Tower of the Arkein: Kan Savasci Cycle Book 2, page 22
“Then, let us suppose it was the Master of Arms,” she said, “and he did send one of his men. Why have you not brought him here for questioning?”
Yates uncrossed his legs, but made no further move. The Bodigan remained still as a boulder. Dixon blanched slightly. And Aeden began to realize the level of disassociation the nobility had from reality. If the truth didn’t fit their model of the world, then they could simply pay someone to make sure that it did.
“My lady,” Dixon began, flicking a glance to Aeden before continuing, “none of them survived.”
“Survived!?” she exclaimed. “Survived what?”
The room grew cooler. Yates remained quiet. Dixon’s face was serious. The question hadn’t been directed at anyone in particular. Aeden was aware, however, that only two of them really knew what had happened.
“Me, my lady.” Aeden finally said, saving Dixon the shame of pointing him out.
She looked at him with a strange look in her eye. It was somewhere between awe, anger, and disbelief.
“I thought they were going to harm you,” Aeden continued, defending his actions.
It was a weak excuse for having killed over a dozen men, yet he didn’t know what to say.
“You killed them all?” she repeated, as if saying the words aloud would help make it more real. She struggled as the shape of reality spilled into a small cup. “But they were armed.”
“Yes,” Aeden repsonded quietly.
“I wasn’t asking you!” she cut him off, before falling silent herself.
Clearly, she needed a moment to process everything.
He desperately wanted to say more. To tell her how they had asked about examining the carriage. How they had already made a move to draw their swords before he cut the first two down. How several men laying in ambush, hurling arrows, and swinging swords was an obvious display of malicious intent.
“You’re dangerous,” she whispered, “You can’t be near me…”
Aeden’s throat constricted and his heart beat strangely within his chest.
What had she said? She couldn’t mean it.
Fear squeezed at Aeden’s heart, forcing a reaction. If only he could persuade her otherwise. But what would he say? That he only killed over a dozen men in self-defense? In defense of her? What of his violence in Sha’ril, could he pawn that off on some other excuse?
His mind drifted to earlier that night. Only hours before, his lips had graced hers. The remembered warmth of her touch still lingered. It was the remembered touch of innocence. She had cleaned and sewn his wounds. She had smiled and laughed.
What had changed? Now she wanted him nowhere near her.
She had to know he had killed. She knew he had killed before, in the A’sh. She knew he had killed a shroud cat. She knew he was of the Thane, a warrior from birth.
His mental questions broke under the weight of her last sentence. The thought of not seeing her was like a stone in the pit of his stomach. He couldn’t let that happen.
“My lady,” Aeden said, “I only wished to serve, to keep you safe.”
She looked up at him. Her large eyes made her look vulnerable, sweet even. The beauty of her features and the innocence of her youth stripped at Aeden’s resolve.
“I think there is still a threat, and not from me,” he pressed on, needing to distract her from her dangerous thought process. “Someone knew where you’d be and told.”
Her expression changed, but before she could speak Yates opened his mouth, his arms uncrossing and slipping to his sides.
“How could someone have known?” Yates asked rhetorically, “There’s only one person who doesn’t quite belong here,” he rubbed at his chin and flashed one of his smiles, looking directly at Aeden challengingly.
His smile didn’t touch his eyes. And his gaze remained locked onto Aeden. The accusation caused Aeden’s stomach to constrict. Anger simmered quietly, deep within his gut.
A new thought occurred to him. It needed time to percolate before being formed into words. So Aeden let it stew. His eyes glancing at each person in the room. Another wolf monkey began to howl in the distance.
“If Rory wants you dead, you can’t be anywhere near the archduchess,” the Bodigan said.
“I agree,” Yates said almost too quickly.
“As do I,” Dixon finally said, “but we need to address Aeden’s point first.”
