Sword of Hemlock (Lords of Syon Saga Book 1) (23 page)

“It is the main temple of His
recivalesche
, yes,
but,” Dalthaz shrugged, reaching into his boot, “one Rjeinarian priest remains
outside the temple, the one you saw on the street, but...”

Dith looked at him and frowned.  How did he know Dith had
seen a Rjeinarian on the street?  He’d been inside the pub.

“Suffice it to say, he’s grown old and feeble.”  The man
chittered, patting the pockets of his breeches.  “He is no use against this. 
Ah.”  He pulled out a folded bit of birch bark and put it into Dith’s hand. 
“This is a map of the temple.  We got the old Rjeinarian to draw this—”

“So you would have me defeat them for you.”  The sorcerer
peeked around the edge of the fence once more before he fell back beside the
mayor.  He turned to face the man, and his eyes held a peculiar sort of
twinkle.  “I want to be certain we understand each other clearly.”

“Yes, we want them defeated.”  The mayor frowned curiously. 
“Of course.  That is why I brought you out here.”

Dith stood and moved to stand before the huge gate of iron
bars.  But he did not open them, did not touch them, and the small birch bark
map fell unread at his feet.  He pushed back the sleeves of his robes to bare
his hands, and he raised them toward the stone building.

“But...”  The mayor stood beside him, looking anxiously
between the conjuring mage and the building.  “But...”

Dith cried out sharply, and a huge white flame exploded from
the building.  The windows burst from the towers, and flaming, partially melted
stones crumbled to the ground near the gate.  The building was completely
engulfed.

“What have you done!” cried Dalthaz, holding his head in his
hands.  “What have you done!”

But Dith was not finished.  He closed his eyes once more,
and a great storm of ice and hail flew from his fingers to crash over the
burning temple.  Instantly, the rage of the fire became no more than an angry
hiss of steam and smoldering ash.

The mayor looked on hopelessly, barely managing to step
aside before a great rush of warm water poured through the gates and washed
away the map.  For once, his ready smile failed him.

Dith only stood watching Rjeinar’s temple fall to pieces,
watching the sooty water flow over his feet, with an enigmatic smile on his
lips.  After all, Rjeinar could only kill him once.  He said nothing, letting
the gold cloth of his sleeves tumble down over his hands once more.

The townspeople came running out into the street.  The sound
of the explosion and the glow at their windows had brought them running from their
shops and homes, some carrying buckets of water, but by the time they reached
the temple, it was no more than a smoldering ruin.

“Constable!” shrieked the mayor.  “Seize this man and chain
him in the prison.”

Behind Dalthaz, the remaining stones of the temple flew
apart viciously, as if kicked by a giant schoolboy, and Dith laughed openly. 
Within seconds, nothing remained but a heap of rock and ash.

The constable approached him very carefully, and at first,
it seemed as if Dith would resist.  But instead of resisting, Dith obediently
presented his arms to be bound behind him.  Every Hadrian schoolboy knew that a
mage was helpless without his hands to direct his energy, and once Dith was
bound, the Hadrians were much bolder.  The townspeople who had hidden from him
before threw stones at him as the constable led him away to the jail.  They did
not seem to care that the stones bounced off without hitting him.

“It was worth it!” Dith cried to the heavens as he stumbled
away behind the constable. “It was worth it just to see You angry, Rjeinar!” 
Through the corner of his eye, he saw a shock of white hair and a green robe,
but when he looked again, it was gone.

It might have been hours or days later; he could not be
sure.  They had fed him and given him water several times, but in the depths of
the prison, he could not reckon the time of day.  With little else to occupy
him, he had spent a great deal of his time asleep, so that even his own body
did not know whether the sun shone or not.  But once, toward the end of his
stay, he had a visitor.

“You are the one called Dith?” came a voice near his cell
door.

“I am,” he said from his bed, not bothering to try to see
through the darkness to the form outside the bars.

“I am Kano.”  The voice drew breath.  “Late of the temple of
Rjeinar.”

Ah, the one who remained outside.  The one who had so deftly
steered him into the mayor’s hands.

You see, son, we were told to expect you.

