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.
