Grayshade, page 24
“ . . . understand your position, Governor, but we cannot agree with it. Under the circumstances the only option is to work together for the good of Cohrelle.” The voice was deep and sonorous . . . and familiar.
The High Prelate.
“With all respect, your Grace,” came the reply, also in a familiar voice, “what you’re suggesting is more than working together. Your plan would entail almost total control over the city’s security, taking it out of the hands of those who have protected Cohrelle for decades. Even if I were inclined to allow that, others would not . . . particularly those for whom the Order of Argoth creates more fear and hatred than peace and tranquility.” It was without question Governor Jarrett’s voice, and it sounded annoyed.
“I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation, Governor,” the Prelate said.
There was a low chuckle. “Actually, I think I understand it better than anyone. My Circle has been nearly wiped out through assassinations and conspiracies. I’m not inclined to view that as a minor disturbance in Cohrelle’s political structure.”
“But that’s precisely the point. This is a major disturbance, an existential threat to the city. We’re offering you the chance to respond to that threat in a way the city guard cannot.”
“Because the threat comes from one of your own, you mean?”
After a long pause, the Prelate replied, “That is part of the reason, but the person you’re referring to is no longer one of us. He deserted the path of justice when he turned to murdering leaders of rival religious orders and assassinating prominent political figures. The blame should rest on the renegade madman named Grayshade, not the Order of Argoth.”
I stiffened slightly, though from anger, not surprise. As I had expected, all the evils of the Order were now being laid at my feet.
Jarrett laughed again, not kindly. “I find your assignment of blame curious, Prelate. I know nothing of this man Grayshade except his reputation, much of which I’ve garnered from you. On the other hand, I know a great deal about the Order—and the way it conducts business.”
There was a long, deadly silence. “I don’t think I follow you, Governor,” the Prelate finally managed.
“Oh, I think you do,” the Governor replied. “I’ve looked away from the Order of Argoth’s crimes for quite some time, assuming it was better for the city’s stability to remain officially neutral.” He sighed. “But it’s now obvious that I cannot allow the Order to proceed unchecked, particularly when it has turned its attention to the murder of city officials.” There was a pause, during which I thought I heard some stirrings in the room. “Surely you don’t think I believe that one of your Acolytes, whom you’ve trained from birth to dance for you like the puppets they are, broke free from his strings one day and decided to go on a one-man rampage through the city?”
I heard more movement now, but something seemed odd about it, as if it were coming from somewhere other than the middle of the room where the meeting was taking place.
“I would remind you that this same Acolyte attacked the Order as well,” the Prelate said, his rich voice now sounding tense and strained.
“Yes, so I heard,” the Governor replied. “I have my own sources of information, Prelate. And they’ve told me two things: one, there is some kind of internal war going on within the Order, and your man wasn’t the only one killed. There was the disturbance in Open-Heart Alley, for instance.”
Caoesthenes, I thought. He knows. The movement increased, and suddenly I realized what seemed strange: it was coming from my right and left, along the walls.
“And two,” Jarrett went on, “whoever killed the members of the Circle wasn’t a renegade when he did it. It happened under your direct order.”
“I think you overvalue your information, Governor. I am a member of your Circle, and came here freely to discuss how best to preserve Cohrelle.” Still holding myself flat against the wall behind me, I looked to the right. One of the shadows beneath the neighboring tapestry shifted.
“And I think you overvalue your secrecy, Prelate. You organized this meeting in an attempt to finish the job you started with the rest of the Circle—except I changed the meeting place to my home, and so changed your plans. Now you hoped I would agree to give control of Cohrelle’s security to you, along with any chance I had in keeping a leash on the Order, to say nothing of preserving my own skin. But that’s not going to happen while I’m Governor, Prelate—now or ever.”
There was a brief pause before the Prelate, his voice now without any pretense of deference, spoke. “What do you plan to do, Jarrett?”
