Whooshhh. Thrrmmmm. Whooshhh. Brrrrmmm.
There is a serenity in loud noises, as comforting and restful as silence, provided the tones are pitched low and the drone is steady.
Whooshhh. Thrrmmmm. Whooshhh. Brrrrmmm.
Such sounds massage the mind and gently scour away the grit of thought and worry. Tranquility in noise. Another of life’s paradoxes, Windglow concluded after waking from a sound sleep in a dark corner of the pump room.
He had learned the work schedules of the only two other men who ever descended the ladder into the pump works. From what he saw of their work--checking valves, replacing pipe, lubricating gears--he guessed that they were skilled technicians, not easily replaced. Nor were they the least bit interested in poking around the cluttered, unused corners of their work area.
Dhayelle Mohenga had scared Windglow pulseless when she caught him with his ear to the door of the conference room. He had been certain that he had been staring death in the face. The fact that she had proven a daring and resourceful ally had been no less than astonishing. With enemy search squads prowling the Citadel, Windglow had yielded to Dhayelle the perilous task of exploring the lower reaches of the Archives for clues to the whereabouts of Shaska or Ehiloru. His newfound ally also freed him from the hazardous and ethically challenging necessity of foraging for food. Each day she smuggled meals to him, with extra portions for his silent pet.
All in all, Windglow felt almost snug in his present station, despite its gravity. His greatest concern was that the smell accumulated in so many days without proper bathing might give him away. But Dhayelle pointed out that, on that score, he actually blended well with the stink of most of the guards who contaminated the Citadel.
As one of the pump engineers began a tedious series of water soundings and pressure measurements that would occupy him fully for hours, Windglow tucked Puddles into his shirt and stole up the ladder.
Soldier traffic was heavier than usual in the Citadel this day. Crossing the main corridor to the back passage through the Archives took Windglow the better part of an hour. Finally satisfied that all was clear, he tiptoed up the marble staircase to the third floor of the Government Building. Breezing down the hall, he ducked into a closet and waited. Some time later, Dhayelle appeared carrying a spluttering candle atop a tray laden with pots and stacked mugs, and a half-eaten loaf of bread. She balanced the tray with one hand while she flipped through the ring of keys in her other and applied one of them to the keyhole of an oaken door. across the hall from the closet. On hearing the latch click, Windglow darted out of his hiding place and brushed past her through the doorway, stuffing the bread in his pocket.
Dhayelle kicked the door shut behind her. She followed him as he groped along a narrow hallway frosted with crumbling limestone. Windglow had ferreted out this network of back closets, hallways, and storage rooms during his explorations. He had, in fact, found a cranny behind the very wall of the inner sanctum upon which he had been eavesdropping when Dhayelle had found him.
At the end of the passage, Windglow accepted a boost from his accomplice up to a storage shelf covered with boxes. It was a tight squeeze. He could hardly bear the scrunching of his bones for more than an hour or two. But all passageways in the vicinity were routinely searched before each meeting. Windglow had to be in place and hidden well in advance of this in order to be at his listening post. His perch was recessed enough so that anyone searching for him would have to climb up onto the shelf to find him. So far, the crumbling walls and dank odors of the catacombs had made this more effort than the soldiers cared to expend.
Dhayelle’s timing must be off today. Windglow felt as though he had sat for hours, and he had yet to hear the sounds of the expected perfunctory search. His knees and tendons throbbed. He was about to stretch his legs over the edge of his nook when he heard a shuffling along the dark hallway.
This search was far more thorough than the others. Windglow even heard scrapings of a boot climbing up on one of the lower shelves for a better view into his lofty nook. He leaned far back into th shadows, avoiding the flickering light of an oil lamp, and held his breath, trying to decide what to do if he was discovered. But the guard, after much grunting, left--either discouraged from further effort by the exertion required or satisfied he had done his duty.
Windglow sank back in relief and stretched his aching legs.
The room grew dark. A door slammed on the other side of the wall.
At the sound of scraping chairs, Windglow pressed his ear to the thinnest portion of the plaster. The sounds of people settling into their seats obscured the initial remarks. But there was no mistaking the scaly, inhuman voice of Radigan, one of three men who had been present at all previous top level meetings, along with Eldorean, the governor of Rushbrook, and Flaymond, the Ordunese officer who had betrayed Hummer. On one other occasion they had been joined by an Ordunese senator named Mercuto.
