The Vitalis Chronicles: Steps of Krakador (3 page)

But there was trouble brewing close to home.
Very close to home,
she thought as her temper flared. “I am Rain Renault.” She spoke evenly to him, quietly so as to keep from making a scene. “Presently the Warden of the East, and I have very important business to attend to with my brother.”

“
You?” He chuckled as he shifted his grip on his halberd. “I hear that one almost daily, miss. But I don't go lettin' the pretty ones off so easy just 'cause they're pretty. It'd soil my reputation, bein' such a grand gatekeeper as I am.”

Rain's teeth were bared as she leaned down to hiss at him. “Let me go right now, before you personally put the entire nation at risk.”

The gatekeeper waved the words away, but his snide dismissal was cut short as one of his comrades found her family's brooch in her saddlebag. The silver wolf running under a string of emeralds was better known than her face, apparently. The guard dropped her reigns with a laugh. “Well you certainly don't look like much of a princess,” he shrugged. “I'm sure the good king will be glad to see you. Let her pass.”

Rain ignored the levity in his voice. It was his job, she knew, but he had cost her more time than she was comfortable losing.
She had been foolish to waste as much as she already had. She kicked her horse away from the guards, knocking one of them over in the process. She ignored their shouts, urgency deafening her to distraction.

She trotted down the main road towards the center of the sprawling city. Three towers rose from within the walls to match the four that ringed the city. The walls themselves only made a half-circle around Islenda, joining seamlessly with the mountains that stood to her back. The city was somehow even larger than she remembered. Her brother could be anywhere right now, but he would most likely be in the citadel at the base of the cliffs. Their ancestors had maintained their seat there for generations, and it was where he would likely be dispensing justice or holding counsel. If he was well enough to do either.

The thought of her brother's health was interrupted as her horse reared. Surprised, she barely held on as a cart came thundering down one of the side streets to crash in front of them. Beads, lamps, and a colorful assortment of cloth exploded as the cart rammed the side of a building. A pudgy man with olive skin and jet black hair came blustering into the textile carnage. His braided mustache and goatee dripped with sweat and were only overshadowed by the billowing bright orange in which he was wrapped. Even his hat seemed to be made from layers of twisting yellow cloth. He looked clumsily uncomfortable.

“
I sorry.” The common tongue fell broken from his lips. “I so sorry. Bad 'orse!” He looked back up the road from where he had come, yelling at what seemed to be an imaginary horse. “Berry bad 'orse!”

Rain worked her way around him as he bent over to begin collecting his wares, muttering something in his own language. It was then that she saw more men like him at the entrance to the main market. They were yelling at each other, arguing over the price of something superfluous she was certain. Southron islanders, come to hawk their wares in the capitol like they had for so many decades. It was strangely comforting to see them bartering and threatening each other as they always had. If trade with the south had continued, perhaps things couldn't be as bad as she knew they were.

A covered litter carried by four masked men meandered past. They were headed towards the gate with the wife or concubine of some wealthy merchant here to trade. She was beautiful, covered in silks of purple and blue. Her face was hidden behind a veil of tiny golden leaves, but so much more of her body showed than any Islendan lady would ever dare. How they managed to justify carting things like mobile beds all the way through the Dragon's Teeth for a mere week of trading was beyond Rain. The Islanders had a flare for life that she found remarkably wasteful, yet she couldn't help but envy their lavish lifestyle all the same.

She rounded one of the bends in the long street as it emptied into another square. The Temple sat on her right, imposing in its broad stature. It took up an entire side of the open square. The higher parts of the structure were made as much from glass and crystal as from stone. Four towers rose from the corners, hemming in a massive dome that sparkled brilliantly and was topped by another smaller dome surrounded by smaller spires. Crystal walkways spanned the gaps between the towers, domes, and spires, creating a glistening spider's web over the Temple. It had been years since she had walked along them herself, soaring above the city as if flying.

A group of mounted men sat on their horses just beyond the outer gate. They flew a running wolf of silver on a green field. Her family's standard. Of course her brother would be at his prayers, ever the pious member of the family. She turned her horse towards the soaring temple, navigating the vendors and crowds as best she could. There were always dozens of merchants attempting to sell religious wares and food to the pilgrims that mulled about the square, invariably at an exorbitantly inflated rate.

She reined in, scanning the faces of the bodyguard until she found one she knew. “Starl!” She smiled. “It's been a long time.”

“
Well now I'm seeing things.” The young man laughed. He removed his plumed helm and pressed two fingers to his forehead in royal salute. The rest of the men followed suit. “Rain Renault, alive and well and wearing a ranger's rags. We're glad to see you, Highness.”

Five guards were there, dressed in their polished plate mail, the green leather of her house showing through in the joints and under their arms. Their long green capes hung over the haunches of their gilded horses.

“
Where is my brother? I need to speak with him.”

“
He's at his prayers, highness.” They gestured to the three empty horses next to them. Rendin's horse stood among them, naked compared to her armored companions save for the ornate saddle on her back. “Bland old Blassen is in there with him along with one of the new members; Tasten's his name.”

Rain dismounted, handing her reins to her brother's bodyguard. She wondered why her brother wasn't traveling with ten, a number the guard traditionally held as complete. She figured it didn't matter. She couldn't help but smile to see them in their greens. It was the most comforting thing she had seen in months. “Blassen hasn't started praying now, has he?”

“
I'm sure he pretends to whenever your brother looks his way.” Starl grinned in response. “I think it takes something of a heart behind a prayer in order for it to be heard, however, highness.”

