The Flame Priest (The Silk & Steel Saga) Page 38

  He stared at her, waiting.

  Her voice carried the weight of a kingdom. “Whom do we trust?”

  His eyes widened. “More of those things?”

  “Where there is one, why not two? That thing sat at our council table, at our right hand, yet we never suspected.” She set the chess piece on the table, deliberately knocking the ivory castle on its side. “One demon nearly toppled our throne. How much more damage might two cause?”

  His gaze narrowed. “Who do you suspect?”

  “Easier to list those we trust.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And there is one traitor who has yet to face justice.”

  “Danly!” The prince made the name a curse.

  “Just so.” Liandra shuddered to think that she might have birthed a demon. She locked that thought in her private vault of nightmares and stared at the chessboard, forcing her mind to the problems at hand. “But if Danly is a demon, then the Dark Lord missed a great opportunity.”

  Prince Stewart’s voice held a shred of hope. “How so?”

  “Had we executed Danly in the courtyard, in full view of the people, and had he proved to be a demon, then the royal family would be tainted by evil, proof that we carry the spawn of Darkness.” Her voice deepened. “Never forget, we need the trust of the people to rule. The Dark Lord missed a second opportunity to topple our throne.”

  The prince nodded, his face thoughtful. “Then the Dark Lord is not infallible.” He gave her a smile brimming with admiration. “You will find a way to win, Mother, you always do.”

  She did not shatter his illusion. Liandra kept her face confident, but inside she wondered how a mere mortal could thwart the God of Darkness.

  A knock sounded.

  Liandra startled, her nerves taunt. She hid her lapse by gesturing toward the door. “See to that.”

  The prince answered the door.

  The Master Archivist swept into the chamber, his dark eyes blazing. He bowed to the queen and extended a scroll. “Majesty, you have a visitor.”

  Puzzled, she accepted the scroll. Her eye’s widened when she saw the dark blue seal. She broke the seal and read the message. Her stare slid to her shadowmaster. “There is nothing here but an introduction.”

  He nodded. “A Kiralynn monk seeks an audience with the queen of Lanverness.”

  She sat back in the chair. “At long last the mysterious monks come down from their mountain monastery. Perhaps Sir Cardemir met with success.” She stared at her counselor. “He came alone, no entourage?”

  “Alone and on foot, seeking an audience with the queen. The gate guard alerted one of my shadowmen. I thought it best to see the monk for myself.”

  The queen tapped the scroll against her palm. “Perhaps this monk can solve the riddle of the demon.”

  The master nodded, a shrewd gleam in his dark gaze. “Where will you meet him?”

  She considered the options. “Make him welcome. Offer him meat and mead, the best of both. We shall meet with him in two turns of the hourglass in the throne room.”

  “A formal audience?”

  “We shall treat with him as one power to another, formal but private. The Kiralynn Order may be the ally we need in the fight against the Dark Lord…but we must not be seen as a supplicant.”

  “Who will you have in attendance?”

  “Our heir and our master of shadows.” She gestured to the two men. “And Sir Durnheart with his great blue sword for a show of strength. We want this meeting to be both private and discrete. See that it is arranged and then return to escort us to the throne room.”

  The master saluted. “As you command.”

  The prince and the shadowmaster took their leave. The queen rang a hand bell. Lady Sarah was the first to respond, dropping into a deep curtsey. “Yes, your majesty?”

  “Attend us. We must prepare for an audience.” Liandra considered her wardrobe. “We will have the deep purple gown with the dagged sleeves and the deep v-neck of gold. We must look our most regal.”

  The queen gave herself over to the comforting ritual of image. She sat before the mirror, her women busy like bees attending the hive queen. Liandra studied the mirror as her women combed and coiffed her raven-black hair, the soft lustrous curls falling to her shoulder in a sensual temptation. Feather-light strokes added accents of paint beneath her eyes and a faint flush to her cheeks, signs of youth and beauty covering her true age. For jewels, Liandra selected a long strand of emeralds set in gold, a show of wealth combined with elegance. When all else was done, the crown of state was settled on her brow, a heavy circlet of golden roses adorned with emeralds, the symbol of her sovereign power.

