Fire and Sword

Chapter 28

Father Powl was in the primate’s chambers— his chambers, he constantly reminded himself—kneeling at his prayer stool. His eyes were closed and his mind scurried like a cockroach through all his memories of Giros Northam, all the words he had ever spoken, all the lessons he had ever imparted, all the clues he had hinted at about the greatest secret of their religion.

“God has a name,” Northam had once told him, “and the name is everything that God can be.”

And another time he had told Powl, “A single word reveals all there is to know about God.”

So the name of God is a single word?

His gripped his hands so tightly together the fingers were pinched white, and he prayed so fiercely the veins in his temples stood out like tracery in a stained-glass window.

“One secret, Lord, is all I ask,” he prayed. “One secret to show me all your wonder. One secret to let me carry on your work. All these years I have been your faithful servant.”

He waited for a voice, a whisper, a sign, anything at all that would point him in the right direction, but all he heard was the silence of his own great sin.

“Oh, Lord, I am a weak man, I confess. But I would be strong for you if only you would let me.”

He tried to picture in his mind what God would be like. When he was a callow youth, God had come to him so many times in his dreams his face was more familiar than those of his fellow novitiates. Why now, when he was temporal head of God’s own religion, was his face turned away from him? Was his sin that great?

“Show me your face, God, so that I may call you by your name.”

And an answer came so suddenly his eyes opened in surprise. “When you call me by my name, you will see my face.”

The voice had been his own.

Dejanus pinned down Ikanus’ arms as he thrust into her. He did not look into her face, but stared straight ahead. The woman grunted underneath his weight, and he wondered if it was in pleasure or in pain. She never said, but accepted him like the whore she was.

When he came, he collapsed on top of her, panting like a dog after a chase. Ikanus slid out from underneath him and quickly dressed.

“What’s the hurry?” he asked.

“I am still on shift.”

“The landlord won’t mind. He knows who I am.”

Ikanus did not answer, but hurriedly left the small room on the first floor of the Lost Sailor Tavern that the landlord had set aside for just such meetings.

After he caught his breath, Dejanus sat up and took a long swig from the flagon he had left on the floor. It occurred to him that Ikanus did not like him very much. Well, it did not matter, as long as she kept her mouth shut and her legs open. He grinned at that.

Oh, you’re a clever prick, he thought to himself.

He lay back down on the bed and finished drinking the wine.

Father Powl pulled out On the Body of God from the bookshelf by his bed. He had been through it a dozen times in the last few months. He carefully turned each page, scanning for any mark, any sign, that Northam may have left and that he had missed. He did not read the words, the words meant nothing to him anymore, but he hoped there was some meaning in the book itself, in the way it was set out or designed—in a misplaced curlicue or a hanging sentence or an odd illustration.

Please, God, let me find the sign.

He finished the book and threw it aside, and from the shelf got The Meditations of Agostin. This was a much larger book, but he scrutinized each page minutely. When he was finished with that, he went through The Seven Penances of a Great Sinner, and then the life of Margolayus, the first primate, and every other book that Northam had thought special enough to keep in his own chambers.

Occasionally, he did come across a marginal note in Northam’s hand, usually next to some underlined phrase in the text, but in every case it was nothing more than some pitiful revelation, like Now I understand! or See Seven Penances part the first or even Remember this!

At one point he had listed all the marginalia and the underlined phrases, thinking there may have been some code hidden in them, but in the end he knew they were just what they seemed, trite observations from a lazy meditation.

Oh, Giros, I never knew your mind was so small. How I remember looking upon you as the wisest of the wise.

He hurled the last book across the chamber in anger. He placed his head in his hands, filled with self-pity. He wanted to burst into tears, but knew he could not cry. He had not cried for so long he did not think he knew how anymore.

He remembered seeing tears in Northam’s eyes on more than one occasion. The old primate had a strong empathy for those who suffered.

Not so wise, perhaps, Powl thought. But a good man. And suddenly he wondered if he himself was either wise or good.

