Elizabeth Haydon - The Assassin King

“I agree,” said Ashe. He exhaled deeply, contemplating what to do next. “I thought, Rhapsody, that you are supposed to remain silent,” said Anborn. “There is still much to report; I do not believe His Grace is finished with his tale, and I am by no means finished with mine. Let’s get on with this.”

“Indeed,” said Constantin, “I have one more thing to relate about the actions of the Emperor Presumptive. Some time ago, two of the priests of Sorbold who lived in the manse proximate to Jierna Tal and to the Earth basilica of Terreanfor escaped the fire that destroyed their manse and all of the abbots, acolytes, and priests that dwelt there. For all that this fire was seen as a tragic accident, these three men witnessed otherwise. Those clergy had first feasted in great opulence within the palace of Jierna Tal, where their food was laced with some sort of drag to lull them into sleep. Those who were in its grip never awoke, a mercy of the sort given the death that awaited them. Others were driven back into the manse with arrow fire by Talquist’s guards when they tried to escape the flames.”

“Why on earth would he do such a thing?” Gwydion Navarne asked in amazed horror. “Because of what he had asked them to do earlier in that day,” replied Constantin darkly. “These men, before they were renamed and hidden elsewhere, made it to Sepulvarta without Talquist’s notice, having escaped the fire in the manse, and came to me, relating what they had witnessed. They reported that Talquist had been harvesting the Living Stone of the basilica of Terreanfor, as I told you earlier. They related the specifics of it, however, a horrifying tale in which a massive stone statue of a soldier had been sliced from its pedestal in a lower vault of the cathedral, brought under cover of darkness to the square of Jierna Tal, and placed in one of the weighing plates of the great Scales of Sorbold, the very same instrumentality that conferred upon both myself and Talquist our offices. “In the other plate some sort of creature was also placed, a freakish miscreant, a poor pathetic soul of twisted body. Then the Weighing was begun. The priests reported that Talquist placed something in the other weighing plate of the Scales against which it was balanced, along with drops of his own blood. “And, in an abomination against nature and the All-God, the statue was animated, brought to life of the sort, and made to move under its own power.”

“Dear One-God,” murmured Rial. “What happened then?”

“Blessedly, the titanic statue ran off into the desert beyond the foothills between Sorbold and Sepulvarta, where it crumbled back into sand,” said Constantin. “The sword of Living Stone that it tore from its hand before it ran into the night dissolved into sand as well in the streets of Jierna’sid. This act was an abomination, a despoliation of a holy shrine that alone would justify Talquist’s removal from office, and in my view his execution. It was a rape of the cathedral of Terreanfor, a desecration that was unforgivable. But more than that, I have to wonder what the purpose was of this experiment. Fortunately, it was an experiment that failed ultimately, and while we may never know what he was attempting, at least we will not have to suffer the consequences.”

“Allow me to assume my traditional role of skunk at the lawn fête,” said Anborn. “You are incorrect in your assumption, Your Grace. The statue you mention did not in fact crumble to sand in the godforsaken desert of Sorbold. I witnessed this titan myself a few short weeks ago when I was doing reconnaissance in the streets of Jierna’sid. It was a monstrous thing to behold; it came up the main thoroughfare of the city, lurching as if drunk, though certainly it was more likely a factor of its own unnatural state of being. Everything in its path was destroyed; oxcarts, hay wagons, street booths, and most especially the soldiers of Sorbold, who charged it to no avail. It was a terrible sight to witness; while it was awkward and clumsy, there is no question that it was also invulnerable to standard weapon fire and bent on destruction. When last I saw it, it had crushed over eighty soldiers, had damaged untold numbers of shops and wagons, and was making its way in direct course for the palace itself. Mind you, I had little regret, as it appeared to be heading for the emperor himself, but if he is alive and threatening Sepulvarta, perhaps the statue’s intentions were other than what I assumed.”

“Perhaps indeed,” Achmed noted. “I am not certain what is significant in all of this, except that it shows that Talquist is willing to do whatever it takes to achieve his ends. In that way he is no different from me.”

“Well said,” retorted Anborn. “Very well, then, m’lady. what say you? Have you analyzed what we have reported and determined anything from the lore of it?” Ashe rose quickly from his chair. “Forgive me, Uncle,” he said, “and the rest of you. Before we go further, I wish to speak to my wife alone for a moment outside this chamber. Please indulge me.” Rhapsody held up her hand. “Before we do,” she said, “I need to ask Achmed something. At the risk of being rude, I’ll ask him in Bolgish; I’m sorry for my lack of manners, but time is of the essence.” The rest of the men in the circle nodded, and so she turned to the Bolg king as the baby in Ashe’s arms began to stir, making soft sounds of hunger. “If you are willing to tell them what you are undertaking within the mountain,” she approximated in the harsh, limited language of the Firbolg, “and why, I will help you achieve your ends that I have refused up until now.” Achmed’s eyes, mismatched and closely set so that they appeared to always be sighting down a weapon, gleamed. “To what degree?” he posited in return. “On your terms, or mine?”

“Up until now I have only shared with you the very basics of what I learned in the translation of the ancient scroll you asked me to undertake,” Rhapsody answered. “If you will share with this council your intentions and the knowledge of what you are doing, I will tell you whatever I know and will help you in whatever way I can. I need to be able to tell my husband why I am spending so much of my time on this when war is coming, and I have other responsibilities.” The two Bolg exchanged a glance. “Done,” said the Bolg king. The Lady Cymrian rose and extended her hands to her husband for the child. “We will return momentarily,” she said to the assembled group. “Meridion needs to nurse; thank you for your forbearance.”

“I will have Gerald Owen bring in a small repast so that you can refresh yourselves and eat,” said Ashe. I will not need to do so , he thought. What I’m about to do will leave me with no stomach for it anyway .

Anborn could feel war coming on, but that was not unusual. Anyone who had attended the meeting in the tiny room behind the tapestry could feel the same thing; in fact, not to be able to do so denoted a thickness of skull that would be embarrassing. What Anborn was feeling was not as much the advent of war, but gut sensation of his role in it, or at least what he suspected his role was to be. And, for the first time in many centuries, he was secretly looking forward to it. He sat back as far as he could, taking his useless legs and extending them by hand as Gerald Owen and Melisande Navarne made their way into the hidden room with trays of food for those remaining within. His eyes narrowed as they sighted on the young girl with golden ringlets who was placing a tray down on the table in front of him. “Who is this?” he demanded gruffly. “I thought this meeting was to be held in secret, and yet here you have brought in an unknown serving wench, quite probably a spy.” The girl’s black eyes rolled in fond annoyance. “You are in severe need of a new joke, Lord Marshal,” she said, lifting the lid of the tray and handing him a linen napkin. “You know very well that I am Melisande Navarne, seeing as you are my godfather, and have been tossing me around like a ball since I was a baby.”