destiny's queen 5

 

Chapter 5

 

“We need a base of operations,” said Harkon, to Ralthur.

“That’s one reason we brought a lot of money,” said Ralthur.

“But if we buy a place, someone will know, and it won’t be secret,” said Harkon. “I think we should take in one of the loyal people as suspect, and use their house.”

“We don’t need to,” said Ralthur. “I just thought. We can use the house of Thea Drex.”

“So we can,” said Harkon. “What’s the chance of She of the Bleeding Moon telling anyone she’s lost her one and only heroine?”

Ralthur sniggered.

“Next to none,” he said. “So nobody is likely to come poking in.”

 

The Drex mansion was a three-storey building, with a wide entrance into the first courtyard, where a pool and fountain might be seen. The main building was white marble with insets of blood red porphyry. The portico over the door showed Selen graciously welcoming all races to serve her, the moon inset behind her in porphyry. Harkon reached out to Zog, and made a few subtle changes; each figure now carried a weapon, to menace the red moon.

“Everyone’s a critic,” laughed Ralthur, at Harkon’s efforts.

The two men marched into the entrance as if expected. Harkon knew by the general layout, slightly different to the way things were done in the city states of Limnesthos, that to their left would be an office where the house’s master or his steward would receive creditors to pay bills and debtors to pay their bills, freed slaves who owed duty and service, and any business partners. On the right was a room for the doorkeeper, typically a freed man, often an ex-gladiator, who acted as greeter and bouncer. His job was to be on the lookout at all times, and to answer the door if it was knocked on during the hours of the night.

The man who came out had a slight limp; he was a grizzled veteran with muscles in the right places for a warrior, and a few scars showing white on his weatherbeaten skin.

“Sirs, may I help you? I am Crondion, doorkeeper to Thea Drex; the mistress is away from home,” he said.

“Crondion, look at me,” said Harkon. “I think you can tell by my features that I am your mistress’s brother. I and my friend will be staying here.”

“Oh! I see; if you will come into the first courtyard and recline in the shade, I will fetch Gordius Larth, my lady’s steward,” said Crondion.

“Crondion,” said Harkon, “Are you personally loyal to my sister?”

“Aye, my lord. She bought me out of the arena when she first had position; I trained her when she was sent there, just a little girl. Meant her as a comic turn they did, but I taught her enough to survive and then they was laughing on the other sides of their faces,” he added in grim satisfaction.

“Do you remember her real name?” asked Harkon.

“Aye; she asked me to help her recall that she was Sjurgi, but in later years, she hasn’t cared to ask to be reminded...”

“Crondion; do you worship Thanus?”

“I sacrifice power to him. I worship Alethos.”

“Friend Crondion, so do we; and Sjurgi is free, and if you will join us, we will tear down this filthy empire.”

“My lord, I am your man.”

“I will not tell you my true name yet, but I am going by Aquilix Drex,” said Harkon. “You will have to tell us who may be trusted.”

“Not Gordius Larth,” said Crondion. “He is ambitious”

“Thank you,” said Harkon. “Show us in, anyway, and have him assign us rooms. On the ground floor as is proper for the mistress’s family, her brother and friend.”

“Yes, my lords,” said Crondion. “Now I understand the prophecy of that blind man in the market place, ‘Bide your time, the harrowing will begin with the brother of the broken child and his companion.’”

“It is, indeed, an age of prophecy,” said Harkon.

“I... I could find people who want to overthrow the empire,” said Crondion.

“Good; that will help,” said Harkon. “We will need more room than we have here.”

“Leave it to me,” said Crondion. “I will need some time off, but there are mansions belonging to those who have gone to war, and whilst they are away, we can make use of their mansions.”

“Appoint someone you trust to take your place whilst you are busy. Clodus and Thorus Mils are dead,” said Harkon. “We can also use the house of Ralthur Kron; Lasur Kron and Clodax Dren are not going anywhere.”

“Well, now, that’s a bit fortunate,” said Crondion. “The Kron complex is across the street; but my lord knew that, didn’t he?” he looked at Ralthur.

“I won’t confirm or deny,” said Ralthur.

“You went out of your way to help me, once, when you were hardly more than a boy, when others jostled me,” said Crondion. “Aye, and your own class, too.”

“All Krons look much alike,” said Ralthur.

“But not all have a minute scar by the left eye,” said Crondion. “Though I wager few people have noticed it. But I can mention that all Krons look alike if anyone asks.”

“I had no face furniture when I left,” said Ralthur.

“It hides who you were very well, my lord,” said Crondion.

“That’s the idea,” said Ralthur.

