White Pagan, page 36
part #6 of Kestrel Harper Saga Series
She was more interested in the wine, or something stronger, and spoke only after she had drained her glass a third time.
“We require sanctuary.”
Gabrielle’s breath hitched as she settled on the stool before Asta. “You have it. You know you do. What has…where is…?”
“Kjell will join us…when he can.” Asta chose not to voice her fears that her husband would not join her though she knew they colored the strained tone of her voice. “Some faction stormed the castle…an inside job…Jerit and I barely made it out…”
“By k’Ádhá.” If there had been a coup in Glevum, what were the odds that Kjell, Oska, and Inness had survived? The king had the backing of the military, of the people, but Gabrielle had learned over years of association with Owain how politics in Neth often operated. More than one king had been deposed by uprisings and assassinations and though Asta had not said it, there was the possibility that Kjell would never join or send for her.
“We should tell Merrek. He will send troops if you…”
Asta shook her head. “I don’t think that’s…Kjell has either bested his assailants or…”
Or he had not and someone else controlled Neth. Jerit was not old enough to secure and hold the throne. Weakened by plague and hunger, Asta did not know if Enesfel could afford to send soldiers into what might be the precursor to a war they were not fit to win.
She needed to know more first. She needed to know how things stood in Glevum.
“Word follows; I should know more soon. Kjell asked me to wait for him here…if that is…?”
“It is no inconvenience; you are welcome.” Family by marriage, bound through the de Corrmicks and Lachlans, Owain had always welcomed his nephew’s family. Caol Dugan’s family. “You may stay as long as necessary. Whatever resources I have are at your disposal. Now please, Asta…you should rest too. You’re safe here, I swear it.”
Owain and Merrek had made certain the Fiara estate was well protected and the Lachlan Crown had garrisoned men in Fiara when the prince had made this his home. All would be on alert for trouble and would not hesitate to act if trouble had followed them.
Though Asta thought to refuse, still anxious for her son’s safety and worried about her husband and other son, there was little she could do. No need to be vigilant, no need for action until she received word from Wallace or Kjell. She could only wait. Sleep might not come easily, or at all, but it was worth the effort to try.
Whatever lay ahead, she would need rest and a clear head.
She stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back at the sitting-room door where Gabrielle watched her. For a woman who had never felt much need for religious faith, it felt like a peculiar thing to ask, but she murmured, “Will you pray for them?” If there was anyone in the universe watching over them, this seemed the ideal time to come to terms with that and seek whatever help could be offered.
“I will,” Gabrielle promised. She wanted to offer assurance but there was little she could give. Asta would not believe that everything would be alright until she saw that they were with her own eyes.
***
“k’gdhededhá Tumm is…?”
Hwensen nodded as he slid the glass of water across the carved oak table towards his unexpected guest. He had not served the k’gdhededhá in the same capacity as he had served Dórímyr, as those responsibilities had fallen instead on Ylár who already served Tumm as caregiver and aide. Hwensen had, instead, worked with Kluín in his efforts to support Kavan’s reinstatement into the Faith, to strive for the reunification of the Elyri and Teren sects, and to seek out the pockets of Zythánites exposed because of Dórímyr’s involvement with them.
“Last night. I should have sent word but, as you can imagine, there’s been much to do. He’d been ailing for weeks, you know. I’m surprised he did not pass sooner or go his way…”
Tusánt snorted and cupped the glass in his hands. “Like Dórímyr, he was too stubborn to go easily. Elections?”
“Soon. Most of the candidates have lingered in Clarys since he took ill.” His bitterness was swallowed with a gulp of water. “But you did not come because of Tumm.”
“No, I came on other business.” The Faith was divided by politics and race, but to Tusánt, they were still one entity, an entity that shared business regardless of their differences. “Have you heard of any relics coming into store here? One recently arrived in Hes á Redh…but it has been stolen from its locked box, from the locked náós, suggesting the thief may have used the Gates.”
Shaking his head, Hwensen shuffled through the documents on his desk. The duties of the k’gdhededhá may have been assumed by Ylár, but much of the paperwork had fallen to Hwensen as before because he knew those avenues of bureaucracy better than anyone in Clarys. “No…not unless it has not been reported yet…or has been confiscated without lawful notice.”
Tusánt rubbed his temples in frustration. “I thought…hoped…that the k’phóredhet had confiscated it. Not that I want them to, but at least that would make sense. If we must seek a thief outside of the Faith, I do not know where to begin.”
“I was not aware Hes á Redh housed relics…”
“We didn’t until this one came to us on its way to Lord Cliáth.”
Hwensen’s brow crept up in surprise. Holy relics, in the eyes of the Faith, were never to be kept in the hands of private citizens. Only in rare cases where the items in question were family treasures and heirlooms and the descendants of the original owner still had possession of them, was that unwritten law sometimes overlooked. The k’phóredhet continued to hound those families in the hopes that the items would be relinquished. Such things were kept in a secure vault, to be brought out for viewing at the k’phóredhet’s and k’gdhededhá’s discretion, though that rarely happened.
Sometimes Hwensen wondered if it was a means of erasing the claims of ‘miracle’ from the public’s minds.
