Temple of the Traveler: Book 01 - Doors to Eternity (35 page)
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Authors: Scott Rhine
From his raised seat in the center of the balcony section, King Renald shouted, “My subjects. I welcome you to the most ancient of our ceremonies. The verdict of the gods is absolute. Whatever fate befalls the ox befalls these heretical traitors. In a day where many fall away from the truth, we return to the virtues of our ancestors. The minds of these fools have been clouded by superstition. Despite our gentle guidance, they have refused to see the error of their ways.” The king strode back from the edge and loudly commanded his guards, “Lay the offenders’ hands upon the sacrifice.”
One at a time, the prisoners were herded forward to the edge and forced to walk a narrow plank, reach through the bars of the cage, and touch the animal. The hungry guard made sure that Jotham returned to solid ground quickly. However, Brent closed his eyes and stroked the ox he had befriended and named Red.
“Any last words?” asked the king.
Archers reminded Jotham that he had none. The boy, however, said boldly, “By the promise of the Traveler, let the strength of mountains inhabit his bones.” Unfortunately, only those closest could make out any of this as the crowd had begun to chant and rumble again.
The boy was dragged back to the wall and the prisoners were held at the very edge awaiting the verdict. A few guards began pushing the cage with long poles. Soon the cage was turning and rocking at a dangerous rate. One last time the king shouted, “I bring you justice!”
At this proclamation, he pulled a rope and the cage door fell away. The crowd cheered as the blindfolded ox staggered to maintain its balance, slid out, and plummeted an impressive distance to the ground below. They held their collective breaths as they watched the ox. The front hooves led the rest of the body slightly but there was no flailing or lowing.
Several factions in the crowd had been clamoring for one fate or another. None of the factions were disappointed. The ox fell half in the river and half out, its fall broken by both the water and the splintering of the horizontal spike.
“It worked,” muttered Brent, giddy at his success.
Men in the front rows gripped betting slips eagerly. The contest wasn’t over yet. Next, the frightened animal climbed out, splashing water over all of the nearby candles, extinguishing them. The people “oohed” at the unexpected rally.
Unable to see, the ox sniffed the air for the familiar scent of the field other side of the gate. It stumbled about, knocking over several vertical spikes. Eventually, Red the ox staggered through the open gate—he’d successfully navigated all of the hazards, winning his way to freedom. While the audience waited in stunned disbelief, the scribe at the king’s side whispered, “Kill them or the people will say the gods support the heretics.”
“Let them go or the people will call you a liar who defies the Judgment of the Gods,” countered the monk.
“This isn’t the way it was supposed to turn out,” pouted the monarch. “Either way, my sister benefits.”
“The people have witnessed a miracle; we must claim it for our own and use it to forward our cause,” explained the scribe with the twisted body.
“Claim what you wish, but the prisoners must go free immediately. Say that we saw the ox wander onto one of the barges bound north or west out of the kingdom. This should be easy to arrange. Say that the judgment the gods revealed in their mercy was immediate and permanent exile.”
Panic-stricken, Renald considered this. “It could work.”
“We’d need guarantees that the exile was
permanent
,” the scribe emphasized.
The monk nodded. “I’ll take care of the task myself and provide the escort you require.”
Both other men nodded in agreement and the scholar hurried Jothamd the boy down the grand stairs while the announcement was being made. Two of the king’s personal guards accompanied the prisoners and the monk to the nearest, outbound barge and gave the owner orders to depart immediately. The passengers weren’t allowed to disembark on Semenosian soil. When the owner grumbled, he was given a roll of gold coins sufficient to buy his ship several times over.
They left without delay.
Once underway, Jotham asked their benefactor, “Do you know where to find the Answer?” When the monk seemed puzzled, Jotham changed topics. “Was this your plan all along?”
The monk wiped sweat from his forehead and confessed, “Actually, I slipped one of the pole-men money to aim for the water and loosened the bars of the old portcullis. The miracle was unexpected.” The scholar nearly glowed from what he had witnessed: evidence that the gods still listened and cared. He turned to the tenor and said, “But in repayment for my efforts, I have one question. Why did the Myranosos dynasty end? What caused the Great Scattering? I know that one of your high priests visited the island shortly before the end. Surely, being an Imperial and a high priest, you must be aware of what transpired in the last days.”
