Chapter 202: Heira's Plight

Book 4, Chapter 43 - Heira's Plight

Pigeons and crows roamed Heira's crowded narrows and thoroughfares alike. They plucked along with breasts puffed out, poking their beaks into gutters or refuse piles for things to pick at, caring not at all that they might get trampled in the rush of a mindless man. The edges of the cobbles and a number of outward hanging rooftops bore the white of their droppings, and all around floated the stench of unwashed people.

Emeria shut her carriage window. She had never been one too diligent in her studies, but even she'd known that Heira was once labelled the 'Jewel of Xenaria'. What her own eyes saw of the city was a jagged rock dragged through a rained upon pig pen than a polished jewel. The place felt stuffy, and suffocating. A city resembling Exaltyron's impoverished district, if to a lesser extent.

“Too vile for you royal tastes?” Odain questioned. The Vicegerent sat straight backed, arms crossed with his eyes closed. His impressive figure shown through at the shoulders, chest and arms with the way those loose robes folded into him at the bends of his limbs. A new set of robes, those. Not the blood stained ones from the ambush on the road a few days ere.

Emeria did not answer. She instead enjoyed the brief liberty of having her tongue unlocked. She swished it around her mouth, and licked her drying lips, eyeing the spines of Odain's tomes to glean their titles. He had a half dozen stacked on the seat next to him.

“Take a look outside,” Odain commanded. “ See this city. See your people.”

Despite his words, Odain did not force her to do as he said through the Crown of Control. Emeria, too curious, relented and pulled aside the curtains to peek out into the city proper as the carriage and guard retinue lolled unto the grand Trillian temple. Guards lined the edges of the street —guards in sparkling mail and corslets, armed with spears, shields, and short swords. Some wore Trillian colors of white and gold, while others wore the deep maroon of Heiran livery with the Great Oak crest of High House Galadin marking their gear. They did not face her retinue, but rather faced the unending wall of houses, stores, and buildings. Cramped into the darkness between them were an innumerous amount of impoverished people, their only possessions the torn rags hanging from their small backs.

Emeria saw the glimmering eyes of children staring at her orante cart as it rolled them by. Of those that dared stray to the mouth of alleys, she saw gaunt faces and sunken cheeks. She saw dirt marred skin, and spots of illness. A well of emotion bubbled in her breast and brought her to tears. The men standing watch prodded with the butts of their spears at those raising their hands to beg. “So many,” Emeria breathed.

“Refugees, most,” said Odain. “Come from villages and small towns in the surrounds from the rebellion of the past. Their homes were razed and here they fled.”

“ Your rebellion!” Emeria hissed. She balled her hands, but felt her fist pulled apart one finger at a time. Odain stared at her as he undid her fist with his silent commands. He forced her to sit back in her seat. Emeria ground her teeth. A lone tear fell into her lap. “You won't get away with this. I will bring you to justice one day.”

The Vicegerent snorted. “That, my dear, is a word only the strong are privileged to use. And you are the farthest thing from that. Besides. You're here to help them, after a fashion. Your, uh, impression upon the people has not been great of late. They will see their queen here in Heira, as a faithful of their beloved Goddess, and we will give them rations, courtesy of Lord Galadin, to appease them and improve your image.”

“Your end will come, Odain,” Emeria continued. All but her mouth was freed. “You are not immortal. Whether your Goddess is real or not, you will answer to a higher power one day.”

Odain turned his head to the window nearest his seat. “Not immortal,” he echoed.

“Justice—”

“—is a word without meaning,” Odain cut in.

Emeria found her tongue bound again.

“Us Astari scholars strived to achieve equality for all,” Odain continued. “And what did we get for it? Massacre. Justice they called it. Justice has no definition. It is given purpose by those who are strong. Only the powerful are given the right to define justice. Only the victors. There has never been a right or a wrong in this world of ours. There has only been victors and losers, and of course, hypocrites. You see, Your Majesty, I only use those in power as they would seek to use their lessers as pawns. I only make use of you as you would the nobles and the gentry, and as they would the peasants. Strip away the complicated definitions and the sophistry and we're left with but a single truth. One certainty above the rest. Justice always prevails.”

