"Over_9780307446138_oeb_c33_r1" - читать интересную книгу автора (Jeffrey Overstreet - Cynderes Midnight)
33
RYLLION’S FAITH
Bauris tracked the spatter of blood left behind by the escaping beastman.
He ran, knowing the creature could run faster. He ran with the nervous excitement of a dog that has snapped its leash to attack a trespasser.
He ran with an urgency he had not known since his youth.
In his hand he held the gory arrow he had pulled from the carcass of another beastman. It was more difficult to remove than he’d expected, as if the beastman wanted to refuse him a trophy. He would clean it. Hang it on the wall. Name it, perhaps. “Vengeance,” he said. “I’ll call you Vengeance.”
Bauris laughed, for his admirers would assume they understood the name; after all, this arrow slew the beastman who had murdered Tilianpurth’s prison guards. Bauris would smile and nod, knowing that it meant a different kind of revenge—a strike against those who had taunted him for so many years.
Bauris was no longer “the baby-sitter” who had guarded young Cyndere, who had grown old watching ivy climb the walls of an empty towerhouse. Now he was a hero. He had defended the bastion, fired a true shot, and avenged the prison guards. Word would spread. He was part of a story at last. Bauris, the watcher of Tilianpurth. Single-handedly, he’d faced two beastmen, killed one, and driven the other from the woods.
One beastman would be enough. Enough for today, anyway. Soon he would be relieved of his tedious duty at Tilianpurth and given a more prominent station. He would ride the wide patrols, respected as a soldier.
His sons. Bauris paused, leaning against a violet tree. His sons would hear about this even before he was back in Bel Amica. They would be proud of him. He had left his beastmen prize in the melting snow. A shame, really. Predators would move in tonight. Perhaps he should pry out the teeth of his victim and send them to his sons as trophies.
But there was still a threat left in these woods. And Bauris wanted to erase it.
He broke out of the trees, and his gaze found the moon. “You were on my side today, weren’t you?” He stepped into the steep whitegrass, then sank low when he spied two figures at the top of the slope.
He watched them for a long time, his exhilaration evaporating.
He looked at the arrow in his hand, and a chill climbed his spine. He did not understand it, but something had changed. He had seen Cyndere beside the well, comforting a fallen beastman. And now this.
Bauris backed away and moved into the wood, aimless at first, until he came within sight of the glen and remembered the heiress. But when he reached the glen, Cyndere and Jordam were gone. The cloudgrasper’s fire had gone out. Ashes lay in a dark circle around the tree, which now gleamed, its new green skin exposed to the air.
Ryllion was there, crouching over the bloodied ground in rapt attention, reading the grisly display. Bauris was startled to see him. He had watched Ryllion ride out with one of the search parties.
Bauris cleared his throat and hid the arrow behind his back. “Officer, I have news.”
Ryllion rose awkwardly to his feet, as if caught in some indiscretion. His face was a fright, for a purple mask surrounded his eyes, scarring from his bout with the venomous beastman on the tower. He seemed taller, and his yellow hair was streaked with black. “Bauris, you are not at your post.”
“No, Ryllion. It’s been an eventful day. Sit down. Some of what I’ll tell you will be hard to—”
“I will stand. Why are you here?”
Bauris brought out the arrow, trying to suppress a smile. “Sisterly Emeriene saw smoke rising from this area. She knew what it meant. It’s Cyndere, sir. She’s returned. Sure enough, it was true. She’s burnt a Memorial Tree in honor of Deuneroi. I found her here.”
Ryllion started. “The heiress? She’s come back?”
“Now you have something in common with her. Back home, plans had already been set in motion for her funeral. They’d given her up as lost. And lo, here she comes back to Tilianpurth. Just like you.”
“Just like me.”
Bauris glanced into the trees. “She should be back in the towerhouse by now. Unless…” He suddenly wished he had not spoken. He had been foolish in his zeal to hunt the beastmen. He had left her behind with a wounded Cent Regus savage. Now they both were gone.
“What else, Bauris? What else did you see?”
Bauris told his story.
He described how he had rushed to the glen seeking the heiress but found two enormous beastmen fighting there instead. He had lifted an arrow to the bow, only to see the larger beastman thrash the other to the edge of death. The battered beastman seemed to be trying to protect the well. Bauris had come to his feet to take aim, but the fiercer monster suddenly staggered away from the well, wiping at his face and howling. He fled. Bauris had turned his attention to the fallen beastman.