He heard hurried footsteps outside, and someone knocked on his door.

“Yes, what is it?”

The priest from the hospice entered, opened his mouth to say something, but then saw the books strewn all over the room.

“What is it?” Powl repeated testily.

“Your Grace, you wanted to know when next Prince Olio came to the hospice. He is there now, and treating one of the patients.”

“Which patient?”

“A young man who was beaten in a robbery two days ago. He is dying.”

Powl scowled. He did not want to be bothered with this right now, but knew it might be days or even weeks before the prince visited the hospice again.

“Was the prelate with him?”

The priest shook his head. “But his Highness said he would wait for him before starting the healing. Your Grace, I have to get back. Will you come with me?”

“I will come with you,” Powl said.

Olio stood over the unconscious man. He could not believe someone could have been bashed so badly and still be alive. The nose was broken, the eyes swollen and black, one cheek fractured, the jaw broken. Olio lifted the sheet and saw that one rib was ridging the skin at an odd angle. The man breathed in spasms, which meant another rib had probably pierced a lung.

Olio stood back, peered out the room’s window. Come on, Edaytor, where are you? This one is dying; he needs us.

He noticed that the Key of the Heart was warm against his skin. He took it out from underneath his shirt and held it in his left hand. He reached out to the battered man with his right hand, but pulled back before he touched him.

Wait for the prelate, you fool, he told himself. You’re not strong enough for this.

He looked out the window again. There was a pool of light on the street. Olio saw a drunk sitting in the street, a flask of wine in one hand and an oil lamp in the other. If he doesn’t go home soon, Olio thought, his lamp will run out and he’ll never find his way back.

That was what had happened to this patient, he realized. The lamp of his life was sputtering out, and he was so deep into the darkness he could not find his way out. Not without help, anyway.

“B—b-but quickly, Edaytor, or even we m-m-may not be able to help him. Even I can’t b-b-bring p-p-people b-b-back from the dead.”

He was still grasping the Key in his left hand, and it started to tingle.

Is it possible? Can I do it alone?

He reached out again. His right hand rested lightly on the man’s forehead. Almost instantly, Olio felt the rush of power from the Key through his body and into the man. Olio was so surprised he jerked back, breathing hard. How could this be possible? He remembered Edaytor telling him that some magickal items—especially items of great power—took time to attune themselves to their owners. Perhaps the Key had finally done that with him. After all, he knew his mother had been able to wield it without any assistance from a magicker.

He placed his hand on the patient again, and this time let the power flow through him. He became aware that the air around him was charged with a flickering blue energy, like miniature lightning, which whipped out, disappeared, and whipped out again.

Suddenly it was done. Of its own volition, his right hand dropped from the young man and hung limp by his side. He could not help the groan of exhaustion that escaped his lips. He let go of the Key, now cold, and used both hands to grip the side of the patient’s bed to stop himself from falling over. He looked up and saw that there was still a feint remnant of the blue energy. It surrounded his body like a soft mist. A few moments later it was gone, too.

The patient’s eyes flickered open, stared at Olio in confusion. “Who are you?” he croaked.

Olio patted his shoulder. “A friend,” he said. “How are you feeling?” Olio could not see any sign on his face of the beating he had received.

“Tired. Never been this tired before.”

“Then close your eyes. Sleep. When you awake again, you will be able to go home.”

“Where am I?”

“Don’t worry about that now. Just sleep.”

Olio could see the patient wanted to ask more questions, but his eyes shut despite his efforts to keep them open and he fell asleep almost instantly.

Olio quietly left the room. If he had looked one more time out of the window, he would have seen that the drunk and his lamp were gone.

Dejanus, too, was sleeping peacefully. And naked except for his boots. Hrelth was afraid to wake him. It occurred to him he could slip his knife between the giant’s ribs and be rid of him. He was a cruel master, nothing like Kumul who had treated him firmly but with respect.