“I should not need to be asking this question, but have the other Tishaarans been located yet?” asked Radigan.
“We have a report that the girl was seen coming to the aid of the Morp a few days ago,” came Flaymond’s shaky answer. “We have been tracking her now for some time. We have several good leads and shall have her soon. As for the other one, we have combed the entire Citadel and courtyard without finding a trace of him. It appears that he managed to escape. Nonetheless, we continue to monitor the corridors on the off chance that he cowers yet in some corner.”
“Neither poses a threat to us,” hissed Radigan. “I was but hoping the soldiers might find them for their own satisfaction. A morale booster, as it were. The last thing in the world I fear is a couple of Tishaarans.” His voice then dropped so low that Windglow strained to hear.
“Listen well as I assign your parts. I shall not repeat a word of it and shall never speak of it again until all is accomplished. I warn you that you have no options or discretion. Do not even think of exercising initiative or improvising. Simply execute the plan. It cannot fail as long as it is carried out according to design.
“Eldorean, you will station a division of your armies at Reef’s Island. In eight days, give or take a day, a visitor shall arrive there. When that happens, you will perform two assignments. One, you will send word to me at once. Two, you will command your men to protect that visitor with their lives. Do you understand?"
“Actually, I am a little confused,” said Eldorean. “Who is the visitor? May I assume this would be the Master to whom you have alluded on several occasions? The mysterious one who directs the course of this venture? Come, you claim connection to the higher realms and none of us would dream of doubting you. But the identity of that power has never been revealed to us. If I am to offer protection, I need to know who or what we are protecting.”
There followed a tense silence. “All right,” hissed Radigan at last. “I suppose it is time to reveal the identity. But the secret shall not go beyond this room. I promise you this: if anyone not present among us now comes to suspect this name before the appointed time, I shall assume betrayal and treachery on your part. And I shall not bother to sift out who was the culprit. I shall hold you all guilty. Agreed?”
Eldorean and Flaymond hastily agreed, professing their absolute dependability.
“The visitor, the one who directs the course of this venture, is not a he at all, properly speaking. Nor a she. It’s name is Ishyrus.”
You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.
Windglow was stunned. Ishyrus? That name was mentioned in some ancient stories of the spirit world. It was said to be one of the noblest and wisest of the Seraphim of the Fifth Realm. That Ishyrus?
He wished his eyes could burn through wood and mortar to see the face of the devil-voiced fiend who spoke this madness. Was this what the Cold Flames were all about? Ishyrus? Why would Ishyrus, or any other Fifth Realmer, risk its immortality in any sort of venture to the mortal lands? And how could a glorious being like that ever get mixed up with a scheming butcher like Radigan?
“But-but Ishyrus is a figure out of myth,” stammered Flaymond, clearly as astounded as Windglow at the news. “A Seraph from the legends of the Fifth Realm.”
“Why, if it were to exist at all, it would be a spirit,” added Eldorean. “I understood you to say the higher realms were involved in this, but I assumed you meant the Fourth. Do you mean to say you have had contact with the Fifth Realm? Can a spirit even exist in a lower realm?”
Windglow blessed them both for speaking and providing temporary relief from that acid voice. But the long pause that followed made him uncomfortable. Did I make some movement that could be detected? Has Puddles made any noise?
“You credulous low realmers!" hissed the venomous voice. "Just because your kind has been shielded from the Fifth Realm since days long forgotten, do not delude yourself into thinking it does not exist. Ishyrus is coming. When it does, it shall be temporarily vulnerable. For a brief time, it shall have no Fifth Realm powers nor will it have its accustomed immortality. While in that state it must be protected, until it can accomplish that which it intends. I foresee no danger to Ishyrus, as long as the secret remains in this room. It is only because the potential consequences are so severe that all precautions must be taken.
“Now,” said Radigan, his words dripping with contempt, “Am I correct in assuming there will be no more interruptions?”
None of the listeners spoke. Windglow did not blame them. Who would dare interrupt that poisonous voice after such a warning?