Then something unexpected had occurred. “Sin-der,” the wounded Cent Regus had gasped, pointing to the well, unable to move. “Help Sin-der.”
Listening to Bauris’s account, Ryllion seemed to grow angrier by the moment.
“When I pulled Cyndere from the well, she insisted that I was not to harm even a whisker of that fallen beastman,” Bauris laughed, still amazed. “She swore that he had saved her life. Jordam, she called him. Then she ordered me to secure the area. Told me to go after the biggest one, a beastman called Mordafey.”
“Did she?”
Bauris described how he had pursued Mordafey and how he had found him with two more beastmen—one already dead, another bloodied and crazed. “I put this arrow,” he said, “into the striped one. The one with a face like a boar. The one who murdered our prison guards. The same one who taunted the heiress in our prisons. My arrow, Vengeance, went in through his back and came out between his ribs.”
“Did it now?” Ryllion muttered.
Bauris struggled to sustain his sense of pride. He continued his story, determined to impress this celebrated soldier.
In pursuit of Mordafey, he had come to the edge of the wood. And there—sure as the moon’s in the sky—he had witnessed the Honorable Pretor Xa standing in the whitegrass at the top of the slope and shouting at a beastman. The Seer was scolding Mordafey. And Mordafey had cowered like a beaten dog. When the Seer gestured into the Cragavar, the beastman crept away, sullen and defeated.
“I know it sounds impossible, sir. I was so stunned, I felt like a horse had kicked me.”
Ryllion gazed off into the trees. He did not seem shaken by this news. Only sobered and deep in thought.
Lowering his voice in solemn resolve, Bauris said, “You’d best look into this, Officer. I tell you, I suspect Pretor Xa of conspiracy with beastmen. I think we need to secure the perimeter.”
“You think we should close the perimeter?”
“Shouldn’t we?” Bauris’s world was shifting around him. He felt as though the ground might give way beneath his feet. “Sir, there’s a traitor in our midst.”
“Are you sure of what you saw?”
“Clear as I’m seeing you now.”
“And you’d swear to it in our queen’s court?”
“I’ve always been an honest man, Officer. My reputation will persuade them to believe my tale.”
“You persist in calling it a tale.”
Bauris held up the arrow, Vengeance, looking at it as a reminder of his achievement. He was surprised by the anger that welled up inside. He did not deserve to have this taken away.
Ryllion blinked as if just waking up. Then he clapped Bauris on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Bauris. Well done. You’ve set things right. I enjoyed your tale immensely. Your moon-spirit, she understood your desire to slay a beastman, and she rewarded you with satisfaction.”
“Yes,” said Bauris, although he was hesitant to agree with anything Ryllion said about spirits. “Yes, but it’s all so strange. You should’ve seen it. It was like getting a glimpse of Deuneroi’s dream. There was Cyndere, her arms draped around a beastman. And he was tame. He cared about her. Deuneroi was right.”
Blood filled Bauris’s throat. The blade slipped out as soon as it had gone in. He turned, choking a question. Ryllion would not meet his gaze. The young soldier seemed sad, in spite of his clenched teeth, his flaring nostrils, and the explosive force with which he seized Bauris, raised him, and shoved him into the well.
Ryllion heard the splash far below.
He brushed off his hands, then leaned against the well, shaking. A cry broke out in a voice transformed, his own, and he clasped a hand over his mouth. Tears spilled into the dark maw.
“Never again,” he said. Not for the first time.
“That’s a rash promise,” said Pretor Xa, striding down into the glen. “To accomplish what the moon-spirits desire, you have to make difficult choices.”
“He saw you.” Ryllion’s hands closed into fists. “Bauris saw you talking to Mordafey.”
“Bauris had to die. A small matter, Ryllion. Bauris killed a beastman today, so he died happier than he was ever likely to be again. We’ll praise his bravery in Bel Amica. It will make his family proud. He died after slaying a beastman, making Tilianpurth safe for all.”
“A small matter?” Ryllion shouted. “Listen to yourself!”
“I am listening to myself, Ryllion. What are you listening to?” The Seer smiled down at him, ghostly in his winding white rags. He reached for Ryllion’s chin and turned his face toward the moon. “Attend to the vision that your spirit has given you. It is your sacred duty to pursue your heart’s desire.”
