I found absolution at the hands of Culverne. Ifound healing.
He looked up to see Sara’s bowed head.
Wherever you are, stop praying. I see her now. I know. I know who she is. And Bright Heart, I don’t know how, or why, but the slave’s tale was true.
He brought his hand up to his cheek. His voice, when it came, was soft—but the strength in it, the strength! Just for the moment, Vellen was forgotten and the Church was a pale and passing mist, dissipated by sunlight’s touch.
“Lady of Mercy. ”
Hearing his voice, Sara’s head jerked up, as if pulled by invisible strings. “Gervin?” she said. He was crying, but his tears were not those of pain; they were rarer than that, and held, for the moment, a hypnotic beauty.
Darin, too, turned to look at Gervin. He saw what Sara saw, and more. He saw Stev, and all those other slaves who had held to their faith in the Lady.
“Gervin?” Sara said again.
“It is hope, lady. ” He shook his head, wiped the tears away, and walked to the door. “I would tell you a little of what you do not know, but I must go now. The patriarch will keep you company. ” He nodded to Darin and walked out.
Darin stood alone with Sara. Alone with the prayers, half-jaunty, half-earnest, of almost any slave he had ever known.
The light of Gervin’s peace touched Sara’s face; it was the first such that she had felt in House Darclan, and she was grateful for it.
“Darin,.” Her voice was quiet. “Tell me now, how you came to be in the Empire.”
Gervin’s face was still shining as he strode down the halls, unmindful of who he might meet there. He was full of purpose now, in a way that he had not been in living memory. The memories he had once interred were stirring, their ashes blowing across his mind in the wake of a clean, crisp breeze.
He walked along the stone floor, his footsteps light and resonant. He’d followed this same path many times, for many reasons, but none so dear to him as this one. The distance seemed to compress as he went, and before he knew it, he faced the sitting room door. Just beyond that, his lord’s study lay waiting. He had no doubt he would find him there.
Nor was he wrong. He knocked once on the door, heard the terse, familiar command to enter, and walked directly in. He stopped for a moment in the door frame, as light assailed his vision. A fire burned in the grate. An oil lamp shone on the desk. On the wall, torches flickered merrily, tossing their shadows haphazardly across a small sphere of the room.
And surrounded by the light sat Stefanos, Lord Darclan, First of the Sundered, and the lord of Gervin’s adult life.
Lord Darclan smiled grimly at Gervin’s unconcealed surprise.
“It looks different in the light, does it not?”
“Lord.” Gervin bowed.
“Do you have news to report? ”
“No.”
“Then why have you left the lady?” He waited for a reply, his eyes dark and glittering.
“It is of the lady I wish to speak.”
“Speak then. No, wait. Before you ask, know this: the grounds are barriered against her passing; if she leaves now, she will be consumed in red-fire.”
Almost as if to himself, Gervin said, “She will not leave now.”
Lord Darclan raised an eyebrow, but the gesture held no menace. He laid his hands out, palms down, on the desk and looked at them in the play of the light.
“Gervin,” he said, his voice calm and clear. “There are four Servants here. ” Just that.
Gervin’s eyes seemed to darken. “Servants? Of the Enemy?”
Stefanos smiled grimly. “Of Malthan, yes. Do not forget to whom you speak.” But again, his tone held only a shadow of danger.
Gervin stood silent for a few moments, and Darclan watched as the lines of his face grew once again more pronounced.
“Lord,” he said at last. He pushed his shoulders back. Perhaps, he thought, I am old indeed, to need such faith in hope. But it was not dead, not yet. “I know her now.”
“Know her?”
“She is the one that they call the Lady of Mercy; they have prayed for her return, and it has been granted.”
“Prayed to her? Gervin, you served under the lines—you at least should know better than to put faith in superstition and children’s tales. How can Lady Sara be this revered godling, when she is, as you know well, of the lines herself?”
Gerven mulled over his words for a few minutes. “She is Initiate, yes. But this does not mean that she cannot be more than that. Whether she knows it or not—and I believe she does not—her return here, at a time when darkness has seemed absolute and unshakeable, heralds a change. ”
“Really?” Darclan’s fingers began to drum the surface of the desk unevenly. “And why do you think this? ”
Gervin looked up, and for the first time in his years of service, met the eyes of the First Sundered without fear of pain. “Because, lord, you love her. And the Lady was the consort of the Dark Lord.”
At a time when darkness seems absolute, the Lady of Mercy will return to guide her people into the Light. Stefanos wanted to laugh. I know the words well, Gervin. I wrote them. Lady of Mercy. Lady.
A bitter mirth twisted his face. what a human irony, this. What an ugly, strangled thing. Almost against his will, he said, “And how has that love served her?” He would not deny it. “If it brought her here, it brought her to death at the hands of His Servants. By her will, by her request, for her happiness, I have forsaken much of my heritage as nightwalker—and much of my power. The others have not. Against any one of them, I would prevail; perhaps against two. But the Second has come to mortal lands, and with the aid of the others, I will be unable to aid the Lady. And they know well the powers she wields—they will not be vulnerable to her fire or her light.”
