Percepliquis trr-6

  Percepliquis

  ( The Riyria Revelations - 6 )

  Michael J. Sullivan

  Michael J. Sullivan

  Percepliquis

  CHAPTER 1

  THE CHILD

  Miranda had been certain that the end of the world would begin like this-without warning, but with fire. Behind them, the sky glowed red as flames and plumes of sparks rose into the night sky. The university at Sheridan was burning.

  Holding Mercy’s little hand, Miranda was terrified she might lose the girl in the dark. They had been running for hours, dashing blindly through the pine forest, pushing their way past unseen branches. Beneath the laden boughs, the snow was deep. Miranda fought through drifts higher than her knees, breaking a path for the little girl and the old professor.

  Struggling somewhere behind, Arcadius called out, “Go on, go on, don’t wait for me.”

  Hauling the heavy pack and dragging the little girl, Miranda was moving as fast as she could. Every time she heard a sound or thought a shadow moved, Miranda fought back a scream. Panic hovered just below the surface, threatening to break free. Death was on their heels and her feet were anchors.

  Miranda felt sorry for the child and worried that hauling her forward was hurting her arm. Once, Miranda had pulled too hard and dragged Mercy across the surface of the snow. The girl had cried when her face skimmed the powder, but her whimpering was short-lived. Mercy had stopped asking questions, stopped complaining about being tired. She had given up talking altogether and trudged behind Miranda as best she could. She was a brave girl.

  They reached the road and Miranda knelt down to inspect the child. Her nose ran. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes. Her cheeks were red, and her black hair lay matted with sweat to her forehead. Miranda took a moment to brush several loose strands behind her ears while Mr. Rings kept a close eye on her. As if he were a fur stole, the raccoon curled around the girl’s neck. Mercy had insisted on freeing the animals from their cages before leaving. Once released, the raccoon had run up Mercy’s arm and held tight. Apparently, Mr. Rings also sensed something bad was coming.

  “How are you doing?” Miranda asked, pulling the girl’s hood up and tightening the broach holding her cloak.

  “My feet are cold,” she said. The child’s voice was little more than a whisper as she stared down at the snow.

  “So are mine,” Miranda replied in the brightest tone she could muster.

  “Ah, well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” the old professor said while climbing the slope to join them. He puffed large clouds and shifted the satchel over his shoulder, his beard and eyebrows thick with snow and ice.

  “And how are you doing?” Miranda asked.

  “Oh, I’m fine, fine. An old man needs a bit of exercise now and again, but we need to keep moving.”

  “Where are we going?” Mercy asked.

  “Aquesta,” Arcadius replied. “You know what Aquesta is, don’t you, dear? That’s where the empress rules from a big palace. You’d like to meet her, wouldn’t you?”

  “Will she be able to stop them?”

  Miranda noticed the little girl’s gaze had shifted over the old man’s shoulder to the burning university. Miranda looked as well, watching the brilliant glow rising above the treetops. They were many miles away now, and yet the light still filled the horizon. Dark shadows flew above the fire’s light. They swooped and circled over the burning university, and from their mouths spewed torrents of flame.

  “We can hope, my dear. We can hope,” Arcadius said. “Now let’s keep moving. I know you’re tired. I know you’re cold. So am I, but we have to go as fast as we can. We have to get farther away.”

  Mercy nodded or shivered. It was difficult to discern which.

  Miranda dusted the snow from the child’s back and legs in an attempt to keep her from getting wetter than she already was. This drew a cautious glare from Mr. Rings.

  “Do you think the other animals got away?” Mercy asked.

  “I’m certain they did,” Arcadius assured her. “They are smart, aren’t they? Maybe not as smart as Mr. Rings here-after all, he managed to get a ride.”

  Mercy nodded again and added in a hopeful voice, “I’m sure Teacup got away. She can fly.”

  Miranda checked the girl’s pack and then her own to ensure they were still closed and cinched tight. She looked down the dark road before them.

  “This will take us through Colnora and right into Aquesta,” the old wizard explained.

  “How long will it take to get there?” Mercy asked.

  “Several days-a week, perhaps. Longer if the weather stays bad.”

  Miranda saw the disappointment in Mercy’s eyes. “Don’t worry, once we are farther away, we will stop, rest, and eat. I’ll make something hot and then we’ll sleep for a bit. But for now, we have to keep going. Now that we are on the road, it will be easier.”

  Miranda took the little girl’s hand and they set off again. She was pleased to discover that what she had told the child turned out to be true. Trenches left by wagons made for easy going, even more so due to the downhill slope. They kept a brisk pace, and soon the forest rose to blot out the fiery glow behind them. The world became dark and quiet, with only the sound of the cold wind to keep them company.

