Chapter IV
Intrigues of the Scorpion
In which Alia calls for aid, and the celestials answer
“I am aware of your misgivings, huntress, and I share them,” said Fravak, high priest of Aletheia.
With firesteel he ignited the kindling placed in a basin on a low table below the altar. Five incense burners were lined up before the basin, each fashioned in fanciful ways. The one in front of Alia was bronze, with a handle made to look like an outstretched cat. The cat’s forepaws clutched a little empty bowl.
Alia sighed. Having had all night to sleep, she felt more prepared to deal with Selàna’s proposal to investigate Protector Amavand’s memories. During breakfast with the others Alia managed to avoid discussing it, but after breakfast Selàna insisted on leading them back to Fravak.
To her dismay, Fravak did not dismiss the idea outright. If anything, he seemed intrigued by the venture. More, he insisted they make incense offerings to the Truthsayer, that She might bless them with special insight.
“You share my misgivings, you say. Yet you’re going to go ahead with this anyway, aren’t you?” Alia asked. To her left, in front of Tregarde, a box of spikenard incense sat at the ready. She pulled out a pinched of incense and placed it in the cat’s bowl, then passed the box to Sheridan, who stood at her right.
Though Fravak flinched at her question, inwardly she was pleased she managed to keep the tartness from her voice. The high priest did not sit high in her estimation, but she acknowledged to herself that Elamis presented different pressures and constraints for him than the kind she’d dealt with back in Lyrcania.
Fravak pointed to Selàna, who stood last in line, next to Bessa. After a moment Alia realized he was specifically pointing to the cuffs the Eitanite priests used to bind her shadow magic.
“By the power of the Sower, Selàna is bound here. Creatures from Erebossa cannot check His power. Only abyssals and their agents would try and drag her to the other side, and they cannot.”
Reasonable, as far as answering one of her objections. “Perhaps. But what protects the rest of you and the echomancers?”
“Why, you of course,” he said. “As a representative of the Huntress. And Arenavachi protects Her own. The Historians have the Seeker. We all have faith. And Arenavachi should wax strong here, since we are uncovering lies, which She approves of. What say you?”
No, no, no. The words danced on Alia’s tongue, but she refrained from saying them aloud. All that escaped her lips was another sigh, her deepest yet. Abruptly she quieted, noting warily that Tregarde was eying her. She cocked an eyebrow at him, which he apparently took as an invitation, for he said,
“High Lady Summoner of Astrals, I think you can do this. And since Erebossa is involved, you technically don’t have to summon the astral. It’s right where you want it to be, in the first place. It just needs to act as an escort.”
Astrals. Ah yes, she would require their help. Especially as she was the only priestess of the Huntress present. But that didn’t make the idea any less mad, and for such reason Alia glanced at her companions to check their reactions.
Sober, stoic Sheridan was nodding in agreement. Sheridan! He who didn’t trust in summoning astrals was now so casual about the prospect? Why?
And Bessa? Carefully, the Siluran placed her stick of incense into Fravak’s fire bowl. Instantly the perfume filled the air, even as she quickly dropped the stick into her lotus-shaped incense holder. “I didn’t know anyone in real life could summon astrals, until Sheridan mentioned the other night that you did,” she said. “If you can, why not? Do you have another way to find out what Amavand knew?”
What Amavand knew. At this question Alia felt her resistance waver. Aside from Fravak—or maybe not—everyone in this room had brushed against Erebossa’s agents: eidolons, fellshades, and arsh’atûm. Bessa’s question was not that of an ignorant, innocent child. It was a question asked by one who’d faced such terrors before, and understood the risk they would be facing in this endeavor.
Reluctantly, Alia leaned forward to better look upon Selàna. As usual, Selàna didn’t face anyone. She was watching as a curl of smoke rose up from the upturned beak of a bronze sparrow, which served as her incense holder.
Nevertheless, though she presented only her profile, Alia studied her face anyway. This girl who was once Zephyra was indeed restored to her true self, but Alia could not stop herself from wondering if Rahqu still somehow made her dance to her tune. Visiting Amavand’s memories would serve as the perfect trap, and Alia tried to imagine how Palamara would react if faced with it.
