Dirge of the Dormant, page 32
part #5 of The Mindstream Chronicles Series
“Then you know my reputation.”
“I know what’s in your heart.” He handed Cyprianus the shirt and looked at Gerad. “The whistle won’t work for you, because you’re no longer the Concord. Tosh is.”
“Oh. Right.” Gerad reluctantly handed the whistle over, wondering whether Tosh would relinquish the power of the Colossus warriors and the godheart once he had the taste for both. If he had Jora’s integrity and sense of loyalty and duty, it wouldn’t be a problem, but the man had been living among Mangendans for the past eight years.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty,” Tosh said. “I’ll give them both back as soon as possible.” Gerad gave him a nod.
“Think the names of the Colossus warriors one by one,” Retar said, “and then blow into the whistle.”
“The Colossus warriors?” Cyprianus asked, his voice screechy with panic. “Y–You’ve unstoned them?”
Jora gave him a distracted nod.
“I don’t know their names,” Tosh said.
“Start with Archesilaus,” Jora said.
“Wait,” Cyprianus said, his hands pausing in the midst of buttoning the shirt. “Let’s think about this. Do we truly need them? Here’s a portal to exit the realm of perception. Let’s join hands and use it to walk out of here.”
“It’s all right, Cyprianus,” Jora said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I won’t let them hurt you.”
“You don’t understand.”
Tosh put the whistle in his mouth and blew, though it made no sound they could hear.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Cyprianus said. “Aw, bloody fists.”
Archesilaus stumbled through the black opening, caught himself, and stepped into a battle stance as he drew his sword, his eyes darting about.
“Arc, it’s us,” Gerad said.
The big warrior met Gerad’s gaze and relaxed, lowering his weapon, then noticed Jora and Adriel. “‘Tis a relief to see you well. We had begun to worry.” Then Tosh caught his eye, and he measured the man with his gaze.
“This is my brother, Tosh,” Jora said. She opened her hand to indicate Cyprianus, who’d ducked behind Zivenna as if to hide from Arc’s view. “And that’s—”
“Cyprianus of Labrygg,” Arc said, stiffening. He advanced on the thin man, his sword raised and pointed at his target’s throat. “Thinner and paler, but I would know those eyes anywhere.”
Cyprianus backpedaled, hands up, until his heels struck the wall. “Wait. King Gerad, please. Jora, help!”
“I have waited five hundred twenty-four years for this day,” Arc said.
Jora darted between the two and stopped, her arms spread wide to shield Cyprianus with her body. “No. If you’re going to kill him, you’ll have to kill me first.”
The room erupted in gasps and pleas for everyone to stop or calm down.
“Step aside, Jora,” Arc said, his voice a growl. His blade hovered in front of her throat, but she made no move to protect herself. Her three summoned allies, however, crowded around them, poised to attack the Colossus on her command.
“Arc, stand down,” Gerad said. “I’ll decide later whether Cyprianus lives or dies. Right now, we need to summon the rest of the Colossi.”
Arc hesitated. With his back to him, Gerad couldn’t see his expression, but judging from the set of his shoulders, he was not pleased to be reined in. “Your Majesty, I beg you reconsider. This man is a notorious killer. He has slain countless innocent Serocians. He was sentenced to beheading by King Challes long ago.”
“Two hours ago,” Cyprianus said. “I’d have welcomed my death, but now that I see an opportunity to do good in the world, I beg you to grant me the chance. Give me time to prove my worth to you before you execute me.”
“Arc, don’t,” Jora said. “You heard the king.”
“Do you not agnize him?” Arc asked. “He is Cyprianus of Labrygg, former portwatcher. The man we were hunting. The man who put me and my bro’ers in stone for half a millenary.”
“I know,” Jora said. “Put your sword away.”
“Arc,” Gerad said, “do as I said. Stand down.”
The Colossus lowered his blade, but he didn’t relax. “Have we no kendern to put atop his head? Irons for his hands and feet?”
“He’s not preter-bent anymore,” Jora said, dropping her arms to her sides. “Nor recen-bent nor mater-bent. He can’t even open the Mindstream. He’s just a man.”
