The Merchant Emperor (35 page)

“Of course. Absolutely. Thank you. Now what sort of animal must I procure?”

“It must be ritually pure—most often this indicates a young animal, a lamb, a fledgling bird, something that is untouched in every way, virginal, if you will. Do you understand? If you are uncertain of the animal’s origin, or its history, it would be better to obtain something very low on the Ladder of Life, like a minnow or a tadpole; it’s spring, and they should be easy to come by, even in this destroyed city.”

“Ladder of Life?”

“Yes,” said the Diviner, “though you are not of the True Faith, I assume you can make the distinction between those creatures at the base of the Ladder, the simple, primitive forms of life like worms, as opposed to those on higher steps, like birds, or even higher, in the warm-blooded realm, such as the lamb I mentioned. The more complex an entity is, the more power there is in examining its entrails, but it has its risks as well; age and complexity means that the opportunity for impurity to have been experienced is greater.”

The Merchant Emperor’s eyes took on a deeper twinkle.

“So I am searching for an animal that is as old and complex a being as possible, but that has never been touched?”

“Or fed anything with another’s blood. You need an animal that eats grass and grain, not a predatory animal like a cat or a wolf. Those beasts are highly powerful in divination if you can get them as nursing kittens or pups, before they have consumed meat or blood-milk from their mothers, but the chances of that are quite small. You should speak to the sexton of this basilica, Talquist; even though the Patriarchy doesn’t practice augury, if I’m not mistaken, ritually pure beasts are used as celebratory decorations in some of the holiday rites. The clerical populace of any of the Cymrian elemental basilicas, whether Lianta’ar, or Vrackna in Bethany, or Ryles Cedelian in Bethe Corbair, or even Terreanfor in your own kingdom, is very aware of ritual purity; everyone from the sexton to the serving maids are vegetarian and celibate. Of course, as a result, they are a very limited group of people, and clearly have no problems leading miserable lives.”

Talquist laughed. “I shall procure a sacrifice as pure and complex as I can find, Hjorst.”

The amusement of his last joke fled the Diviner’s eyes.

“You will do more than that. You will need to find a cloth fifty knuckles square of pure, white flax, unbleached and unpolished—I suggest you ask the sexton for that as well. If it needs to be sized, have him cut it only using silver implements.” The emperor nodded. “You will use that cloth to peacefully smother the sacrifice; normally I would do that, but as it is, I am uncomfortable enough spilling the blood and doing the augury, neither of which can be done for me. It is of the greatest importance—I cannot overstate this, Talquist—that you spill no blood, not even enough to cause a bruise, in the killing of the sacrificial animal. There is skill and training in doing this, so you may wish to obtain several birds or lambs, in case you are not gentle enough the first time you try. I also suggest you obtain some herbs that induce sleep and dose the creature first—passionflower or valerian can be brewed into a strong tea and fed to the animal an hour or so before it is to be sacrificed. Cover whatever the animal breathes through with the flax sheet, take its life gently, and leave its body, unblooded, on the altar. And try to time the smothering to be as close to when I arrive as possible; the longer the beast is dead, the less accurate the reading will be.”

The emperor nodded again.

“Finally, please order your guards to keep everyone out of this basilica—everyone, Talquist. I will come at noon tomorrow and prepare the altar; I will write a list of the things I need for the sexton to provide as well, so he may leave them at the door in the care of the guards. When I have finished the prayers I will say before I leave here, there must be no other sound than that of my footsteps as I go. Do you understand?”

“Yes,” Talquist said. “I am ever so grateful for all of your assistance and your wisdom, Hjorst. Thank you, thank you.”

“Do not thank me yet,” the Diviner warned. “I will entreat the Creator that the deviations we are allowing to the ritual will not result in calamity for either of us, or for our lands. All of those things are possible with even one misstep. The more meaningful the sacrifice, the safer we will be, so if you are sure that a lamb or another herbivore is ritually pure, that would make a better offering than a minnow. But
only
if you are certain it is pure.”

