Cethe (19 page)

private.”

Thornwald flashed him a quick, grateful grin. The two had been friends since childhood. Like himself and Michael, their

estates lay side by side.

“Have you heard of our bishop?” he asked Severyn

“I believe so. Gabriel Storm, is it not? One of the more unusual men in the Church, I hear. He’s not a knightmage, nor a

member of any High Order.”

Thornwald nodded. “Gabe was named Withwil ow’s highest cleric five years ago, after Bishop Kelsey died. He is the youngest

man ever to be ordained to such a rank and is not of noble birth. He is also a man of great compassion and wil . Under his guidance,

the Cathedral at Withwil ow has greatly improved the lot of the poor. Indeed, Gabe is immensely popular with both commoners and

the local highblood; I’m honored to count him among my particular friends.”

“I’ve heard much the same,” said Severyn. “The parish of Withwil ow is fortunate.”

“Yes, and no.” Thornwald’s brief smile was wry. “Gabriel has many excel ent qualities, but one of his strongest is his sense of

honor. He has never been comfortable with the greed and corruption that runs rampant through the Church today, nor the naked

ambition of some who sit on the Celestial Council. Rather than sit quietly by or look the other way at injustice, he speaks out against

it.”

“Admirable,” agreed Severyn. “But what has this to do with me?”

Again, Thornwald hesitated, looking searchingly into each face. Final y, he took a deep breath and went on. “Did you know

the Celestial Council is in session here in Lothmont?”

“I’d heard something of it,” replied Severyn.

“Are you aware of what was discussed?”

“Of course not. They’re damned secretive.”

“The Council proposes to establish Hunter garrisons not only in the western Cathedrals, but at their Abbeys and Chapels, as

wel . Their goal is to increase the number of existing troops stationed here by two-fold.”

“Whatever for?” Severyn asked. Was the Celestial Council aware of his plans for Arami? How could they be?

“Their claim is insufficient protection by the regular army against outlaw and h’naran attacks.”

Severyn and his friends exchanged looks of dismay.

“I’m sure I needn’t tel you how such a situation wil sit with the other nobles. They wil almost certainly be expected to pay for

this increase in troop numbers.”

Thornwald directed a look of appeal at Severyn. “I and others of the Advisori Council would hope, Your Highness, that you

might speak to the King, convince him not to give his approval to this outrageous plan! Our tithes are already as high as the king’s

taxes. Withwil ow is a prosperous parish, but it would also face much hardship if forced to absorb another entire company of

Hunters.”

Severyn rose, walking to the window and looked out onto the street below. A wagon rol ed by, carrying a load of wine casks.

He watched it disappear around the corner.

“It hasn’t escaped our notice that His Majesty tends to side with the Church in controversial matters,” Thornwald continued. “If

they bring this before him as a Petition and he signs it into law, I cannot answer for the reaction of many of our lords. For the sake of

Tanyrin, Your Highness, I beg you to convince your brother not to agree to this!”

“I wil certainly try,” Severyn replied. “This is il news, indeed.”

When the baron had gone, Severyn returned to the table and met the troubled gazes of his friends.

“Tripped up by our own cleverness, it would seem,” said Forry final y. “They wil almost certainly use our little charade at Shia

as support for the proposal.”

“Locke grows uncommonly bold.” agreed Severyn. “I would give much to learn what else was discussed at their Conclave.”

“What about Jason’s request? Wil you speak to Arami?”

“Of course.” Severyn shrugged. “Although he is right. The Church has a great deal of influence over him, thanks to their

wil ingness to lend him vast sums of money.”

“What if we supplanted them as his lenders?”

Severyn thought of his own dwindling coffers, strained to their limits already by the demands of impoverished Shia.

“It would be better if my brother were to quit that damned pelthe. It muddles his brain, disturbs his reason and makes him

easily swayed. If only I knew where he was getting it!”

“I thought you knew.”

Severyn shook his head. “I have my spies, of course. They have identified the pelthe merchants who sel to Arami’s friends in

the Court, but so far, neither the merchants nor the courtiers involved have been observed passing the drug to him or his servants.”

“If they were commoners, we could drag them in for questioning,” said Forry, “and have the truth quickly.”

“Perhaps,” replied Severyn, “but they are not commoners. As long as my brother continues to indulge in the damned poison,

the court wil lurch along like a drunken sailor and the king wil ignore his responsibilities at every opportunity.”

“Then perhaps we should accelerate our plans,” Dore said grimly.

The others nodded, their eyes fixed on Severyn. He pushed back from the table and rose. “I’l speak to Arami. I’l do what I can

to convince him not to give in when the bishops come cal ing. With luck, he’l simply direct their Petition to me, the way he does with

almost al the Petitions brought before him.”

“That wil only delay the inevitable,” said Forry quietly. “Sooner or later, Sev, you’re going to have to do it.”

“You needn’t remind me,” he said harshly. “In the meantime, this Gabriel Storm sounds like an interesting man. I think it might

be to our advantage to find out a bit more about him.”

And his friends, being his friends, did not press the issue.

Chief among the heresies of the nara was their denial of Loth. Those who first came to Tanyrin refused His existence,

claiming knowledge only of the Dark Stream, which they named “k’na” and insisted was not merely one part of the whole, but

the whole itself! It is a testimony to the power of Loth that, once brought to His Light, many nara abandoned their heretical ways

and embraced Loth as the Truth.

from:
The Chronicles of Tanyrin: Volume I
,

Year of Loth’s Dominion 1347

Voices echoed through the barn. Stefn lay on a cot, not daring to move. The slightest twitch set off waves of agony. His eyes

leaked tears with each careful, shal ow breath, but he could not take them from the smal knot of men approaching. One came right

up to the cot, looming over him, a silhouette against the ruddy glow of the fireplace.