“And quite an elderly one at that,” Cyprianus put in, one finger raised to accentuate his point. Nothing about him looked old. Then again, Arc was over five hundred years old, and he didn’t look a day over thirty. Gerad had to admit he was intrigued and wanted to know how Cyprianus was still alive, not to mention so young in appearance.
“Arc,” Gerad said, “calm yourself. You’ll not spill his blood today, perhaps not ever. We need answers, but let’s focus on getting out of here first.”
Arc nodded but he didn’t sheathe his sword or take his eyes off the thin blond. “Aye, my king. I shall not slay him unless he moves to attack thee. You have my word.”
Tosh let out a breath. “Whew. That was tense. Shall I continue?”
“Yes,” Gerad said. “Who shall he summon next?”
“He?” Arc asked, raising one eyebrow.
“Tosh is Concord now. Long story. We’ll tell you about it later.”
“Ludovicus,” Arc said with a scowl.
“All righty,” Tosh said, lifting the whistle to his lips.
“Archesilaus,” Gerad said, “I’m charging you with Cyprianus’s safety until all the Colossi are here and have agreed not to kill him.”
Arc’s face looked stony, but his eyes were filled with anguish. “Aye, my king. I will not allow my bro’ers or sisters to slay him.” He glared down at Cyprianus. “Yet.”
Once Retar instructed Adriel on how to help Tosh call the Colossus warriors, Jora paced in the corridor outside, considering their next step, while the others gave Tosh the names of the warriors to summon. “The grand duke hasn’t anticipated my escape or Tosh’s cooperation.”
“Else they’d be here by now,” Gerad agreed.
“I killed a lot of their fighters,” Jora said, “but we don’t know how many have been replaced.”
Gerad nodded. “If you can clear a path to the grand duke without bringing the rest down on us, that would be best. What about the godheart?”
“We will retrieve it after we take the capitol,” Arc said.
Jora chewed the inside of her cheek. She would prefer they secure the godheart first. There was no point in taking chances. “If someone hears or sees us, they might hide it or run off with it. I think the Colossi should take King Gerad and Tosh to get the godheart.”
Arc narrowed his eyes at her. “You think to attack the grand duke alone.”
“He’s a man without magical power. It’s the middle of the night, so he’s probably asleep. Zivenna will show me the way to his room. I’ll kill any guards we encounter. What’s the problem?”
“E’eryone among us doth wish to be the one to strike the killing blow,” Domitius said, smiling.
Several of the Colossi chuckled, agreeing with a quiet, “Aye.”
Jora grinned. “We could toss a coin to decide whether I slay him or you do.”
“No,” Gerad said. “Let Jora have the honor. The rest of us will go for the godheart.”
“Aye,” Caduceus said. “‘Tis a most excellent plan, sire.”
“When we have the godheart, we shall meet you and confront Ibsa together,” Arc said.
“Who’s Ibsa?” Cyprianus asked. He was busy trying to strap a dead guard’s sword to his belt.
“Nay,” Arc said, grabbing the scabbard. “No weapons for you.”
Judging from the thin man’s awkwardness, Jora guessed Cyprianus had handled a sword fewer times than she had. “Let him keep it, Arc. He’s on our side now.”
Arc grumbled and released the sword.
“Thank you, dear. Now, who’s Ibsa?”
“A scribe who fled to Mangend to escape my wrath,” Jora said.
“Do you plan to slay her or return her for trial?” Tosh asked.
“Kill her.” Jora wasn’t sure yet whether she would do it herself or have her allies do it, but Ibsa would be dead before the sun’s first rays lit the sky.
“‘Tis too dangerous a task for one person to attempt alone,” Arc said.
“Agreed,” Gerad said. “Wait for the rest of us before you engage her. Understood?”
Jora nodded, though she wasn’t happy about being reined in. If she happened to stumble upon Ibsa on her way to kill Natan, well, she would do what she had to do and apologize for it later.
Ludo pointed his thumb at Cyprianus. “You would slay one murderer and permit this one to live?”
Jora shrugged. “He’s paid for his crimes.”
“He has not spent e’en a year in prison for e’ery life he has taken,” Arc said.