“At such a cost.”
“A great future is a costly one. It’s easy to become distracted by fears, by pity. But your spirit wants to bless you, Ryllion. Pursue happiness, and it will lead you to blessing.”
“These…these risks. These deaths.”
“You made a sacrifice for a noble cause. The Bel Amicans deserve better than Queen Thesera. They need you. We Seers see your potential. My moon-spirit has called me to help you rise and take Bel Amica’s throne. Your gifts, they surpass all others. That is how you know that the spirits favor you. Even the beastmen are impressed with your strength. And while they still have much to learn, we have assembled the beginnings of a great Cent Regus army that will serve you.”
“We failed at Barnashum, master. We needed those Abascar weapons, that treasure. It would have given us the advantage we needed to take the throne from Thesera.”
“We,” snarled the Seer, “did not fail. Beastmen failed. But even that, Ryllion, is a blessing straight from the spirits. For now Mordafey is ashamed, humiliated, humbled. He wants to prove something to us. Next time the beastmen will be unstoppable. We’ll have Cal-raven’s treasure. We’ll equip an army. If there’s anything the Cent Regus cannot abide, it is the suggestion of weakness. Patience, Ryllion. What you desire will be yours.”
“Maybe my desires are changing.” Ryllion scowled toward the moon. “This path—it’s too costly. And the destination feels so far away.”
“Far away?” Pretor Xa raised his hands, triumphant. “We’re closer than ever, Ryllion. The heiress has vanished. We did not dare imagine such an opening. Of all Bel Amicans, you are now foremost in the queen’s favor. You’re all she has left. We may not need to seize the throne by force. We may not even need Abascar’s surrender. The spirits might usher you into power without any struggle at all. With Cyndere out of the way, House Bel Amica may herald your arrival as the coming of a future king. Then our conquest will continue across the Expanse.”
“Cyndere has returned.”
Pretor Xa’s teeth clacked together. Smiling, smiling, and yet the Seer swiveled his eyes toward the tower. “That meddling little girl.”
“How will we stop her now if she has tamed a beastman?” Ryllion clasped his hands to his head. “Think of what this will do to the court. She’ll kindle compassion for the Cent Regus. She’ll inspire Deuneroi’s allies. It’s like he’s watching us. Like vengeance.”
The memories of that autumn day burned brighter in Ryllion’s memory than anything that had transpired since.
Deep in the ruins of House Abascar, he had rushed ahead of Deuneroi toward the dungeons. The plan, so carefully designed by the Honorable Pretor Xa, had been playing out perfectly. He knew what waited at the end of that tunnel. And he knew what followed behind him.
He rounded the corner, stepping into a cave of stagnant air and a ghastly array of bones and chains. “Look, Deuneroi!” he had said, feeling as if he were both an actor in a stage play and a viewer in the audience.
Stepping in behind him, the royal consort had cringed, examining the vaulted, soot-blackened chamber, the dangling string of chains, the pit in the floor. “What was this place?”
Ryllion shrugged. “Abascar’s dungeons. We heard stories about the torturer who lived here. Maugam. He was a monster.” He wiped the sweat from his face. “Spirit,” he said, “I cannot do this.”
Deuneroi frowned. “Talking to your spirit again?”
“Master,” Ryllion whispered, “I know you won’t understand this. But I must confess it. While we’re alone. Before it’s too late.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve let you down.”
Deuneroi laughed, and he reached out to slap the guardsman on the shoulder, but Ryllion shrank away from him. “Ryllion,” Deuneroi said, solemn now and worried, “you knew that we had little hope of finding any survivors.”
“I’ve kept something from you. But I had no choice. My moon-spirit has called me to something. I’ve a vision for House Bel Amica, a way to bring the Expanse under control and cleanse it of corruption.”
Deuneroi stopped. “You have great faith, Ryllion. Me, I have doubts. But I admire your dedication.”
“It pains me, master. But the Seers promise that the suffering you and I must endure now is nothing compared to the glory that House Bel Amica will know. I have watched you in the court. I know you desire Bel Amica’s success.”
“Of course.”
“Your moon-spirit knows your desire, master. She will fulfill it.”