“My lord,” came a voice. “If you wil permit?”

A hand settled gently on his torn back. He made a smal , inarticulate noise, al he could summon at the shock of pain that

resulted. Almost immediately, however, the agony faded and was gone.

“It is the best I can do, my lord,” continued the soft, deep voice, a bit breathlessly. “Can you sit?”

The pain might have been gone, but Stefn had no strength. He broke into a cold sweat and shivered when they eased him

careful y up.

“Please be careful, my lord,” the man said. “You may not feel it at the moment, but you are stil badly injured. My powers are

not as strong as Lord Michael’s.”

They took him, naked and half-fainting, from the barn. His thoughts went this way and that, as muddled as if he stil writhed in

agony. The journey ended in a strange room, bright with sunlight, occupied by a single man. The Demon Duke stood with his back

to them, staring out a window, his hands clasped behind him. His long white hair, tied back in a neat tail, hung down to the middle of

his back, just like his grandson’s. The other men did not stay, but silently withdrew, closing the door behind them.

Stefn’s strength gave out at once. He went to his knees, everything around him going grey.

“He’l be here soon to claim you,” said the duke without turning around.

Stefn heard his voice, barely comprehending his words. Twinges of pain flared up again. What strength remained bled away

and he thought dimly he was going to faint again.

“I admit,” continued Arranz, “you surprise me, boy. I didn’t think you’d survive it. Michael is right; you’re stronger than you look.”

There was noise, a violent crashing and splintering. Shouts bounced back and forth in Stefn’s head. Terror overwhelmed him

and the pain returned in an excruciating flood. He closed his eyes tightly. Oblivion threatened.

“Stefn!”

Warmth banished the pain in a single rush. Strong arms lifted him from the floor and held him with care. He drew a deep, long

breath, his head fal ing back onto a broad shoulder. Muscles clenched too tightly for too long final y eased.

Soft, rhythmic Words fel around him like bits of light. His head cleared and his strength returned. Michael set him down again.

Taking off his long coat, he helped Stefn into it. The garment was dusty and torn and smel ed of sweat.

Clutching it, Stefn watched Lord Michael get to his feet. His pale hair hung loose and disheveled over his shoulders, face and

hands dirty and his boots caked with dry mud.

“We had to know,” said the duke, looking at his grandson dispassionately. “You are only part narani, after al .”

“If you lay hands on him again,” Lord Michael said in a deadly voice, “it won’t matter who you are, old man.”

The Duke was displeased. “That’s the Bond speaking! Show some control! Do you think I was merely amusing myself? It was

imperative that I learn whether or not you, and that pup, have the strength for this!”

A muscle leapt in Lord Michael’s jaw. “We’re leaving,” he said, reaching a hand down. Stefn took it and was pul ed to his feet.

Michael’s grip was painful y tight, but Stefn didn’t try to pul away. He stumbled after the h’nar, praying only that they were leaving

this place for good.

“Wait!”

Michael stopped, visibly gritting his teeth. After a moment, he turned back. Stefn hung, shivering, in his grasp.

“As I said,” continued Lord Damon, “I did not do this to amuse myself.” He paused and, looking past Michael and Stefn, cal ed,

“Elan?”

The marshlander appeared. He held something in his arms and, with an apologetic look, slipped past Stefn and Michael to

give his burden to the duke. It was a large box, old and battered. Bound with steel bands, it was otherwise unadorned.

Lord Michael seemed transfixed, eyes narrowing. Lord Damon loosened his neckcloth, unbuttoning his col ar and withdrew a

gold chain. On the end of it was a smal silver disk. Lord Michael’s fingers tightened around Stefn’s hand, then fel away. He took a

step forward.

“Thank you, Elan.” There was satisfaction in the duke’s voice. “You may go, and take the cethe with you. Wait for us outside.”

Stefn submitted to Elan guiding him over the broken door, down the corridor and out into the early afternoon sunlight. There

the h’nar released him. “Sit down,” he said, pointing to the step.

Stefn was only too glad to do so, col apsing on the sun-warmed stone and pul ing his knees to his chest. Would this nightmare

never end? He dropped his head onto his knees and wished he could simply vanish.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” came Elan’s voice beside him, low and earnest. “The Duke ordered your il -treatment. We had no other

choice.”

There was no answer Stefn could make. He only shivered and prayed the Arranzes would be finished with their business

soon.

Like al his prayers, however, it fel upon deaf ears. The minutes dragged on. He heard the voices of the vil agers, the laughter

of children and Elan’s restless movements beside him. When time passed without incident, some of his fear receded. A niggle of

curiosity got Stefn to thinking about the box Elan had brought the Duke. From Lord Michael’s reaction, it was apparently no ordinary

container, never mind its unprepossessing appearance.

What could it hold? Some rare narani artifact? Or, more ominously, was it somehow related to Michael Arranz’s new black

powers?

God, he was tired. The sun on Stefn’s shoulders and neck, wonderful y warm, eased the tightness of his muscles. Maybe they

had forgotten about him. Maybe, for a little while, he was safe.

A hand on his shoulder banished the creeping tranquility, sending Stefn to his feet in clumsy panic. He faced Michael Arranz.

The h’naran lord looked sharply at Stefn. “It’s al right,” he said in a low voice. “No one is going to hurt you now.”

It was a lie, of course, but in the time it took to say it, Stefn managed to regain his composure. He nodded, licking dry lips.