“We need trógling,” said Harkon, scratching his own beard. “Though reasons for buying trógling might raise suspicions.”

“Put a pair of male trógling in the sort of tunic worn by little boys, and most people will draw their own disgusting conclusions about our predilections,” said Ralthur. “They don’t, after all, know about how we have disconcerted the army; because do you think the commanders are going to actually confess that trógling caused them trouble?”

“An honest commander tells it like it is,” said Harkon.

“This is why I was shuffled into being regional governor, not supreme commander of the armed forces,” said Ralthur. “Too honest. It embarrassed my family, but they could not fail to give me some position. And put a spy on me; Quirinus Lex.”

“A mean family, by all accounts,” said Crondion. “And what, my lord, of Vaudia Cass?”

Ralthur shuddered.

“I’d as soon drink great toróg urine as be married to her,” he said. “I don’t admire women who are soft and well-curved, and more to the point, I don’t admire women who are bone idle. If she was unwell, she could not help it, but there’s nothing wrong with her, and she lies around all day reading novels, eating sweetmeats, and declaring that she’s bored. She whines and complains, and sometimes I long to have her in a troop of recruits to make her run about until she gets a glow of health to her face rather than too much make-up, and learns to use her legs. She says she adores dancing, but that’s only when watching others do it.”

Harkon shuddered; he had been offered the dubious charms of Vaudia Cass by the goddess Zeandine, as a bribe. Presumably some men admired her lush, overblown looks.

“You’ve always fancied my sister, haven’t you?” said Harkon.

“Since she saved the Empress and acceded to the name ‘Drex,’ and moved in next door,” said Ralthur. “I think she had had a series of less than stellar lovers to escape the arena and move up; she was not looking for anyone once she had a name, and the patronage of the empress.”

“She was bought out of the arena by a fat old man,” said Crondion. “I believe it was the last time she wept.”

“I will avenge my sister,” growled Harkon.

“Rumour has it that she kills any man she has slept with; but I don’t think she does,” said Crondion.

“Don’t worry, dear ones, she had a chaos taint as a ‘gift’ which made those close to her suffer bad luck. I removed it when I accepted her, and she knows this, so she knows she does not have to be aloof any more,” the voice of Alethos filled the minds of Harkon, Ralthur, and, it seemed, Crondion, who fell to his knees, eyes streaming with emotion.

“It... it was him...” he said.

“You get used to it,” said Harkon. “But I truly give him thanks for aiding Sjurgi.”

A fussy-looking man erupted from a door under the shading cloister around the pool.

“Who are these and what is going on, Crondion?” he demanded. He took in the fine clothes the pair were wearing, and sneered at the long hair, and excess jewellery that they wore.

“Aquilix Drex, taking up residence in my sister’s house, and my friend, Fadabius Kron,” said Harkon, sneering back. “Did you want to take it up with Julus Helio? I’m working directly under him, and Fadabius is, as you might say, working directly under me....” He leered at Ralthur, who batted his eyebrows. Gordius Larth, the steward, paled and looked sick. He was significantly outranked socially by both of them.

“Don’t overdo it,” said Alethos. “Those of my worshippers that way inclined rarely show it, and certainly not so blatantly.”

“That’s the idea,” said Harkon. “To be so blatant that it’s all people think about. Whilst they concentrate on socially unacceptable behaviour, they are not looking for us stirring up trouble and fomenting war; they think they have understood us.”

“Risky; but I can see how it may work,” said Alethos. “You will offend others who are so inclined.”

“I can’t help that, but at least if we can bring down the blood moon, they will be then free to love as they wish, instead of only being recruited as secret police and vilified in yet another way,” said Harkon. “I asked for pointers from Evgon and Kuros who finally admitted their feelings and are together.”

 

 

Gordius Larth summoned the slaves to make them known to the – to him – unwelcome guests, and carry their belongings to a pair of adjoining bedrooms. He shouted a lot and gave orders, whilst smiling ingratiatingly at Harkon.

“Just go about your duties as usual,” rumbled Harkon. “I’ll get around to speaking to each of you, but we’re simple soldiers and we eat what is put before us.”

Gordius glared, sulkily. He was a good-looking young man, in a sulky sort of way. He had just had his authority completely undermined.

“I am the steward of this house, and I give the orders here!” he protested, shrilly.

Harkon regarded him.

“You were the steward of this house; you are plainly incompetent and moreover I don’t like your face,” he said. “You’re fired. You have the rest of the day to pack your things and get out. If you don’t irritate me further, I won’t write to your father about you.”

Gordius Larth packed and left in a hurry.