Jotham looked down into the murky water. “Ask the one you’ve befriended, whose prayer was answered by today’s miracle. Only his reply would have merit in the scales of fate.”
All eyes turned to the boy, who suddenly felt great pressure to be profound and omniscient. “How could I know? I hadn’t even been born yet.”
Jotham gestured around him. “We ask merely your opinion as an impartial and enlightened observer of history. What do you think happened to Emperor Myron? What do you think became his fatal flaw?”
The boy mused for a while and then answered, “I think that he wanted to be too much like his god Osos.”
At this, both the scholar and tenor nodded in agreement.
Days later, Nigel and Tashi were having an argument. Or at least Nigel was arguing. The sherif
f seemed to be walking, humming happily, and ignoring his companion’s attempts at persuasion. “We’re only half a week from Reneau, the new center of culture for the Empire. For a traveler and an entertainer, missing this city would be a tragedy. Every time I visit, the buildings get more fantastic: the great, arched bridges, the domed theater, and especially the palace. You’ve never seen marvels like these.”
“Our way lies straight to the ancient temple along the Old South Road,” Tashi repeated, not opening the floor to debate.
“But that brush-clogged, rock-strewn, over-glorified deer trail isn’t straight. That’s the problem. It’d be faster and safer to cut through the capital and use the new thoroughfares,” the actor pleaded.
“This tune had a special meaning to me at some point, I’m sure.”
“At least let’s go a day closer before turning so that we can stop at a civilized inn. I haven’t heard the latest court gossip or had a decent cup of wine for over two months now.”
Distracted by the constant bickering, Tashi didn’t notice the man behind them until he said, “Hand over all your money.”
Two robbers were close behind them. When the travelers stopped, three more sprang out from the ditch near the column-like milestone. Tashi shook his head to clear it. No one had ever managed to surprise him like this before. Both traveling companions drew steel and stood back to back. All five assailants were male teenagers dressed in animal hides and carried daggers. Upon examination, they appeared shorter and stockier than the average denizen of this land. Their wide noses and fierce eyebrows alone should have tipped him off. “You’re not from around here, are you?” guessed Tashi.
“Our family is a noble line of smiths, banished from the homeland. We hunt fat oppressors such as yourselves, so that we can one day throw off the yoke and restore the legitimate ruler of our kingdom!” ranted the lead revolutionary, standing nearest to Tashi.
Nigel grunted in realization. “Lugwort’s Lackeys.”
“We’re the Forge of Kiateros!” countered the red-faced revolutionary.
When Tashi looked puzzled, Nigel said, “You really ought to take the trouble to learn more about the territories you’re traveling through. They rob people on the major trade routes to pay for their subversive military activities. These fellows started as a religious sect among the most skilled craftsmen of the north. Always a bit untrusting of outsiders, the smiths, commissioned to make all those famed steel Honors for the emperor, took a precaution. Allegedly, no blade forged in Kiateros can be used to harm them.”
“It’s true,” said the revolutionary. “Ours is the strength of mountains and iron. Now will you yield your purses or do we take them? Your sword will not help you.”
In formal tones, the sheriff said, “Justice needs only a good man to manifest itself, and no weapon but his mind. As High Sheriff, I command you to surrender in the name of the Traveler.” He posed with his sword raised in guard position.
His attackers were not impressed. Growling in anger, the revolutionary charged. “Two each,” Tashi told his companion.
One of the robbers facing Nigel said, “But there are five of us, and this one doesn’t even have a real weapon.”
At the last second, Tashi side-stepped the revolutionary’s dagger and spun in such a way as to smash the leader’s shoulder into the stone road marker. The sick sound of the man’s jaw snapping momentarily paralyzed the other members of the Forge cell, and the sheriff followed through with a kick to the dazed man’s head. The second impact with the column knocked the head robber cold.
Nigel had his stage rapier raised under the nearest man’s throat. “Hold, both of you. This foil wasn’t made in Kiateros and it would open your jugular quite handily. I’m willing to call a truce between us three so we can continue engaging in philosophical discussion. Perhaps you may convince me of the rightness of your cause, and I might see my way clear to a small donation.” The pinned Forge member and his friend nodded. Both sides took a step back and lowered weapons.