But Hrelth would do no such thing. He had lost his courage years ago, fighting for Usharna during the Slaver

War. It was not the only thing he had lost in that bloody conflict. His own brother had died while standing right next to Hrelth in the spear line, an arrow through his eye. He wished he could forget. Maybe, if he did, he would remember what courage was like, and then he would stick Dejanus good and proper.

The constable snorted, and Hrelth jumped in the air. His feet made only the slightest noise when they hit the floor, but it was enough. Dejanus had swung out of bed with one lithe movement, pulling a dagger out of his boot at the same time. The effect was spoiled somewhat when he kept on swinging and fell on his side. Maybe I could have knifed him after all, Hrelth thought, and cocked his head to look at him straight.

“Your Constableness? Are you all right?” He saw the empty wine flagon on the bed. “You’ve been drinking.”

Dejanus growled and lifted himself into a sitting position. “What do you want, you gutter rat?”

“You said you wanted me to tell you when Prince Olio came to the hospice. I just saw him there.”

“What was he doing?”

Hrelth swallowed. If there was one thing that scared him more than Dejanus, it was magic. But Dejanus was here, and the magic was out there.

“He was using the Key of the Heart, my lord.”

Dejanus blinked. “You saw that?”

“Yes. Through a window. It was dark in the room, and suddenly it was filled with a strange blue light. I saw Olio.”

“Was Prelate Edaytor Fanhow with him?”

“I did not see him.”

Dejanus stood up unsteadily and reached for Hrelth’s shirt. Hrelth stepped back instinctively. Dejanus growled and reached forward again. This time Hrelth let himself be captured. Dejanus pulled him so close Hrelth could smell the wine on his stale breath, and something else as well.

“Are you sure the magicker was not with him?”

Hrelth nodded.

Dejanus looked at him for a minute, and Hrelth wondered if the constable was going to kill him for waking him up. Instead Dejanus just pushed him away. Hrelth stopped when he slammed into a wall, his head hitting it with a loud thump.

“Wait outside,” Dejanus ordered. “I’ll get dressed and you can take me to the hospice.”

Hrelth did not wait for the giant to change his mind. He ran out of the room and downstairs. When he got outside of the Lost Sailor Tavern, he wanted to keep on running, but he knew what Dejanus would do to him if he ran out now. Feeling miserable, he found his lamp and held it close to him in the cold night.

Edaytor arrived at the hospice out of breath, his face covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Olio was waiting for him in the kitchen, sitting behind a large wooden table.

“Your Highness, I am sorry I am late. Your messenger could not find me at first, and had to visit two of the theurgia before he did.” Edaytor tsk-tsked. “I was caught in a conversation with that damned magister of the Theurgia of Stars. Most boring man alive, but very influential...”

Olio was staring in his direction, but Edaytor got the feeling he was looking right through him. He saw the prince was holding a goblet.

“You haven’t been ... ?” He could not finish the question.

Olio shook his head as if coming out of a deep trance. He blinked and looked at Edaytor as though he was seeing him for the first time. “Edaytor? When did you get here? And why are you so late?”

“What is in your goblet?” Edaytor asked, not to be put off.

Olio held up the goblet. “Water,” he said, nodding to a small cask on the table. “Just water. Did you want some?”

Edaytor sniffed the air. He certainly could not smell any wine. “I was just saying how sorry I was for being late ...” He stopped and sniffed again. There was something else in the air, something extraordinary, something he had smelled only once before in his life.

“Is the patient still alive?” he asked absently.

“Oh, yes,” Olio answered.

“Then maybe we should start. Where’s the priest?”

Olio shrugged. “He was here when I arrived. I don’t know where he is now.”

“I see.” Edaytor left the kitchen and went into the special room set aside for the patients he and Olio were to heal. There was a single man there, young, robust, and sleeping. Sleeping peacefully.

He returned to the kitchen. “That priest has put the wrong patient into the room.”

“Actually, he didn’t.”