“What about a death for every life?” Cyprianus asked. “Since my capture, I’ve died eight hundred thirty times.”
“You have slain thousands,” Arc shot back.
“Then kill me thousands of times more. I deserve it, and I would accept that punishment.”
“Let’s settle this once we’re home,” Jora said. “I’ll hear your testimonies in court and decide then.”
“Why do you decide?” Cyprianus asked. “Should not the king determine my fate?”
Jora glanced at Gerad, who’d remained silent on the matter. “I’m the Minister of Truth. As overseer of the judicial system, it’s my duty to mete out justice. If the king pardons you, I must accept and honor that, but unless that happens, the decision is mine.”
Cyprianus shrugged. “I can live with that.”
“Where are the grand duke’s chambers?” Jora asked.
Tosh blew the silent whistle, and Burrus stumbled through the gray cloud Adriel had inscribed. “Three stories above us,” Tosh said. “Find the northernmost staircase and go up two flights. The last staircase will be about a dozen yards south of where you land.”
“Is there a servants’ passage?” Caduceus asked.
Tosh nodded thoughtfully. “I’m sure there is, but I don’t frequent the residence story. I wouldn’t know where to look for it. He could escape that way, if he hears you coming, so if you can find it and post a sentry, you might catch him.” He didn’t look comfortable. Could he have developed some fondness for the grand duke during his years of service?
“Two Colossi should accompany Jora,” Tylia said.
“No,” Jora said. “I can move more quietly alone. He won’t hear me coming.”
“You will encounter Mangendans,” Tylia argued. “We all will.”
“What are our orders, sire?” Domitius asked. “Kill on sight? Or public execution?”
Gerad knitted his brow. Jora suspected he hadn’t anticipated having to make that sort of decision, and judging by the way his jaw worked, the question left a sour taste. “Kill combatants on sight,” he said, his voice quiet. “Spare his family, servants, and civilians.”
A look of surprise crossed Arc’s face. And then he vanished, along with the rest of the warriors. A moment later, they all stumbled into the room through the gray cloud, tripping over each other. Kiril tripped and went down, and Sancius fell atop him with an “oof!”
Jora’s heartbeat quickened as she scanned their faces, realizing what had happened. “Aniketos,” she whispered. “God’s challenger.” Braulio. Isaius. Drusus. They were supposed to be with Rivva in Arynd Ban. “Tosh, what have you done?”
“Did I do something wrong?” Tosh asked.
“I was giving you the names,” Ludo said, his voice taut with aggravation.
Tosh’s eyes were round with innocence and confusion. “I thought I could save time by summoning them all with one command.”
“Egad,” Arc muttered, helping Sancius to his feet by the elbow.
“Challenger’s fists,” Jora said. “Has Rivva returned from her meeting with Empress Svea?”
“Nay,” Drusus said. “She is still in Arynd Ban and now with four fewer champions.”
Tosh’s face went pale. “I erred, didn’t I? I’m sorry. I only meant to save time.”
“There is naught to do anent it now,” Caduceus said, offering Kiril a hand up. “We can nie return them to her side.”
“How were the negotiations proceeding?” Gerad asked.
Isaius shook his head sadly. “Not well, my liege. The empress was unconvinced by our explanation. She asked for e’er more concessions. When they discover the four of us missing, they will no doubt assume we’re up to mischief.”
“Egad,” Tylia said.
“We’ll figure out what to do about it when we get home,” Gerad said. “Meanwhile, let’s hope the royal guards can keep Rivva safe. “
“Go then,” Arc said to Jora. “We will find you when we have the godheart.”
Jora summoned Po Teng for protection, Emelia to detect the use of magic, and Zivenna to show her the way. “Good luck,” she said.
Arc caught her by the arm. “Be careful.”
She nodded and lay a hand on his thick forearm. “You too.”
Her footsteps were light as she made her way down the corridor, though the same could not be said for the allies’. “Can you walk more quietly?”
“I’m sorry, Gatekeeper,” Zivenna said. “I will try.”
“Zivenna, you lead the way. I’ll get us lost around the next corner.” Jora followed the tall ally, with Emelia and Po Teng at her sides.
Another pair of footsteps behind her caught her attention. She turned, a command for Po Teng to kill on her lips.
