Tower of the Arkein: Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2, page 16
Chapter 34
“The moment sleep is no longer a reality; one becomes half awake.” Canton of Sawol
Aeden paced back and forth within the room that had become his prison. Two days had passed without sight of the archduchess, her guard, or the High Priest.
The shroud cat skin upon the wall had become a mirror to his past, trapping him in a mental quagmire of thought. The lone window was a conduit to the outer world, muting the sounds of the city and distorting the barrage of light and color that filtered through its panes. His world had become a subdued tapestry, spun in threads of grey.
His mind, however, was a prison far worse than any room. He had become trapped in a rut of thought that he seemed unwilling and unable to break. The archduchess consumed his thoughts to such an extent that nothing else could compete.
Thoughts of vengeance had relegated themselves to a quieter realm, deep within his sleeping mind. They were replaced with images of Alina smiling. Imagined sequences of her swooning toward him, fawning over him, and the two of them embracing until the sun finally set.
The endless cycle of imagined love drove him mad. He would rather have been in the dungeon of the monastery or back in the Shrine of Patience. He would rather have been back in D’seart. At least there he had purpose.
Aeden shook the last thought free. D’seart had been a completely different kind of prison. The illusion of freedom was worse than the imagined knowledge of unrestrained liberty. He’d been fighting for another. The Jal had manipulated him. Used him the way a child would taunt and use a caged animal. No, he decided, he would rather be anywhere than there. He’d rather be free.
The hidden thought of his people trapped in purgatory, screaming, begging for release whispered at the outer corners of his mind, reproaching him. Freedom was nothing more than an idea waiting to be realized.
A knock at the door snapped him into the present. His mind echoed with resounding purpose. What time was it? He glanced out the window. The soft light of morning was playing with the still cool air.
He splashed some water onto his face and smoothed his hair back before moving toward the door.
Aeden opened the door. It was the councilor to the High Priest, and he was standing impatiently. His face was pinched into the contorted lines of a scowl.
Aeden stumbled for a moment. What was the proper greeting for his station?
“Your Elderness,” the words took a moment to come to him and sounded odd to his ear.
The councilor’s scowl deepened, looking much like an angered rodent.
“Just Elder,” he huffed.
“Good morning, Just Elder,” Aeden said straight-faced.
He didn’t like the man. The councilor clearly derived his station by riding the coattails of the High Priest, yet he acted as if he were the very king himself. Why do so many lesser men grab for power the way a drunk grabs for his next drink?
The councilor paused, clearly unsure if he should correct Aeden or ignore it. The scowl on his face momentarily tightened. Aeden wondered briefly if the man knew what he had been thinking. The councilor shook his head and plowed on.
“The High Priest requests your presence.”
It was clearly a command.
Aeden blinked in response. He looked back toward his room, the dark body of his sword catching his eye. It was funny, but he had become so used to carrying it that he felt rather naked without it. What if he ran into Rory, the Master of Arms? He couldn’t take the chance. It was better to walk with deadly purpose than to be caught blindly unaware.
Aeden stepped into the room and reached for his Templas Sword. It sang to him its midnight song, humming so quietly as if to not be heard.
“How did you…” the councilor fell silent and frowned, “Leave it, you won’t need anything but the truth.”
The last words were covered in frosty indignation and the underlying tone conveyed a threat.
Aeden did not like to be threatened. His face flushed red in anger. He struggled to slow the boil that threatened to enrage him into violence. His fingers gripped the cool handle of the Templas blade.
“If you’d prefer an escort to the anteroom, that could be arranged,” the councilor said, turning and motioning to the palatial guards behind him.
There was a terse moment of silence. Aeden contemplated cutting down the councilor and every guard in the palace. Dark images of imagined bloodshed filled his head. Aeden closed his eyes for a moment. He was not a killer.
Slowly, he peeled his fingers from the grip of his sword and felt the angry lines of tension release him.
Odilo would have counseled patience and understanding. The widow Ayleth would have told him to seek common ground. His father would have grimaced and berated him for his impetuous nature. He took in a calming breath, feeling the red fog of rage dissipate.
“I’ll forgo the escort Just Elder,” Aeden replied.
“It’s Elder you fool, not Just Elder,” the man finally corrected him, irritation plain upon his face.
A smile fought for control of Aeden’s features as the final vestiges of anger settled like a cold stone into the depths of his belly.
Aeden nodded and followed the advisor out into the corridor. Palatial guards stood along the walls. More than he had remembered. He looked each in the eye as he passed.
They were just men in uniform. Men doing a job, and he had been willing moments ago, to kill them all, without regard to their lives. What of their families? How many had wives, children?
He shook his head and took in a shaky breath. At times, he felt like he was losing his mental control. So much had happened in such a short time, that he struggled with his identity. Would others think of him as good? Was he bad? Was he the Killer of Anwar, the butcher of the Eastern Caliph?
No, he told himself.
“Don’t forget your place boy,” the councilor said quietly, “you belong to the High Priest now.”