He was only glad that Aquilix Drex had not found the creative accounting he had been censured for by Thea Drex just before she left.

He hoped to attach himself to Erlax Sorn, a second-class noble like himself, and currently in good odour, in a manner of speaking, for saving such of the army as he could from the bumbling of Orgeron Cass.

 

Orgeron Cass had not remained in prison long; the family was powerful, and whilst it was only incompetence which drove him to lose half the army, not disloyalty, he could be permitted to pick up his life again.  The empire survived by keeping the nobles divided and in factional quarrels. He had moved back into the family complex with his sister, Vaudia. He would have to make another betrothal arrangement for her now that Ralthur Kron had defected to the enemy; and he was damned if he would offer her to any lesser family. There had been Lazar Kron, until he was captured. Now? Well, he would militate against offering her to Erlax Sorn, favourite of Thea Drex, low ranking noble and disturbingly efficient, who had hauled his own irons out of the fire with quiet suggestions.

But the whole army was disgraced in its failure; and even Erlax did not come out of it smelling of roses. Orgeron was almost tempted to hand her over to Sanger, chief priest of Aima, goddess of the bloodsuckers. Sanger was a bloodsucker, of course, and he would likely insist any wife work her way up the cult to join him, if he was sufficiently fond of her; but having them as allies was advantageous.  

He did not have to decide immediately.

 

oOoOo

 

“Oh, shit,” said Kaz. “I... I think things are happening.”

Latrika and Phrodine took over, and Lelyn, Rynn, Svargia, and Arana as women who were close to her, as well as glyph-priest Varon, associate priest of Latrika and brother to Arana. Having helped with the healing of the cursed wound of Alethos, Varon was much in favour.

Kaz’s baby was delivered with remarkably little fuss and bother, and she held her daughter.

“Iphianira,” she said. There had been a brief look of recognition in the baby blue eyes before the memory of the dead child Iphianira was dulled in the new baby, at least until she was older.

Alethos gently placed his sword hilt into the baby’s fist, and she grasped it.

“Born to be a warrior,” he said, happily.

“You are aware, are you not, brother,” said Latrika, tartly, “That a baby will grasp anything put in its hand?”

“For sure; but her first feeling is of a sword,” said Alethos. “So, it will be familiar to her.”

“You men and your superstitions,” said Latrika.

“She will be what she wants to be,” said Kaz. “She will learn the martial arts even if she only uses them in self-defence.”

“Quite right,” said Alethos. “Grow up happy, little Iphianira.” He kissed his daughter.

Kaz left the women cleaning up afterbirth as she fed her daughter, and then new mother and daughter both slept deeply.

 

“Death has a daughter,” said Daze. “She must die before she grows up to be the Daykaz; send your people to deal with it.”

“My people are making a mess of a simple siege,” said Selen. “I will tell my priests and priestesses. Surely one of them will be able to kill a baby.”

“How hard can it be?” said Daze. “They must find out who the mother is; or kill all babies in the city.”

“That might be easier,” said Selen. “A disease which kills newborns. I will see to it.”

 

destiny's queen 4

 

Chapter 4

 

The siege of Mesolimnos was an open joke. Sobus Aren had spies at the nearest tavern, where mercantile parties stopped, and thereafter, disappeared. Only to reappear, with different goods several days later. Aren gave orders to stop merchants before they reached the tavern; and the tavern was abandoned, and another built a little further out.  He could not afford the men to police the whole road.

Apateonas, Guildmaster of the Temple of Merkedes in Mesolimnos, was grateful for the aid and advice of the Alethosi; who knew those dour fellows had a sense of humour lurking beneath their grim exteriors!  It was a hero-path for his own cult to keep trade smooth, and Merkedes could always be bargained with by his glyph-ranks.  Moreover, he had the aid of Hraazaz, heroine of Rogaz but also worshipping the toróg aspect of Merkedes, via the Merkedean heroine, Zhodax, the high toróg who had brought trading to the toróg as an alternative to internecine tribal warfare.

By the simple expedient of setting up a temple to Merkedes in the barn of an inn, Apateonas was able to take the hero path from one temple to another, and lead the merchant trains through, as long as their horses, mules and donkeys were blindfolded, as they found the journey unsettling otherwise. One reason Thea Drex had let the light cavalry proceed at their own pace; their horses balked. The heavy cavalry horses were bred for size and stamina but were stupid enough to go where ridden.

Thus, merchant trains streamed happily into the besieged city and out again, as if there was no siege at all; and that was not counting those who came by water.  Aren ordered a boom built.

Lightning burst the boom asunder.