With a grinding of stone, the passage behind them sealed shut. Ryllion coughed, as if the closing door had cut off all air. He stared over Deuneroi’s shoulder at the gigantic beastman who had shoved the boulder into place. They were trapped. Only one way out now. He had to carry out the plan.
Deuneroi turned, unsheathing his sword. “Beastman!”
Ryllion stepped behind Deuneroi and pressed the tip of his sword into his back. He knew the beastman. He had watched the Seer coerce the creature into obedience. “Wait, Deuneroi,” Ryllion whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Welcome, Mordafey.” Pretor Xa rose from the pit like a dark bird, with a bright glowstone fixed at the top of his walking stick. “Do you see what we have brought you?” Grinning, he approached Ryllion, his white rags wavering even though the air was still as death. He tapped the floor with the staff’s silver ferrule, then struck Deuneroi’s arm. In a spatter of sparks, Deuneroi’s sword clattered to the floor.
Mordafey stalked to the pit and barked a command down into it.
Ryllion sheathed his sword, then pinned Deuneroi’s arms behind his back. “House Bel Amica is buying the loyalty of House Cent Regus,” he half whispered. “To win their trust, we must offer them proof of our conviction.”
“This beastman, he’s what you dreamt of, Master Deuneroi,” said the Seer, opening his arms as if to present some kind of pageant. “He listens to reason. And your sacrifice will purchase the very thing you desired—a relationship between Bel Amica and the beastmen. A beginning. A reconciliation between the children of Cent Regus and Bel Amica, those descendants of Tammos Raak.”
“Ryllion,” Deuneroi snapped, “open your eyes. Have the Seers deceived you so completely?”
“Quiet, master,” said Ryllion around the cold lump rising in his throat. “The beastmen will fight for us now. They’ll trust us. We’ll conquer the Expanse.”
“They’re liars,” spat Deuneroi. “They’ve appealed to your vanity.”
Beastmen, like spiders from a nest, crawled out from the pit and filled the room. They lashed out at each other. They growled and cursed and spat. Mordafey stood between them and the Seer, snarling instructions. Then the Seer spoke as if he too were a beastman, and the Cent Regus glowered back, suspicious. Mordafey turned, pointed to Ryllion, and spoke the name: “Deuneroi.”
Ryllion looked at the Seer. “You do it,” he hissed. “I can’t.”
“Do this!” said Pretor Xa. “And these beastmen will never harm you. They’ll respect you. They’ll be yours.”
Deuneroi broke free and spun around. Then, to Ryllion’s surprise, he embraced him. “The truth,” Deuneroi whispered, “will be known, Ryllion. Someday it will be known. What do you want that truth to be?”
Ryllion closed his eyes at those words and nodded. “You’re right. Forgive me.”
Deuneroi stepped away and turned to face the Seer.
Ryllion looked at the hate-filled eyes, the cold malevolence, the alien nature of the beastmen. Fear took him. He brought the blade down through Deuneroi’s wrist. Deuneroi wheeled in surprise, a fleeting question on his face. The Seer struck him from behind with the staff. Lightning flared through Deuneroi’s body as he howled and fell, his long black hair spilling across Ryllion’s feet.
Keeping his eyes on the beastmen, Ryllion plunged his sword through Deuneroi’s back and felt it chip the stone floor. He let go as if the sword hilt had caught fire. Deuneroi pressed at the floor with his remaining hand, then strength went out of him, and he did not stir again.
The Seer pulled the sword free and tossed it aside. He spread his arms again, as if presenting the next act of the play.
Laughing in apparent disbelief, Mordafey seized the gleaming emblem-clasp of Deuneroi’s cloak and tore the garment away. “That,” he said, speaking Common, pointing to Deuneroi’s severed hand. “I want that.” The Seer bowed as a servant would bow to please a king. Mordafey reached for it, and Ryllion turned away.
“You’ve sworn your vow to the Cent Regus, Ryllion,” said the Seer. “Mordafey will prepare them to follow your orders. He has these in his service, and he’s gathering more. His brothers too. It’s their turn now to prove their conviction and capability. Soon I’ll lead them south to where the weak remnant of Abascar is hiding. We’ll end their suffering and take what they no longer need. This will equip our army and ready us for the next conquest.”
Ryllion acknowledged this with a nod, but he could not find his voice. In that moment he made himself a promise—he would destroy these creatures as soon as they had served their purpose. Each and every one of them. Vowing that, he could hope to overcome the emptiness now aching within him.
