Chapter XXV
To Strike at the King
In which Bessa formulates a desperate strategy
“Are we safe here?” Tregarde asked, looking around the small room in the pilgrim’s inn.
After Alia dissolved the tower in the park she summoned her friends, to secure Bessa and Edana’s escape as well as her own. They’d made only one stop, to the inn where the Rasena Valentian previously lodged. It took some finessing, but Tregarde managed to make his way into the inn and locate Nima, who brought them the box where they’d stored their thunder maces.
“The last resort has come,” Edana said to Bessa before they fled once more in the night.
Unwilling to trust in the safety of their previous inns, where obvious foreigners would be gathered—and thus targeted—the group needed to find refuge. Edana suggested the Sower’s temple, her original destination before the jackals attacked her and Bessa. She pointed out that in the event of an attack, the Sower’s priests would be equal to the task of dealing with it.
And thus they ended up in the pilgrim’s complex, below the hill where the temple stood. No one questioned why they needed a room so late at night; other traveling Eitanim had faced harrowing escapes from angry crowds. Many had been forced to hide before they deemed it safe to make way for the Eitanite Quarter of the city.
The innkeeper, a friendly old man, gave them a double room. A front room and back room, albeit with a festive-looking curtain serving in place of a door between the two rooms. Woolen curtains of cerulean with ivory floral patterns softened the austerity of the stone walls, in addition to keeping the cold at bay.
Two cots and a low table made up the front room, where the men were to sleep. Four more cots and a toilette vanity made up the backroom, where the women would sleep.
The low table—which the innkeeper called a “korsi”—was covered with a huge heavy blanket. Below the table a Salamandran firestone provided heat. For this alone the group was grateful.
But the inn’s servants also brought in a tureen of hearty soup, chicken and chickpeas spiced with turmeric. In addition, they set the table with a basket of bread and a jar of jam made from blackthorn berries. Last, they included a jug of what Bessa declared was the sweetest, most refreshing water she’d ever drank.
In spite of the warm welcome, and the coziness of the room, they all of them found it difficult to maintain good spirits. Tregarde’s question pierced to the heart of their concerns. Where would they be safe?
Stirring her soup listlessly, Edana said, “Murena knew about me, and Lady Nensela, and Halie. And from what the dead man told Alia, the ‘bel nakri’ knows of her. Is there reason to assume the fellshade queen won’t tell her minions where we are?”
“Erebossi are not omniscient?” Sheridan suggested.
“A comforting thought,” Edana said.
“About this Murena,” Tregarde began, turning in his seat to face Edana. “Is he really an eel?”
“More or less,” Bessa replied, then she described him in detail.
Between getting settled in the room and accepting the priests’ hospitality, they made time to fill each other in. The Lyrcanians listened patiently, at times awestruck and at other times nodding in confirmation at Bessa’s story.
When Bessa finished talking, Alia picked up the thread, telling the Rasena Valentians of her investigations in Lyrcania. When she finished, Nima excused himself to find out if the temple grounds included an oraculum.
“Do we have to kill the protector?” Sheridan asked. He barely touched his food, and instead applied himself to oiling Alia’s knives, having already cleaned them.
“You can’t strike at a ruler and leave him alive,” Bessa pointed out, thinking of Tarkhana’s encounter with the would-be assassins. “Either you kill him or he kills you. The Fire Lords said we’d need to kill Amavand in order to go through the nekromanteion.”
“Right. When Ironwing suggested we go through a shadow gate it was to retrieve her aunts. But you still haven’t finished the ritual that would blind the fellshades to us. Nor do we know how to kill the fellshades.”
“Fellshades are not killable,” Alia said glumly. She’d curled up on the second cot, which was wedged into a corner of the room.
Edana shrugged. “I was willing to leave the protector for later. But I don’t think he’ll let us go our merry way, do you? And I know I’m not willing to abandon this town, when the servant of a fellshade is trying to sacrifice the townspeople to her. You heard the priests. They said the gates are closed.”
The others fell silent. For a while they brooded, until the atmosphere in the room became oppressive. Then Edana brought up another point.
“Have you considered the protector may not be himself? Except for Murena, the eidolons we faced tended to possess people with the authority to carry out certain tasks. One of the eidolons was a governor. Isn’t this protector a kind of governor? Why are we assuming he’s not possessed, too?”