“Sweet merciful Huntress, spare me, please. No. No, Bessa, I do not have another option. What I have is an observation: when we caught her, Zephyra said wraiths carried off Amavand’s spirit. If the wraiths are the kind my mother taught me about, then retrieving any spirit in their possession is not an easy proposition. They usually take the spirits of the wicked right to the Abyssal Gates, which usually means appealing to the Destroyer Himself if we do this. But thanks to Amavand’s wickedness we are far from usually in this matter.”
Tregarde whistled, catching her drift. “Right … he worshipped an infernal queen. Damn. So Amavand’s spirit might be with Rahqu then. And she won’t give him up to us.”
“Infernals aren’t known for giving up thralls,” Alia said dryly. “More to the point, Amavand can report to her what he sees, which I really don’t think will go well for us. It’s a trap.”
From the corner of her eye she saw Selàna shudder.
“Did I come up with this idea on my own, then? Or did she plant it in me?” Selàna asked, echoing Alia’s thoughts.
Alia and Fravak exchanged a glance.
“Arenavachi freed you,” Fravak pointed out. “Freed you from the queen, specifically. It shouldn’t have any further hold on you.”
“So there’s no way at all to find out what Amavand knew about the giants?” Bessa pursued.
Alia stepped away from the incense table and turned to face the spring. The waters were so crystalline, so clear, so pure, that she was mesmerized. With the greatest of effort she looked away.
“Call for the echomancers,” she surrendered. “And I will call for reinforcements.”
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High noon came, and brought with it three women. Echomancers, marked so by their miniature electrum astrolabes they wore as pendants around their necks. Silver stars spangled their sky blue chitons, round about their hems and cuffs.
The keepers of Aletheia’s Fane had left the body of the lord protector of Elamis on the bier where he’d perished. A sheet covered him, hiding his unnaturally rapid decay from casual view: his skeleton was already beginning to emerge. The cloying, sickly scent of his decay mingled with the ritual scents of myrtle, frankincense, hyssop, and jasmine.
The group fanned out, taking position in relation to Amavand, with Alia at his head. Fravak, flanked by two of his truth-seers, stood to the Amavand’s right. As Aletheia’s high priest the silver crown he wore was fashioned to look like a wreath of myrtle. The three echomancers stood to the left of the former lord protector of Elamis. At his foot was Selàna. Behind her stood Bessa, Edana, Tregarde, and Sheridan.
So it began, with Alia singing a canticle in the liturgical language the dryads had taught her. A soft glow enveloped the group, and only then did the echomancers begin their part. The echomancers clutched their pendants, and suddenly the walls of the room vanished, to be replaced by a starry void.
“Now let us see that which came to pass,” an echomancer intoned. “Let us see the day, let us see the hour, and from whence knowledge of the Atta’u came to the lord of Elamis.”
Stars swirled about them, but awe overcame any dizziness they might have felt. Out of the void a room appeared, a well-appointed study fit for a king. The group found themselves on the outer edges of a tableau, wherein a young Amavand sat in a chair before a citrus wood table. Across from him at the table sat a man Bessa didn’t recognize.
“Artostes. The Magister of War,” Selàna said, identifying him for their sake.
Amavand held a chalice of wine in his hand. Not once did he bring it to his lips. Instead he sat back in his chair and regarded Artostes through narrowed eyes.
“…and how are we to do this? Us and what army? When the king finds out, his army will crush us. As will that of Rasena Valentis, and Xia. You’ll unite them all instead of smashing them to bits.”
Artostes laughed. “You’re quite right, Your Majesty. Quite right. That’s why we won’t rely on your flesh and blood army. They will turn against you the moment you try, even if you manage to suborn a few to follow the Greatest One.”
The satrap’s lips tightened. He didn’t look as if he were used to anyone laughing at him, as if he were a man of no consequence.
“Explain.”
