David Dalglish - Dawn of Swords

Everything else had come together so perfectly: the death of Bessus Gorgoros, and the elves’ isolation of Ker; the coercing of Deacon Coldmine, through Clovis, to place the innocents in the temple, leading to the temple’s destruction and Ashhur’s fit of rage; the brother gods coming to blows, which had proven that they could not defeat each other in single combat. Despite his losses, Jacob had still won.

And no matter what the cost, there were still secrets to learn, a hidden power over death that he was certain Ashhur had knowingly denied him. Time and space could still bend to his will, for he walked at the side of a god. Perhaps, just perhaps, Brienna might return to his arms.…

They came on the hub at the southern end of the city, and Jacob, Karak, and Clovis separated from the rest of their convoy, curling northeast around the fountain upon which stood a giant statue of the deity. Jacob could tell by the look on Clovis’s face that the man did not understand why they were heading away from the Castle of the Lion, but he kept his protests silent. Instead he stared at Jacob as if he were a strange creature from a different dimension. The revelation that the First Man had been his secret Whisperer had changed him, and his usual arrogance was slowly ebbing away, leaving behind a desperate sycophant. The constant adoring looks and unrelenting questions were beginning to wear on Jacob, and he longed for a return to the quiet and tranquility he had been awarded during their walk. He realized right then why he had secretly given the man the dragonglass pendant in the first place, why he had spoken to him in dreams and whispers rather than approaching him outright.

The Tower Keep came into view, its abominable, fist-like apex catching the light of the stars above in its many windows. Jacob felt a surge of pride; this edifice, despite its ugliness, had been his design. He had chosen its structure and location with exactitude. It was a shame that Karak had decided the ruling class of Neldar required a more lavish assembly, ceasing construction on the Tower Keep after only the residential tower and throne room had been completed. That had been enough, however, for the throne room was the only room of importance in any building in all of Veldaren. It was also where the next step of Jacob’s plan would take place.

Captain Malcolm Gregorian met them outside the front entrance of the Keep. Jacob had never laid eyes on the man before, though his survival of the Final Judges had made him a legendary figure. He certainly looked the part, what with the ugly scar that marred his face and his stalwart posture. He looked like a man who would do anything, could do anything, in the name of his god-the type of man who would prove quite useful in the times ahead.

Gregorian held open the massive door and then kneeled to Karak, his head bowed low.

“My Lord,” he said. “I humbly welcome you home.”

Karak said not a word but ducked through the entryway and disappeared inside. The Captain looked up, nodding at Clovis as the Highest limped on by. His gaze settled on Jacob, and the man’s eyes widened as he slowly rose to his feet.

“Jacob Eveningstar,” he said, extending his hand. “It is an honor. I have heard much of you.”

“And I, you,” Jacob replied. “Is everything in order?”

Gregorian nodded. “I received your letter two days past. There was much clutter, and I had to clear it away to make the room as you requested.”

“Excellent. You’re a good man, Malcolm. I’m sure Karak will reward you greatly for the duty you provide.”

“He has rewarded me enough already,” he replied, his eyes hard, his head dipped low. “I require nothing else but the glory of his blessing.”

“That, you will receive, my brother in faith. That, you will receive.”

Jacob walked through the doors and entered the wide antechamber. Gregorian moved past him, heading for the stairs that led to the tower’s upper levels. Jacob gave his arm a gentle squeeze and then strolled across the empty space, heading for the room at the far end of the structure.

There Karak and Clovis awaited him. The space was rectangular and enormous, stretching two hundred feet in either direction beneath a ceiling that stood four stories high. Various statues of Karak had been shoved along the walls, some finished, some not. Jacob marveled at the sight of them all: life-sized, exact likenesses of the eastern deity, carved out of sandstone, onyx, topaz, ivory, and marble, pounded out of great metal sheets, pressed out of clay. The attention to detail was astounding, and if he were not so angry that this sacred room had been reduced to an artist’s studio, he would have called Ibis Mori down right then and there to congratulate him on his accomplishments.

Jacob walked through the center of the room, past the haunted, leering eyes of Karak’s many lifeless copies, and came to a stop before the slightly raised platform upon which the king’s throne should have sat. He stared at the massive portrait on the wall, which depicted Ashhur, Karak, and Celestia together, and then walked up and removed it. He placed it far away, where it would not be damaged by the coming events, and then turned to face his god.

“We are ready,” he said.

“Are you certain you are adequately prepared?” asked Karak.

“I am. This is a delicate procedure, however, one that requires certain elements that I am currently lacking. My steward Roland was to act as my apprentice in this regard, but I misjudged his strength. Now I require a new one, unfortunately.”

He glared at Clovis. The silver-haired man, Highest of Karak, fell back, a hand on his chest.

“What is it?” he asked, his usually patronizing tone starting to crack.

Jacob stepped up to him, grabbing him by the collar of his black tunic. He pulled Clovis close to him, under the gaze of their god, loving the way the Highest’s eyes bulged from their sockets.

“You stupid, arrogant whelp,” Jacob growled. “Your ego got the better of you. Does Karak even know that you sent your insane son to try to raise the demons himself? I thought not. Do you know what your actions wrought?”

Clovis shook his head, his body quavering. Jacob turned, addressing his god.

“Uther kidnapped commoners from Drake to use in the ritual of resurrection. He caused a panic in the town, and do you know what they have now? A whole legion of spellcasters who are learning the craft to defend themselves , and from a powerful caster at that.” He turned back to Clovis. “Do you know the problems that has caused our Lord? Do you know the potential hazards your forces will face, now that your enemies are learning to hurtle fire, earth, and ice with their bare hands? You’ve killed thousands with your eagerness, Clovis, for these people will not to be easily conquered. Your son, you miserable wretch-your son killed my love and trapped me in the mountains. That you live at all is only out of Karak’s mercy.”

“But…but…I did not know you were the Whisperer!” shouted Clovis in reply.

“So much you didn’t know,” Jacob said, releasing the man and letting him stumble backward. “Yet that never once stopped you. Because of your actions, you have sealed your fate. You are to assist me in the ritual. You are to take Roland’s place.”

“You will,” Karak echoed.

Clovis dropped to a knee. “Anything, Jacob. Anything, my Lord. My body and mind are yours.”

“Of course,” Jacob said. He shouted, “Captain, bring in the blasphemers!” and turned his attention to the wall where the painting had sat.

A deep murmur echoed through the vast room as Gregorian entered, dragging Ibis, Adeline, and Ulric Mori behind him. The three were bound and wore tattered rags, their bodies worked over and displaying many bruises and cuts. Thessaly Crestwell was also present, the last member of the court who was not dead or dishonored.