  Miranda glanced at the old professor as he trudged along, holding his cloak tight to his neck. The skin of his face was red and blotchy, and he labored to breathe. “Are you sure you are all right?”

  Arcadius did not respond at first. He drew near, forced a smile, and whispered softly in Miranda’s ear, “I fear you may need to finish this journey without me.”

  “What?” Miranda said too loudly, and glanced down at the little girl. Mercy did not look up. “We’ll stop soon. We’ll rest and take our time tomorrow. We’ve gone a good distance today. Here, let me take your satchel.” She reached out.

  “No. I’ll hang on to it. It’s very fragile, as you know-and dangerous. If anyone dies carrying it, I want it to be me. As for resting, I don’t think it will make a difference. I’m not strong enough for this sort of travel. We both know that.”

  “You can’t give up.”

  “I’m not. I’m handing off the charge to you. You’ll manage.”

  “But I don’t know what to do. You’ve never told me the plan.”

  Arcadius chuckled. “That’s because it changes frequently. I had hoped the regents would have accepted Mercy as Modina’s heir, but they refused.”

  “So now what?”

  “Modina is on the throne now, so we have a second chance. The best you can do is get to Aquesta and seek an audience with her.”

  “But I don’t know how-”

  “You’ll figure it out. Introduce Mercy to the empress. That will be a start in the right direction. Soon you will be the only one who knows the truth. I hate placing this burden on you, but I have no choice.”

  Miranda shook her head. “No, it was my mother who placed the burden on me. Not you.”

  “A deathbed confession is a weighty thing.” The old man nodded. “But doing so allowed her to die in peace.”

  “Do you think so? Or is her spirit still lingering? Sometimes I feel as if she is watching-haunting me. I’m paying the price for her weakness, her cowardice.”

  “Your mother was young, poor, and ignorant. She witnessed the death of dozens of men, the butchery of a mother and child, and narrowly escaped. She lived in constant fear that someday, someone would discover there were twins and she rescued one of them.”

  “But,” Miranda said bitterly, “what she did was wrong and unconscionable. And the worst part is she couldn’t let the sin die with her. She had to tell me. Make it my responsibility to correct her mistakes. She should-”

  M
ercy came to an abrupt halt, tugging on Miranda’s arm.

  “Honey, we need to…” She stopped upon seeing the girl’s face. The faint light of an early dawn revealed fear as Mercy stared ahead to where the road dipped toward a large stone bridge.

  “There’s a light up ahead,” Arcadius said.

  “Is it…?” Miranda asked.

  The old teacher shook his head. “It’s a campfire-several, it looks like. More refugees, I suspect. We can join with them and the going will be easier. If I’m not mistaken, they are camped on the far bank of the Galewyr. I had no idea we’d come so far. No wonder I’m puffing.”

  “There now,” Miranda said to the girl as they once more started forward. “See? Our troubles are already over. Maybe they will even have a wagon that an old man can ride in.”

  Arcadius gave her a smirk but allowed himself a smile. “Things may be looking up at that.”

  “We’ll be-”

  The girl squeezed Miranda’s hand and stopped once more. Up the road, figures on horseback trotted toward them. The animals snorted white fog as their hooves drove through the iced tracks. The riders sat enveloped in dark cloaks. With hoods drawn up and scarves wrapped, it was difficult to determine much, but one thing was certain-they were just men. Miranda counted three. They came from the south but not from the direction of the campfires. These were not refugees.

  “Who do you think?” Miranda asked. “Highwaymen?”

  The professor shook his head.

  “What do we do?”

  “Hopefully nothing. With luck they are just good men coming to our aid. If not…” He patted his satchel grimly. “Get to those campfires and ask for shelter and protection. Then see to it that Mercy reaches Aquesta. Avoid the regents and try to tell the empress Mercy’s story. Tell her the truth.”

  “But what if-”

  The horses approached and slowed.

  “What do we have here?” one rider asked.

  Miranda could not tell who spoke, but guessed it was the foremost. He studied them while they stood still, listening to the deep throaty pant of the horses.

  “Isn’t this convenient?” he said, and dismounted. “Of all the people in the world-I was just coming to see you, old man.”

  The leader was tall and held his side gingerly, moving stiffly. His piercing eyes glared out from under his hood, his nose and mouth shrouded by a crimson scarf.

  “Out for an early stroll in a snowstorm?” he asked, closing the distance between them.

  “Hardly,” Arcadius replied. “We’re in flight.”