“I will go now and inform the guards that they are to allow you to close the doors of the basilica upon your exit, and that no one is to enter until you return,” said the Merchant Emperor. “After that, I will go to the manse and pass along your instructions to the sexton; if you write your list back at the guesthouse it can be delivered to the manse this night or in the morning, whatever you prefer.”

“Very good. Sleep well, Talquist; it is my dearest hope that we both will do so tomorrow night as well.”

“And mine. Good night, Hjorst. Thank you again.”

The emperor took his leave quickly and quietly, leaving the Diviner staring silently up at the glittering star at the top of the Spire through the glass of the dome high above him.

*   *   *

Talquist stepped out of his carriage and nodded imperceptibly at the soldiers standing guard at the door to the manse, the low stone building that had been the Patriarch’s residence, and that of his clergy, prior to the assault on Sepulvarta, and all the way back to the founding of the city.

“Bring the sexton out to me,” he said.

One of the soldiers bowed quickly and disappeared into the building. Talquist turned away and stepped back to the edge of the street, admiring the rubble that was still in the cobbled gutter from the assault that had driven Constantin into exile, and most likely to death in the desert.

The stars of that desert’s sky winked at him from the edges of the bright glow of the Spire; humorously Talquist winked back, though a sense of reverence was in his gesture. He had always loved watching the stars come forth in the deep blue of a Sorbold twilight; he could hardly wait to see them the next night as they shone down on him, one step closer to being the true Emperor of the Sun.

Behind him he heard the door of the manse open again.

Following the soldier out of the building was a tall, thin middle-aged man with a crown of even thinner white hair and dark brows that almost matched the black cassock he wore.

“The sexton of Lianta’ar, Majesty,” the soldier said softly. Talquist nodded, and the man hurried back to his post.

“Your name?”

“Gregory.”

“Gregory, you will be receiving a list, either tonight or tomorrow morning, of ceremonial implements and other materials needed by our guest, the Diviner of the Hintervold, for one of his holy rituals. Obtain and assemble those materials as quickly and carefully as possible; ritual purity is of the utmost necessity. Additionally, I need you to procure a cloth fifty knuckles square of pure, white flax, unbleached and unpolished. If it needs to be sized, cut it only using silver implements. Do you understand these instructions exactly?”

“Of course.”

Talquist did not like the sexton’s tone, nor did he appreciate the lack of subservient address.

“
Majesty
,” he said, his voice quiet and deadly.

The sexton bowed quickly. “Majesty.”

Mollified, Talquist looked about him. Seeing no one within earshot, he stepped slightly closer to the sexton.

“I also need for you to bring me one of your female acolytes, a young one that you know to be ritually pure, meaning, for clarity, that she is a virgin and has never consumed meat. You will bring her to the front entrance of Lianta’ar tomorrow evening at sunset. Is this clear?”

“Yes, of course, Majesty,” Gregory said.

“Do you have a choice of vegetarian virgins, or just one?”

“Anyone living within this manse meets those standards.”

The emperor smiled.

“Then, by all means, pick the prettiest one,” he said. “Good night, Gregory.”

He turned and left the manse, whistling as he made his way back to the guesthouse in the dark, following the stars all the way there.

30

THE CAULDRON, YLORC

The door of Rhapsody’s room in the mountain vibrated as a great pounding sound shattered the silence of her study.

Meridion woke with a start, making the harsh infant sounds that signaled a windup to full-blown crying. His mother sighed.

“Come in,” she said as she put down the quill with which she had been scratching symbols into parchment and glanced apologetically at Gyllian, who was working on a similarly bound sheath of paper. The Nain princess smiled and went back to her work, oblivious to the noise of the baby. Rhapsody rose and picked up Meridion from his cradle.