“Lord—by morning the Servants must retreat. There is only the high priest, and I believe she can master him with Darin’s aid.”
“She can master him well enough without the aid of the boy, but Malthan’s wall will hold true; it is anchored today by the Malanthi. If she crosses it, she will perish.”
Gervin leaned forward, an almost triumphant expression on his face. “But she can call upon the power of the gifting of Lernan to bring that barrier down.”
“Do you think I have not thought on this?” Darclan’s face was bleak and hollow. “If she calls upon the power of Lernan to undo Malthan’s work, the effect will be the same; it is too much for one mortal to hold, and she will be consumed. The barrier is God’s work.
“And if, by some chance, she should succeed, the power that she calls to destroy the barrier would also destroy me. During the night, I have some chance of survival—but in the day my strongest of wards would avail nothing.” His hands curled into smooth fists. “Listen well, Gervin. You will never hear this again—and if you speak of it to the Lady, you will die after witnessing the deaths of all those in your care.”
Gervin nodded, strangely unafraid.
“If the Lady could call upon the blood of the Bright Heart to destroy the barrier without herself being consumed, and the cost of it were my life alone, I would grant it to her now. But should she succeed, she will fail, for if I fall, she will fall at the same instant.”
Gervin was silent for a few minutes more, pondering the grim visage of his lord. Darkness gathered round him, dulling his eyes, for he knew that the lord did not lie.
“Perhaps it is better that she perish thus. The alternative is—”
“I know.”
Sara was very, very tired. Darin, who ushered people into her presence, was worse. Darin, on the other hand, didn’t have to smile when he really felt like crawling into—or under—a bed.
She sighed as he led away a rather foolhardy young boy. At least today there had been no emergencies. And if there were no brilliant successes, there had been no tragic failures.
Yet.
I am tired. She heard a knock at the door and straightened her shoulders. If she wanted to feel miserable, best do it o
n her own time. Darin went to answer it and froze.
He met Lord Vellen’s gaze squarely, barely noticing that here the lord wore robes of the Church, not the house.
Lord Vellen looked down at him, and for a moment, he too froze.
“Out of my way,” he said softly at last.
To his great regret, Darin moved automatically, casting his eyes to the ground. But he didn’t bow. Didn’t scrape the floor with his forehead.
And maybe that would have been wiser.
Lord Vellen passed him without another backward glance. His Swords stayed stationed in the hall, to warn off any who came to this unusual infirmary. He walked over to Lady Sara, black robes swirling around a complexion as fair as hers, but colder.
“Lady Sara Laren, I believe. I hoped to have the opportunity to make your acquaintance. One of the slaves told me, most reluctantly, that I would find you here.”
Sara felt slightly sick, but held on to her frozen smile. “I’m afraid that I won’t have much time to speak with you. I’ve a busy day ahead of me.”
“Indeed.” He looked casually around the room, his eyes taking in—and dismissing—the medical supplies that lay to one side of the small bed. “I do not believe, however, that we will be disturbed for the next few minutes at least.” He turned and nodded to one of the Swords. The door creaked shut.
Sara remembered the only time that the priests had entered her infirmary. She tensed.
“Please, lady, be seated. It would be rather inconsiderate of me to make you stand for the duration of our interview.”
“Oh. Does this mean that the priests of the Church now only indulge in acts that are extremely inconsiderate?”
He smiled, and Sara was surprised to see that it was genuine. The lines of his face moved around his mouth, giving them a younger, almost carefree look. The dark color of his clothing heightened the flawless fairness of his skin and hair.
“Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Vellen of House Damion, and High Priest of the Church of Malthan. ”
“As you already know who I am, I shall spare you a like introduction. ”
“Nonsense, lady. I would be pleased to hear your name and title. ”
I’m sure you would. She ignored his request. “Is there anything I can do for you?”
He was silent a few moments. “Perhaps, lady, you might tell me what I’ve done to offend you.”
“Offend me?”
“Indeed; you seem to be displeased at something, and I can only assume it is my presence.”
This surprised her. Whoever this Vellen was, he was unlike Derlac, the high priest she’d been forced to deal with too often.
“I’m not used to having the infirmary sealed off by armed guards. ” She turned warily to face him again, arms crossed, head to one side.
He saw in her expression fear, confusion, and irritation. All amused him. Clearly her stay with the First of the Sundered had not broken her. The fact that she was whole pleased him immensely.
“Forgive me, lady.” He bowed. “I shall have the Swords removed at once. ”
Standing in front of a perfectly attired, perfectly civil priest made her feel suddenly awkward and gawky. She had never imagined that any Malanthi could carry such an air of beauty about him. It made her very uncomfortable. Motionless, Kandor might once have looked as Vellen did.
“Look, Lord Vellen,” she said, drawing her arms tighter around her body. “I’m rather busy, rather tired, and rather disinclined to play at word games. If you want something, state it plainly. If you don’t, you can leave with your Swords. ”
“It appears that I have caught you at an inconvenient time.” He turned to the door. “But I assure you, Lady Sara, that I only wished to meet you. For the moment you have nothing more to fear from me. ”
She nodded, not trusting the words. She did not relax at all.
He turned back, his smile faltering only fractionally.