“The Greatest One has her own army, of course. With them, she has conquered worlds, more than you know. I have seen this for myself. So can you, if you ever screw up the courage to go through the shadow gate.”
“It seems you’re calling me a coward, Artostes. Are you so sure of your place with the Greatest One? Are you so sure I need you alive?”
Artostes’ lips trembled with suppressed laughter. After a moment his face smoothed out. “Your fear is natural, because you are still flesh and blood. I shouldn’t have implied there was any flaw in you for it. ‘O king, live forever,’ as they say. And if you follow us, you will live forever.”
The scene dimmed slightly.
“A lie,” Fravak judged. “Artostes didn’t believe what he was saying about immortality.”
“That is not even his true shape,” Selàna added. “He was a scorpion man, and the guardian of the shadow gate in the citadel.”
“But he was corrupted,” said the truth-seer to Fravak’s right. “He believed what he said about investigating other worlds. He did do that. He could do that, as a scorpion man.”
“Now we shall see his true form now. Now we shall see all that is true,” said the third truth-seer.
The scene warped, and suddenly so did Artostes. Before, he and Amavand had been matched in height even as they sat at the table. But now Artostes’ head brushed the ceiling, and his broad chest and huge arms made him look ridiculous next to the relatively tiny table at which he sat—stood, rather, on his massive scorpion legs. His powerful human torso joined so smoothly with his scorpion lower half that he looked remarkably natural, even as he awed those who spied upon him now.
Edana and Tregarde exclaimed, recognizing Artostes at last as the scorpion man they had fought in the shadow gate. If Alia recognized him she couldn’t say; she was too busy chanting the canticles.
The scorpion man continued talking, “Our army cannot be killed by normal means, or by the weapons that anyone in your high king’s army would have. Or the armies of Rasena Valentis or Xia. You can be sure of that. The army of our goddess has superior power, and superior armor. This world will come under subjection. You can lead that world…or you can make way for another. What’s your preference?”
His scorpion stinger wagged slightly over his shoulder—aimed directly for Amavand.
“He believed that,” Fravak said.
Precisely, deliberately, Amavand set down his wine. He tented his fingers and raised his chin. “Where is this army? In Erebossa?”
“No, Erebossa’s astral highways are only a conduit. They’re the road the Greatest One’s army travels to get where the Greatest One needs them to go. Here, in this case.”
Before the scorpion man could say another word, a rent appeared straight down the middle of the starry void, behind the echomancers. The void yawned open. Out probed enormous claws—
—that were snatched back by an unseen force. White lightning arced across the tear, which promptly sealed shut again.
Alia exhaled. Tension lines formed around her eyes and mouth. After a moment, four figures appeared, one in each corner outside the circle. An ethereal haze of blinding white and silver sheathed them from head to toe.
The figures were variously armed; later Bessa would say she glimpsed the figure to the east carrying two falcata-shaped knives, and the figure to the west held a scythe. The one stationed to the north gripped a staff surmounted by a standard of a phoenix arising from flames. At the southern station stood one she could not see at all, for the haze obscured it utterly. However, no one could doubt who these beings were: Celestials.
So divine was their bearing that those who beheld them had to fight not to fall to their knees. But reverence paralyzed them, especially when the haze surrounding the eastern celestial cleared momentarily, revealing a countenance like that of the Huntress. From the way the celestials had arranged themselves, the other figures must represent the Restorer and the Reaper. To the south none dared to look, for the Watcher there had to be an incarnation of the Destroyer.
Bessa exhaled. Astral warriors. Never had she imagined seeing them, not so long as she lived. The lore she’d read about them indicated that only a priest or sorcerer aligned with specific gods could ever hope to see an astral warrior, even in death.
But she was seeing them now because infernal forces were attacking the ceremony. And perhaps, the group itself. Bessa shuddered, and tried to focus again on the unfolding scene.
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Amavand was asking, “And before that? Where are they when they aren’t in Erebossa?”
“In their world, I suppose,” Artostes said with a shrug. “The Gate is open on their side. And it will open permanently on this side, once Vartanian’s group is finished.”