“I don’t understand. The man in the room seems perfectly healthy to me.”

“He is,” Olio said levelly.

“I must be getting old or senile,” Edaytor said. “I don’t understand what is going on here.”

He left the kitchen for the special room again. He bent over the man in the bed. There certainly seemed to be nothing wrong with him. Edaytor took a deep breath to clear his mind. And was struck by that smell again, but this time it was much stronger. He quickly looked around him. Where could it be coming from? It was almost as if the whole room was charged with—

No. He couldn’t have.

He returned to the kitchen. Olio was looking at him almost sheepishly.

“You used the Key by yourself, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

Edaytor pulled out a seat and sat at the table next to Olio. “What happened?”

“I’m not quite sure. I was standing over the p-p-patient, waiting for you to turn up, when it just happened.”

“It can’t just happen, your Highness,” Edaytor said. “Magic doesn’t work like that.”

“M-m-maybe there’s more to the Key than just m-m-magic,” Olio said.

“Why didn’t you stop?” Edaytor asked, his tone abrupt. “Why didn’t you wait for me?”

“Why are you so concerned?”

“I’ve warned you about the Key’s power. You know what it can to do to you even if you use it with a magicker’s help. Why did you do it?”

“Because I could,” Olio said simply.

“Your Highness—”

“I’m tired of this interrogation, Edaytor.”

“I see,” Edaytor said slowly.

“Are you so angry because you were left out?” Olio asked.

Edaytor blushed with sudden anger. “I don’t deserve that.”

Olio, who realized how hurtful his words had been, blushed then as well. “I am sorry, m-m-my friend. I did not m-m-mean that. But p-p—please understand, I did not have that m-m-much control over m-m-my actions in that room. I knew I could stop it if I really concentrated, but I didn’t want to stop it. It seemed as if I was m-m-meant to be there at that p-p-precise time to carry out that p-p-precise task.”

The prelate did not know what to say. He was afraid for the prince, for he was not trained in magic and the Key of the Heart was a much more powerful item of magic than any even he had come across before. Perhaps it could influence the prince to such an extent he was no longer entirely responsible for his own actions.

There were footsteps outside, and a moment later the priest entered the kitchen.

“Ah, Father!” Olio stood up in greeting. “I was wondering—”

Someone else came in behind the priest.

“P-p-primate P-p-powl,” Olio said quietly. “Delightful.”

Edaytor stood up, too. “This is a surprise,” he managed to say.

Powl smiled humorlessly at them. “I have no doubt. Please, your Highness, Prelate Fanhow, sit down. You both look exhausted.”

The two men sat down. The priest mumbled an excuse and left the room. Powl remained standing, looking carefully at the two men. “I think I deserve an explanation at last,” he said.

Olio and Edaytor exchanged quick glances.

“We had always meant to come to you,” Edaytor started, “but the right opportunity never seemed to come up.”

“It has now,” Powl countered.

“So it seems. Your Grace, we—that is, the prince and I— or rather the prince by himself, now—we—him, I mean, now, but before with me or with someone like me—I mean a magicker, of course ... Where was I up to?”

“What he m-m-means to say,” Olio said, “is that we entered an arrangement with your p-p-predecessor that allowed m-m-me to heal the dying using in combination the p-p-power of the Key of the Heart and the ability of a m-m-magicker, usually the p-p-prelate.”

“I was not far wrong, then,” Powl said. “I assumed the Key had something to do with it, but assumed you, your Highness, merely provided it while the prelate here did all the real work.”

“What are you going to do now?” Olio asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Will you close down the hospice, or tell Areava about what we are doing?”

Powl’s surprise was obvious. “Close down the hospice? Why? And doesn’t Areava already know?”

“The hospice was started under the understanding that the prince’s involvement would be kept secret,” Edaytor explained. “My concern was that the prince would be mobbed if word got out that he could heal the sick.”