The room fell silent. Aeden looked at him quizzically. Dixon was still an enigma to him. Less so than originally. The man seemed to appreciate the straight truth, however uncomfortable. He was tough, competent, and fearless. A good friend to have and an even worse enemy to make.
“Who told Rory,” the archduchess said softly, thinking aloud once again.
Dixon merely nodded, agreeing with her line of thought. Yates looked out the window for a moment before looking toward the doorway. The Bodigan remained still.
“Then we need to isolate the variables until we have the answer,” the archduchess said, this time a small smile played on her lips.
The change of emotion was like a cool breeze on a Sumor eve.
“Who knew our travel route,” Alina asked.
“I did, my lady,” the Bodigan spoke.
“As did I,” Dixon responded.
Dixon looked over to Aeden, as did the Bodigan.
“I didn’t know until a couple of days ago.”
Yates looked up, “so it could have been you,” he said.
“No,” Alina responded slowly.
She looked thoughtful for a moment. Yates ran a hand through his wavy hair and looked away. His face flushed slightly red and his smile slipped from his lips.
“My uncle knew and suggested the trip,” she stated aloud, “We sent word to the senior monk at the Monastery in the Cave, but we purposefully didn’t set an exact date, or mention the route we’d take.”
Aeden’s mind was puzzling it together as she spoke. He felt he knew the ultimate answer, but he also knew she didn’t want to hear it. She wanted to arrive there on her own.
“It doesn’t rule him out,” Dixon stated, “there are only so many ways to the Monastery of the Cave.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Alina said, “but somehow I don’t think Rory would have dealt directly with a monk to order an assassination on a former monk.”
“There’s only one logical answer,” Aeden said.
Alina looked at him. Her expression grew serious. She then looked to Yates. The Bodigan was already moving toward the man. Aeden was on his feet. His gait purposeful.
“It wasn’t me,” Yates said nervously, his hands up before him.
“Sure it was,” Aeden said, his eyes narrowing, anger now cocooning him in a blanket of strength, radiating an aura of red about him like a Sumor storm.
Yates hesitated. He frowned and then attempted another smile. It didn’t touch his eyes. His hand fell casually to his side.
“Come on,” he said as the Bodigan was nearly to him, “you know me.”
As he spoke, he quickly drew his sword and lunged. Yates was too slow for the large man. The Bodigan already had his sword out and swiped the blow to the side. He then hit Yates on the back of the neck.
Yates crumpled to the ground like a ragged toy.
Aeden stood on Yates’ sword and kicked the man in the face. Yates rolled over, bringing up a protective hand. Dixon stood over him with a sword pointed at his neck.
“My lady?” Dixon questioned.
She looked at Dixon with wide eyes. She quickly masked her surprise and let the facade of serious nobility fall upon her features.
“Why,” Alina asked, looking down at Yates.
Yates flicked a glance at the archduchess then to the sword tip pointing menacingly at him. His mind clearly working.
“Rory threatened me,” he began, searching for sympathy.
He found none. Only silence greeted his response.
“He said he’d kill my children, my wife…” Yates pleaded.
It was Dixon who spoke up.
“You don’t have any children.”
Yates let his gaze slip to Aeden and then to the floor. His eyes became dark and heavy. The wolf monkey ceased howling, and a brief silence settled its heavy weight over the group.
“For money, my lady,” he said, “You are worth quite a bit of money.”
“So, I was the target?” she questioned.
Yates didn’t answer.
Dixon kicked him like a dog.
“I don’t know,” he finally said.
Dixon kicked him again.
“I swear,” Yates said more frantically, “He didn’t confide his plan to me. He simply wanted to know your intended route, I swear under Salvare’s holy gaze!”
Alina nodded. She then looked to her personal body guard.
“Take him outside please,” she commanded.
“My lady,” Yates whimpered, “I didn’t know.”
The Bodigan kicked him in the temple and picked up his ragged form as if Yates were no more than a child. Aeden watched the large man carry him out before turning to look at the archduchess.