Honoria! A lightning bolt of clarity shot through Bessa, and beside her Edana stirred. In what seemed like forever ago, Bessa herself had speculated that Honoria Vartanian—the First Abyssal—was using her brick making company as a front, to allow her minions to enter places where they otherwise couldn’t.
“And when do you expect that to happen? In the Seven Gates Era, the Anshan Gate alone took sixteen years to finish, and that was the only Gate to be constructed so quickly.”
The scorpion man shrugged. His enigmatic smile chilled them.
“You’re assuming I know, or share, or care about the history of humans. Seven Gates, do you say? That’s…well, that’s amusing. Seven. You humans only record seven? Oh, I suppose you only count the Gates that let you travel to parts of this world. Not other worlds.”
Lord Protector Amavand arched an elegant eyebrow. If he was astounded that more worlds existed besides Thuraia, his cool expression did not reveal it.
Fravak whispered, “Truth. The scorpion man believed that. More Gates? To other worlds? And it is so!”
“Lady Nensela was right,” Edana said. “She suspected more Gates existed at one point. She was trying to find out about them.”
Bessa quickly calculated. The Seven Gates Era had begun with the completion of the Pelasgian Gate, in the early centuries after the Third Cataclysm. Well over three thousand years ago. Records from that time period were far more sparse than she liked just now, even accounting for which nations did or didn’t have writing then. If only Lady Nensela were here…
Zing! The celestials had shifted their stances, clashing arms with armored monsters. White lightning arced from their weapons, impaling the monsters. The ground shook. Automatically Bessa and Edana clasped hands, which was when Bessa noticed Edana was praying softly yet fervently in the prayer language of the Eitanim. A violet light enveloped Edana, then spread out right and left until it encompassed Alia as well. Only the echomancers seemed oblivious as they maintained the vision of the past.
Artostes continued, “What you did in your primitive past has no bearing on now. Now you have our help. Don’t fear, the Gate will be finished in your lifetime, I promise you. Let’s see. When next a dawn eclipse comes on the summer solstice day, the Gate will be finished. You can be sure of that.”
“But the army. Who is this army? Not flesh and blood, but you don’t seem to be saying they’re abyssals, either. Or are you?”
“I think your people would call them giants. And they’re not of the Abyss. But they…let’s say they’re not supposed to exist.”
“Truth,” said the truth-seer to Fravak’s left.
“And they can’t be defeated by our weapons?” Protector Amavand was leaning forward now. Only his crossed arms hinted of his skepticism. “And how are they controlled?”
“You wouldn’t be controlling them. Nor will I. They only take orders from our goddess. They go where she pleases, and destroy whom she pleases. Not you. Not me.”
“But can only a god defeat them? Or can a mortal do it?”
Artostes shifted on his scorpion legs. A nervous gesture? “There are…those born of man and woman that our goddess speaks of unfavorably. They are a threat to her plans. Perhaps? Perhaps they can defeat her giants. But they can be dealt with. They will be dealt with. And you will help.”
“Naturally,” Amavand said, and this time it was his voice that rang with mockery. “But you’re avoiding the question. I want to be sure. Tell me something, my good magister: what is it about these people that makes our goddess speak so unfavorably about them? What do they have in common?”
“It won’t matter,” Artostes said, shifting on his legs again. “It won’t matter because they’ll never find the Gate. They’ll never be able to—”
A roar filled their ears. Suddenly, the scene erupted as a colossal claw shot up through the citrus-wood table, obliterating the tableau. Artostes and Amavand vanished before their eyes. The claw clenched into a fist, and aimed.
Straight for Selàna.
Alia let loose a war cry, so fierce and bloodcurdling that everyone jumped in terror. From Alia’s mouth white lightning burst forth, piercing the colossal claw from one side all the way to the other. The white fire shredded and flayed the claw, which writhed and lashed at Selàna.
Terror overtook them, too much to scream. The astral warriors were engaged in battle, this time against three more abyssals each.