Emeria lowered her gaze. This was her first real glimpse into this man whom she knew next to nothing about. Whatever it is his grand ambition was, it involved harming too many. This was all some perverse form of justice to him. Astari scholars… That was an unfamiliar term. Would that she'd been more diligent in her studies she may have had an inkling into her captor's mind.

Not that that might have done her any good. From her skin to her to blood to her very marrows… It all belonged to Vicegerent Odain. She was a doll, and her every fibre had an outside string bound to it.

Emeria shut her eyes. The pleading cries of Heira's people reached her as hundreds of whispers. Calls for succor, calls for food and water, for coin paid in pity, an ointment for a wound, a tincture for a wife, suckle for a child. All of it unending. There were thousands of cries. And of course the silent ones she could not hear but saw in her mind. The silent pleas of the orphaned children that'd stared at her in desperate want.

“You think me the villain in all this,” Odain began saying. He pulled aside the curtain to his side of the carriage and stared at the masses outside. “But what have your high lords done in exchange? They obey me, certainly. Fear me, and in turn fear for their own positions, true. But what am I but a husk of a man without that fear? Without their obedience, I am but a man. Without the faithful masses, I am a peasant lower than even you, Emeria Lakris. High Lord Galadin amasses wealth enough from his robberies of the widowed Lady Coraine's lands. He all but steals from Lord Serene through his ever increasing trade tariffs, and his own people with taxation set higher than your mandated rate. Yet for all his wealth, he turns a blind eye to this city. A city whose viceroy answers to him. And of course, the young Lord Caranel. Former pirate turned noble. This one is steeped in vice, uncaring for the needs of the people. You can call me the villain, but it does not change that these men joining hands against me could free you. Could. ”

“Lord Serene and Elizia will find a way to kill you,” Emeria said.

“Mm. I figured you might mention the Eagles when I freed your tongue again. You aren't very good at keeping your words to yourself.” Odain shut the curtain and sighed. “They'll never find a way, Your Majesty. The unwavering House Serene… They stand alone in their plight. Whither to shall they turn their attention? The eastern borders? Or perhaps my Sun City to their south? Or mayhap to the Galadins sharpening a knife behind their back? Or the queen whose armies she does not control? All this while your lord and lady's dear wife and mother passes closer to death with each passing day. Nay, Your Majesty. This kingdom's fall and rebirth has been written into stone.”

Whatever the reason for Odain's talkative mood, Emeria now had a better understanding of the state of her kingdom than she'd had in the past year of her captivity. Of course, it was worth precious little. With each word uttered, Odain had sunken her hopes deeper into the pit of despair it'd already been trapped in. A darkness she could not escape from.

***

Commander Arhad watched the procession from within the safety of an inn. Several of his officers were gathered in the same building, examining the state of the royal guard, and the city watch's cohesion. The street was too tightly watched by armed men to try anything this day. But Heira was a city of crumbling foundations. Tension leaked from every alley and shadow like black tar waiting to be set alight.

This city had all the distractions needed to draw the attention of the guard. Arhad folded his arms as the queen's carriage passed out of sight. The royal guard had been thinned enough to no longer pose a threat to the numbers Arhad had present. But there was no need in being hasty just yet. This city was corrupt enough for Lord Serene's soldiers to buy their way into Trillian ranks, and secrets. The queen was to remain in the city for more than a nine day cycle. Chance had it she could be kidnapped before then. Otherwise, it would come down to violence.

In truth, Arhad wasn't quite opposed to that. Chaos might just present an opportunity to assassinate the Vicegerent Odain at the same time.