“Your bravery is commendable. I believe I shall see you at this evening’s meal. ”
He opened the door, and Lord Darclan walked into the room.
They watched each other without a trace of surprise.
“Lord Darclan. ”
“High Priest.”
They fenced with their smiles; Sara saw the identical glint of teeth on each face, and noted that the warmth had left Vellen’s. Stefanos looked up to meet Sara’s eyes.
“Stefanos. ”
“Lady. ”
She smiled, very conscious of Vellen’s gaze.
“Darin?”
This caused the only discomfort that Lord Vellen had yet shown. His brows rose, and the look he shot his former slave held all of the anger he had not yet shown.
“Lord,” Darin said quietly.
“You are both well?”
They nodded, and Stefanos stepped quietly toward Sara.
“I will leave now, Lady,” Lord Vellen said, plainly aware that he was about to be forgotten. “I will have the pleasure of your company later this eve.” He bowed a last time and left the room.
When the door had closed, Sara walked into the waiting circle of Stefanos’ arms. She leaned into his chest.
“He’s dangerous,” she told him quietly.
He held her tightly, too tightly. She looked up.
“Stefanos, what is it?”
“Nothing, lady.”
“Not nothing. Something troubles you. Please, look at me.”
He did, with pain and an odd sort of hunger.
“Lady, will you close the infirmary for the day?”
Quietly she looked at Darin and nodded. She walked around the room, putting things away. When she finished, she followed him out of the infirmary, and with shaking hands locked it.
Darin asked his leave, and Stefanos gave it without paying too much attention. He turned to Sara, caught her hands, and kissed her forehead.
Together, by mutual silent consent, they walked toward Sara’s chambers. There, in the curtained light, they held each other against the coming of the night.
Vellen stared down at the corpse in front of him. With a slight grimace of irritation, he rolled down his sleeves. Taking care to avoid blood, he wiped the blade of his knife clean and placed it, almost reverently, into the box that the Sword to his left held.
Risky, he thought, but I may need the power.
Still, he felt annoyance. He was not inclined to rush through a ceremony, or to end a life too quickly. The need for a semblance of secrecy annoyed him further, not that it would matter in the end. With the coming of dawn, he would blood the altars several times, free from the constraints that held him now.
“Redak, take the body out through the slaves’ quarters. Make sure you are seen by no one but the slaves. On your way back, tell them this: The Lady Sara is not to leave the premises again; if she is seen, she is to be stopped. At midnight, those unwilling to serve the Church in this fashion will serve it in another. ”
Redak gave a low bow and set to his task. It was a fairly easy job, for since disposing of the body might have posed a problem, Vellen had chosen a young child, one easily carried by a single Sword.
Risk.
He turned to look out of the window. What game do you play, Servant?
He had wanted to see the blood of the Enemy, wanted more to defile it and destroy its potency. That desire was not to be granted to him. On the three occasions that he had tried to leave the castle and enter the grounds, he had been firmly, fearfully, and forcibly halted. Without the four Servants as escort, he could do nothing short of cutting down those who opposed him, which would accomplish little.
But the evening approached, and with it the power he needed. If the First Servant wished to guard the blood of the Enemy against him, it mattered little—no one else would reach it. They were two against nine, and they would be overpowered.
But it vexed him, and not a little. He was patient when necessity decreed it, but he had no love of waiting.
I will be home soon. And when I
arrive, my rule will be undisputed.
Good enough. He noted the sun’s position and began to lay out clothing for the evening meal. The only thing he would regret was lack of time to satisfy his curiosity about Lady Sara. What did she hold that could bind the First Servant so strongly?
What about her, among all others, had elevated her to such a level?
Stefanos held Sara, feeling again the warmth of her, seeing without sight the luminosity of her life. Already the sun was cooling into its daily death and the chamber was sinking into darkness. He knew that he would never again hold her or know the peace that she could bring him.
What did you say about the light, Sarillorn ? That you would hold it within you, hold it against me like a shield?
He tried to smile, but there was too much grim bitterness to allow for it. She had always kept her word. And now, now there was no like thing he could call up within himself to use as a shield against the loss. He felt like the husk of a living thing and pulled her closer to share the warmth of her life.
Without speaking, Sara returned his embrace. She knew what he was feeling, and the intensity of it banished her desire to know why.
“No, Darin, you can still see the staff.”
Darin reached down and pulled at the hem of his tunic. It was slightly oversized, but both he and Gervin agreed that this would probably not be noticed or remarked on—the occupants of the dining hall would hopefully have their attentions focused elsewhere.
“Better?”
“Slightly.” Gervin rubbed wearily at his eyes. Between the two of them they had gotten maybe four hours of sleep, and sleep was badly needed. No time for it, though. No time at all. “Now practice walking again.”
Nodding, Darin crossed the length of the room.
“Still limping, Darin. Try again.”
It was perhaps the fiftieth time he had done so, but he made no complaint—the cost of a mistake was too near and too high.
“Did you find out if the Swords will be dining?”
Gervin smiled grimly. “Yes. They won’t be dining formally.” He did not expand upon this, but Darin shivered at the darkness of the smile.