked so ordinary, perhaps more pale and drawn, twitching from the sunlight, covering their tonsured heads with their hands.

“
What
is going on?” Kyth asked.

“Aghat Mai wants to make sure none of them are branded with the Kadan sign,” Egey Bashi said, coming up to Kyth’s side.

“By
stripping
them?”

The Keeper shrugged. “The Majat have their ways. Can’t say I blame them, either. While this is a bit heavy-handed, you have to admit it’s efficient.”

“I suppose,” Kyth said slowly, watching more men ushered forward into the line. Some wore iron shackles, dragging their feet on the cobbles. A few needed to be half carried. Kyth guessed they must have been taken out of the Monastery dungeons. He shivered. He had heard a lot about the inquisition, but had never before had the chance to see the fruits of its labors.

The large courtyard was filling up. By Kyth’s estimate the Majat scouts had brought out nearly four hundred men.

Mai strode up to them, talking to a group in his wake.

“Is this everyone?” he asked.

“Nearly everyone, Aghat Mai,” said a man walking on his right, wearing a sapphire-set armband. “My men are still breaking down some of the doors at the back of the compound.”

Mai nodded. “Keep looking, Keilar Bart. We can’t afford to miss anyone.”

Kyth ran his eyes along the rows, suddenly realising who was missing.

“Mai,” he called out.

The Diamond paused abruptly and glanced up at him, his expression making Kyth suppress the urge to scramble out of the way. Mai’s commander’s face – the one he wore when he sent people to their deaths – could be terrifying to behold. Kyth stood his ground, reminding himself that he was a crown prince and a man in his own right, even if just now he had spoken more casually than was proper when addressing a Majat Guildmaster.

“Father Bartholomeos,” he said. “He’s not here, but he should be. The letter my father received from the Kaddim said he was in the dungeons.”

Mai glanced at the Sapphire at his heels.

“We searched through the entire dungeons, Aghat Mai,” the man said nervously. He pointed to the group in shackles, some standing, some sitting and lying on the cobbles of the courtyard.

“Perhaps,” Mai said, “the Kaddim took him with them?”

“No,” Kyth said slowly. “I think I know where he is.”

Kyth shivered as he led the Majat through the passages underneath the Monastery compound. Last time he was here, a prisoner of the late Reverend Haghos, he had been locked up, waiting for his execution in the most secure prison cell the Monastery could boast. The Circular Chamber.

The same chamber had served as a prison for the renegade priest who had rescued Kyth at birth to secure the Dorn dynasty’s right to rule. Father Bartholomeos, a Dorn house priest back then, had spent seventeen years locked in that chamber, paying for his role in the plot. And now, Kyth had a feeling he was there again. Where else would Haghos, who knew exactly how the man felt about the place, put his rival for the position of head of the Church?

His heart raced as he counted the turns of the endless passages, hoping he remembered it right. Last time, he had been here with Alder and Ellah, but Alder, walking by his side now, didn’t seem to remember much. Kyth had to rely only on his own memory.

He felt utterly lost and was considering a retreat back to the surface where they could probably find a priest to help them – assuming anyone would cooperate after the treatment they had received – when he felt a familiar draft from the side hallway, a waft of scent bringing a memory that made his hair stand on end.

Torch smoke.

“Here,” he said, pointing at the wall.

The Sapphires in his wake looked surprised but said nothing as they stepped forward, feeling around the blind wall ahead. Kyth focused, trying to remember
that
time, when he was here on Reverend Haghos’s orders.

Two priests, setting their torches into the sconces, running their fingers along the left side of the wall…

“Put your torches into these sconces,” he heard himself say, marveling at the way the Majat obeyed him without delay. He stepped forward, running his fingers along the wall beside the left torch, trying to recall the way he had seen the priests do it back then.

A barely perceptible click echoed even before he felt a hidden spring yield to his touch, forcing a section of the wall to slide aside, revealing the chamber inside.

In the flickering torchlight, he watched familiar sights float into his vision even as they floated up in his memory in nauseating detail. The smoothly hewn walls that had a way to absorb sound, hitting on the ears with a ringing stillness. A pile of hay in the corner, serving as a bed and a shelter. The bald man with bushy eyebrows and pale shiny eyes, rising to meet them…

“Father Bartholomeos!” he exclaimed.

“Prince Kythar,” the old priest said. “It’s about time.”

Kyth was glad that Father Bartholomeos seemed to be well enough to walk back to the courtyard on his own, even if slower than the speed picked up by his rescuers on the way down. The old priest winced as he emerged into the sunlight, and another time when he saw the rows of half-naked Monastery inhabitants lined outside. As he approached Mai and his group, he wordlessly rolled up the left sleeve of his robe.