33
RYLLION’S FAITH
Bauris tracked the spatter of blood left behind by the escaping beastman.
He ran, knowing the creature could run faster. He ran with the nervous excitement of a dog that has snapped its leash to attack a trespasser.
He ran with an urgency he had not known since his youth.
In his hand he held the gory arrow he had pulled from the carcass of another beastman. It was more difficult to remove than he’d expected, as if the beastman wanted to refuse him a trophy. He would clean it. Hang it on the wall. Name it, perhaps. “Vengeance,” he said. “I’ll call you Vengeance.”
Bauris laughed, for his admirers would assume they understood the name; after all, this arrow slew the beastman who had murdered Tilianpurth’s prison guards. Bauris would smile and nod, knowing that it meant a different kind of revenge—a strike against those who had taunted him for so many years.
Bauris was no longer “the baby-sitter” who had guarded young Cyndere, who had grown old watching ivy climb the walls of an empty towerhouse. Now he was a hero. He had defended the bastion, fired a true shot, and avenged the prison guards. Word would spread. He was part of a story at last. Bauris, the watcher of Tilianpurth. Single-handedly, he’d faced two beastmen, killed one, and driven the other from the woods.
One beastman would be enough. Enough for today, anyway. Soon he would be relieved of his tedious duty at Tilianpurth and given a more prominent station. He would ride the wide patrols, respected as a soldier.
His sons. Bauris paused, leaning against a violet tree. His sons would hear about this even before he was back in Bel Amica. They would be proud of him. He had left his beastmen prize in the melting snow. A shame, really. Predators would move in tonight. Perhaps he should pry out the teeth of his victim and send them to his sons as trophies.
But there was still a threat left in these woods. And Bauris wanted to erase it.
He broke out of the trees, and his gaze found the moon. “You were on my side today, weren’t you?” He stepped into the steep whitegrass, then sank low when he spied two figures at the top of the slope.
He watched them for a long time, his exhilaration evaporating.
He looked at the arrow in his hand, and a chill climbed his spine. He did not understand it, but something had changed. He had seen Cyndere beside the well, comforting a fallen beastman. And now this.
Bauris backed away and moved into the wood, aimless at first, until he came within sight of the glen and remembered the heiress. But when he reached the glen, Cyndere and Jordam were gone. The cloudgrasper’s fire had gone out. Ashes lay in a dark circle around the tree, which now gleamed, its new green skin exposed to the air.
Ryllion was there, crouching over the bloodied ground in rapt attention, reading the grisly display. Bauris was startled to see him. He had watched Ryllion ride out with one of the search parties.
Bauris cleared his throat and hid the arrow behind his back. “Officer, I have news.”
Ryllion rose awkwardly to his feet, as if caught in some indiscretion. His face was a fright, for a purple mask surrounded his eyes, scarring from his bout with the venomous beastman on the tower. He seemed taller, and his yellow hair was streaked with black. “Bauris, you are not at your post.”
“No, Ryllion. It’s been an eventful day. Sit down. Some of what I’ll tell you will be hard to—”
“I will stand. Why are you here?”
Bauris brought out the arrow, trying to suppress a smile. “Sisterly Emeriene saw smoke rising from this area. She knew what it meant. It’s Cyndere, sir. She’s returned. Sure enough, it was true. She’s burnt a Memorial Tree in honor of Deuneroi. I found her here.”
Ryllion started. “The heiress? She’s come back?”
“Now you have something in common with her. Back home, plans had already been set in motion for her funeral. They’d given her up as lost. And lo, here she comes back to Tilianpurth. Just like you.”
“Just like me.”
Bauris glanced into the trees. “She should be back in the towerhouse by now. Unless…” He suddenly wished he had not spoken. He had been foolish in his zeal to hunt the beastmen. He had left her behind with a wounded Cent Regus savage. Now they both were gone.
“What else, Bauris? What else did you see?”
Bauris told his story.
He described how he had rushed to the glen seeking the heiress but found two enormous beastmen fighting there instead. He had lifted an arrow to the bow, only to see the larger beastman thrash the other to the edge of death. The battered beastman seemed to be trying to protect the well. Bauris had come to his feet to take aim, but the fiercer monster suddenly staggered away from the well, wiping at his face and howling. He fled. Bauris had turned his attention to the fallen beastman.