“
Even our Blassen the Bland must have some semblance of a heart deep within him somewhere, Starl. Whether or not he knows it, let alone would ever admit such folly.”

She walked up the broad flight of steps that led to the thick wall surrounding the Temple. Its gate stood open, the hinges having never held doors in their long existence. Worship was open to all in the Temple. The Creator, it was said, closed His doors to no one seeking His face.

She crossed the open courtyard, feeling somewhat under-dressed as she passed groups of worshipers, clad in their finest whites. She tried to pay their glances no mind as she reached a longer set of deep steps leading up to the Temple itself. The base of the building was practically a simple low box. The carved foundation and soaring crystal, developed by subsequent generations, were where the more intricate architecture had been realized. The four walls of the ancient structure were simple, but engraved into them was the most intricate visual representation of the history of the world that had ever been made.

The Titans remained to the left of the main doors, just past the formation of the world. She knew their story well. As a child she had wandered around the Temple in its outer courtyard for hours, taking in the carvings and napping in the sun. At least, when the priests let her sleep for long. The tapestry woven in stone spoke of the Titans' rise in their care of the world, and of their fall in murder and war. The separation of the one continent into many was her favorite. She loved the intricate coastlines and mountain ranges that spread across the wall. Their Greater Being was represented, leading the people to peace, but in the next section he was corrupting and dividing mankind. Soon two stories unfolded. The East was steadily subdued, their people enslaved, monsters arising from their midst, as the West united under one king to stand and fight.

Her ancestors were carved into this storyline, merging the kingdoms and principalities into one by treaties, war, or coercion. To the right of the doors, at the end of the story, her father stood at the head of a united people, facing what they now called the Greater Demon. The Relequim. The war looked lost until the shining Magi were shown at the battle of Albentine, pressing the enemy's forces and crushing them in defeat. The final images showed three winged warriors subduing the Relequim with the aid of the Magi and entombing him in the nameless mountain, the floating peak just north of Islenda, where the boy who represented all her hopes and dreams now sought to prevent the Relequim's escape.

The stories all came and went in a flash, as familiar as her own. There was no time for reflecting on them now. She shuddered as she finished climbing the steps, her eyes locked on the carving of the Tomb of the Relequim, the Cathedral jutting out as if to catch the far side of the bridge that ran to it before it fell. She didn't know if Ardin would be successful in his task or what his failure might mean for her people, but her brother needed to know the dangers that approached.

As Rain entered the alcove that led to the covered inner courtyard, she found herself in the midst of a large group of priests and their attendants. In their billowing crimson robes and tall pointed hats, the priests looked like drops of blood eternally falling to the ground and never to reaching their mark. She smiled to see them, too. Her father had always called them the jesters of the spiritual world, but she found comfort in their ritual as a girl and respected the discipline their choice of lives required as a woman.

The light from the door and the torches around the interior of the courtyard hardly served to illuminate the area. It took her eyes a moment to adjust. As she neared the gate to the Temple proper, she was stopped by two shuffling blood droplets. “I'm sorry miss,” said the one on the left. His bulbous nose bobbed as toothless gums worked to form words without spitting. “No one is permitted within until the King has left the Temple.”

She knew this to be the truth. Ever since an assassin posing as a candle bearer had attempted to murder their grandfather, no one was permitted inside the Temple during the King's prayers save the Preator and two of the King's bodyguard. She also knew that, as kindly and unassuming as these priests were, they were probably carrying blades of their own to watch the gates.

“
I am aware.” She forced herself to stop, nerves clattering against her bones as she felt time slipping away. “I am his sister.” She produced the brooch from her pocket this time, hoping it would be enough to let her through. “I have to speak with him.”

“
You may speak with him when his prayers are completed, my child.” The priest placed his hand on her arm in an attempt to guide her to a nearby bench. His touch was gentle but firm.

“
You don't understand.” She tried to twist away but found his grip a vice. Desperation crept in at the edges of her tone. “I must see him, now!”

“
Let her through.” The nonchalant command carried out of the pillared shadows. “She is his sister, after all. I doubt he would like to hear of having her detained.”

“
Yes, Preator.” The priests backed away hesitantly at first, then vanished into the shadows. A tall man in white approached her from the doors to the Temple.

Preator Motra Gildess had hardly aged a day since she had last seen him, though he hadn't gotten any younger either. His bearing was regal, as befitted the Preator of the Temple, and his long white robes were almost a simple sheet in comparison to the garments of those who surrounded him. The garb of the High Priest was to be simple, pure, and humble during his two years of service. This was Motra Gildess' third term as the Preator in Rain's lifetime, and he was by far her favorite.

“
I must see–”

“
Your brother, I know.” He smiled, the creases in his leathery face deepening with the expression. “He sent me to collect you.” He folded his hands inside his robes as he turned to lead her to the thick oaken doors.

“
He sent you? How did he know I would be here?”

“
Your brother has been suffering... visions,” the Preator spoke in a conspiratorial hush. “His illness brought on what many spoke of as hallucinations, which I fear is what he was indeed seeing at first, but they have transformed into something far more unsettling for him.”

“
Which is what?” She asked as he pushed the massive door open to let her pass.

“
The truth.” He stood there, waiting for her to enter the grand space beyond before he swung the door closed behind her. The Temple itself was awe-inspiring when the large panes of glass in the high dome above were left unobstructed. But now the tall pillars of granite and ornate altars around the edges were shrouded in darkness. Rendin had always preferred to pray in the dark. It provided fewer distractions, he said. A few torches were lit and left standing along the downward path that led towards the center of the Temple. Seeing no more likely direction to take, she followed their glow.