“You shall be privileged to understand that which you need to understand,” said Radigan. “For now, you need only understand your role in the plan and I suggest you focus on that.” His tone implied that the word “suggest” was only a euphemism. “When word of Ishyrus’s arrival reaches us from the island, you will begin the coup, Flaymond. The plan is precise. You butcher the parson, as savagely as imagination allows. Express your creativity; depravity can be an asset here. When you have finished, you will fling the bloody pieces of his carcass into the main corridor of the Archives. (“Dear God, no!”) At the same time, our agitators shall arouse the people to a murderous fury with tales of Ehiloru’s savage torture and martyrdom at the hands of the sinister and arrogant Senate of Orduna. We shall stoke their righteous wrath until the rabble storms the Citadel to avenge his blood.
“At precisely that time you shall vacate the grounds and release our captive senators from their cells. They shall be washed and robed and perfumed like the strutting peacocks of the royal court of Pharitania. That is why we have pampered them so, Flaymond. These simpletons must appear to have been living in high style, tending only to their own obscene wants and corrupt desires while shutting their doors and their ears to the appeals for governance and justice from the citizenry.
“When the mob, primed for vengeance upon finding the body of Ehiloru, finds the haughty Senate of this inept government free and rejoicing in their release, they shall take them to be the tormenters and assassins of the prophet. They shall tear them apart. Every last member of the governing body of Orduna shall be slain, in the name of justice, by their own people. Except for one.”
The ghastly voice dripped with malice. “In the absence of any other authority within the city, you, Mercuto, who will have shown yourself to be the one loyal senator of Orduna, shall assume control. Assisted, of course, by the benevolent troops of Rushbrook who shall be on hand to help the citizenry reclaim what is their own.”
“I assume you have taken into account the regular Ordunese army,” said Mercuto, timidly. “Those quartered across town. Although weakened and in disarray, it is still a force to be reckoned with. Would these soldiers stand by while a mob pillages the Citadel and an army of Brookings marches with impunity into their city? I fear that in the event of a riot such as you propose, the army may seize control of the Citadel until order has been restored. Would it not be better to wait until Ishyrus is finished doing...whatever, on the island and then begin our assault on Orduna with all our forces?”
“You show commendable cunning for an Ordunese,” said the grating voice. “But your fears have been anticipated. Has not the Ordunese army been as frustrated as everyone else in this cursed city at the arrogance and incompetence of their inaccessible leaders, who have left them poorly equipped and underpaid? They are this far (Windglow could not see the distance Radigan was representing but assumed it to be tiny) from rebelling themselves. They shall be glad to see the veil of secrecy ripped from the Citadel so that the light of responsible leadership may again shine. Their rage over the torture and death of the saintly Ehiloru will equal, and likely surpass, that of the masses. I have no doubt they will rally behind Mercuto, the one loyal senator who saved the city from ruin and corruption.
“But if trouble should arise for any reason, we have ample backup. My own army lies hidden within the Citadel. Ordunese guards in our employ control the gates of the city. Whatever happens, your Rushbrook division, Eldorean, will be able to breech the city gates without a fight. You see that we have nothing to fear.” His laugh was a sickening parody of the real thing: cold and merciless.
“As for why we must attack while a division of our troops is occupied with the protection of Ishyrus, I prefer to do this without Ishyrus. It is a Seraph, you know. Warfare and bloodshed distress it so. Can you imagine how it would react to our butchering the prophet? No, I do not want Ishyrus to have any part in this coup, unless it is unavoidable. Better yet if it does not know that it was a coup at all, but believes it a legitimate takeover. That we are blameless in all that takes place."
“Then why wait for Ishyrus at all?” asked Flaymond. “Why not set the coup in motion now?”
“You have no idea how long I have been planning this,” hissed Radigan. “The stakes are beyond calculating. I have built into the plan safeguard after safeguard to eliminate even the possibility of failure. Ishyrus is my final trump card. It craves the success of this venture more than anyone. Should anything at all should go wrong, it is an infallible backup, and I would like to have it near at hand."
Radigan hacked out his venomous laugh. “Ishyrus could never have begun to achieve its aims without me. It owes me for my tireless years of labor on its behalf. If the plan lies in the balance, it will postpone its concerns and settle to my advantage any conflict that remains.”