It was Cyprianus, grinning sheepishly. “I hope I didn’t startle you,” he whispered. “The Colossus warriors were eyeing me with murderous intent. I feel safer in your presence.”
She sighed. “All right, but you have to keep up. And keep quiet.”
He put a finger over his lips and fell into step with her.
The ally led them through winding corridors and up several flights of stairs. Every step Jora took, Cyprianus was on her heel like a leaf tacky with sap that clung to her boot. She Observed herself at a great enough distance to see whether they would encounter any soldiers hiding in a room or around a corner, but she saw and encountered no one. The capitol was like a tomb. Had someone alerted the grand duke and helped him escape? Would they be trapped within the building and suffocated with noxious vapors?
At last, Zivenna stopped at the bottom of a narrow staircase. “At the top is a pair of doors. It’s his private apartment, which he shares with his wife and six children. I beg you do not hurt them, Gatekeeper. They are good people. Innocents.”
Jora raised her mystical eye and found the door manned by four armed guards—two men and two women standing stiff and silent like statues. A pair of candles in wall-mounted holders flickered beside the door. She couldn’t get a view of the room’s interior, however.
“The room is guarded by inscription,” Emelia said. “I cannot see what lies beyond the doors.”
Jora nodded, having come to the same conclusion. In a quiet voice, she laid out her plan for their attack, assigning tasks to each of the allies.
Po Teng went up first. With a single touch, the two guards standing closest to the door fell asleep. They hit the floor with a pair of thumps as the front two fell asleep as well. Jora, Zivenna, Emelia, and Cyprianus crept up the carpeted stairs, their footsteps muffled.
She found the door locked, but a quick search of the guards produced a key. She inserted it into the lock and turned it slowly, then took one of the candles from the wall, opened the door, and stepped inside.
The apartment was dark but for the candlelight. The first room appeared to be a sitting room, with an open chest overflowing with children’s toys in one corner. In another corner was an easel with paper and several colored inks and brushes. On the sheet of paper displayed was a crude drawing of a man cutting off the head of another man with a big knife while several stick-people stood around and watched. Jora shuddered. The grand duke had let his children witness the beheadings. What kind of parent did that?
On two of the walls was a closed door. Jora took a breath and opened the door. What she saw surprised her.
A flaxen haired woman huddled on a large bed, the bedclothes pulled up to her chin. “Please,” she begged. “Don’t hurt me. I have young children.” Despite the fear twisting her features, she was a beautiful woman. And Natan wasn’t there to protect his family.
“Po Teng, wait,” Jora said. “You’re the grand duke’s wife?”
She nodded and swallowed, eyeing the allies with obvious trepidation. “Grand Duchess Bavra Gundsoulin.” She bowed slightly in the bed, still clutching the bedclothes to her. “At your service.” It came out in a whisper.
“Where’s Natan?” Jora asked.
“I–I don’t know,” Bavra said.
“Mama?” came a small voice behind Jora.
She turned to find a boy of about three years clutching a gray rag doll with the embroidered face of a cat.
“Zivenna, take him,” Jora said.
The child screamed, an shrill noise that drove invisible spikes into Jora’s ears. He kicked and struggled to free himself, but the ally held him tight.
“No, please!” Bavra cried, reaching for her child. The blanket fell to reveal the top of her white silken sleep shirt. “He went down the chute.” She pointed at the far wall. A piece of wood on a hinge covered a hole large enough for Jora to fit through but not the Colossi.
The child continued to scream. The pain only intensified Jora’s anger, threatening to unleash the darkness within her. “Zivenna, let him go,” she said, pressing her fingers to her temples.
Kill, kill, kill.
On second thought, watching Zivenna tear the wretched thing to shreds might be a just reward for having had to put up with its awful screeching.
Before she could voice her change of mind, Zivenna set the bucking child on its feet. It ran to the bed and leaped into its mother’s arms.
The woman cooed and comforted the mewling imp. Jora scoffed. The grand duke’s children were pants-pissing little whelps. What monstrous leaders they would make for their people. She’d do the Mangendans a favor by killing the annoying creature right here, along with its contemptible mother.