Edana surged forward, pulling back Selàna. Not once did Edana cease her prayers, and as soon as she touched Selàna a violet wreath swathed around the girl.
What was left of the claw struck that wreath…
…which sealed its fate. The Shield of the Sower vaporized the claw instantly, leaving not even a fine layer of dust behind. A burst of violet lightning surged outward, knocking all of them off their feet.
Bessa screamed, fearing to be thrown into the void. However, to her distant gratification she slammed back against something solid. The breath knocked out of her, she couldn’t even gasp.
The void vanished.
Once again they stood in a chamber of Aletheia’s Fane. The bright glowlights that illuminated the room forced Bessa to shut her eyes. After so long in the dark, the light was painful.
Somewhere to her right, Edana groaned.
“Ironwing!” Sheridan cried.
Bessa quickly forced her eyes open. Almost everyone lay in heaps against the walls. Fravak knelt down, trying to rouse the truth-seer who had been standing to his left.
Meanwhile, Edana was batting with obvious confusion at Selàna’s shoulder. Out cold, Selàna lay against Edana’s stomach, pinning her to the floor.
With shocking grace, Sheridan sprang to his feet. He rushed over to where the huntress had been standing.
Bessa’s heart leapt in her throat. “Is she here? Did the fellshades get her?”
Recriminations swirled in her mind, as she tried to rise. Vividly Alia’s face came to her mind, and the way the huntress had seemed so reluctant to risk this little gambit. If the fellshades took the huntress …
With far less grace than Sheridan, Bessa managed to rise. She hurried after him, rounding the bier to reach the spot where Alia had been standing.
Sprawled out on the stone floor, Alia lay unconscious. Kneeling at her side, Sheridan patted her face to rouse her. Bessa knelt opposite, and briskly took over. Memories of Papouli on his rounds came back to her. Gently she probed Alia for signs of any broken bones, or any other obvious injuries.
Alia’s eyelashes fluttered.
“Help her sit up,” Bessa ordered. “Gently now.”
Reassured that the huntress still remained within the Cosmos, and unharmed at that, Bessa checked on the others. By this time Edana had managed to move Selàna, freeing herself. She was rubbing her temples when Bessa reached her.
“That claw,” Edana said. She looked down at Selàna, whose eyes were still tightly shut. “It was aiming straight for her.”
“Rahqu? Could that have been her hand? Trying to reclaim Selàna?”
Edana shuddered. They couldn’t discount the possibility.
Moments later, Selàna awakened. Though she was shaking, she managed to get to her feet, and readily accepted Edana’s arm when she offered it.
Fravak suggested they regroup in his study. It was spacious, with friezes of Aletheia carved into enameled brick walls. In one sequence She traversed the heavens in a chariot pulled by a pair of lamassu, which bore the heads of men, the bodies of lions, and the wings of eagles.
The succeeding sequence showed Her wielding Her flaming staff in battle against a creature that had three snakes in place of a head: a demon of deception that was attempting to corrupt a king in Anshan. In other sequences, She bestowed blessings on the kings of Anshan, who in turn glowed with Her holy light.
Twelve columns supported the ceiling in Fravak’s office, six pairs down the central part of the room, forming the aisles whose walls bore the reliefs of Aletheia. The columns sported fluted red shafts and capitals in the form of golden lions, back to back on all fours, with their heads raised.
Sheridan carried Alia in his arms. She was too groggy to attempt to walk. He lay her on one of the cedar couches Fravak had arranged in a circle between the columns. Once settled in his office, Fravak’s attendants hurried to bring them wine in orichalcum rhytons. The rhytons, conical vessels, had been molded at the bottom in the form of lion heads, alluding to the fact the lion-bodied lamassu pulled Aletheia’s chariot, as they did Her twin Sorcha.
When most everyone had regained their nerves—and Alia regained her senses—she spoke up. “They were waiting for us. Exactly as I thought they would be. There were more forces than what you saw, beyond your sight. Your stronghold would have held under most circumstances,” she said, directing herself to the echomancers.