During the struggle, Tashi’s headband shifted, revealing his unusual tattoo. His second assailant recognized the symbol as the sheriff drew his blade. “Is that real?” Tashi parried the distracted robber’s dagger so hard that he dropped it. The disarmed man felt the ringing in his teeth.
When his third opponent bent to pick up the valuable dagger, Tashi kicked his head so hard that helmet flew off. The unarmed robber immediately tackled the sheriff, aggravating Tashi’s earlier rib injuries. The two rolled in the dirt, grunting while the man with no helmet staggered a step in each direction, trying to remember what he was doing.
One of Nigel’s opponents looked over at the scuffle, vaguely considering what he might do to help. Nigel warned, “You’re only hurting yourself with that one. If the kingdom of Kiateros is so important, why aren’t you robbing people there?”
The man with the red dot on his throat answered. “Most people there are poor, and we could never steal from our own. That would be wrong.”
“And stealing here isn’t?” Nigel said, incredulous. The two members of the Forge looked sheepish. “You would ruin another man’s home rather than fix the problems in your own? What kind of logic is that?”
Tashi left his tackler in the ditch, doubled over. The man with the no helmet had recovered enough to try for another charge. The sheriff calmly clothes-lined him, knocking him flat on his back. Next, he looked around to see how Nigel was faring. The actor waved cheerfully and said, “We’re having a civilized debate. Keep up the good work.”
While Nigel continued talking, Tashi took the daggers from all three of the fallen men.
“We need money,” stated the last revolutionary, who had not spoken until now.
“Why?”
“For weapons and food,” the last member of the Forge insisted.
Nigel countered this thrust. “But you have excellent weapons and can make more. That’s no excuse for running around screaming like lunatics. Why do you need food? Doesn’t your country have farms?”
“Of course,” said the man with the marked throat. “But we’re too far to get supplies from them. Since no self-respecting Intagliosian is going to give us anything, we have to steal. It’s poetic.” Both robbers seemed quite pleased with the argument.
Nigel saw his opportunity and pounced. “Bad poetry. You admit that you only steal because you are in the wrong kingdom, not at home where you belong.” The Forge members struggled with this dilemma. “You claim that the men of the new empire have stolen your honor, and you turn into
criminals
to restore it? This is muddled thinking if ever I heard it. A poem such as this has no rhyme or reason.”
Tashi merely smiled at the reversal, standing behind his companion to show agreement. The two robbers left standing glanced at each other. “But we’re exiled, forbidden to return.”
The actor shook his head. “Your best excuse is that you don’t want to break a law? Do you believe this law is just?” Everyone agreed that it was not. “Then why do you obey it over ones you know to be right? The border isn’t well-patrolled and five fit men as you could easily slip across in the mountains. You must be afraid of someone turning you in. Intagliosians can’t tell one of your kind from another without uniforms, so you can’t be afraid of them. Are you afraid of your own people betraying you?” The two strenuously denied this idea. “Then what are you waiting for? Go home! Solve your own problems.”
During this tirade, the doubled-over man pulled himself into a ha a haoop and waddled over, holding his stomach. The man without a helmet sobbed in pain. Only their leader remained unconscious for a prolonged period. They ended up camping there to heal before heading north.
Once out of ear-shot, Tashi whispered, “You amaze me—a spy who talks robbers into moral actions.”
“Everyone wants to believe he is good,” Nigel reasoned.
The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “But you’ve turned them into rebel fighters against your own Pretender.”
The actor was unperturbed. “I fully intend to report them when we reach the next town. On open ground, they’ll be hunted down long before they reach the border.”
The sheriff was aghast. “But you said…”
“I lied, yes. But I got them to desist without shedding a drop of blood, pay us with good steel, walk into certain death, and made them think it was their idea. A good spy does that,” Nigel said with a smile.
Tashi realized how much of life was a game to this man.
****
An hour later, Tashi was still disconcerted about the ambush. He told the actor, “You may be right about a good inn. The establishment up ahead looks well-heeled and it may be our last decent rest before we finish our business at the temple. To show what a good sport I am, I’ll even pay.”
Nigel was momentarily speechless. As they approached the entrance to the sprawling road house, the actor patted him on the back and said, “For the dupe of an evil wizard, you’re not all bad. I’ll start with that drink you’re buying me. But let a professional bargain with the innkeeper. I’ll get the best room in the house and spin a fine tale that will make the proprietor happy to give us the clothes off his back.”