She returned his gaze for a long moment.
“Dixon, watch the hallway for me.”
Dixon nodded and stepped out. Alina waited for the door to close before bringing her eyes back to Aeden.
For some reason Aeden’s face flushed. He felt nervous before her. He wasn’t sure if she was happy with him, wanted him gone, or angry at him. It was frustrating, exhilarating, and terrifying all at the same time.
“You saved me my Thane,” she said quietly, “but I worry that you attract disaster.”
She looked to the ground for a moment as if contemplating her words. Emotions rolled across her face like clouds across a desert sky.
“My lady,” Aeden began.
She cut him off with a simple look. He fell silent. Somewhere in the distance a wolf monkey howled.
“We’ll seek council from the priest at the Monastery of the Cave,” she said with a hint of finality.
Aeden nodded his head slowly. He met her gaze. Was that sadness in her eyes? He desperately wanted to reach out and touch her.
“I will never forget what you did,” she said softly.
So softly, in fact, that Aeden wasn’t sure if he had heard correctly. It didn’t matter. He had been dismissed. He walked out of the room confused. He longed for more contact, but was happy she hadn’t banished him from her sight.
He’d get to see her again, and in the moment, that was all that mattered.
Chapter 47
“Words cannot supplement the embrace that is Salvare’s lasting touch.” Chapter Four of the Bocain
The trek to the Monastery of the Cave had been strangely beautiful and unnervingly uneventful. Yet, for Aeden it had been profoundly memorable. The way one remembers the sun after a long Vintas night.
Aeden had walked by Dixon for most of their trek. They formed the rear guard of their shrunken retinue.
Alina rode one of the horses, with the Bodigan at the reins. The other horse followed close behind, carrying their supplies.
The road at times was as quiet as a Barre Mountain glade. At other times, it was filled with the idle chatter of pilgrims and traveling merchants. Their presence was oddly comforting and strangely disturbing.
The weather held. It was cool at night and hot during the day.
The unending rock formations encroached upon the road, squeezing in on either side. They formed a physical barrier of stone. Cool drafts of moisture laden wind would occasionally gust through them in welcome spurts of dusty breath. At other times the stillness was as oppressive as the Anwar Slave Market in Sumor.
As they approached Draccus Ridge, the rock formations became softer and smaller. It was as if they receded in deference to the very mountain. At night, the faint cry of the giant draccus weasel could be heard. They sounded like crying children, carrying the somber tone of fear and distress.
It was in the darkest hour, when the moon refused to show itself and the stars’ light waned, that Aeden found himself next to the archduchess. Her small form had moved closer to him, as if subconsciously seeking protection.
On their last night on the road, when the howling cry was its loudest, Aeden had placed a protective arm over the archduchess. He had never seen a draccus weasel. But from the description he doubted he could have done much to protect her. The gesture, however, seemed to calm her. She didn’t move or pull away. Instead, she slid up next to him. Their bodies pressed together against the chill of the night.
He didn’t dare move. Her scent filled him the way food fills a starving stomach. Her breath caressed his arm and filled him with desire. They were a cocoon of adolescent beauty in a world on the cusp of darkness.
The warmth of her delicate body formed a beautiful pocket of perfect memory. One that he cherished. It was a locket tucked away amidst the death and chaos that formed about him like a gentle wake.
The following day the group came upon the small town that had grown about the road. It was nothing more than a few buildings. An inn with a restaurant, a few merchant stalls, and strangely, a tiny brothel tucked away behind a shelter housing Calenite face readers.
“Dixon,” the archduchess said, “see to the horses and my baggage, and secure a room.”
“Yes, my lady.”
She dismounted with help from her personal body guard. Dixon slapped Aeden on the shoulder.
“Watch over her,” he said softly, “I never much trusted the overly zealous,” he glanced up quickly before finishing his thought, “Religion is the fire that sent Verold burning.”