His attention was brought back to the present. Aeden felt naked before his emotions. Somehow, he seemed less able to control the rising ebb and flow of thought. One moment he was excited, dreaming of the beauty that was the archduchess. Purity in its most simple form. The next he contemplated violence beyond all reason.
He closed his eyes for a moment. Images of the archduchess vanished in a crisp eddy of unbridled thought. His mouth turned sour and his stomach felt as hollow as the Gaping Pits of Laman. It was time to stifle all thought.
Aeden swallowed a thick lump of fervent emotion before re-opening his eyes. Verold fell quiet under the gentle hues of blue as silence trailed them down the length of the tapestry laden corridor.
The room sat at the end of the lengthy hallway behind open doors.
Dominating the center of the room was a large table completely covered by a massive map. Several wooden carvings stood upon the map, strategically placed to represent the great houses, the kingdoms of Heorte and D’seart. Aeden struggled to recognize the sigils upon the pieces; a golden draccus, the emperor’s crest, the red oak tree over a single sword, Bodig. He could see the green pendant with a single sword for the Caliphate of Sha’ril.
Movement behind the table distracted him. Standing resolutely, studying him, was the High Priest, flanked by another man in light armor. The grey in the man’s hair and the hard look in his eyes betrayed his military background. Aeden then looked to the High Priest.
The High Priest’s look reminded him of the Jal’s intense glare. Aeden looked away, studying the map again.
“I’ve some questions for you and expect the truth,” the High Priest began, “my advisor here has an uncanny ability to sense falsehoods, and let’s just say I really don’t much appreciate being lied to.”
Aeden nodded. He glanced briefly at the general by his side. What was the highest member of the clergy doing with a military man before a map of the Imperium? The answer seemed all too obvious. He was preparing for war. Power was this man’s game as much as it was that of the Jal.
“I want to know everything you know about Jal Isa Sha’ril,” the High Priest said, cutting straight to the point.
It was a different approach than the purser of Sha’ril. There were no games. There were no tests. There was only the directness of someone used to answers.
Aeden remained silent for a moment. He contemplated not speaking. Let the High Priest find his own answers. He no longer wanted to be a piece to be moved in someone else’s game.
“The Jal gifted you to me,” the High Priest began.
Aeden clenched his fists.
The High Priest continued, “but in Bodig we don’t take slaves. Help me understand the man who took you and two brothers of the Holy Church of Salvare captive.”
Aeden relaxed his hands and regarded the High Priest differently. The man’s face was firm, forged by a life of ambition and challenge. He, however, didn’t see any deception. Perhaps he was speaking the truth. He was the head of the Holy Order in Bodig after all. He was the father of every monk within the kingdom. Whatever game the High Priest was playing at, it had little to do with Aeden. Let him make his power grab. What did he care? How much harm could the truth bring? The truth was nothing more than words after all.
Aeden remained ignorant, despite life struggling to show him otherwise.
“What would you like to know, your holiness?” Aeden finally asked.
The High Priest nodded almost imperceptibly.
“Everything about the man. His strengths, his weaknesses, his personality,” the High Priest rubbed at his chin for a second, “do not stand on formality today my son, for you are doing Salvare’s work.”
Chapter 35
“Verold was shaped by the manifested attention of the Scapan.” Book of Mysteries - Tower of the Arkein
Three days had passed since he had last spoken with the High Priest. Three uneventful days. No one had come to visit except to bring food and to remove his chamber pot.
He replayed his words to the High Priest. Dissecting every aspect of their conversation. He played over and over again the questions and answers. He recalled every expression, every tone change, every subtle movement of the High Priest’s gestures to the best of his memory. The subtle dance of remembered intuition painted images upon Aeden’s opening mind.
Ambition defined the man the way cold defines ice. Yet, underlying the High Priest’s desire was what seemed to be a pious man. A man who feared Salvare and was convinced he alone could bring the true message to the Imperium. It was arrogance in its purest form, like an uncut diamond; hard, deliberate and beautiful only to those with a discerning eye.
What was the High Priest planning? Aeden’s curiosity etched patterns into his mind. Carving possible paths, but ultimately, he realized he knew too little. He didn’t know all the Houses of Bodig, or even all the high nobility within the Red City. He remained ignorant of the greater politics of the Church, and he most certainly didn’t know the motives of the Emperor. His knowledge was hollow, empty like his heart.
He merely glimpsed the edges of an unfolding tapestry of motives and power plays that defined this part of Verold. Struggles that would come to re-shape the lives of every man and woman within the Imperium, were just beginning to whisper their siren song.
A knock at the door shattered his thoughts, scattering them to a thousand pieces.
Aeden blinked and stood up. He subconsciously ran a hand along the shroud cat fur as he circled the bed and moved to the door.
There was one more knock at the door. The knock was delicate, almost sweet, like a Hearvest leaf falling to the floor.
He opened the door. Standing before him, in all her beauty, was Alina Cynesige, the archduchess of the First House of Bodig, the woman he couldn’t stop thinking about.
Aeden stood momentarily in shock. He had almost wanted to reach out and touch her, kiss her. Yet, at the last moment he caught himself, realizing the line between his dreams and reality had become precariously thin. Instead, he stood motionless and silent.