Thyella had her own worshippers in addition to her husband, and her Fulminatrix, as her chief priestess was known, was more than capable of calling down lightning, especially to copper targets laid overnight by trógling.

 

“This is ridiculous,” said Sobus Aren, to Arialla Larth, high priestess of Selen for the troops. “We cannot sustain a circle about the city; our reinforcements have failed to arrive, and we cannot ask the divine heroine anything as she is still shut in her tent, and no spells nor wardbreaking can break through. I almost lost my hand trying to cut my way in, and it was like striking iron!”

Neither the commander of the Selenite troops, nor the priestess, had any idea that Thea Drex was no longer in her tent. Arialla had tried praying to Selen, but Selen was refusing to answer, as she could not find her heroine, whom she had last sensed dying. And then her presence disappeared as if Thea was in another temple. Selen had looked for her in the place of souls, where Alethos was obliged to sort souls by their godly affiliation. And Alethos had shrugged, and said that Thea Drex, nor Sjurgi Gordsdottir, as she was born, had not passed through the place of souls at all; and he could not lie.

Selen had to assume that her heroine was now apostate; and it was fruitless to send spirits of retribution, as someone of Thea’s ability would make short work of them. Hence, she ignored Thea, and refused to speak of her to any priestess. Naturally, Arialla knew nothing of this.

“The heroine is on a spirit quest,” she lied to Sobus Aren, unwilling to admit that she did not know what had happened.

“What for? How does that aid us?” demanded Sobus Aren, irritably.

“The ways of the goddess and her quests are not for mortals to query,” said Arialla, primly. “There is only one Thea Drex, and she might be needed in other parts of the empire.”

“I think she’s a fraud,” said Sobus. “She’s only a woman, after all.”

“I am also a woman,” said Arialla, tartly.

Sobus smiled a patronising smile.

“And a lovely one, too, but still, only a woman, and I don’t see that there is any reason for you to be on the field of battle. OW!”

Arialla was getting sick of this misogyny, and Sobus had a fine crop of  boils in some very tender places.

“Consider how that makes you feel about wearing armour and how it might affect your fighting, dear Sobus,” said Arialla, sweetly. “And you come close to heresy; our goddess is, after all, female, and you aren’t about to say that she is feeble, are you?”

Sobus Aren looked down his nose.

“I know you use the so-called gods to keep the commons in order, because you have learned to channel more potent magic than most people, but we’re both adults and nobles, but low enough down the social pecking order to laugh at well-connected pieces of totty playing at being soldiers and calling themselves heroines.  We don’t have to pretend between ourselves that the gods exist, or if they do, that they have anything to do with mortals. I’ve done my lip-service to Thanus to get on, and achieved the rituals to use iron, but frankly, I prefer to rely on my own abilities.”

Arialla could only stare at him in disbelief.

“You can’t be serious,” she said. “When you worship, surely you experience the presence of Thanus?”

Sobus scoffed.

“I feel light-headed and have the drugged dreams the priests make sure we all have to make us think it’s a supernatural experience. If there was a powerful supernatural being, it could hardly visit all our temples, could it?”

“You fool! We are transported to the god-plane and all temples come together! How do you think Thea Drex was able to move the army forward through the temples of Selen?”

Sobus shrugged.

“Some kind of magical portal. What does it matter? I’m not about to go telling people that it’s all a trick, am I?”

“You’re unbelievable!” gasped Arialla, and went off to pray for guidance.

Not that Selen was in a particularly guiding state of mind, and Arialla was told to ignore him whilst he was useful, and kill him when he had outlived his usefulness.

 

 

In her comfortable cell, Thea felt the withdrawal of the goddess she had trusted, like the snapping of something within her, and she wept. It reaffirmed her desire to return to being Sjurgi. Her brothers had searched for her, Torval had died in the search for her, and being told that her family abandoned her had been a lie. And she had been tricked into worship! Sjurgi Gordsdottir swore she would join her brother and bring down the lies of the Selenite empire.

She looked up eagerly when the door opened, and her disappointment was palpable when it was not Harkon.

“I’m sorry, Harkon is busy, and I miss him too,” said the beautiful pale-haired woman. “I’m his wife; my name’s Thyella.”

“The same name as the goddess of lightning, the celestial virgin? But.... I feel your power and it is more than a hero. Surely you cannot....” Sjurgi tailed off.

“As our dear friend, Kaz said, ‘not any more,’ with regards to being the celestial virgin. Harkon has freed me from being tied to a stereotype, so I may hope to survive the gods’ war,” Thyella added more soberly. “Yes, I am that Thyella; your brother is a hero of Alethos, and I was fortunate to win his regard. That makes us sisters.”