  The queen stepped back from the mirror to study her reflection. A vision of beauty, elegance, and power stared back at her, the perfect image for a sovereign queen. “We are pleased.” She gestured to the door. “You may admit our escort.”

  Lady Sarah curtsied and opened the outer door.

  The crown prince wore a dashing surcoat of emerald green, his blue sword belted to his side. The master wore his usual robes of dour black, always the shadow no matter the occasion. The two men bowed low.

  The queen studied their reaction, the best test of any woman’s image. The prince’s face reflected admiration and pride…but the master’s stare smoldered. Heat washed through her, this forbidden passion would be her undoing. Liandra made her voice abrupt. “Come, we have a monk to greet.” She swept from her solar, the two men following behind.

  The throne room was empty, sunlight glinting off of polished marble and gleaming gold. She crossed the checkerboard floor, climbing the stairs to the Rose Throne. The prince took a position on her right, one step below the throne, while her shadowmaster stood at the foot of the dais. Liandra took the time to arrange the silk train of her gown and then signaled the herald.

  The double doors opened and a small procession entered. Sir Durnheart led the honor guard, his great blue sword held erect as a precaution and a show of strength. A guard of ten soldiers followed, a proud flourish of burnished steel and emerald tabards. The queen’s gaze locked on the monk. Tall and lean, in a robe of midnight blue, his shoulder length hair carried more gray than black, his face as fair like a noble’s. If there was anything magical about the man, the queen could not see it.

  Sir Durnheart reached the base of the throne and bowed. He took a position on the side of the dais, a protector of the throne, and then dismissed the honor guard.

  The monk approached and bowed low.

  The queen studied his face as he straightened. The monk’s eyes widened, his gaze darting across her bejeweled cleavage before rising to meet her stare. The queen hid her smile; it was only a small lapse but it proved the monk was not immune to a woman’s charms.

  The monk extended his right arm, revealing a dark blue Seeing Eye tattooed on his open palm. “Seek knowledge, Protect knowledge, Share knowledge. My name is Aeroth and I bring you greetings from the Grand Master of the Kiralynn Order.”

  The queen gave him a gracious smile. “Welcome to our court, Master Aeroth. We have long desired to meet one of your Order, to meet a face behind the mysterious scrolls.”

  He nodded, his face grave. “Seclusion once served our purposed but no longer. We have stayed hidden for too long. The war is more advanced than we thought.”

  “War?”

  “The Grand Master sends a warning of war to the rulers of the southern kingdoms. Portents predict that the Dark Lord is rising, marshalling his forces for an assault against the kingdoms of Erdhe.”

  The queen considered his words. “The red comet that tears a scar across the night sky?”

  “That and others.” His face turned grim. “The Mordant has been reborn into the body of one of our own monk-initiates. He escaped the monastery and makes his way across the southern kingdoms seeking to reclaim his seat of power in the Dark Citadel.”

  The monk spoke in riddles. “Reborn? What do you mean by reborn?”

  “It would seem that you have alr
eady met one of the reborn.”

  Hope quickened in the queen, perhaps the monk held the answers she needed. “The Lord Turner was a traitor. He raised a bloody rebellion against us. We condemned him to death but it took two executions before the body lay still. We assumed he was some sort of demon or devil, a servant of the Dark Lord.”

  The monk nodded. “I’ve heard the rumors in the city, a par-boiled corpse with glowing red eyes. The traitor was a harlequin, a powerful servant of the Dark God.”

  “Prince Stewart severed the demon’s head. The second death was final.” The queen watched the monk’s face, finding no hint of surprise at the grim tale; perhaps she was right to worry about more than one demon.

  The monk questioned the prince. “When the corpse rose from the waters, did it seem triumphant or anguished?”