Then something unexpected had occurred. “Sin-der,” the wounded Cent Regus had gasped, pointing to the well, unable to move. “Help Sin-der.”
Listening to Bauris’s account, Ryllion seemed to grow angrier by the moment.
“When I pulled Cyndere from the well, she insisted that I was not to harm even a whisker of that fallen beastman,” Bauris laughed, still amazed. “She swore that he had saved her life. Jordam, she called him. Then she ordered me to secure the area. Told me to go after the biggest one, a beastman called Mordafey.”
“Did she?”
Bauris described how he had pursued Mordafey and how he had found him with two more beastmen—one already dead, another bloodied and crazed. “I put this arrow,” he said, “into the striped one. The one with a face like a boar. The one who murdered our prison guards. The same one who taunted the heiress in our prisons. My arrow, Vengeance, went in through his back and came out between his ribs.”
“Did it now?” Ryllion muttered.
Bauris struggled to sustain his sense of pride. He continued his story, determined to impress this celebrated soldier.
In pursuit of Mordafey, he had come to the edge of the wood. And there—sure as the moon’s in the sky—he had witnessed the Honorable Pretor Xa standing in the whitegrass at the top of the slope and shouting at a beastman. The Seer was scolding Mordafey. And Mordafey had cowered like a beaten dog. When the Seer gestured into the Cragavar, the beastman crept away, sullen and defeated.
“I know it sounds impossible, sir. I was so stunned, I felt like a horse had kicked me.”
Ryllion gazed off into the trees. He did not seem shaken by this news. Only sobered and deep in thought.
Lowering his voice in solemn resolve, Bauris said, “You’d best look into this, Officer. I tell you, I suspect Pretor Xa of conspiracy with beastmen. I think we need to secure the perimeter.”
“You think we should close the perimeter?”
“Shouldn’t we?” Bauris’s world was shifting around him. He felt as though the ground might give way beneath his feet. “Sir, there’s a traitor in our midst.”
“Are you sure of what you saw?”
“Clear as I’m seeing you now.”
“And you’d swear to it in our queen’s court?”
“I’ve always been an honest man, Officer. My reputation will persuade them to believe my tale.”
“You persist in calling it a tale.”
Bauris held up the arrow, Vengeance, looking at it as a reminder of his achievement. He was surprised by the anger that welled up inside. He did not deserve to have this taken away.
Ryllion blinked as if just waking up. Then he clapped Bauris on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Bauris. Well done. You’ve set things right. I enjoyed your tale immensely. Your moon-spirit, she understood your desire to slay a beastman, and she rewarded you with satisfaction.”
“Yes,” said Bauris, although he was hesitant to agree with anything Ryllion said about spirits. “Yes, but it’s all so strange. You should’ve seen it. It was like getting a glimpse of Deuneroi’s dream. There was Cyndere, her arms draped around a beastman. And he was tame. He cared about her. Deuneroi was right.”
Blood filled Bauris’s throat. The blade slipped out as soon as it had gone in. He turned, choking a question. Ryllion would not meet his gaze. The young soldier seemed sad, in spite of his clenched teeth, his flaring nostrils, and the explosive force with which he seized Bauris, raised him, and shoved him into the well.
Ryllion heard the splash far below.
He brushed off his hands, then leaned against the well, shaking. A cry broke out in a voice transformed, his own, and he clasped a hand over his mouth. Tears spilled into the dark maw.
“Never again,” he said. Not for the first time.
“That’s a rash promise,” said Pretor Xa, striding down into the glen. “To accomplish what the moon-spirits desire, you have to make difficult choices.”
“He saw you.” Ryllion’s hands closed into fists. “Bauris saw you talking to Mordafey.”
“Bauris had to die. A small matter, Ryllion. Bauris killed a beastman today, so he died happier than he was ever likely to be again. We’ll praise his bravery in Bel Amica. It will make his family proud. He died after slaying a beastman, making Tilianpurth safe for all.”
“A small matter?” Ryllion shouted. “Listen to yourself!”
“I am listening to myself, Ryllion. What are you listening to?” The Seer smiled down at him, ghostly in his winding white rags. He reached for Ryllion’s chin and turned his face toward the moon. “Attend to the vision that your spirit has given you. It is your sacred duty to pursue your heart’s desire.”
“At such a cost.”