Tashi was weary from repeated, vague nightmares while on the road, so he agreed to let Nigel handle negotiations. The sheriff huddled in a corner, avoiding the increasingly boisterous crowd spilling out from the dining hall. Accustomed to the quiet of the road, the tumult of voices in the inn made him uncomfortable, threatening to upset the delicate equilibrium he had maintained since the Garden of Harmony.
Within moments, Nigel made good his boast. He returned to the entrance and handed Tashi the key to the poshest suite in the inn, one of only two such suites on the third floor. “They even have tubs up there.”
Tashi nodded his approval. “An excellent idea. Have the innkeeper send up someone with buckets of hot water and I’ll take my meal in the room while my bath is being filled.”
“Enjoy. I’ll take some of our savings and our fine new daggers to that gaming table over there. By morning, I’ll know all the rumors in the realm.”
Glad that his companion was happy again, the sheriff wished him luck and waved goodnight. After cleaning his gear, Tashi ate a fine meal of roast beef and potatoes hand-delivered by a thin scullery lass with long hair. He declined her generous offer of a back scrubbing and relaxed in the floral-scented water alone.
There were no tenants in the adjoining rooms, and he was far enough from the taproom not to hear the loud music. The temporary illusion of solitude was complete. The tune been humming still kept running through his mind. The hot water and silence lulled him into a light slumber. However, when sleep came, his dreams were once again gray and dreary, an endless march on a muddy highway.
In the dream, Tashi was at the head of a procession. His heart pounded loudly in his ears, mingling with the boot steps of the score of men behind him. The man to his right was whistling the familiar tune. The pace of the men behind slowed as they approached a rockfall blocking the road ahead. Their heavy wagon would never make it over the rubble. He had been in this nightmare before, or several like it. There was a sense of urgency, the importance of making the most out of every heartbeat. In the next part, he always turned to give orders. But this time, instead, he turned to the whistler. Tashi could not put a name to the sallow face, but knew that the man was no longer among the living. “What is the name of that song?” He had to know.
The gray man stared at him without emotion, but sadness crept into his voice. “The Betrayal of the Knight of Erlane.”
A wave of cold air washed over him and Tashi awoke with a start. A cold, steel blade pressed against his throat and he was now surrounded by six brightly uniformed, Imperial guardsmen. The guards allowed him to dress in his kalura but took possession of his mail shirt and Honor. Though they stared at the many tattoos on every major, spiritual nexus point on his body, no commentary passed their lips. Fortunately for Tashi, the magical amulet had never left his neck. Partly obstructed by the door frame, he saw a man in plain, merchant-class clothing hand Nigel a large sum in gold. The man wore no official badge or marking of any kind, but he commanded the guardsmen with practiced arrogance. His every movement reminded Tashi of the repulsive secret policemen he had encountered at the Great Library. Far from being uncomfortable in the presence of such an obvious bottom feeder in the stream of life, the actor collected his payment with glee.
Briefly, Tashi considered ways to kill them both before the others bludgeoned him into unconsciousness. However, his head had already been damaged too many times. One more such blow might finish him, or worse, leave him unable to speak or move. Noticing his interest, the secret policeman scuttled down the hall. He reached the obscurity of the shadows before the angry ex-mercenary could see his face.
As he passed, the sheriff had to be content to spit at the actor and say, “You’re the one with no soul, traitor.”
“I told you to listen to me. We could’ve done this the easy way,” Nigel countered. “As for my soul, the emperor’s intelligence service claimed it ages ago.
“When I break free of my bonds, I’ll take you to that promised meeting with the Traveler,” Tashi said with dead certainty as the guards pushed him along the hall.
Lingering behind, Nigel tried to make light of the threat. “I know you’re only saying these hurtful things because you already miss me.”
The secret policeman chuckled from a distance. “Not to worry, you’ll be going with him, for a short while anyway. The Viper himself will want to debrief you at his mansion.”
Nigel turned pale. “Surely Lord Hisbet can wait a little while.”
The man in the shadows considered this for a moment. “I’m sure you’ve exaggerated this man’s abilities and underestimate my precautions. See how meekly the wolf rolls over and bares his throat when faced with a superior foe? height="0">