  The prince looked puzzled. “It reached upwards, as if grasping for something. It screamed but I don’t remember the words.”

  Her shadowmaster answered, his voice certain. “It said, ‘Don’t do this to me’, and then succumbed to the prince’s sword.”

  The monk’s eyes widened. “Then I have my answer.” The monk bowed low to the queen. “Your majesty, I offer apologies from the Grand Master for coming late to your court. It seems you play a larger role in this war than anyone thought.”

  She studied the monk with hooded eyes. “We welcome your offer of aid, but first and foremost we need answers. What was this thing that took two deaths to kill?”

  “The beheading was unnecessary. The harlequin was already dead.”

  The queen tired of riddles. “Explain.”

  “The Dark Lord tempts his servants with promises of more lifetimes. At their death, the Dark Lord’s greatest servants are reborn into new bodies with full memories of their past lives. In this way, the reborn may gain two lifetimes…or a hundred. These demons that walk in the guise of men are called harlequins. A harlequin’s body is subject to death like any other mortal, but at death, their true nature is revealed, the red light of hell shining from their eyes. We believe the Dark Lord judges each harlequin at its death. If the harlequin has served well, he is reborn into a new body to live another lifetime. If he fails, the soul is condemned to eternal hell. The traitor failed to take Lanverness. The Dark Lord is never lenient. The traitor’s soul is most likely consigned to hell for all eternity, never to be reborn.” The monk stared up at the queen, his face grim. “To find a harlequin in the Rose Court proves that the Dark Lord wants your throne.”

  The monk’s words echoed in the throne room like a death knell.

  Having reached the same conclusion, the queen found cold comfort in the warning. “If the Dark Lord wants the Rose Throne so badly, why are we not one of these harlequins?”

  The monk made a half-bow. “An astute question. The Order has no certain answer, but there are two possibilities.”

  The queen nodded, waiting.

  “It is thought that some souls are steeped in the Light. The Dark Lord can seek to twist, tempt, or corrupt these souls but he cannot usurp them, he cannot crush them beneath the soul of a harlequin.”

  “And the other reason?”

  He gave her a half-smile. “Women rarely gain or keep power in Erdhe, hence they are of little or no use to the Dark Lord.”

  She gave him an ironic smile. “Saved by prejudice. Even the gods are infected by it.” Her voice held a bitter edge. “There are advantages to being underestimated…but sometimes we grow weary of it.” She studied the monk, her voice velvet steel. “What aid can the Kiralynn Order offer to the Rose Throne?”

  “We offer knowledge long forgotten.” He reached into the pocket of his robe and withdrew a shard of milk-white quartz. “With this crystal, I offer a means to detect an awakened harlequin…to learn if another lurks within your court.”

  Liandra leaned forward, hope in her gaze. “How does it work?”

  “In the hands of a harlequin, this crystal will glow bright red.”

  The queen met the Master Archivist’s knowing stare and nodded. “There is one other traitor locked in our dungeon. We would have this test preformed on him.”

  “As you wish. It is one of the reasons I have come to your court.”

  “One of the reasons?” The queen arched an eyebrow.”

  “Yes.” The monk sighed. “I bring the condolences of the Grand Master. Your emissary, Sir Cardemir was slain by the Mordant Reborn, the first casualty of this dark war.”

  “Slain? In your monastery?” The queen struggled to understand.

  “Sir Cardemir was buried with all honors. His sword, his armor, and his lute are being conveyed to Lanverness.”

  “But how?”

  “There were no witnesses. He was found impaled on a sword, the Princess Jordan by his side.”

  Prince Stewart made a strangled sound but the queen ignored him. “And the princess?”

  “Nearly disemboweled, she was saved by our master healer. The princess remains locked in a healing sleep. The details of the attack will remain unknown until she awakes.”

  “But she lives? You’re sure?” The prince stared at the monk, his face ashen.

  The monk nodded. “I assure you, she lives. Our master healer uses more than just lore.”