“Are you come for revenge, Kano?  Go on, then.”  Dith
sneered and turned his back to the shadowy form.  “I’ve vexed your Rjeinar. 
Twice.  My life is complete.”  He glanced up toward the top of his prison where
several amulets hung above his reach, then out toward the priest with an
insincere smile.  “Although with my power damped by these amulets, you’ll not
find me much of a challenge.”

“Amulets, bah.  Do not speak nonsense.”  The cleric drew
nearer the bars, and in spite of himself, Dith’s eyes widened.  Even in the dim
torchlight of the dungeon, he could see the countless marks of vengeance, the
tattoos, the ritual scars on Kano’s hands and face.  The whole of the man’s
body beneath his green robes was likely similarly marked.  The cleric’s hair
was cut away in thick swaths to leave the rest to stand out in a wrathful shock
about his head.  But even more, he could see the ultimate mark of Rjeinar’s
grace.  The old cleric’s eyes were opaque, solid white with no color at all,
not even the colorless color of Hadrian irises.  Rjeinar had closed Kano’s eyes
completely.  “You have lived under Rjeinar’s vengeance for three years, Dith.”

“Yes, I have.”  The sorcerer chuckled quietly before he sat
up on the wooden cot.  “It seems your god has no sense of humor.”

Kano sniffed.  “Rjeinar has an appreciation of wit,” he
replied, “particularly well-wrought schemes of vengeance.  But He has no
patience with those who treat Him lightly.  I am sworn to His service, but even
I would not dream—”

“You self righteous little scut,” Dith laughed bitterly.  “I
used His face and His name only to confound a bunch of Hadrian traitors and
rescue Duke Brada; I promise you, I took no pleasure in it.”

“You had but to ask—”

“Brada was dying; the Resistance had come into a trap!”  He
turned his head away in a dismissive gesture.  “I did what came to mind.  I
used His likeness to scare away the Hadrians.  Or would Rjeinar have Kadak
still in power?”

“His…likeness?”  Kano sighed.  “Ah.  You do not understand. 
This discussion is ended.”  He turned to walk away.

“Is that all, Kano?”  Dith cried after him.  “You brought
yourself into this place just to remind me that Rjeinar still bears me ill
will?  Did you forget your all precious vengeance, Priest?”

“No,” replied the cleric coldly, still walking away.  “I
came to offer you a bargain.”

“Don’t waste your breath,” muttered the mage.  “I have had
enough of your mayor’s bargains.”

At the prison door, Kano turned, and through the darkness of
the corridor, Dith thought he saw the priest smile.  “A bargain,” he said,
“from Rjeinar.”

Dith woke to find the constable shaking him.  “Good thing,”
the guard muttered as Dith finally opened his eyes and rose from his bed. 
“Hate to think something happened to you before we could execute you proper.”

Dith smiled and turned, putting his hands behind his back
for the constable to bind.  He glanced at the ceiling and noted with some
satisfaction that the amulets remained behind.  Not that they would have made
much difference, but he would rather do without the pain.  Besides, the
Hadrians could take comfort enough; his hands were bound.  Just the same, two
large guards joined the constable outside the prison block to escort Dith up
the stone stairs and past the menacing executioner’s block just inside the
justice chamber.

Dith was not terribly surprised to see Dalthaz sitting at
the judge’s bench.  The Hadrian mayor was dressed much as he had been in the
tavern except that now he wore a pompous blue rag of some sort tied about his
neck, no doubt with all sorts of historical significance in Hadrian
jurisprudence.  To Dith’s eye, it looked rather like a foppish hangman’s noose.

The constable led him to stand at the very center of the
chamber, still held by the guards.

“Dith the Merciless,” spoke the mayor, and Dith could not
help but smile.  So they had heard of him after all.  “You stand arrested of
murder, mayhem, recklessness and blasphemy in the matter of the Temple of
Rjeinar.  What say you to these charges?”

Murder.  So those in the temple had not been bandits after
all.  So who were they, then?  He doubted he would ever know.  Dith looked
about him at the hateful glares of the townspeople—colorless stares that
glanced away under his blue-white gaze.  Then he shrugged.  “Would it matter?”

By the time the townspeople had finished muttering and
whispering, the judge had finished his angry scribbling, blotted it and handed
it down to the constable.  Then he sat back with a look of smug satisfaction on
his face.  A look of power renewed.