“I am in a temple opposed to Selen, I know that; Harkon said I can pray to Alethos, but how then are you here?”

“Alethos has sort of adopted me as another sister because Phrodine thinks it wildly romantic, and because Harkon is a favourite of his. Now I confess I’m hoping you will like to be an associate hero of mine, as well as joining Alethos, because it would be fun to have a sister other than my rather hidebound sister, Zephyra.”

“This is all going past to fast for me,” said Sjurgi. “I... I am coming to terms with feeling the bonds to Selen snap, and with finding that most of my life has been a lie.”

Thyella hugged her.

“Come and meet everyone,” she said. “We’re an odd bunch but it works.”

 

 

An hour later, Sjurgi was reeling from meeting people, convinced she would never remember their names, but feeling welcomed in a way she never had been in the worship of Selen, where all that counted was how much you outranked others, socially or within the cult, and the idea of trógling – she must remember the correct pronunciation – being equal to humans, and the acceptance of what they called wolfingas, Lycoids, sometimes called werewolves, who had had the taint of chaos removed to change form at will, overwhelmed her. What struck her was how very young some of them were, and yet how much power they radiated.  And yet, there was no backbiting, or barbed compliments; they teased each other in a good-natured sort of way. They were almost like children... no, she corrected herself, they were carefree.

She had a small child thrust into her arms.

“This is Chionea; Harkon and I adopted her. She’s my brother’s child,” said Thyella. Sjurgi held the child carefully, and gasped.

“She is the child of frost and wind; Selen’s child using the powers taken from a spirit of ice,” she said.

“And she will grow up as a child, not as a tool,” said Thyella.

“You are testing me, to see if I attempt to take her to regain Selen’s graces,” said Sjurgi.

“No; I am trusting you with her,” said Thyella. “I wouldn’t risk our daughter on a test.”

Sjurgi wept again, and found herself touched, patted, stroked, licked – by wolves – and surrounded in sympathy which she had never known. The sturdy, curly-haired young man who had been cuddling the visibly pregnant trógling, came over to her.

“Will you renounce Thanus and accept me in his stead?” he asked.

She looked into his eyes.

“Alethos?” she gasped. “The Daykaz is to be the child of a trógling?”

“No, the Daykas is my beloved,” said Alethos.

“The prophecy said, ‘When Death seeks love, beware of the goddess who will grow from it.’” said Sjurgi.

“She has grown from it to be mother goddess of the trógling,” said Alethos. “Kaz saved your life, you know; she conjectured that you had shut out air as well as everything else when you retired to your tent.”

“I am in your debt, er, Kaz,” said Sjurgi.

“We have no debt inside our extended and self-chosen family,” said Kaz.  “Harkon has been as an elder brother to me, and anything I could do to restore to him his long-lost sister, lost beyond hope, I must do. Until there you were.”

“There were tricks within poetry. You do not know the Trickster....”

“I have faced him to close the temporal loop,” said Kaz. “He had to gain the idea of both making trógling, and then cursing me personally to live forever and desire Death.  So, here I am, cursed to immortality, with my dear husband.”

Sjurgi gasped

“What?”

“Yes, I was terrified when the old woman from the eastern lands first spoke the prophecy, but I have discovered that Fate can be kindly,” said Kaz. “Now, do accept him quickly, so that when Thanus sends his half-arsed spirits of retribution you can be ready for them in the knowledge of his love.”

Sjurgi handed off the chuckling Chionea to someone, and knelt before Alethos.

“Your eyes, mighty god, are kindly, and true, not like the coldness of Thanus,” said Sjurgi. “He trained me to make me mighty for Selen, but I hated him as I worshiped him.”

“Then, when you are settled, my dear brother’s sister, you shall have the right to wipe him out and take back what he stole from me,” said Alethos, raising her to give her the commander’s kiss on the forehead. “Aye, Harkon is as a brother to me, and this happy band here are my family.”

“With you, it does not feel a paradox that death is not cold,” said Sjurgi.

“I am stern, and I expect my people to put duty first; but death comes with love for those who go onwards at life’s end,” said Alethos. “And if Thanus trained you, I’m handing you over to Protasion to get you up to speed, because Thanus still teaches the old forms and responses instead of training people how to fight. Here, we call the old forms ‘posturing idiocy’ and we had to bring Pollonis’s son up to speed as well.”

“Alas, ’tis true,” said Phaedros. “What?” he had an elbow in the ribs from Rynn.

“You went all archaeic again there for a moment,” said Rynn.