“Aghat Mai,” he said. “I hope you can personally ascertain I have no brand mark – unless, of course, you want me to disrobe anyway.”

Mai looked upon the priest’s shoulder before nodding.

“Thank you, Father Bartholomeos,” he said. “Disrobing won’t be necessary. I’m glad you are all right.”

The old priest ran his eyes around the courtyard again.

“Quite a havoc, Aghat Mai. Prince Kythar appraised me on the details as we walked. I daresay the Majat will be remembered within these walls for generations to come.”

“I hope so.” Mai’s face was almost serious as he said it, but Kyth noted amusement in his quick glance. “If you’re well enough, Holy Father, perhaps you can go over the Monastery plans with Keilar Bart,” he indicated the Sapphire by his side, “and make sure we missed nothing when looking for leftover Kaddim warriors.”

Bartholomeos nodded. “Of course, Aghat Mai, anything I can do to help.” His eyes reflected the same amusement, as if he and Mai were sharing a private joke. Kyth couldn’t help admiring the old priest, who had endured imprisonment in this Monastery for decades and had just been sealed into his old dungeon for weeks, but was still able to maintain his sense of humor and presence of mind.

Egey Bashi cleared his throat.

“Perhaps, Aghat Mai,” he said, “before taking any further steps we could first ensure that Father Bartholomeos indeed has proper authority within these walls? Last time I was with the King, he had received quite a rude letter from the Conclave, suggesting that the Holy Father’s appointment may not be as legitimate as we all believed. Signed by the Kaddim – or so I hope.”

Mai nodded and raised his head, narrowing his eyes as he ran them over the cowering rows of priests.

“Any members of the Conclave here?” he asked, putting extra force into his voice to make it carry easily through the large space.

A few hesitant nods followed.

“Everyone on the Conclave, step forward,” Mai commanded. “You may put on your robes. The rest – as you were.”

Kyth was amazed how military discipline seemed to work so well without any prior training for the holy servants of Shal Addim. In moments, a line of black-robed shapes formed in front of the half-naked throng.

“Keep your hoods off.”

The priests hastily obeyed as Mai ran his eyes over them.

“Eight,” he said. “Aren’t there supposed to be twelve?”

Egey Bashi spread his hands. “I guess the rest were Kaddim Brothers.”

Mai nodded and turned to Bartholomeos.

“You may elect four more, Holy Father.”

Kyth sighed. There it was. Just like that. The holiest posts in the Church, elected under sword point on a military platz. One had to be a Majat to imagine such things could work – and to have an extra dose of glamor, like Mai, to ensure they actually did.

It took only minutes of huddled conversation between Bartholomeos and the robed Conclave members to point out four more priests, who were then led forward, hastily pulling on their garments.

“Good,” Mai said, watching the assembled priests pull up into a straight line under his gaze, as if lining up for a parade. “And now, Holy Fathers, I would like you to vote for electing Father Bartholomeos as the Holy Reverend of the Church. All in favor, raise your hands.”

Twelve hands shakily rose up. Mai held a pause, running his eyes along the entranced faces.

“Capital,” he said. “Elected by unanimous vote. I will make sure to inform King Evan how enthusiastic the Conclave was in supporting His Majesty’s choice. Congratulations, Reverend Bartholomeos.” He actually bowed to the priest this time, making Kyth stare. Did Mai still remember how to bend his back to anyone?

Kyth let out a sigh. This was likely the shortest and the most unanimous meeting in the history of the Holy Conclave – and definitely the only one conducted in such a public setting. Mai was probably the only person in history who could actually pull this off.

“Now,” Mai said, turning to the rest of the ranks. “As soon as the Holy Fathers here ensure that my men haven’t missed anyone on the grounds, you may all put your robes back on and resume your duties.” He turned to Bartholomeos. “I can leave a small force behind to assist you, Holy Father.”

Bartholomeos smiled. “Thank you, Aghat Mai. I appreciate the thought, but, as long as no Kaddim are here, I’d prefer to do things my way. We priests don’t feel comfortable around weapons.”

Mai nodded. “Just let us know if you need anything, Holy Father. We will remain in Aknabar for a few days to tend to the wounded before continuing on to Tandar to meet with the King.”

“After I settle things here,” Bartholomeos said, “I might join you on your trip, Aghat Mai. With your permission, of course. I understand from Prince Kythar that your victory on these grounds still leaves open questions on whether our enemies might recover enough to come back in force one day. I’ve heard a thing or two during my imprisonment that might come in handy when you and the King discuss further steps – as I assume you will.”

“Definitely,” Mai said. “And, thank you. We’ll welcome your company and appreciate any information you can give.”