“A great future is a costly one. It’s easy to become distracted by fears, by pity. But your spirit wants to bless you, Ryllion. Pursue happiness, and it will lead you to blessing.”
“These…these risks. These deaths.”
“You made a sacrifice for a noble cause. The Bel Amicans deserve better than Queen Thesera. They need you. We Seers see your potential. My moon-spirit has called me to help you rise and take Bel Amica’s throne. Your gifts, they surpass all others. That is how you know that the spirits favor you. Even the beastmen are impressed with your strength. And while they still have much to learn, we have assembled the beginnings of a great Cent Regus army that will serve you.”
“We failed at Barnashum, master. We needed those Abascar weapons, that treasure. It would have given us the advantage we needed to take the throne from Thesera.”
“We,” snarled the Seer, “did not fail. Beastmen failed. But even that, Ryllion, is a blessing straight from the spirits. For now Mordafey is ashamed, humiliated, humbled. He wants to prove something to us. Next time the beastmen will be unstoppable. We’ll have Cal-raven’s treasure. We’ll equip an army. If there’s anything the Cent Regus cannot abide, it is the suggestion of weakness. Patience, Ryllion. What you desire will be yours.”
“Maybe my desires are changing.” Ryllion scowled toward the moon. “This path—it’s too costly. And the destination feels so far away.”
“Far away?” Pretor Xa raised his hands, triumphant. “We’re closer than ever, Ryllion. The heiress has vanished. We did not dare imagine such an opening. Of all Bel Amicans, you are now foremost in the queen’s favor. You’re all she has left. We may not need to seize the throne by force. We may not even need Abascar’s surrender. The spirits might usher you into power without any struggle at all. With Cyndere out of the way, House Bel Amica may herald your arrival as the coming of a future king. Then our conquest will continue across the Expanse.”
“Cyndere has returned.”
Pretor Xa’s teeth clacked together. Smiling, smiling, and yet the Seer swiveled his eyes toward the tower. “That meddling little girl.”
“How will we stop her now if she has tamed a beastman?” Ryllion clasped his hands to his head. “Think of what this will do to the court. She’ll kindle compassion for the Cent Regus. She’ll inspire Deuneroi’s allies. It’s like he’s watching us. Like vengeance.”
The memories of that autumn day burned brighter in Ryllion’s memory than anything that had transpired since.
Deep in the ruins of House Abascar, he had rushed ahead of Deuneroi toward the dungeons. The plan, so carefully designed by the Honorable Pretor Xa, had been playing out perfectly. He knew what waited at the end of that tunnel. And he knew what followed behind him.
He rounded the corner, stepping into a cave of stagnant air and a ghastly array of bones and chains. “Look, Deuneroi!” he had said, feeling as if he were both an actor in a stage play and a viewer in the audience.
Stepping in behind him, the royal consort had cringed, examining the vaulted, soot-blackened chamber, the dangling string of chains, the pit in the floor. “What was this place?”
Ryllion shrugged. “Abascar’s dungeons. We heard stories about the torturer who lived here. Maugam. He was a monster.” He wiped the sweat from his face. “Spirit,” he said, “I cannot do this.”
Deuneroi frowned. “Talking to your spirit again?”
“Master,” Ryllion whispered, “I know you won’t understand this. But I must confess it. While we’re alone. Before it’s too late.”
“What is it?”
“I’ve let you down.”
Deuneroi laughed, and he reached out to slap the guardsman on the shoulder, but Ryllion shrank away from him. “Ryllion,” Deuneroi said, solemn now and worried, “you knew that we had little hope of finding any survivors.”
“I’ve kept something from you. But I had no choice. My moon-spirit has called me to something. I’ve a vision for House Bel Amica, a way to bring the Expanse under control and cleanse it of corruption.”
Deuneroi stopped. “You have great faith, Ryllion. Me, I have doubts. But I admire your dedication.”
“It pains me, master. But the Seers promise that the suffering you and I must endure now is nothing compared to the glory that House Bel Amica will know. I have watched you in the court. I know you desire Bel Amica’s success.”
“Of course.”
“Your moon-spirit knows your desire, master. She will fulfill it.”
With a grinding of stone, the passage behind them sealed shut. Ryllion coughed, as if the closing door had cut off all air. He stared over Deuneroi’s shoulder at the gigantic beastman who had shoved the boulder into place. They were trapped. Only one way out now. He had to carry out the plan.