“Sorry,” said Phaedros. “Mistress Sjurgi, you will learn a lot from Protasion; I did. He has been taught the old forms, so he will understand what you are doing, and he will educate you whilst he beats you black and blue.”

“Nobody has ever beaten me at swordplay in years,” scoffed Sjurgi.

“Rynn, show her,” said Alethos.

“Me? Am I good enough?” said Rynn, taken aback.

“I’m not risking my child by having Kaz do it, but you are her adjutant,” said Alethos. “You are worthy of the iron that you earned.”

Rynn stalked forward, catching the practice sword someone threw her. Sjurgi was taken by surprise and did not catch the sword thrown at her.

“I will try not to hurt you,” she said, to Rynn.

Rynn looked at her stance, and chuckled.

“I won’t,” she said.

Sjurgi assumed the start posture of ‘prepares descent from heaven’ and as Alethos signalled a start, moved into ‘wind from the skies reaps the wheat.’ She was shocked that Rynn just used a small circular parry to brush her sword aside, and came out of the parry into a thrust which touched and bruised her rib cage. Sjurgi gave a startled cry; that would have been a significant wound.

Sjurgi was good enough to land some blows on Rynn, especially as she learned her way round the new way of fighting, but she received many more back.

“Enough!” she cried. “I am more than convinced! How is it that the Selenite empire has done so well?”

“Lancers and combined arms,” said Alethos. “We need to combine with the plainsmen. We have wolf riders for light cavalry, but they are best as night troops. There is no point competing with your heavy cavalry directly, as we do not have the horses, so we shall have to come up with a way to break the charge.”

“I do not think there is a way to break the charge, save with terrain,” said Sjurgi.

“But some of us also give service to Zog, lord of rocks and soil,” said Lelyn. “Who owes us greatly for rescuing Mycota from Tor, and helping them flee together. And he listens to his associate priests and teaches us how to change the nature of terrain.”

“And my people can toss lightning bolts to frighten the horses,” said Thyella. “And my uncle’s people  have learned that if they surround someone with spearmen, all spears pointing outwards, the horses will not approach a hedge of spears if there is no flank to attack. They have used it to evacuate wounded fellows. A lay member invented it to rescue their officer, and I believe he is now expected to rise high, despite having no noble family.”

“He saved a cousin of mine, and my cousin has been known to listen to me on taking on new ideas,” said Protasion. “Innovation and new ideas will win against the might of the Selenite army”

“Teach me,” said Sjurgi.

 

Destiny's Queen, 3

 

Chapter 3

 

Harkon and Ralthur came to observe Clodax before going to talk to him, wanting him as rattled as possible. Harkon was startled to see his sister in the other cell.

Kaz glided in.

“She’d warded her tent against everything, including air,” she said. “She’ll turn. We just need to love her into submission.”

“I... thank you for saving her,” said Harkon. “I have to handle this job, though.”

“Of course. We can send for you if we need you,” said Kaz. “If you go visit Thyella, though, don’t be offended by the tipsy air spirit. We paid him off with attar of roses and it has a profound effect.”

“I... actually, I’m not sure I want to know,” said Harkon.

Kaz sniggered.

“Are you going to keep Clodax off balance by feeding him well, and with my babbling juice in it?” she asked.

“I think so,” said Harkon. “And by serving men who don’t talk to him or even seem to hear.”

 

Clodax was frustrated not to be told anything, but he was hungry, so he dug in to a good meal. He was being treated well, as befitted his station; and he was beginning to wonder if he had made a mistake about the status of Fadabius and Aquilix. His prayers did not reach Thanus, so he concluded that he must be in the religious enclave of Selen, within the palace. When prayers to Selen failed, he remembered that it was said that some of the secret police gave their service to Daze, and that frightened him. Clodax, though well trained in military matters, was essentially an administrator, and administrators secretly hated the extreme chaos of Daze. It spoiled his appetite somewhat; but not entirely. He was hungry.

When he had finished, the same silent men cleared away.

The magical lights dimmed.

Clodax was wondering what it meant when the door opened again, and he thought two men came in. One of them sat down opposite Clodax, and set up a lamp opposite him. It shone brightly into Clodax’s eyes and did not illuminate the two men. Clodax felt his guts crawl.

“You may make yourself comfortable in the necessary before we start, if you like,” said the voice, pleasantly. It was, he thought, that blond brute, Aquilix.

Clodax had two choices. Brazen it out and fear to lose control of himself; or give them the moral victory of using the necessary.

He used the necessary; it meant he still had some control, or so he told himself. There was a siphon to wash himself, and a flush mechanism. Definitely, he had to be in the palace for such civilised luxury.