Without a further word, he gathered up the reins of the two horses and made for the inn. Aeden watched him for a moment. The words echoing in his head. Dixon was a strange man, but Aeden had grown to like him.
“Let’s go Thane,” the Bodigan boomed.
The large man had started calling him that after their encounter with Rory’s men. It was a subtle compliment that Aeden enjoyed. It was a small enjoyment, tinged with stained memories and the reminder that he still had a promise to fulfill.
They left the small town behind and followed the ambling road. The pathway narrowed as contours of carved rock encroached on either side, squeezing them so that only two could walk abreast.
Aeden touched the rough surfaces. Small plants grew in pockets of stone, adding a hint of green to an otherwise sea of tan and gray.
Small canals were carved into the pathway along the base of the stone walls on one side. Holes were periodically dug deeper into darkness.
“Water management,” the Bodigan said gruffly.
Aeden nodded his head.
“The priests built all this?” he asked.
The large man looked at him without expression.
“The Cavii did,” the archduchess spoke up, answering him, “They once hosted a large trading post here, halfway between the Calenite Empire and Sawol. They flourished and prospered and built their city into the stone.”
Aeden stared at her as he listened. The rocks faded into the background.
“At the end of the First Age of the Imperium, after the fall of the Calen Empire, the trading post diminished and disappeared. The stone cities were lost amidst the broken trading road, hidden by a maze of stone, and guarded by the draccus weasels.
“It wasn’t until nearly four hundred years later, during the Bloom of Salvare Law, that the caves were rediscovered. They were claimed by the Church, but so far from its center of authority that the reclusive monks wrote their own laws, eventually causing a rift in the Church and a call to the old ways.”
The archduchess fell silent. The stone corridor receded and opened up into a large bowl shaped clearing. In the center, carved into the stone, stood massive columns. Each column was carefully crafted to look like a person reaching up and supporting the weight of the mountain. Their faces were chiseled into features of agony.
It was one of the most impressive sites Aeden had ever seen. Verold did not fail to impress.
“The priests await,” the archduchess said.
The Bodigan slapped Aeden on the shoulder.
“Close your mouth,” he said.
Aeden closed his mouth and followed them up the wide steps into the very mountain itself.
Chapter 48
“Violence and human folly are the only prophecies doomed for repetition.” Herlewin’s Letters of Apology
A thousand candles lined the interior. Shafts of lights filtered in through clever tunnels dug into the mountainside. Soft tones of watery light washed off the cave walls, highlighting the ring of columns carved ornamentally into the mountain.
The walls were smooth and perfect. The floor was carved to look like giant pieces of tile had been laid upon the ground. The beige rock soaked in the yellow firelight and gave off a subtle sense of warmth, as if the very mountain were alive.
Two dozen priests sat in the center of the hall, chanting in low tones. Their voices formed a unique counterpoint to the stillness of the cave.
The air itself felt different. Aeden’s ears popped and rang with some unseen tone. The aroma of burning sage and frankincense blended with the humid, metallic tinge of the cave walls.
The words of the priests were unintelligible. Aeden strained to listen, to decipher meaning, but to no avail. It was then, that Aeden realized the strangeness of Verold’s wonder was also a key aspect of its very beauty.
A bell rang after one of the verses, reverberating majestically off the walls. It was unlike anything Aeden had ever heard. The note rang out with intensity and seemed to vibrate up the length of his Templas sword.
Again, Aeden felt the pressure of the air change. He hardly noticed as a young man in flowing white robes approached. The young priest moved quickly toward them. His face was serious and purposeful.
“Lady Alina Cynesige, please follow me,” the white-robed adolescent said, recognizing the archduchess from description alone.
Alina nodded. The group followed the small figure, passing the seated, chanting priests. They passed a large star-shaped bell before entering a corridor of stone. The walls were plain and simple. The only variation were small alcoves carved to hold thick candles.