Grunthor’s wide head, wearing a wider grin, appeared from behind the door at about half the height of it.

“Special deliv’ry, Duchess,” he said as solemnly as a man with a smile wreathing the entirety of his face could manage. “Came with the mail caravan this mornin’.”

“That’s odd; I didn’t order anything, Ashe didn’t mention sending me anything, and no one else should know I’m here.”

“
I
know you’re here!” came a high, familiar voice from behind the door. It pulled open wider and Melisande Navarne burst into the room, running straight for her grandmother, whose face was ringed a moment later by an even brighter smile.

“Melly! Oh my goodness!” Laughing, the Lady Cymrian bent to embrace her adopted grandchild, holding the now quiet baby down so that Melisande could see him. “What are you doing here?”

“She’s accompanying me,” said Analise, stepping into the room.

Rhapsody’s face went blank; she blinked, lost for words for the moment.

“Analise? You—you’re
here
? What on earth—”

“I told you two years ago that when you were ready to bring your first child, and all your other children, into the world, I would be there to attend you,” the Liringlas midwife said, her weathered face shining brightly. “While I missed the actual blessed event, I be come to assist you with this beautiful boy in any way I can.” She came into Rhapsody’s still-stunned embrace and looked down into the little face grinning toothlessly up at her. “Though you seem to be doing quite well without my aid.”

“I cannot believe you’re here,” Rhapsody said, putting Meridion into Analise’s arms. “All the way from Manosse? And at a time of war? Gods, you ran the blockade?”

“I, like the rest of Manosse, had no idea there
was
a blockade,” Analise said, smiling back at the baby, who was greeting her with humorous buzzing sounds and cooing. “Your husband ruled out the possibility of my return for the time being, and decided to send us here to aid you, and, like you, to take refuge from the hostilities back in Roland.”

“Not all of us,” Melisande said, wrapping her arms around Rhapsody’s waist again. “One of us is just coming home.” She nodded toward the door; when the Lady Cymrian looked up, she saw a tall, wiry figure wrapped in a cloak of mist standing there. Her smile drained away.

“Ashe? No, it’s not possible.” She gently freed herself from Melisande’s stranglehold and came cautiously across the room until she stood in front of the figure. Then she remembered her conversation in the blue spectrum of the Lightcatcher with her husband a few weeks back. “Krinsel?”

The figure took down the hood of the cloak, revealing the Bolg woman’s scarred face, her horrifyingly damaged eye. Rhapsody’s own eyes welled with tears at the sight, but she resisted the urge to embrace the Bolg woman, understanding the differences in their cultures and fearing causing her more pain. She swallowed and merely nodded. “The king is aware that you are back?”

The Firbolg midwife nodded slightly in return.

“Excellent. I am so glad to see you.” She turned and introduced the three women to the Nain princess, then went to Grunthor, who was leaning on the wall by the door, still grinning, and hugged him.

“You could not have brought me a better gift,” she said. “Thank you.”

The Sergeant-Major coughed, hiding his smile.

“Well, then, Oi’m off to the garrison,” he said in mock gruffness. “Too many smelly women in ’ere.” He pulled a blue light globe from his pouch and handed it to Analise. “’Ere,” he said, “Oi can see you’re one of them Glass-Lirin, like the Duchess. Used ta give ’er these when she first came to live inside the mountains; Oi know bein’ away from the sky makes you all nervous an’ twitchy.” He bowed politely and took his leave, closing the door behind him and leaving Rhapsody in the circle of women who were the closest female friends and family she had in the world.

She turned and embraced Melisande Navarne again.

“I am so glad to see each of you that I don’t have words to express myself,” she said to the three women. “And I look forward to hearing all your news, which we can accomplish over supper. But first, please, tell me about Ashe, how he’s faring—I miss him so terribly. Then I want to go with you, Krinsel, back to your quarters and see what I can do to help aid with healing the wounds you received saving my life, and Meridion’s.”