“I did not know there was a temple to the trickster in the palace,” he said, conversationally, when he returned, hoping to catch them off guard.

“There are many things you do not know, Clodax Dren,” said Aquilix.

Well, that was confirmation he was with the Trickster; it was a classic Daze answer.

“I did not realise you were with the secret police, nobody told me,” he babbled.

“Of course not; as your loyalties were in question, you had no need to know,” said Harkon/Aquilix.

“I swear by Selen, Thanus, and Librax that I am loyal!” Clodax squeaked.

“Interesting trinity to choose,” rumbled Ralthur/Fadabius.

“They are the ones I worship!” yelped Clodax.

“Of course,” said Aquilix, soothingly. “But oaths in another temple’s surrounds are worthless. Tell us your suspect list and your immediate underlings.”

Clodax babbled. A scribe in the service tunnel took down everything. Eventually, Aquilix got out two sheets of parchment.

“Sign the bottom of both,” he said.

“Wh... what is it?” asked Clodax.

“Proof of your co-operation,” said Aquilix.

Clodax signed.

In the dark, Fadabius/Ralthur smirked. He had just signed two very good forgeries of identification for one Fadabius Kron, and Aquilix Drex as the highest ranked secret policemen.

“You will have to stay here whilst we verify everything,” said Harkon/Aquilix. “But your stay should not be too unpleasant.”

“Thank you!” gasped Clodax.

His lights resumed when he was alone, and presently a silent servant brought him some books and writing materials, and a pack of cards, so he could pass the time with solitaire games if he wanted. The books were all novels, but he appreciated the courtesy.

 

oOoOo

 

Thea/Sjurgi leaped up when Harkon went into her cell.

“Harkon!” she flung herself into his arms.

“I’m sorry it took so long, lass,” said Harkon. “Da wouldn’t let me leave to look for you until I was sixteen, and a man grown; and by then he needed me, as he was so frail. Not that he lived long after I turned sixteen. I sold the farm to Bjern Woollybritches to kit myself out, and found that Torval had left me some money as well.”

“You were twelve when they took me; by the time you were sixteen, I’d been trapped with riddles and runes in poems I had to learn to recite,” said Sjurgi. “But I don’t know who I am any more!”

“You’re my sister, and I love you, and I will help drag you out of the maze of the trickster,” said Harkon. “But I’m also fighting a war, so I won’t always be around; but anyone who comes to you is a friend of mine.” He kissed her forehead. “Be well, little sister. You can pray to Alethos freely here; you would not be the first of those following Thanus to realise that betrayal cannot carry a truth glyph. And to recognise that to switch service from a betrayer is not betrayal.”

“I... I do not know,” said Sjurgi.

“You do not have to know immediately,” said Harkon.

 

oOoOo

 

 

“How are we going to work this?” asked Ralthur.

“We’re going to pull in everyone who is suspect, use our inbuilt truthsense  gift from Alethos to find out how loyal they are, and recruit anyone who is willing to work from within,” said Harkon. “And arrest everyone who is loyal.”

“You’re a force of nature,” said Ralthur.

Harkon pulled a face.

“According to a prophecy, I’m going to be,” he said. “‘Those who hold the seasons in their grip will be tried twice, once in the maelstrom where they might be given succour and once again when the endgame is in motion against those powers of the void when the hooves of the Skyhorse shall fall to the bloody wolf. He shall be avenged by the Bride of Storms and his powers assumed by her and her beloved.’ Moreover, ‘If the horse abjures poetry and concentrates on planning, he will grow and overcome.’”

“And what the hell does that mean?” asked Ralthur.

“When Chaos first came, the weather gods were herded into the Maelstrom by the Healing Trio – Alethos, Latrika, and Phrodine, Death, Healing, and Love, and were pulled out one by one, and healed of the madness that had overcome them. There is enough ambiguity in the description of ‘those who hold the seasons in their grip’ to cover gods of seasons and what is associated with them, or in other words, those who threw in their lot with the so-called ‘Knights of the Clear Starlight,’ who believe they can get rid of the Red Moon, but have never mentioned healing the Blue Moon, because on the whole, they are Human gods. The toróg have minor gods covering similar functions, but the seasonal gods’ origins are too ancient to say whether they even have a race. As far as I know, the oldest race is the Hamae, the forest beings, who live with nature, who laugh at those who cultivate crops and at husbandry. I think the true gods of the seasons are their gods, who are not spoken about to outsiders, and it pleases them to let the sunlings, children and grandchildren of Solos, think they have some dominion. But I think the prophecy meant the sunlings, who associate themselves with Ombros and his ilk. And Ombros is known to the plainsfolk as the Skyhorse. And much of it turns on whether they can change and adapt, or whether they will wither and die because they cannot accept what I believe will be a compromise – that now some chaos is here, to remove Daze and Selen totally, we will have to accept that some chaos, or disorder, will remain, as random chance.”