Only one of the echomancers, Delara, had recovered enough to speak. Her reddish hair was in disarray, but her eyes were sharp, focused.
“But not this time, if you hadn’t been there,” Delara acknowledged. “And we thank you. We did not know about these other Gates. And you say that the scorpion man spoke truly?” She directed this question to Fravak.
He nodded slowly. “On this part he did. More Gates. To more worlds.”
Included with the rhytons were small plates of flat potato fritters, accented with dill and wedges of lemon. Fravak passed them around. “These are spiced with saffron and turmeric, which may be strange to you, but I promise the result will please your tongue. And take note of this bowl here. Pelasgians say this substance is oxygala, but we have a better version—if I may so—called yogurt. Try it, we have flavored it with lemons.”
Bessa took an experimental bite of the fritter, and found that Fravak was correct. Rich and savory, the treat oddly reassured her: she was alive, not trapped amongst the fell creatures of Erebossa. “Back to the Gate question—Honoria’s people may either be building one or restoring one, but they aren’t finished with it yet. The dawn eclipse happens on this coming summer solstice, and that’s when Lady Nensela’s prophecy says the giants will arrive.”
“He believed the Gate would not be complete until such a time,” Fravak confirmed.
“That’s a kind of project that can’t be hidden,” Edana said, examining a fritter. “Let’s consider the size of the current Gates, and how much adamant you need—”
One of the echomancers suddenly stood up, drawing their attention. Setareh? Yes, indeed, and Bessa noted the firmness of the woman’s tone as she spoke.
“Not adamant,” Setareh said. “I know that much about the Gates; the substance they’re made of isn’t adamant. It’s star steel, not from our world. Where it did come from: a series of stars that fell to our world thousands of years ago. They caused the Third Cataclysm—the one Cataclysm not caused by sylphs. I’ve had a hunch that those rocks might have been a volley in a war, but who would we have been fighting? That, I never knew.”
Bessa inhaled sharply. Lessons came to her mind, of the lore taught by her tutors. “The Night of Falling Stars! I remember this story, of a storm in the heavens. And after that came the Night of Falling Stars, and then the Third Cataclysm. The Seven Gates were built after the Cataclysm. Someone might have cast down those stars for exactly that purpose; perhaps it wasn’t even possible to build Gates before then—” she broke off, her eyes fixed on Edana’s face.
Edana’s face was slack, with either astonishment or wonder or some other emotion Bessa could not place.
“Phaënna,” Edana whispered.
A name she had never mentioned to Bessa. Who was this ‘Phaënna,’ and why did Edana say her name with such reverence?
“Is she from the legend?” Bessa asked.
“Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps,” Edana replied, staring off into the middle distance. “Until you mentioned it, I’d forgotten all about the legend. I met a star nymph once, who walks among us in bodily form. She goes about in the shape of a woman, but that is only one of her shapes. And she told me she fell to Thuraia ‘many lifetimes ago.’ There’s a lot I can’t say, but I will say that she established a covenant with certain humans after the Third Cataclysm.”
Ah. This had to do with the Star Dragons. Didn’t Ziri claim his order of arcana had treaties and covenants going back to that time? And it explained Edana’s evasiveness.
Broken now from her reverie, Edana at last attended to her fritter. While the others murmured in astonishment at her claim, she tore her fritter in half, and tasted one half. Followed by a nod of approval, and a dipping of the second half into the yogurt. The result brought a smile to her lips. Only after this did she speak again.
“The star also didn’t tell me why she fell, and I didn’t think to ask her—there was a lot going on—if I were the wagering type I would stake money that in those days, someone on Thuraia knew the power of those metals, and what could be done with them,” Edana added.
“The Salamandra,” Alia said. Seeing everyone turn their gaze upon her, she quickly explained, “The Salamandra aren’t from here. They came before the Second Cataclysm, and are the reason the sylphs produced that Cataclysm. That was what, five thousand years ago? But fifteen hundred years before the Third Cataclysm. And of anyone on Thuraia in those days, they are the ones who would have to know how to build world Gates: they are immortal, and keep records.”