“Sweet of you to consider he’s not evil all on his own. But either way we need to deal with him,” Tregarde answered. “Even if it’s to expel the eidolon from him.”
Looking mildly chagrined Edana said, “ I … was not thinking of saving him. Our survival turns on how the townspeople react to us going against him. If he’s possessed the people of Elamis will welcome his death. As you say, we need to deal with him, because he and his soldiers are going to come for us. Murena could track Halie, and attack prophets without them expecting it. Well, Lady Nensela expected it—but she’s not here.” Her voice trailed off a little.
Bessa suspected Edana was thinking of how much they needed Lady Nensela right now. And wondering, yet again, whether or not the prophet would survive the injuries she’d inflicted on herself.
For now; however, they needed to concentrate on the present. In civilized times a temple would be a sanctuary where they could be safe from attack. Unfortunately, per Alia, Zephyra had committed murder in Aletheia’s temple. Obviously, they mustn’t think she would stay her hand against the Sower’s temple, either.
“Come the dawn, perhaps we should move on,” Bessa said. Partly she spoke for Edana’s sake, for she knew Edana would refuse to endanger the temple any more than necessity dictated.
Tregarde sighed. He stood up and strode over to the entry door, leaning against it as though barring it. “Tonight we should take watches; there’s enough of us that we can do this in pairs. And we’re going to have to, because you’re right that we should move on. The problem is, Elamis isn’t Ebon Cove. This city is too enclosed, and there’s only one way out. Protector Amavand has time on his side, all he needs is to ask the demon where we are.”
“Then why wait?” Edana asked, shoving away her soup entirely. “We need him dead. Elamis needs him dead. And he’ll know where we are. So let’s go to him now while things are still chaotic.”
“And if the fellshade queen is there?” Sheridan wondered.
He glanced at Alia, and his brow furrowed slightly in concern. Bessa looked her over as well. The huntress hadn’t hidden her grief, though she was not ostentatious about it, either. If anything, she seemed fogged, her eyes clouding from time to time. Likely she was reliving memories of her lost aunts.
At the mention of the queen, Alia stirred. She uncurled her legs, swinging her feet down to the floor as she prepared to rise.
“I don’t see any other options,” Alia said, looking at Sheridan now. The cloudiness in her eyes vanished, and her tone hardened. “If we don’t go, they’ll come after us, all the way here to the Sower’s temple. At home, Junius Fellrath tried to make me out to be a persecutor of innocent sorcerers every time I arrested his men. I would wager Amavand would love an excuse to destroy the Sower’s temple; if the priests defend it that will be just the excuse he needs, wouldn’t it? At least in the palace there won’t be any innocent casualties.”
“Exactly so,” Edana agreed.
Sheridan set down the oil rag and stood up. “We can’t kill a ruler. No matter how right we are, we’ll be hunted, and we still won’t have the queen’s name—unless you think we can use a compulsion spell to make him tell us?” He stared at Tregarde, the lone sorcerer in the room, and folded his arms in a challenge.
Rather than keep her back to the door, Bessa sat parallel to the wall across from the cots. Thus, she easily caught Sheridan’s gaze from where he sat on the cot he claimed.
“I don’t know Lyrcanian history,” she began, “but I know enough of mine to know that we really only have two choices: we kill the protector, or we let him kill us. He has followers. He leads those in league with the fellshade queen. If you don’t kill him then you have to keep him prisoner, and that’s right out.”
“I was thinking we get out of town. I know you don’t want to abandon Elamis,” Sheridan said, nodding at Edana. “And I don’t want to, either. But let’s be smart about this. Say we fly into the palace. Do we just kill everyone in our way?”
“I’ve done that. At the temple of the Lords of Chaos,” Alia said quietly.
“Yes, with the astral warrior’s help. And that was in Ebon Cove, where you have the Watch’s authority,” Sheridan reminded her. “But over here? We’re foreigners, we can’t go killing authorities. Even after what you did tonight, we can’t just kill him.”
“If he’s dead we can leave,” Edana said patiently.
“And the Handmaiden will just let us? I thought we weren’t supposed to kill her?”
“She could make a good hostage if we leave town with her,” Edana suggested.