“It is indeed a wonderful miracle,” Powl admitted. “But surely some kind of official office could have been established to deal with that—”

“Olio cannot perform the healing too often, or he suffers for it”

Powl waited for more information, buy Edaytor would say no more.

“Suffers?” the primate prompted.

“It tires me,” Olio admitted.

Powl bowed his head and thought for a moment. “It does more than tire you, doesn’t it?” he asked eventually. “Two of my novitiates found you on the street once, remember?”

Olio sighed unhappily. “Ah, that was you in the room that time?”

“Indeed. Don’t worry, your secret was safe even from me: Primate Northam refused to tell me what you had been doing. Your drunkenness, however, was a secret from no one except your sister.”

“She learned of it, nonetheless,” Olio admitted.

“And now? How do you handle the strain now?”

“Well, I think,” the prince said a little too quickly. Powl saw Edaytor look down at the floor.

“There’s something else, isn’t there?”

“I cured a p-p-patient b-b-by m-m-myself tonight for the first time.”

“You used the Key’s magic without the prelate’s help?”

Olio nodded.

“This is astounding,” the primate said, more to himself than the others.

“What will you do?” Olio asked.

“Do? Nothing, I think. What can I do? I will not stop you carrying out your work at the hospice, as long as you guarantee me that you will never place your own life at risk here.”

“I do p-p-promise that,” Olio said.

“Well, then, we have come to an understanding. I hope both of you feel you can trust me more readily.”

“Yes, of course,” Edaytor said quickly.

“I am sorry we did not do so earlier,” Olio added.

“Well and good. I will leave you two alone, then.” Powl put a hand on Olio’s shoulder. “Your Highness, if there is ever a time you need assistance or some comfort, I am always at your service. I know you held my predecessor in high regard and with great affection, but although he is gone and I am now in his place, the function and purpose of the office of primate had not changed.”

“Thank you,” Olio said sincerely. “I will not forget.”

Dejanus held out a full flagon of cheap wine. “Well, Hrelth? This or a penny?‘

Hrelth, still hugging his lantern, knew the wine would warm him better and reached for the flagon. Dejanus laughed and pulled it away.

“First, you take me to the hospice. It is dark and you have a lamp.”

Hrelth said nothing but scampered down the street, followed by Dejanus. He had to stop every twenty paces or so for Dejanus, who was still feeling the effects of his drinking bout, to catch up.

Eventually they reached the street where Hrelth had set up watch. He pointed to a dark window. “That is where I saw the magic.”

Dejanus checked no one else was on the street and went to the window. He cupped his hands on either side of his face and peered through the glass. He could only dimly make out the shape of a bed and someone lying in it. He grunted and moved back to where Hrelth waited.

“There’s no prince there now,” he said, unhappy he had crawled out into the cold night for nothing.

Hrelth suddenly put a finger to his lips, then pointed farther down the street. A sliver of light appeared, and a dark shape emerged. “Thank you, Father,” the shape said to someone still inside. “Good work tonight.”

“That’s the primate’s voice,” Dejanus whispered.

Hrelth was not sure if he was supposed to comment or not, but decided that saying nothing was the safest course.

The sliver of light disappeared, and the dark shape left behind turned and started walking away from the couple watching him.

“I must follow,” Dejanus decided suddenly. “The primate and I have things to talk about.” He handed the flagon to Hrelth. “You stay here and keep an eye on the hospice. I’ll be back later.”

Hrelth took the flagon gratefully and squatted down in the street.

Areava was woken by a sudden spasm of pain. At first she thought it had just been a dream, but then she noticed her sheets were wet. Another spasm made her gasp in surprise.

“God, it’s happening!” she cried. “Too soon! Two months too soon!” She put her hands over her belly, expecting to feel the baby moving. The shape felt different, but there was no kicking or wriggling.

She waited for the pain to pass and got out of her bed. It was harder to do than she would have thought possible. She half-walked, half-waddled to the door to her bedchamber and pulled it open. Two surprised guards snapped to attention. They caught a glimpse of her Majesty in a nightgown and averted their eyes.