“I plan to arrest you, Prelate, for crimes against the city of Cohrelle. And I plan to carry out the sentence against you at least as rapidly as you would have done against me.” Suddenly I heard a faint but familiar sound, and as I looked at the shadow on the right I caught a flash of light on metal.
Acolytes!
With a yell, I drew my cucuri and sprang out from behind the tapestry, bringing the blade down on one of the thin ropes holding the accompanying tapestry to the wall. The rope snapped and released one end, which swung wildly about as the figure behind it cursed, struggling to free himself.
I whipped my head around to take in the scene: Jarrett looking at me in shock, surrounded by four guards with drawn swords as he stood close to me at one end of a long wooden table, with the Prelate standing on the table’s opposite side, white eyebrows raised in a combination of surprise and hatred. One Acolyte stood next to him, cucuri already drawn—Maurend, of course.
The guards only hesitated for a second before turning to me, but just as they did, three other tapestries around the walls of the room were thrown aside, an Acolyte springing from behind each one. One of Jarrett’s guards had only time to turn back before he fell backward gurgling, a spray of kushuri darts sprouting from his neck.
I grabbed the back of the nearest chair and vaulted onto the table, taking two running steps down its length before leaping off again on the opposite side, sending my own rain of kushuri darts toward one of the Acolytes as I jumped. He spun in place, using his cloak to deflect the darts, but as he began to turn back toward my rapidly closing form, he realized he had rotated too far. His cucuri came up too slowly and at the wrong angle to deflect mine, and my blade bit deep into his right arm. He screamed in pain as he dropped his weapon, and quickly reversing my cucuri, I drove the hilt across the top of his skull.
I was already turning as his unconscious body slumped to the floor, and more out of reflex than thought I brought my cucuri up in front of my body just in time to deflect a vicious slash from a second Acolyte. I staggered back from the force of the blow, but managed to duck underneath the next strike aimed at my head, and placing my free hand on the ground I whipped my leg out toward his. It connected, sweeping him off his feet, and as he fell with a crash, I regained my footing and was on him, the hilt of my weapon raking across his skull before he could recover. His head dropped backward with a grunt.
I turned to see Maurend and another Acolyte battling the three remaining guards not far from Jarrett, who had backed against the wall with his eyes wide and sword drawn. One of the guards was already bleeding from a gash in his forehead, and the other two were rapidly losing ground, but at least they had managed to bring down the other Acolyte, who lay lifeless in the twisted tapestry in which I had first trapped him.
But even as I ran toward them, the fighting Acolyte took advantage of a momentary lapse in the bleeding guard’s concentration to connect with a slash to his chest, and as the stricken defender fell to the ground. Maurend drove his cucuri into the midsection of one of the other guards while the first Acolyte charged at the Governor. I knew I would never get to him in time, and reaching within my cloak, I found the moon-shaped niscur.
I whipped my arm toward the Acolyte approaching Jarrett and released the niscur. “Aven!” I shouted, and instantly the moon sprang into its recognizable S-shape as it spun toward its target. The Acolyte hesitated for a second, turning as he heard my yell, but his half-hearted attempt to deflect the incoming niscur was far too weak and much too late. It thudded into his side, and with a cry of pain he fell to the ground and lay motionless.
With a shout, Maurend brought his cucuri below the final guard’s exhausted defenses, slashing his legs, and the man had only time to shriek in agony once before Maurend’s next strike ended his life. I slowed to a walk as he turned to face me, the only two remaining along with the Governor—
Wait, I thought. Where did the Prelate—
Suddenly I heard a deep voice chuckle. “Well done, Acolyte,” it said. Turning my head, I caught sight of someone in white robes standing on the other side of the room, holding his book in front of him. “Well done, indeed. I can’t say I expected to see you here; I had thought my pretty ralaar I left for you downstairs would have kept you entertained for much longer. But I suppose by now it should be no surprise you made it past that, too.”
Something moved to my left, and I quickly glanced that way to see Jarrett, still holding his sword, taking a step forward from the wall as he spoke. “How did you get your trained pets in here, you traitorous beast?”