The constable glanced at the writ and nodded to the judge. 
“Having been found guilty of the charges of murder, mayhem, recklessness and
blasphemy,” he intoned, already leading Dith to the executioner’s block.  “Know
now that the mage, Dith, also called the Merciless, shall be put to immediate
death in the presence of this assembly.”

Dith looked over the faces of the crowd.  Strange that
Rjeinar’s only surviving cleric in the town should miss witnessing his death,
especially under the circumstances.  But he saw something else, as well.  At
the constable’s reading of his sentence, a fiery wave of righteousness and
retribution passed over the faces of the crowd.  Surely they were taking far
too much pleasure from this sentence, as if Dith’s demise meant far more to
them than he could guess.  No, not pleasure, he saw.  Relief.  His eyes turned
back toward Dalthaz, knowing and cold, and the mayor looked away.

They were not just executing Dith for his crimes.  They were
executing someone else by proxy.  But whom?

At a nod from the constable, the two nearest guards came to
take Dith’s arms.  “Have you any last requests?”

Dith looked at the two men, studying their faces with his
blue eyes until they looked away uncomfortably.

The constable shifted on his feet, taking up the large ax. 
“Have you any last requests, I said.”  He cleared his throat.  “Any last
words?”

“Yes,” said Dith calmly.  He glanced at the guard on his
right.  “Sleep,” he said softly, and at once the man’s helmeted head dropped to
his chest.  “You, as well,” he said to the one on his left.  By the time the
two men slipped to the floor, Dith had made his way to the door, dodging the
startled townspeople and the constable.  He had it pulled open before anyone
could react.

As he opened the door, two guards who stood just outside
grabbed him by his arms, which were still bound behind him.

“Guards!” cried the mayor, standing suddenly.  “Stop him!”

But before the two could draw their swords, all three men
vanished.

It would take them a minute or two to figure out that the
faces of the two guards who had grabbed him at the door were the same as those
who slept within.  It would take them another minute to get over their shock
that he had managed to use magic in spite of their bindings and their amulets,
and perhaps two more minutes after that before they could organize themselves
to search for him.  That would be more than enough time.

Dith ran back through the corridors and down the steps to
retrieve his rucksack from beneath the guard’s table near his cell.  Then he
ran lightly past the last burning shreds of the rope that had bound his hands
moments before, bending the light around him as he moved through the corridors
so that no one would see him.  A moment later, having made certain no one was
near, he pushed open the door and stepped outside into the morning light.

“Congratulations,” came a voice as he stepped beyond the
doorway.  He turned and raised his hands to defend himself, but the voice only
laughed.  In the sunlight, Dith saw the green-robed form of Kano standing
before him.  He fancied that had the man’s eyes had any color, they would have
been staring right at him.

“I imagine you are bending the light around yourself so as
not to be seen; smart, that.  But then you wonder that I, who am blind, know
you are there?”  His strangely marked face split in an ugly grimace that seemed
to Dith a sort of smile.  “I could recognize you by your smell alone, mage, and
I advise you that there is a lake nearby warmed by hot springs and surrounded
by vringo plants, which might serve you well in that regard.”  The cleric
listened a moment, then gestured him to follow.  “Truly,” he said in a much
softer voice, “I recognized many things.  Your step, your manner.  Your
thoughts.”

The mage raised one eyebrow.  “So you can read my thoughts? 
What am I thinking now?”

The Rjeinarian chuckled.  “Come, do you suppose Rjeinar
leaves us utterly blind when he takes our sight?  We are blind to petitions of
pity, blind to pleadings for mercy, but not to the hearts of men.”  He turned
toward Dith, as if he might still see, then turned back to the road. 

“Your heart, for example.  Very instructive.”  He smiled
again.  “I see in you a great potential, more than you might imagine.”  Kano
nodded back toward the court building, where people were beginning to come out
into the daylight.  “You put two guards to sleep within, yes?”

Dith nodded, wondering how the cleric could have known since
he had not been in the chamber.  Then remembering that Kano was blind, he
answered, “Yes.”

Kano clasped his hands behind his back.  “They will never
come awake.”