“Lord Cliáth? Why would…?”
Tusánt gave a little smile. “What better place for Saint Kóráhm’s mantle?”
Even amongst the top authorities of the Faith, the tales of the Heretic-Saint’s involvement in the White Bard’s life flourished, making Kavan’s standing in the Faith all the more precarious. If Heretic Kóráhm was influential on Kavan, did not that mark Kavan for heresy? If not, if the miracle-working bard was as blessed as it appeared, was Kóráhm a heretic?
“The mantle? By the saints…it has surfaced?” The mantle had been a rumor since the day it had been taken from the site of Kóráhm’s martyrdom several generations earlier. “Where has it…?”
“I do not know. The gentleman who brought it mentioned crossing from the desert…giving rise to miraculous healing on its journey. I have not seen the miracles he spoke of, though there are those in Rhidam already making claims…but I have seen the mantle. I dared not touch it, but if anyone can verify its authenticity…”
“Lord Cliáth can,” Hwensen agreed. “I assure you, if word of it had reached Clarys, the halls would be buzzing. At least Ylár or I would have been told. If it has been confiscated…”
Only Tumm could have called for such an act or a k’phóredhet vote. Tumm had been too ill to do so and the council had not convened in more than a week.
“I will listen for rumors. If anyone here knows of it…has taken it without permission, they will be dealt with accordingly.”
***
Rankin was left with the duty of overseeing further investigation within Hes á Redh, although he did not expect to find anything. Belongings and rooms were searched more than once, every room cleaned to limit contamination by death-infected articles that had lingered too long at the altar and by those people who had passed through the náós the day before.
If plague now infested Rhidam, efforts to clean the náós were futile. Only barring entry would keep contamination out and that was not yet an option worth considering. People needed their faith during such trying times and every gdhededhá within these walls had a sacred duty and calling to provide comfort and counseling as it was needed. Prayer was the only protection they had, now that the healing mantle of Saint Kóráhm was gone.
“gdhededhá Rankin.”
He looked up from his absent rearranging of the prayer candles in their sconces at the young man who had entered. He knew Madoc from his childhood and saw him more frequently now that he was positioned as Lord High Justice. He was young for the title, but he seemed well-suited to the task and took his duties seriously.
“What may I do for you, Lord Justice?”
“I was told there has been a theft?” The rumor had come to him through Fen’s Association contacts, but it had not indicated the nature of the theft. As it was known that O’Grady had left something with the gdhededhásur for safekeeping, and now the minstrel had been killed, the two incidences hardly seemed coincidental.
Rankin nodded his head. He was not surprised that word had reached the justice so quickly, given the importance of what had been taken. “Aye, a holy artifact destined for St. Kóráhm’s. It was here.” He gestured towards the glass case which had previously housed the mantle. “The case was locked, but as you can see…”
It was locked no longer. The lock was open, as with a key, showing no indication of breakage.
Rankin continued, “The náós doors were locked too, to protect it, and now…” He shrugged.
Madoc lifted the box carefully to inspect the bottom. “Who had the key?” he asked, finding nothing amiss on the box.
“Mr. O’Grady, we assume, who delivered the relic to us and is to take it to St. Kóráhm’s when his business in Rhidam is complete.”
“Unfortunately that will no longer be possible.” Even if the item had not been stolen. Madoc did not believe the missing article to be truly sacred; too many false artifacts appeared over the years for him to believe in genuine ones, and with Enesfel in the grips of starvation and plague, it was of little surprise that such an object would appear in Rhidam to offer comfort to the gullible.
“Mister O’Grady has been murdered.” The Inquisitor had not indicated finding a key, but since the minstrel had apparently been robbed of his valuables, perhaps the killer had taken it.
Rankin’s shoulder’s sagged with dismay. “When? How?”
“Last night. It appears to have been a robbery, as his purse and belongings were missing. Inquisitor Geli and Hunter Elotti are investigating. It appears he might have been robbed of this key…” If the thief had known about this relic, had been looking for a key, it offered a motive for theft and possibly murder.
But, Madoc mused as he glanced back at the door, neither explained how a thief had entered through a locked door unnoticed.
As if reading the justice’s thoughts, Rankin shook his head. “We’ve questioned everyone here. No one saw anything, heard anything. No one was allowed to enter after the doors were sealed.”
“You noticed nothing unusual yesterday?”
“Not unless you consider a line of Faithful hoping for miracles to be unusual. dedhá Caldar took it upon himself to display the relic, and once the rumor of miracles began…”
“Miracles?” Madoc scoffed. He had never been present during the life-saving miracles that had spared Prince Lorant’s life. Madoc had never witnessed anything remotely miraculous, and though his father and wife claimed to have seen things, and Kavan was said to perform them, Madoc could not believe it. He was a man who preferred proof over hearsay and was inclined to seek other explanations for the miraculous, including the possibility that Kavan carried some amount of the healing gifts without realizing it. Why would he not when he was said to be the most powerful Elyri to have ever lived?