“Get Doctor Trion,” she told them, her voice heavy, and disappeared back inside.

Powl had almost reached the palace gates when a dark shape suddenly loomed in front of him. He was too surprised to be afraid. There was not enough light by which to see a face, but there was no mistaking the bulk.

“Good evening, Constable,” Powl said. “What are you doing out at this hour?”

“I might ask the same thing of you,” Dejanus returned.

Powl could smell the wine even from two paces away, and was irritated by the sharp reply to what he thought was a perfectly amiable greeting.

“Visiting one of my priests, if you must know,” Powl answered.

“I am the constable. It is my job to know ...” Dejanus spread his arms as if he was trying to encompass the whole city. “... everything about everything.”

“That’s ambitious,” Powl said dryly.

“I am an ambitious man. Indeed, we are both ambitious men.”

Powl started, immediately suspicious. “What are you talking about?”

Dejanus laughed; the sound was like rocks rolling down a hill. “We have something in common. We both have secrets.”

Powl caught his breath. “I have no secrets.”

Dejanus put a huge arm around the primate’s shoulders and bent his face down near his. Powl winced at the smell of his breath. “Everyone has secrets. I bet even God has secrets. But I know some of yours. Do you want to know some of mine?”

Powl removed the man’s arm and said coldly, “I have no secrets that you could know about. And I am certainly not interested in yours.”

Dejanus, even in his semi-drunken state, could hear the growing alarm in the priest’s voice. So what was going on in that hospice? He put his arm around the priest again and drew him in.

“Believe me, your Grace, you would be very interested in my secrets. My secrets can tear down monarchs and put new monarchs in their place. My secrets can curdle milk and kingdoms. My secrets are so heavy that when I die I will sink straight to the underworld.”

Powl was now afraid. What was this oaf talking about?

“You are playing at the high table now, Primate Powl. You need friends.”

“I have friends,” Powl said angrily and twisted away. “I am the queen’s confessor, and I am a close associate of Chancellor Orkid Gravespear.”

Dejanus scowled at the priest, and then started laughing again. “You are no longer confessor to anyone but yourself, your Grace, and Orkid Gravespear has secrets as dark as mine.”

Powl pushed past the constable. He heard the man’s laughter follow him all the way to the palace gates.

The midwife used her hand to explore the queen’s body, keeping her eyes always averted. She was not so coy with any other patient, and the truth was Areava would have no objection to her using all her senses, but she felt that the majesty of the monarch should be preserved whenever possible.

“There is some dilation,” she said. “How often are the spasms apart?”

“I’ve only experienced them once,” Areava replied.

“Well, this is your first child, so we can expect a long labor,” Doctor Trion said.

He rested his palm against Areava’s forehead. “Good, good,” he muttered to himself.

“What do you want me to do?”

“Do? Why, your Majesty, you wait. And then you suffer. And then you are a mother.”

“The baby is too early.”

Doctor Trion tried to hide his concern. “I have delivered many early babies. Some are impatient to see the world for themselves, and since this is a Rosetheme, and you tell me it is a girl and I believe it, I do not think anyone in the kingdom will be surprised she wants to make an unexpected appearance.”

“I want my brother here. I want Olio.”

“I will see that someone gets him,” Trion assured her.

Hrelth had finished most of the flagon of wine Dejanus had given him. His fingers and toes were now quite warm, and his cheeks felt flushed. He stretched out a little. His head lolled back and his eyes closed. He did not see the prince and prelate leave the hospice. He did not wake when a rat crawled over his legs. His hand twitched, knocking over his lamp. The lamp rolled down the street and bumped into the hospice wall. The glass cage cracked, and burning oil spilled out. Yellow flame spurted up the wall, caught and consumed dry leaves on a window sill, travelled up a thatch fill to the roof, growing all the time, and then caught the tail end of the onshore breeze that riffled among all the rooftops of the city’s old quarter.