***

The royal carriage rolled to a stop before the grand temple's front gates. Odain let himself out to the mellow heat of noon. A royal guard opened the opposite door and offered his hand to Emeria. He kept the girl quiet. She had little to do here than show herself and keep the masses appeased. Heira was an important enough hub that the queen's appearance and show of faith would spread far and improve her image.

Odain rolled his shoulders to ease their stiffness from the long ride. Seven wearing the robes of a Second Seat Higher stood with their heads bowed before the temple gates. A shadow engulfed them as a cloud passed overhead, veiling the sky and heralding the coming of hard rain. Odain strode up the steps. “Ten there were of you, and seven I see. There is much I need hearing, I think.”

“Your brilliance, I would be happy to explain all that has transpired in the two years since your departure,” one man said, stepping out of line.

“Higher Baelor, was it not?” Odain said, making note of this man's large muscles and scarred mug. He was clean shaven at the top, which was new. “I recall giving you charge of recruiting and training arms.”

“Yes, your brilliance.”

“Mm. What of Higher Megrez the Preacher, and Higher Tellore, to whom I'd given administrative duties?”

Another man stepped forward. Gremald the Treasurer. “Megrez, er, passed away a long time ago,” he said. “He went to Red Vine and came down with illness I was told. The Saintess manages Lord Caranel in his stead. As for Tellore, he, er, died in a bar fight two cycles ere. Along with him, Higher Sylvio of the Second Seat came over something terrible during interactions with some refugees and has been bed ridden in isolation since.”

Odain nodded.

“Your brilliance,” Baelor spoke up again. “Might I inquire as to what purpose you've returned here for?”

Odain paused at this. His eyes passed over the remaining members of the Second Seat, each assigned important duties of their own. They shifted their feet, but did not speak up. To Odain's ageless eyes, these subtle seeming actions of men told volumes. There was a clique here, and Baelor led it. Gremald opposed it, but he stood alone, his allies —likely Tellore and Sylvio— put out of commission. Gremald the Treasurer… A man pushed by greed, as opposed to Baelor, the muscle, who was too ambitious to rely on.

Of course, this gathering of misfits was never meant to hold without me here. Luckily, the city hadn't broken down into internal conflict just yet. Well, Odain had another agent at the temple. A fickle one with thoughts of grandeur same as any other man, but loyal enough when faced with overwhelming power. “You would question my purpose, Higher Baelor?” Odain asked.

“Of course not! A mere inquiry so that I may be of better use,” the man answered while rubbing a pair of sweaty hands together.”

“Then see to it her majesty, Queen Emeria, is given the best of quarters to reside in, and tighten the guard around the temple. We were ambushed on the road, and I'll not have a mishap with craven bandits repeated at the Goddess' holy home. Order the viceroy to double the hours of the city watch, if we're running low on manpower.”

Baelor bowed low. He could not hide the tightening of his jaw muscles, veins within them protruding as they flexed. But he left without a word. Trouble, that one. “You, Gremald, follow me and catch me up to speed on current events. And gather the lesser clerics. I've some words to impart on them.”

Odain strode inside the temple, not waiting to be followed. Gremald kept close, the royal procession entering behind him. Odain gave the mental orders to Emeria to linger in prayer at the main hall, before retiring to her quarters. She'd make a grander show of faith on a different day, with the ailing masses present to receive rations and medicines under her watch. That would improve her image well enough.

Odain turned to side passes —all of them well lit by luxurious luminite chandeliers. The old grey stone came alive beneath their white light, sparkling at the edges at times. “You mentioned a Saintess,” Odain said without turning around. He rounded another corner and began rising a set of stairs.

“Yes, Saintess Ophelia.”

Ophelia? The name was familiar… Ophelia. Odain paused midflight. “You mean the child Healer?” She was the only Healer that he hadn't either slain with the Thousand Sun Sword and stolen the powers of, or sent out into the Sun City to add to his armies' ranks.

“Yes, quite cunning that one. Very much so. She's the power behind Lord Caranel, as I understand it.”