  The queen eased back in her throne, shocked by the revelations. “Her sister fosters at our court.”

  “Then I owe her word of her sister’s fate.”

  “Princess Jemma is dear to us. We will break the news ourselves.”

  “As you wish.”

  The queen stared at the monk. Talking to him was like peeling back the pages of a thick tome. She wondered what other nightmares lurked beneath his words. “So you’ve come to us with grim tidings and a crystal?”

  The monk nodded. “I bring you a chance to detect other harlequins before they can fulfill the will of their god.”

  The Master Archivist asked the question the queen had been avoiding. “If the traitor in our dungeons proves to be one of these harlequins, what should be done with it? Is one death enough?”

  “One death is enough for the body, but the soul is another matter. To ensure the soul is never reborn, the harlequin must be killed with a weapon of the Light, a dagger made of Dahlmar crystal. If another harlequin is found, it should be gagged and locked away in your deepest dungeon, to await death by a crystal dagger.”

  Prince Stewart interrupted. “What about blue steel? Will a blue steel blade put an end to these demons?”

  The monk shook his head. “Blue steel will kill the body but it will not stop the rebirth of the soul.”

  The queen studied the monk. “And do you have one of these weapons of the Light, one of these crystal daggers?”

  “There is one, yes, but it is not mine to wield.”

  A cryptic answer, but she let it pass. “Have other harlequins been found?”

  “None so far.”

  The monk was sparing with his secrets. The queen probed in a different direction. “So you’ve come to warn of a dark war?”

  He raised his right hand, revealing the Seeing Eye. “I am the herald of forgotten knowledge. I have come to bring warning that the Dark Lord is rising. If the Mordant crosses the Dragon Spine Mountains, war will come from the north. But the Order believes the war for the southern kingdoms has already started…in Coronth and here with the rebellion against the Rose Throne.”

  It was just as she’d feared; her true opponent was the Dark Lord. “We have long been concerned with the twisted theocracy on our northern border. We have seeded rebels into Coronth in an attempt to topple this false religion.”

  The monk’s eyes lit with interest. “Perhaps the Order can be of help with this endeavor?”

  His response told her that the monks did not know everything. Perhaps the alliance she sought would not be so one-sided. She nodded. “It seems we have much to share.” Liandra needed the knowledge of the monks, but she also needed a measure of control. “But we must insist on maintaining two secrets.”

 
; The monk waited, his face neutral.

  “The people of Pellanor witnessed the double death of the traitor. They saw the animated corpse rise up in the boiling cauldron, its eyes glowing red. It is imperative that the people continue to believe that the crown prince killed the demon with his blue sword. The people need a hero and they need to believe that Darkness can be defeated.”

  The monk nodded. “There is merit in your argument. You have my word not to say otherwise.”

  She glanced at her royal son’s face and saw a storm brewing. She would speak to him later; her heir was prickly with his honor.

  “And the second?”

  “If our prisoner proves to be one of these harlequins, you must swear to keep this secret, known only to ourself and our two closest advisors.”

  The monk shook his head. “Any harlequin must be reported to the Grand Master. But if the demon remains secure in your dungeon, then no one else besides the bearer of the crystal dagger need ever know.”

  The answer was not satisfactory; this secret could put her throne at risk. “We are owed for the life of our emissary.”

  He gave her a half-bow. “You shall have our aid against this common enemy, but if a harlequin is found, the Grand Master must be informed.” He spread his hands wide in supplication. “The Order has kept secrets for thousands of years. You can rely on our discretion.”

  “Yes, you’ve been very secretive…with your own secrets.” His answer did not reassure her, but the truth was already on the table. She needed the monk’s knowledge yet she had little to offer in return. “Then we must rely on your discretion.” She gave him a gracious smile. “An alliance then, between the Rose Throne and the Seeing Eye?”

  He nodded. “The Kiralynn Order serves the Light. We will do what we can to help.”