Deuneroi turned, unsheathing his sword. “Beastman!”
Ryllion stepped behind Deuneroi and pressed the tip of his sword into his back. He knew the beastman. He had watched the Seer coerce the creature into obedience. “Wait, Deuneroi,” Ryllion whispered. “Don’t be afraid.”
“Welcome, Mordafey.” Pretor Xa rose from the pit like a dark bird, with a bright glowstone fixed at the top of his walking stick. “Do you see what we have brought you?” Grinning, he approached Ryllion, his white rags wavering even though the air was still as death. He tapped the floor with the staff’s silver ferrule, then struck Deuneroi’s arm. In a spatter of sparks, Deuneroi’s sword clattered to the floor.
Mordafey stalked to the pit and barked a command down into it.
Ryllion sheathed his sword, then pinned Deuneroi’s arms behind his back. “House Bel Amica is buying the loyalty of House Cent Regus,” he half whispered. “To win their trust, we must offer them proof of our conviction.”
“This beastman, he’s what you dreamt of, Master Deuneroi,” said the Seer, opening his arms as if to present some kind of pageant. “He listens to reason. And your sacrifice will purchase the very thing you desired—a relationship between Bel Amica and the beastmen. A beginning. A reconciliation between the children of Cent Regus and Bel Amica, those descendants of Tammos Raak.”
“Ryllion,” Deuneroi snapped, “open your eyes. Have the Seers deceived you so completely?”
“Quiet, master,” said Ryllion around the cold lump rising in his throat. “The beastmen will fight for us now. They’ll trust us. We’ll conquer the Expanse.”
“They’re liars,” spat Deuneroi. “They’ve appealed to your vanity.”
Beastmen, like spiders from a nest, crawled out from the pit and filled the room. They lashed out at each other. They growled and cursed and spat. Mordafey stood between them and the Seer, snarling instructions. Then the Seer spoke as if he too were a beastman, and the Cent Regus glowered back, suspicious. Mordafey turned, pointed to Ryllion, and spoke the name: “Deuneroi.”
Ryllion looked at the Seer. “You do it,” he hissed. “I can’t.”
“Do this!” said Pretor Xa. “And these beastmen will never harm you. They’ll respect you. They’ll be yours.”
Deuneroi broke free and spun around. Then, to Ryllion’s surprise, he embraced him. “The truth,” Deuneroi whispered, “will be known, Ryllion. Someday it will be known. What do you want that truth to be?”
Ryllion closed his eyes at those words and nodded. “You’re right. Forgive me.”
Deuneroi stepped away and turned to face the Seer.
Ryllion looked at the hate-filled eyes, the cold malevolence, the alien nature of the beastmen. Fear took him. He brought the blade down through Deuneroi’s wrist. Deuneroi wheeled in surprise, a fleeting question on his face. The Seer struck him from behind with the staff. Lightning flared through Deuneroi’s body as he howled and fell, his long black hair spilling across Ryllion’s feet.
Keeping his eyes on the beastmen, Ryllion plunged his sword through Deuneroi’s back and felt it chip the stone floor. He let go as if the sword hilt had caught fire. Deuneroi pressed at the floor with his remaining hand, then strength went out of him, and he did not stir again.
The Seer pulled the sword free and tossed it aside. He spread his arms again, as if presenting the next act of the play.
Laughing in apparent disbelief, Mordafey seized the gleaming emblem-clasp of Deuneroi’s cloak and tore the garment away. “That,” he said, speaking Common, pointing to Deuneroi’s severed hand. “I want that.” The Seer bowed as a servant would bow to please a king. Mordafey reached for it, and Ryllion turned away.
“You’ve sworn your vow to the Cent Regus, Ryllion,” said the Seer. “Mordafey will prepare them to follow your orders. He has these in his service, and he’s gathering more. His brothers too. It’s their turn now to prove their conviction and capability. Soon I’ll lead them south to where the weak remnant of Abascar is hiding. We’ll end their suffering and take what they no longer need. This will equip our army and ready us for the next conquest.”
Ryllion acknowledged this with a nod, but he could not find his voice. In that moment he made himself a promise—he would destroy these creatures as soon as they had served their purpose. Each and every one of them. Vowing that, he could hope to overcome the emptiness now aching within him.
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