Sheridan’s jaw locked, and his expression remained mutinous. Bessa didn’t blame him; the thought of killing the ruler of a foreign city-state, or taking a hostage was heady business.
But what choice did they have? Even without the Fire Lords’ advice hanging over them, they were still cornered with nowhere to run. Soldier-bearing drakes patrolled the sky, which obliged them to keep to the ground. Fortunately, Alia’s gryphon had cried warning in time for the group to land close to the temple, before they were spotted.
They could not escape, not on foot and not by gryphon. Even if they managed, the protector could send out a party to hunt them, with human and Erebossi agents alike.
Bessa took up the thread again. “I’m not eager to kill him either, but we can’t sit here. He’ll come for us. And we must kill him; we don’t have the means or the time to try and hold that palace. We would have to constantly fend off the king’s people and their attempts to free him, which means killing them. And, need I remind you, that any who are left alive can summon the queen to come here. And they will do that if we’re all that’s standing between her and the king. Send him to her. That’s all we can do.”
“We won’t live to storm the palace!” Sheridan pointed out, his nostrils flaring in his impatience.
Silence again. Stealth wasn’t an option. Storming wasn’t an option. Yet the Huntress demanded the death of Amavand.
I would want another option.
A wish Bessa expressed during the Battle of the Night of the Burning Sky. On that perilous night she assumed, correctly as it turned out, that if cornered the giants would seek to avoid an obvious trap, and would leave it to Murena to deal with.
On the eve of battle, Lysander held a strategy session in which he’d planned the battle with the operating assumption that they would lose the fortress. Doing so had freed his soldiers to fight as they needed.
“You’re right,” she said slowly, causing Sheridan to do a double take.
The others stared at her, and Edana arched an eyebrow.
Rising to her feet, Bessa swept the room with her eyes, making sure she had their full attention.
“We can’t storm the palace, and we can’t run, and the protector will come for us. So, let us pick where and when. We’re going to do this like ‘Khratu and the Manticore,’” she said, invoking one of the earliest bedtime stories her grandmother Aurelia had told her. All Rasena Valentians knew of it, and from the light in Alia’s eyes Bessa knew the Lyrcanians must also know of the story.
She continued, “Let us invite the whole town to see it happen. The protector might think this is another chance to make a sacrifice. He may even drink this ichor you spoke of. But I just saw you turn stone to dust,” she said, pointing at Alia. She turned to Edana and said, “And I saw you slay eidolon-jackals. One or both of you need to face the protector and duel him, your Sower or Huntress against his queen. An irresistible challenge, for him.”
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Edana cocked her head, and Bessa could see the wheels turning as she considered the idea. Finally Edana said, “He must resist that, remember? We thought his long term plans meant avoiding having the high king know of his allegiance to Erebossa. He can’t show his disloyalty to Anshan just yet.”
“That’s the beauty of it,” Bessa gloated. “Tonight, Alia made everyone think that he no longer served Aletheia. So in the duel, he’ll claim he’s acting in Her name. I’m sure that infernal queen won’t mind his pretending to deny her—after all, your father always said fellshades and eidolons only tell lies. More than ever Amavand has to prove to the people that he belongs to Aletheia. This is the perfect opportunity.”
Tregarde stroked his chin, and Bessa suddenly thought of Brison. Did he and the others survive the Night of the Burning Sky? Did he finally read the play she’d reserved for the occasion? She fervently hoped so. Then Tregarde began speaking, snapping Bessa out of her reverie.
“He has to face you,” he said, turning his back to the low table in order to face Alia. “After what you did to him, he needs to claim that you are the one who’s a false servant of a goddess. He may lay his crimes at your feet. If you die, clearly you were the one corrupted. That’s how I reckon he’d think it will go.”
Alia looked from Bessa to Tregarde. She frowned, and turned back to see Sheridan nodding to himself.
“You agree?” she asked.
Sheridan resumed gliding his oil cloth over her knife. Light shimmered all along the blade, and the iridescent metal became violet, then teal, then emerald in turn. “You’re the one who summoned an astral, remember? So I can’t figure how you wouldn’t be able to handle a duel with him.”
“He will cheat,” Edana warned. “Or try to, anyway. But if we do this right, he won’t take the risk of having us killed where we stand.”