That timid girl? She's what, sixteen or seventeen now? Odain was more than curious. No normal human showed that much promise. She couldn't possibly be of Flame Bearer bloodline… “Seems much has been kept from me by way of my informants here. Explain further. And what did you mean by Higher Megrez' death occurring a 'long time ago'?”

Gremald swallowed. He sucked in a breath of air, visibly discomforted at having to speak with a significant height difference between the two of them, him standing several steps below Odain. “Megrez took the Saintess to Red Vine when the new Lord Caranel was installed. I was told he succumbed to a disease of sorts. Why he had taken Ophelia, I'm not certain, but—”

“He took her because he made plans to replace me as a new Vicegerent,” Odain said. “Don't beat around the bush like Baelor, Gremald.” Odain pulled aside his robes and revealed the hilt of the Sun Sword. “You make the same plans, but I trust you more than a muscle head that sees violence as the ends to all his questions.”

Gremald nodded. “I wouldn't dare replace you, your briliance. But if I may be so bold, it would be of much convenience if I were the sole member of the Second Seat priests.”

“Ah, there's the truth of all your ambitions. Your loyalty eternal, sworn to me, and I'll see to it you preside over all matters in Heira. Now, continue the tale. You're telling me that fragile girl poisoned Megrez?”

“We cannot be certain,” Gremald said. “I doubt it was the Lord Caranel. He's as… vile as he always was. We give him women and drinks, and he pays his tributes on time. Ophelia stands behind him always, giving advice here and there. I thought nothing of her until more recent months. Rumors grew of the Trillian Saintess in the temple of Red Vine. Rumors of her blessings granting great fortune to farmers' harvests, or a merchant's profits.”

“Possible coincidences,” Odain waved. But very possible miracles with the right Eternal Flame. But the lass wasn't old enough to possess her own Flame if she was of Zz'tai blood. Who then? Lord Caranel? He's a Caranel, the Lineage Mirror revealed as much. But what of his mother's side? Perhaps it was time to visit Red Vine via gatestone.

“I thought them coincidences as well,” Gremald continued. “Common rumors I could not care for. We bring Ophelia to Heira each time Lord Caranel gives his tribute. She helps with the wounded and relieves some of our burden. It seems this rumor of the 'Saintess' spread fast among the refugees, and they, in their delusion, all bought into the story that she was a miracle saviour sent by the Goddess. In all honesty, they must think much more of her than they do of you, your brilliance.”

Odain snorted. “Is that right?”

Gremald nodded. “The city was on the edge of riots. Baelor sought to make an example by starting a bloodbath, but the girl came up with a different plan with myself. She would give a speech to the roused refugees, and offer them a blessing, and I would shine a dozen luminites upon a mirror and aim it from a window down toward the masses for when she offered her blessings.”

Odain raised a brow. “So she did this all to stop Baelor's massacre?” Perhaps I'm being paranoid. She's still just a simpleton girl trying to do the right thing. Probably struggling to keep things in Red Vine in order as well, managing my commands and her lord's indulgence in vices…

Baelor though was another matter. A fool of a Higher who thought killing the Goddess' faithful would have served him well.

“Yes,” Gremald said. “We kept the refugees appeased for the time. But they've been growing rowdy again. Your arrival is timely, your brilliance. We can make use of the Saintess' efforts and label you and the queen as the blessing she'd given them.”

“And improve my image and standing in the people's eyes in place of the girl. Yes, that is the course of action we shall pursue. As for Baelor, I'll find a way to remove him from his position soon enough. Set for me a room beside the one Queen Emeria will be given, and take care with bringing my tomes to it. That is all. You are dismissed.”

Gremald bowed. Sweat gleamed at his brows, and a bead rolled down his temple as he turned and left. Odain watched him disappear around a bend. Indeed, what am I without the fear of men such as these to give me power?

Not much longer now. Of all the years he'd waited, just a few more and the dreams of the Astari scholars could be made into reality. The dream and ambition of the First King of man.

Immortality for us all…