“The same way this one did, of course,” the Prelate replied as I looked back at him, “through the Sewers far below. An hour before our meeting began my Acolytes entered the room and concealed themselves until the right time. It was really rather easy. We’ve been here a long time, you know, long before you took power, and we’ll be here long after.”
His sneer turned into a frown as he regarded me. “As for having trained pets, this one has already escaped his cage and attacked his keeper numerous times. We don’t tolerate such behavior.”
“Even a starving cur can only take so much whipping,” I said, feeling my anger surge again as I looked at the Prelate. “I didn’t understand that until I learned to think for myself—and I couldn’t learn that from you.”
“Thinking was never your job,” the white-haired man snapped back, “only doing. It was only when you started to ask questions that the trouble started. Now you’ve destroyed not only yourself, but your friends. We’ll find that child soon enough and finish the work you should have done. And anyone who helped you . . . like rogue shopkeepers—” He smiled as my eyes widened in shock. “We’ll deal with them, too. You can consider your service officially at an end, Acolyte Grayshade.” Placing one hand on the book he held in the other, he closed his eyes and chanted a few soft, low words. Before I could react, he held the book high—and darkness fell.
The room was gone, along with the table, the chairs, the tapestries, the bodies of guards and Acolytes. There was no sight. No sound. No feeling. I stood in a black, blank space, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, feeling nothing—
Suddenly I felt a slash of pain, and my left arm went numb. Another slash, and my left leg went dead. I staggered, trying to keep my balance, and fell awkwardly backward, though there was no noise as I hit the ground. I waved my cucuri wildly as I struggled to get up, but there was no response.
This is the Prelate’s doing. And I can do nothing to stop him.
“You’re wrong, Grayshade,” someone said in my head, and I looked around frantically, my eyes searching for something in the impenetrable blackness. “You can stop him.”
Who is this? I thought.
“Don’t you know?” came the reply, sounding almost amused. And suddenly I did know.
Caron, I thought.
“Yes. It’s me. Be patient, Grayshade. He’s readying his final blow to kill you. Wait.”
Wait for what? I asked, pain washing over my left arm and leg as I managed to get to my right knee.
Wait for me. Wait for me to tell you what he’s doing. A pause, and then: Now. Get ready.
I gripped my cucuri and waited.
He’s coming from your left side. He’s bringing his weapon behind him—he’s looking at your neck—
I waited.
Now! Caron said. And I ducked low, waited for a beat and with all my remaining strength brought my cucuri up diagonally, from low to high.
In a rush the environment returned, and as waves of sight and sound and feeling washed over me again, I saw the wide-eyed face of Maurend next to my own as he dropped to his knees, his blade slipping from his hands. A second later he fell over, and as he rolled onto his back I saw his mortal wound, and the disbelief in his eyes. His hands twitched feebly for a moment before going still.
I heard a strangled cry of rage and looked up to see the Prelate walking slowly toward me. His book was gone, and he held a plain dagger in his right hand. “This should have been done a long time ago,” he rasped. “This is Argoth’s final lesson.”
He raised the weapon high, and I waited on my knees, no strength left even to raise my arms in defense. Suddenly his body jerked and went rigid, and his face contorted in pain.
Emerging from his chest was a single sword blade, which we both stared at for a moment before it was suddenly withdrawn. His wild eyes looked at me in a desperate fury, but the dagger slipped from his hand; and as he fell forward, knocking me to the ground, I glimpsed someone standing above us both.
“The lessons of Argoth will no longer be taught in Cohrelle,” the Governor said quietly, his sword stained as red as his robes.
EPILOGUE
-
I stopped and lowered the thick canvas bag from my back to the ground, breathing a grateful sigh of relief as I did so. It was as soft a bag as Rillia could find to give me, but I was not used to carrying much more than my weapons, and I had to bring a little more than that on this journey—a few shirts, another set of pants, a spare cloak, a pot and pan and tinder for a fire, along with some salted meat, tough bread, and of course, a small bottle of oil.