“Was there no random chance before?” asked Ralthur. “I mean, that governs dice games and the like.”

“In the times before chaos, most humans lived in verdant valleys in what is known now as the Ghostlands,” said Harkon. “We haven’t found a single game board there when we’ve been exploring. So, maybe not?”

“I can live with that much chaos,” said Ralthur.

Harkon shrugged.

“Even random chance obeys rules,” he said. “A die has no memory. There is a one in six chance it will come up any given face any time it is rolled. It’s why Kaz doesn’t dice. She’s been known to throw double six fourteen times in a row, even using a variety of dice to prove she wasn’t cheating, but it makes whispers. I believe many trógling, without having a chaos taint, are either lucky, or unlucky. I’ve heard so many tales of escapes where luck was involved, and tales of those willing to escape whose efforts were dogged at every turn by bad luck. I think Kaz will take on the mantle of ‘Chance’ to absorb chaos.”

“And you are the beloved of the bride of storms. Thyella, the celestial virgin.”

“As was,” said Harkon, blushing. “And Thyella is spending time with her brother because she believes he cannot change; her parents have accepted me, but Ombros finds it hard to believe that his sister chose love over her eternal soubriquet.”

“So, we’ll be going up against Lycos, father of Lycoids?”

“I’d not turn down your company,” said Harkon. “As well as the vengeance aspect, I’ll be backing up Vulk, who wants to free lycoids of chaos and disease, as a father of the wolves and wolfingas, under the pantheon of Alethos.”

“What of the sun, though? Is Solos not eternal and unchanging?”

“Solos and Pollonis have accepted that there are shadows as well as dark and light; and take the trógling as shadowfolk, not creatures of darkness; and both Solos’s daughter Mycota and her new husband, Zog are of shadow since we won her away from imprisonment by Tor.”

“I move in exalted company,” laughed Ralthur.

 

oOoOo

 

Julus Helio, unlike Clodax Dren, actually did the work of running the secret police for his superior. He had risen through the ranks of the so-called Crimson Guard, officially named Internal Crimson Executive, into whose headquarters people disappeared, and if they came out, they came out... changed. The whispers of brutal torture and at best, holding prisoners in miserable conditions were never spoken aloud; but the whispers persisted. Julus Helio was happy with that. He wanted the Crimson Guard to be feared; and if they were hated, he did not care. His top operatives did not enjoy torture, but nor did they balk at it.  He recruited amongst those who were socially shunned, and the almost aggressively camp Fadabius and Aquilix were just the type he valued. He was disturbed that he had never met them.

“So, you were recruited by Clodax Dren himself?” he asked, sceptically. “He has prejudices, you know.”

“Yes, and he made them clear,” said Harkon. “But he wanted to emulate your successes, and to have operatives outside of your control to spy on you, and to engineer his social rise.” This Clodax had actually babbled, as he was jealous of his nominal underling.

Julus narrowed his eyes.

“And why are you telling me this?” he asked, coldly.

“To demonstrate our loyalty, of course,” said Ralthur. “Anyone thinking he was on the level has been played for suckers by Dren, and we captured him, and we put him on ice, and persuaded him to talk. Interesting plans he has. So, we came to you to do our duty, and let you know what he was up to.”

“And where is he now?” asked Julus.

Harkon examined his finger nails, and actually, to Julus’s distaste, pulled a file to shape one better.

“Where, that’s a little difficult to be specific about,” he said. “See, any one rat can only manage to eat a certain amount, and they spread out... so, I suppose you could say any corpse they dined on is all over the city. In the sewers and so on. Unless part of him took ship.”

“You killed him and fed him to the rats?” said Julus, appalled.

“Oh, no, no, no, we didn’t kill him,” said Harkon.  “You know how it is when some people are more delicate than you anticipate and accidentally.... enter the nether planes.”

“You got careless and he died,” said Julus.

“I wouldn’t put it like that,” said Harkon, shiftily. So far he had not told a single direct lie and nor had Ralthur. The misdirection was wearing, but they managed it.

“And the best way to get rid of a body is to leave it for the rats,” said Ralthur.

“I could arrest you for that.” Julus glared at them.

“I think it would be better to make use of us,” said Harkon.

“We’re very good in combination,” agreed Ralthur.

“And we are very loyal,” said Harkon.

He did not say to whom they were loyal.

But then, Julus did not think to ask.