Alia sighed. “Let’s do this right, then.”
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The bells of Aletheia’s Fane rang at dawn. Four bronze bells, set in an open pavilion in the midst of a square before the temple, never tolled at dawn unless Aletheia’s chief priest were to die during the night.
Thus alerted, the priests hurried out first, stunned to find their bells ringing though none of their number had gone out to ring them.
To move unseen through town, Tregarde cloaked the group in an illusion of nothingness. When they reached the pavilion, he summoned a wind so strong the bells swung to and fro, ringing of their own accord. Their tolls echoed in the empty streets and off the walls of the mountain that encased the city.
Before the priests arrived, Alia had Tregarde banish the illusion, revealing them to everyone nearby. Aletheia’s servants would assume unsavory intentions on the part of anyone they caught using illusions. Prudence; therefore, demanded they avoid even the appearance of wrongdoing.
The bell pavilion was an ornate, elevated structure with twelve steps leading up to it on each of its four sides. Evergreen vines of climbing jasmine twined around the four columns supporting the pavilion’s roof. Though the white blossoms would not appear until late winter, the vivid green leaves still provided a spot of color.
At the north entrance Edana stood guard. Bessa guarded the west, and Tregarde and Sheridan alloted themselves the east and south respectively. Facing west, Alia stood in the center, between the bells.
The archpriest of Aletheia recognized Alia and Tregarde right away, and immediately hurried up the steps to stand face to face with Tregarde.
“What are you up to?! You said you would bring no trouble upon us!”
With a backward glance Alia answered him. In a hard, pitiless tone she said, “You are mistaken, Guileless One: you were in trouble before I came here. ” She spun on her heel to give him the full weight of her stare. “Now tell me: are you the only one in Elamis who didn’t hear of the Everbright’s Festival? Your ‘protector’ sought to kill innocents. If you do not openly side with the truth in this, then stay out of my way.”
The archpriest stepped back, down one step as if he meant to flee. “You threaten me?”
Driven by grief and anger, Alia put all of her scorn into her laughter. “Guileless One, such a thing to say! I will protect you whether you serve Aletheia or not. But I am here to serve the Huntress, and I will brook no interference. If you cannot help then go back to your grotto, and when the people of Elamis ask where you were in all this, you can honestly say you weren’t hiding under your bed.”
Fravak’s hand went now to his cheek, as though she’d slapped him. Alia spun on her heels, turning her back to him and once more facing the west. Either the man would make himself useful or he wouldn’t, but she was not about to waste time counting him in her battle plans.
Earlier, before they set out for the pavilion, Bessa asked her why they should not count on aid from Fravak.
“You do not send a Restorite to do a Marinite’s job,” Alia had replied, echoing the advice Palamara had once given her during the Watch’s battle drills. “Fravak is concerned more with politics than with spiritual matters. We need to account of the strongest and the weakest of those we take into battle with us.”
Alia looked over her own troops and hugged herself a little. The rime of ice on the bells underscored the coolness of the mountain air so early in the morning. Though she wore her deerskin coat, she did so in the Anshani style: hung lightly from her shoulders, and the sleeves empty. Leaving her arms bare and her eagle arm bands visible. Everyone should recognize her instantly as a huntress. A stole of lynx fur around her neck and shoulders served as her sole concession to the chill.
Soon a crowd gathered around the pavilion. Once the crowd swelled to standing room only, Alia nodded at Bessa.
The people had come, some with caution, others as though a monster were nipping at their heels.
Upon seeing the little group guarding the pavilion, they all slowed and looked to each other as if to ask, Do you know what’s going on? No. Do you know?
“It is time,” Alia declared. “Let us begin.”
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With a confidence she did not feel, Bessa descended six of the twelve steps separating the pavilion from the street. Overhead, the sun glowed with pale rosiness. Morning frost glittered on the chrysanthemum leaves, and Bessa could see her own breath with every exhale.
She glanced over at the lake. True to what the city’s watchmen claimed, the mists hid the lake, and the palace from view. The mist poured down over the temple district as well, but not so thick as to hide her from the crowd.
In clear Pelasgian, Bessa spoke. Having seen for herself the average Elamisi could understand Pelasgian just fine, she decided against using Nima as her interpreter. Her plans depended on putting as little a barrier between herself and her audience as possible. As well, she didn’t want to out him as connected to her unless she had to; if everything went wrong he could still carry out the mission.