“Good morning my lady, would be the appropriate thing to say,” Alina began.
Aeden’s mind stumbled free from its endless cycle of thoughts and his wits slowly eased into the conversation.
“Good morning my lady,” Aeden repeated dumbly, still struggling to cope with the reality that she stood mere inches from him.
Alina shook her head and took in a breath.
“My uncle will leave on important Church business and has decided that I’m to keep you distracted, whilst he is away.”
Aeden didn’t know what to say. Was this really happening? He was so terrified that he was still sleeping that he didn’t want to do or say anything, lest he scare the dream away.
“I thought it was a bad idea too,” Alina continued, misunderstanding Aeden’s silence.
“It’s a great idea,” Aeden blurted out, pausing and remembering his etiquette lessons he finished with, “my lady.”
The large guard standing ever close by, struggled to hide a smile. Behind him, cast in the large man’s shadow was Alina’s lady in waiting. The older woman frowned and looked away.
Alina looked less pleased. Aeden’s enthusiasm apparently wasn’t as infectious as he had hoped.
Alina looked back to her personal guard then back to Aeden.
“We’re to go on a pilgrimage of sorts,” Alina began, with a stern face and squared shoulders, “on behalf of my uncle.”
She fell silent. Aeden studied her expression for a moment. Her forced confidence be-spoke an underlying insecurity. He wasn’t sure what that insecurity was. He was so intoxicated by the sight of her that his mind worked as quickly as slow dripping honey.
“May I ask where we’re going?” Aeden asked.
“My lady,” Alina corrected him, “and you may ask, but I will not tell you yet.”
Aeden’s lips tugged gently into a smirk, “stop calling me my lady, my lady.”
Alina frowned.
“When do we leave, what should I prepare, how long will we be gone?” Aeden asked hoping to distract her from her momentary disaffection, remembering decorum at the last moment, “My lady.”
Alina caught herself smiling and took in a breath, her face returning to passivity. Her smile was like the sun poking its head through storm clouds to cast light upon the day. Aeden felt his heart skip a beat and his stomach turn to mush.
“I will send Francis with some clothes. We’ll go somewhere warmer than here, we’ll be gone for a couple of weeks I’d imagine,” she took a moment to consider her response, “and be prepared to leave anytime within the next two days.”
Alina nodded slightly as if agreeing with herself that she had said enough.
Aeden found himself subtly nodding in response. He didn’t care where they were going. They could travel to the Hidden Realms of Dimutia for all he cared, as long as they were together.
He couldn’t stop smiling.
“I’ve a busy social schedule, but I’ll be sure to remain within the palace and ready for departure, my lady.” Aeden replied.
Alina had already turned away. Aeden wasn’t sure if he caught a glimpse of a smile or the gritting of her teeth. It was her large guard who answered.
“You’ll remain right here,” he said.
Aeden didn’t respond. Instead he watched as the beautiful archduchess walked away. Her small figure cut a perfect line down the corridor. A corridor lined with palatial guards.
He didn’t notice. He had eyes only for her.
Chapter 36
“Humor is the mark of the resilient…” A Soldier’s Tale - Library of Galdor
Aeden was visited only hours later by Francis. He came with a few different suits of clothing already tailored to Aeden’s measurements. Francis seemed excited to show him and Aeden was happy for the company.
Francis laid out the carefully tailored clothes onto the bed with the care of a mother.
“I personally had a hand in each of these,” he said with a smile.
Aeden nodded in approval.
“You’ve a good eye,” Aeden replied as he ran a hand over the stitching of a set of pants.
“Please, try them on, I’m eager to see how they fit.”
“All of them?”
Francis grinned freely. It was a little unbecoming of a man tasked with teaching etiquette.
“Of course,” Francis said, gesturing to the clothing.
Aeden began to disrobe.
“You may use the divider,” Francis offered, gesturing to the painted wooden screen.
Aeden shrugged. He had forgotten about the sensibilities of the nobility. The monks didn’t much care if you pissed in the same room into the same pot. The nobles had their own special room for such activities. Why would changing clothes be any different?
The clothing was comfortable and functional. The fabric felt durable and had plenty of pockets. Best of all, the left shoulder of the shirts were stitched differently. Double stitching provided extra strength to accommodate the strap for his Templas sword and for greater freedom of movement.
It all begged the question as to where they were going. He had expected more flippant finery that only the boorish nobility found pleasing.
“Where are we headed to?” Aeden asked as he stepped out, wearing the outfit he liked best.
“We aren’t headed anywhere,” Francis corrected, “you’ll be traveling without me.”
Aeden rolled his eyes. Francis only smiled briefly.
“Where is the noble lady taking me?” he tried again.
“It’s not my place to say, even if I knew the details.”
Francis glanced to the closed door briefly before looking back at Aeden. The next part was at a whisper.
“Far away from the Master of Arms.”
This peaked Aeden’s curiosity.
“Is he still angry?”
Francis glanced once again toward the door. For a teacher of etiquette, he certainly enjoyed gossip, particularly that of the high nobility.