I massaged my left shoulder as I turned back toward the direction I had come from. There, far below me to the east, lay the sprawling city of Cohrelle, the spires from the buildings in the Church and Government districts gleaming in the setting sun. I had never actually seen the city from the outside—had never even set foot outside its walls my entire life—and looking at it now, I was stunned by its size and beauty. I was more familiar with its streets than almost anyone else who lived there, but now I realized how little I knew of the city as a whole. “Seeing the forest requires that you step out from the shadow of the trees,” Caoesthenes had said once.
Of course you said that, old man, I thought with a smile.
Beyond the city lay the Silver Coast, small dock-villages and port-towns dotting its edge which separated the land from the Ocean of Winds beyond. But my future did not lie in that direction. Instead, I was headed inland, away from the coast—and toward the rumors.
~
It had taken me a month to recover my strength and allow my wounds to heal after the fall of the High Prelate. I had done the majority of my recuperation at Governor Jarrett’s home—at his order, both for concerns over my life and his own. “There’s a great deal of work to be done before I can fully trust anyone outside of my own guards,” he said as he sat at my bedside during an evening shortly after the battle. “I don’t see what good you could do in the city anyway.”
“Search for my friends,” I said quietly, my left arm heavily bandaged and splinted.
Jarrett smiled. Now that I had the chance to look at him in a moment of relative peace, I could see the truth behind his apparently robust and vital appearance: gray had begun to appear in his otherwise dark beard, an infusion of wisdom and worry. Here, close up and out of the public eye, he looked much more the thoughtful, concerned leader than the confident master of political skill he usually liked to show. “You’d have a hard time searching for anyone in your condition. The healers say you’re lucky to have survived at all, let alone be able to walk. Yet somehow, given a bit of time, they expect you’ll do more than that. You should be back to normal in a few weeks.”
I nodded. “I’m not sure about normal, Governor,” I said. “I don’t think anything will be normal in my life again.”
“Well, you’re not alone there,” he said, his expression turning serious. “A lot about Cohrelle is going to change now, and no one can be entirely sure what the end result will be.”
“What are you planning to do?”
“Consolidate.” He sighed and looked away. “I’ve always considered myself more of an economic manager than a political strongman. I thought the more Cohrelle thrived economically, the less internal factions would be able to tear it apart politically. Obviously, I miscalculated badly.”
He looked back at me and smiled. “If not for you, the miscalculation would have been fatal. In any case, it’s obvious I need to move quickly against the various groups within the city operating with their own motivations. That starts with some of the religious organizations, but it won’t end there—I need to go through the trade guilds, the noble houses . . . ” He sighed again. “There’s a lot of work to do. But at least I’ve been given a second chance to do it properly this time, and I don’t intend to squander that chance.”
I nodded. “And I suppose you’ll have to start with me to make the point?”
A quizzical expression passed over his face. “Start with you how?”
“Well, I need to be punished, publicly . . . condemned, and—”
“Oh, that,” he said, waving my thought away. “That’s going to be hard to do when almost all the witnesses are dead . . . and when I haven’t found you yet.” I stared at him, and after a moment he laughed. “Of all the people involved in this, Grayshade, you are the last one I would have any intention of punishing, publicly or otherwise.”
“But I killed—”
“You also saved,” Jarrett cut in. “And when you could have cut and run, you stayed to save me and Cohrelle. Without you, I would be dead, and the city in the hands of the Order.” He leaned back in his chair. “How you pay your debt to the memories and families of those you killed over the years—that is a decision no one, including me, can make for you. I’m no religious ideologue, and if you need to answer to someone, it would be someone other than me. If it were up to me, in fact, I’d employ you myself. Besides your inside knowledge of the Order of Argoth, you’re handy in a fight.” He chuckled, then turned serious again. “Unfortunately, though, I can’t do that . . . and I can’t let you stay in Cohrelle either.”