The audience gave her their full attention, which meant she didn’t have to shout. In the morning air her voice carried well enough. Alia’s job, she instructed, was to stay silent and look forbidding.
“Your silence will make their imaginations run wild,” Bessa had insisted.
To the people of Elamis she gave a wave and a bow of her head before launching into the speech she prepared.
“Good day to you all. We regret the necessity of calling you from your beds, but we assure you we had no choice. My name is Bessa, and I come from Silura, as does my companion Edana. We are visitors here, obviously, but we believed ourselves safe in this city whose reputation extends even to our distant land.”
She paused. The crowd looked patient enough, but by their expressions she knew they wanted her to get on with it. She suppressed a smile before obliging them.
“Last night, during the Everbright’s Festival, we learned this city is not safe. Your protector attempted to desecrate a celebration meant to honor the One Who Lights the Way. I am sure you wonder why. And I am also sure you all saw how he was repaid for this sacrilege.”
The crowd began to murmur.
For the moment Bessa did nothing to quell them. The city’s watchmen had joined the crowd. First one, then another, and yet another shadow of a fire drake darkened the sky overhead. Bessa willed herself to ignore them; the wingmen were Edana’s job.
“Your protector no longer serves Aletheia, nor walks in the Light,” she continued. “And I don’t think I’m telling you anything you haven’t already thought amongst yourselves: the protector is no longer in the priesthood of the truth. On the night the sky burned green, did any see him in the temple of Amyntas, asking for protection for his people? That is the very duty of a protector, is it not? And he failed to honor the Truthsayer on Her holy day, which you also know. But do you know why?”
Some people in the crowd actually leaned forward. Even the wingmen descended slightly, as if to hear her better.
Bessa pointed an accusing finger at the citadel. The crowd turned their heads to see where she was pointing, and their murmuring grew louder.
“Your protector serves a new mistress! She calls herself queen of the Shadow Court. Yes, a fellshade! And for her sake, many have died already.”
They gasped. Bessa now adopted Lady Nensela’s incantatory rhythm as she named the victims, starting with Hosh the reaper and ending with the dryad, Nalini.
“And on the eve of Roshanak’s holy day, the protector’s own daughter stole into the temple of Her sister, Aletheia, the one you call Arenavachi. There she lay in wait to kill a man.”
Now some cried out in horror.
This time Bessa held up a hand, seeking silence, and the crowd granted it to her. “This is not even the greatest of the desecrations of your protector, I’m sorry to say. Don’t you wonder why the golden eagle stole his crown and broke his scepter? Don’t you wonder why the Huntress rebukes him? It is because the protector has sent swarms of sorcerers to poison the groves of Her daughters. Poisoned them, so they may be abducted. Abducted so they might be sacrificed. Sacrificed so that the protector may please his demon queen.”
A preternatural scream broke through the air, stunning everyone where they stood. Bessa squared her shoulders and stood her ground, willing herself once again not to look up at the drakes.
The dragon’s cry was answered with a clap of thunder. Bessa’s nostrils flared as the scent of rain filled her nose, bringing memories of the attack on her vineyard along with it. The crowd again cried out, this time pointing at Edana. Or rather, they briefly pointed at her, because suddenly a man screamed in terror, and the crowd turned just in time to see the dragon and rider plunge into the thick fog obscuring the lake. The splash confirmed what they all assumed was happening.
Silent, tense with expectation, the crowd waited. Before long came the sound of rippling water, followed by a roar.
The Yellow Serpent had awakened.
Three-headed and yellow-scaled, the dragon was bound to the lake. To enter the lake was to be become his rightful prey. Fire flashed through the mists, and they heard thrashing in the water. The man’s screams came to an abrupt stop. Suddenly, a fire drake burst from the mist, fluttering on a broken wing before crashing to the ground. It twitched and pawed at the ground, then lay still.
The dragon roared again, then silence fell.
While the crowd stared at the fallen drake, Bessa took the opportunity to look back at her companions. The Lyrcanians looked just as startled as the Elamisi, which suggested that they didn’t have thunder maces in Lyrcania, either.