Eldorean repeatedly cleared his throat, as if testing icy waters before plunging in. “I guess I do not understand Ishyrus’s part in all this. In light of the restrictions posed by realm bonds, what powers can it possibly wield in this realm?”
“Am I to understand you consider yourself worthy of being privy to such knowledge?” The contempt in Radigan’s voice raked Windglow’s nerves.
“No, sir, not at all,” mumbled Eldorean. “Not at all worthy.” Windglow was stunned hear the ruler of Rushbrook in such a state of abasement before Radigan. Who is this Devil-throat and what powers does he have to so dominate such a powerful man?
“An excellent analysis.”
“Sir,” croaked Flaymond, “there there is one thing more that I am loathe to mention out of respect for your justifiable intolerance. “Your army chafes at being cooped up within these Citadel walls. They openly grumble about having to cower out of sight and restrain themselves from their natural, shall we say, inclinations toward the prisoners.”
The cruel laughter pierced deep into Windglow’s soul. He felt overcome by a strange, disgusting sensation. Several confused moments passed before he realized that what he was experiencing was pure hatred! He bit his lip hard and tried to calm himself. Do not let them goad you into such an evil!
“Again, I remind you that Seraphs have tender hearts,” scoffed Radigan. “It insists we use only such force as needed to accomplish its purpose. It would never be a party to the type of behavior you have in mind. Poor Ishyrus! Spirits can communicate through dreams in the lower realms, but they can receive communication only when we initiate it through meditation. I am the only one who regularly speaks to Ishyrus in this way; I am its only source of information. What the naive fool does not realize is that I communicate only what I choose. It has been so easy to conceal my plans and my nature under the guise of obedience and righteousness.
Nevertheless, we must not get cocky. We must do all within our power to keep that illusion until the plan is fulfilled. Ishyrus must not understand, until it is too late, what I have done.
“So until the plan is accomplished, all will stay on their best behavior. But you may assure the men that the time is at hand when all of our loyal subjects shall be released from this puritanistic pap. When my rule begins and Ishyrus’ attentions turn elsewhere, they shall drink life’s pleasures to the fullest.”
Windglow’s mind churned in a mixture of wonder and revulsion. His fingers trembled and his knees cried out as he recited to himself the details of the plan he had just heard. Who or what was this hideous Radigan? Why was a Fifth Realm spirit risking its immortality by coming to Orduna? What could Ishyrus possibly want with the place? And Mercuto and Flaymond? The traitors! The Ordunese worms!
A long time later, he gingerly unfolded his legs and crawled down from his perch. Stretching and hobbling until the blood could trickle back into the voids of his legs, he tried to make sense of what he had just heard. Although he had long ago come to grips with the probability that the world had entered a dangerous era, the magnitude of the plot that Radigan had outlined scared him witless. It exposed his foolish smugness about setting up camp inside the enemy’s inner sanctum. The crowing of a self-important ninny! Radigan had already taken over Orduna so smoothly and secretly that even if Windglow could send 100 messengers to every corner of the city reporting exactly what he had just heard, they would be laughed out of the realm. In a few days, Radigan would complete the conquest, with the unexplained help of a Fifth Realm Seraph, of all beings.
What hope was there of thwarting or even delaying a plot of this enormity especially at this late stage? Possibly someone might believe Ehiloru if he were to appear and expose the plot. But the prophet was under heavy guard and under the sentence of death. So who was left? Dhayelle and Delaney? Even if they could spread warning, to whom would they deliver it?
“Allies, allies,” he thought, slumped against the darkened wall as he waited for Dhayelle. “Orduna must have friends who would answer in its hour of need.”
But, sobered by Hummer’s fatal miscalculation, he could think of no one beyond his tiny circle of acquaintances whom he could trust. The Ordunese army was riddled with corruption. The Senate, with the exception of the traitor Mercuto, was imprisoned. Of all the peoples of the Second Realm, Rushbrook held the closest ties to Orduna and should have been the first at its side. And yet its governor, Eldorean, groveled at the feet of the enemy.
Mohenga Dhayelle better have some ideas!