“Indeed. It would not surprise me if any one of them would want to make off with the mantle, to sell it or demand payment from others for the privilege of healing, but I pray that is not the case. k'dedhá Tusánt will be gravely disappointed to hear this news.”
“I’ll share this with the Inquisitor; perhaps he will find it useful. Maybe someone managed to hide inside before the doors were locked.” How the doors could have locked again behind the escaping thief was a separate mystery. “Keep everyone here…I’m sure the Inquisitor will want to question…”
“k’gdhededhá Tusánt has already…”
“And we have not. Nor have we searched the grounds, but we shall. Mr. Elotti as well. The queen has made this our highest priority.”
Rankin frowned but nodded his reluctant agreement. They could not deny the Crown the right to investigate; perhaps the skilled eyes of the bounty hunter, inquisitor, and justice would find something Rankin and Tusánt failed to see.
It would make little difference. By now the relic was well on its way out of Rhidam, disappearing from history once more.
Chapter19
Inness watched her husband stagger drunkenly out of the dining room where he had finally deigned to eat with the rest of the household and the lords and advisors she had gathered that night. It was important to discuss the necessary changes to the regime, what would be expected of the men sharing the king’s table. But Oska was unable to carry out the most basic conversation without resorting to muttered, incoherent phrases. Since the hour he emerged from his chambers, he had done so in nothing but his sleeping gown, his short hair mussed, his face unshaven, his limp more pronounced. Blaming his condition on drunken grief, Inness worked to convince the staff and royal advisors that the shock of his beloved father’s death at the hands of Prince Jerit’s supporters had been great. In time he would settle, would come to terms with his father’s death and his brother and mother’s betrayal, and would rise to the weight of rule as was expected.
At her request, the staff removed all traces of wine from his chambers and once he began wandering the castle barefoot and wild-eyed, calling his brother’s name, they removed it from other rooms as well. With no alcohol to imbibe, Inness expected he would come to his senses quicker and regain his peace of mind. The wine was kept out of his hands as they ate, so when he staggered out of the room this time, Inness was forced to contemplate the possibility that his behavior was fueled not by alcohol but by something more serious.
She had always known that his was not a strong constitution, that he was a politician, a philosopher, a planner, thinker, and poet…not a warrior. Not a man of fierce heart and action. He had sworn that he could, and would, be the one to confront his father. She had provided the knife, suggested that it might be needed as a threat. He had followed through on that act, but she had not thought he would use the blade. She had expected to do the deed herself if it became necessary. The cost of the act for Oska may have been his wits.
Inness could solve many problems, but healing her husband’s mind was not one of them.
A physician was needed, she decided, perhaps even an Elyri healer if she could find one who would keep their secrets. For now, she turned her focus to the guests with a polite, apologetic, and slightly sad smile. A physician could heal the troubled king’s body while she kept Neth running and soothed the fears of those seated with her. She knew her husband. She could rule the kingdom until the day he was ready to do so and she would remain by his side until then, the dutiful queen.
A wailing sing-song cry of Jerit’s name rose from the corridor, far away from the dining hall but audible to all seated there. Servants ran to attend their king, but Inness remained where she was. Oska needed her, but Neth needed her more. This was the way things had to be.
***
Kavan’s internal clock had lost track of the days and nights that had passed since his arrival in this place. They climbed and walked when they had the energy and found suitable shelter from the wind and snow, to sleep when exhaustion and cold overtook them. Attempts to count the brief periods of sunlight became futile when the orb stopped topping the horizon and the mountain peaks and faces blocked their view. Climbing down, then up, and then down again allowed little energy for talk or the practice of power skills; everything they had went towards northward movement and survival. The food had grown sparser, their bellies now constantly arumble with hunger, and only the distant lure of a hoped-for Gate and the promise to see Raebhá safely home served as the impetus to keep Kavan moving through bouts of occasional dismay when yet one more peak appeared in their path. But they had dropped lower in altitude, their struggle to breathe lessened, and Kavan prayed constantly, beseeching Ethenae for a sign that the road they traveled would bring them to shelter before they collapsed.
He again considered flight, but Raebhá did not know how and he would not leave her. Even when she encouraged him to use it to pinpoint their location, to seek a suitable destination, he tried to refuse. Only thrice did he resort to flight to help select a path through or around obstacles, but he never lost sight of her, fearing that if he did, they would become separated and one or both of them would die.
Each time she waited for his return and greeted him with a warm embrace through the bulk of their protective attire. A new path laid, they would begin again. Sometimes she was ahead of him. Sometimes behind. Sometimes beside. When his spirits flagged, she encouraged him with a touch that found its way into his soul and filled him with joy and a sense of ease that warmed him more than any protective layer of clothing could. She never seemed disheartened or discouraged and Kavan found strength in that. He trusted she would bring them both to civilization, that her sense of direction in these mountains, beneath these stars, would not fail.
He was watching his feet push through a light layer of drifted snow as he picked his way along the narrow incline they had chosen this day when Raebhá tugged on his arm the way she often did to get his attention. His gaze followed her pointing finger towards the sky to their right, past the stone overhang that protected them from the occasional slide of ice and snow. His breath caught and he stopped climbing, unable to believe what he beheld to the east.