When the crowd turned back to the pavilion, Bessa met their shocked gazes with a nonchalant one of her own. She finally looked up at the wingmen, what remained of them.
Keeping her tone light and even she said, “If you cannot bear to let us have our say, might I suggest you either fly away or lay aside your weapons? I promise you the reach of the thunder mace is greater than you might expect. We are not here to kill innocents—and we will not allow ourselves to be killed, either.”
The wingmen glanced at each other. They were looking at Edana, and Bessa suspected they were wondering what other strange sorcery the group might have at their disposal. From the way they were frowning, she imagined they were contemplating the fact that they would have just one chance to try and attack—before dying an ignominious death like their companion.
Bessa addressed the crowd again. “That lightning came from a weapon used by the allies of the bel nakri—a queen of Erebossa. We came here seeking a way to fight these weapons, but now we see what your protector is about. I call him out. If any of you think your protector needs to answer these charges, summon him now, and let him explain himself.”
Amongst the faces in the crowd, emotions ranged from fear, anger, and hopefulness. Now Bessa let the people speak. Some agreed with her, that the protector did need to answer the charges. Others insisted she was wrong to question him, and that they should have faith there was an innocent explanation for all they’d known him to do. Others, of course, demanded Bessa provide proof of her accusations.
Exactly the opening she’d been waiting for.
“Choose a truth-seer. Two, or three if you like. They will certify my words, and the words of my companions.” She held out her hands, palms up, silent invitation for a truth-seer to clasp them.
All eyes turned to Fravak, the archpriest of Aletheia. Though he had lingered in the square, he’d remained close-mouthed. Truthseers looked to him, even as they were stepping forward. Included in their number were the gold-robed priests of Sorcha. Bessa suspected their grim, barely hinted of their anger at the protector of Elamis.
Someone, a layman apparently, stepped out of the crowd of townspeople. He wore a circlet with a white jadestone, indication that he was a truth-seer.
“I am Behnam, and I serve Arenavachi,” he said. “I will verify this woman’s words.”
Many people recognized him, and made reassuring noises.
The archpriest at last strode up the steps to the pavilion. “I, Fravak, high priest of the Guileless One, Arenavachi the Truthsayer, ally of the Relentless One, will verify the words of this woman.”
He had come up behind Alia, who had not deigned to look back at him. In full view of the crowd, she gave him the side eye when he drew even with her, prompting him to add,
“One thing I will say right now: there was indeed a murder in the Hall of Truth, on the eve of the solstice. A woman murdered a man identified as Gira, son of Gushtam.”
The crowd gasped. To her satisfaction, Bessa noticed faltering confidence in the protector’s staunchest defenders. Someone in the crowd cried out, and others began speaking rapidly in Anshani.
Excellent. Though she did not speak their language, Bessa suspected what they were saying. According to Alia’s investigation, the murdered Gira had belonged to a prominent family. News which had made Bessa’s heart somersault with joy: the nobility would not take the slaying of their own lying down. Any of the nobles who had ever thought they would look good with a crown would see their opportunity, and exert every effort to corral the crowd into turning against the protector.
After all, the protector of Elamis was like a king: he could be replaced.
Behnam now took Bessa’s left hand, and Fravak took her right. Gamely she smiled at them.
“I said I am Bessa, and I am from Silura. Do I speak truly or falsely?”
“True,” both men concurred.
She continued, moving on to the thunder mace, to get that matter out of the way quickly. Edana’s use of it had clearly unnerved people, and any clever instigator on Protector Amavand’s side could twist their possession of it as proof they were the agents of Erebossa.
The crowd became deathly silent when Behnam and Fravak confirmed Bessa’s belief the thunder mace was used by giants. As well they confirmed Bessa’s desire to warn the Anshani about the giants. Again Bessa suppressed a laugh; the folly she had berated herself for had been put to good use after all.
Apparently a few enterprising people had assessed the situation in the square, for now people began passing around buttery flat breads topped with onion seeds. The bread was followed by baskets of fruit to choose from. The crowd was settling in.
Now they came to the matter of the protector.
The watchmen descended, hovering just above the roof of the pavilion. At first Bessa feared they were going to attempt to kill her, and had learned from their companion’s mistake to keep away from the lakes
But instead, one of them blew a horn.
“Make way for His Majesty!”