While the others again exclaimed in surprise, Bessa exchanged a look with Edana.
“We met the Fire Lords, and they said as much,” Bessa confirmed. “The Salamandra lost their world to the giants, and fled here. They told us they came through a gate that was between the wastes of Anshan and Xia. But how could they do that, if no Gates existed until after the Third Cataclysm?”
“No, no, the Guileless One just confirmed Artostes was telling the truth about more Gates existing,” Alia pointed out. “So it’s not impossible for there to be a Gate before the Seven we know about. And obviously, the now-vanished Anshan-Xia Gate was one of them.”
“Well hold on here,” Tregarde interjected. The sorcerer had been studying the frescoes, lingering over the one where Aletheia battled the evil spirit of deception. “If the Salamandra did build our Gates, what would they do that for? Especially if the Gates could go to other worlds?”
“An escape route,” Bessa suggested. “They had to escape once, why not twice? If you think of the story of the Falling Stars in terms of a battle, then the Salamandra might have decided they would need another escape route.” She considered a question she had asked herself before, and spoke it out loud. “How many worlds are there, besides ours and the home world of the Salamandra? The giants apparently have their own world, not just the one they stole from the Salamandra. Lady Nensela said once that we can’t go to their land and retaliate, but what if we could? If I were a Salamandran, I would want to find out where the giants came from, and how I might avenge my people. I want to find out where the giants come from, and how I might avenge my people: we need to find that Gate.”
“Honoria was working on building it,” Edana reminded her. “Our cipher sages may have cracked the code she wrote about it. The time has come to find where she was sending those brick makers.”
Before anyone could move, an acolyte priest rushed into the room. He skidded to a halt, then clasped his knees as he attempted to catch his breath.
“What is it?” Fravak demanded.
A wheeze, then another, and finally the acolyte straightened up. “The shah”—wheeze, wheeze, wheeze— “the shah—ahem. The shahanshah was attacked … in his winter palace.”
Fravak and the other Anshani exclaimed, but Edana exchanged a glance with Bessa. Drusus Caecilianus Tarkhana, the emperor of Rasena Valentis, had fought off attackers in his palace over the past summer. Which brought to remembrance the suspicion that his would-be slayers had intended for the fellshade Murena to usurp Tarkhana’s body. Had the evil spirits schemed to do the same thing to the man who called himself Anshan’s king of kings?
“Is he alive?” Selàna demanded.
The acolyte eyed her with distaste—as Zephyra she had sent monsters to besiege the very temple where they now stood. “Yes. Wounded, though. His attackers ambushed him in one of the gardens.”
“And side effects? Any strange behavior?” Selàna pursued.
A glance at Fravak, who nodded in turn. The acolyte responded, “No one sees him. His first wife attends to him, and a few of the very select in his inner circle. But other than that…”
“This can’t be a coincidence,” Bessa said. “We know Rahqu wants the haoma, the ambrosia the simurghs guard. And the high king has the keys to their realm. Rahqu is going after it now.”
The Anshani exclaimed at this, but Selàna remained calm. Quietly she said, “I can get us to the high king. I have Amavand’s seal ring, and that will give me right of entry into the shahanshah’s presence. But the high king never met Zephyra, so she had no influence with him. Therefore, neither do I. However, bringing news of Amavand’s death, and saying that it’s related to the attack on the high king should win you an audience. Everything after that will be up to you.”
“Fair enough,” Bessa swiftly agreed.
Beside her Edana shivered, inviting a question from Bessa.
“ ‘I fight no battle unarmed’,” Edana said softly. But she waited until the echomancers left before saying, “Let’s go over everything we’re going to need. I want to leave as early tomorrow morning as we can. First light would be ideal.”
Tregarde rubbed his hands. “As an itinerant doer-of-good-deeds, let me give some advice: forget the baggage train. They attract bandits and bureaucrats, and you can’t always tell the difference between the two. But aside from that, we need to travel light. We need to travel fast. And in secret if we can.”