  “I’m sure you are. Clearly if I had waited even a day, I would have missed you, and you might have slipped away. Coming to the palace was a foolish mistake. You exposed too much. And for what? You should have known better. But age must bring with it a degree of desperation.” He looked at Mercy. “Is this the girl?”

  “Guy,” Arcadius said, “Sheridan is burning. The elves have crossed the Nidwalden. The elves have attacked!”

  Guy! Miranda knew him, or at least his reputation. Arcadius had taught her the names of all the church sentinels. From the professor’s viewpoint, Luis Guy was the most dangerous. All sentinels were obsessed, all chosen for their rabid orthodoxy, but Guy had a legacy. His mother’s maiden name was Evone. She had been a pious girl who had married Lord Jarred Seret, a direct descendant of the original Lord Darius Seret, who had been charged by Patriarch Venlin to find the heir of the Old Empire. In the realm of heir hunters, Luis Guy was a fanatic among fanatics.

  “Don’t play me for a fool. This is the girl-child you spoke to Saldur and Ethelred about, isn’t it? The one you wanted to groom as the next empress. Why would you do that, old man? Why pick this girl? Is this another ruse? Or were you actually trying to slip her past us? To atone for your mistake.” Guy crouched down to get a better look at Mercy’s face. “Come here, child.”

  “No!” Miranda snapped, pulling Mercy close.

  Guy stood up slowly. “Let go of the child,” he ordered.

  “No.”

  “Sentinel Guy!” Arcadius shouted. “She’s just a peasant girl. An orphan I took in.”

  “Is she?” He drew his sword.

  “Be reasonable. You have no idea what you’re doing.”

  “Oh, I think I do. Everyone was so focused on Esrahaddon that you went by unnoticed. Who could have imagined that you would point the way to the heir not just once, but twice?”

  “The heir? The Heir of Novron? Are you insane? Is that why you think I spoke to the regents?”

  “Isn’t it?”

  “No.” He shook his head, an amused smile on his face. “I came because I suspected they hadn’t thought about the question of succession, and I wanted to help educate the next imperial leader.”

  “But you insisted on this girl-only this girl. Why would you do that unless she really is the heir?”

  “That makes no sense. How could I know who the heir is? Or even if an heir still lives?”

  “How indeed. That was the missing piece. You are actually the only one who could know. Tell me, Arcadius Latimer, what did your father do for a living?”

  “He was a weaver, but I fail to see-”

  “Yes, so how did the poor son of a weaver from a small village become the master of lore at Sheridan University? I doubt your father even knew how to read, and yet his son is one of the most renowned scholars in the world? How does that happen?”

  “Really, Guy, I would not think I would need to explain the merits of ambition and hard work to someone such as you.”

  Guy sneered back. “You disappeared for ten years, and when you came back, you knew a lot more than when you left.”

  “You’re just making things up.”

  Guy smirked. “The church doesn’t let just anyone teach at their university. Did you think they didn’t keep records?”

  “Of course not. I just didn’t think you’d see them.” The old man smiled.

  “I’m a sentinel, you idiot! I have access to every archive in the church.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t think my scholastic examination would be of any interest. I was a rebel in my youth-handsome too. Did the records indicate that?”

  “It said you found the tomb of Yolric. Who was Yolric?”

  “And here I thought you knew everything.”

  “I didn’t have time to linger in libraries. I was in a hurry to catch you.”

  “But why? Why are you after me? Why is your sword out?”

  “Because the Heir of Novron must die.”

  “She’s not the heir. Why do you think she is? How could I even know who the heir was?”

  “Because that is one of the secrets you brought back. You discovered how to locate the heir.”

  “Bah! Really, Guy, you have quite an imagination.”

  “There were other records. The church called you in for questioning. They thought you might have gone to Percepliquis like that Edmund Hall fellow. And then, only days after that meeting, there was a fight in the city of Ratibor. A pregnant mother and her husband were killed. Identified as Linitha and Naron Brown, they and their child were executed by Seret Knights. After centuries of looking, I find it interesting that my predecessor managed to locate the Heir of Novron just days after the church interrogated you.” Guy glared at the professor. “Did you make a deal with the church? Did you trade information in exchange for freedom? I’m sure they told you they wanted to find the heir so they could make him king again. When you discovered what they really did, I imagine you felt used-the guilt must be awful.”

  Guy paused for Arcadius to respond but the professor said nothing.

  “After that everyone thought the bloodline had ended, didn’t they? Even the Patriarch had no idea another heir still lived. Then Esrahaddon escapes and he goes straight to Degan Gaunt. Only Degan isn’t the heir. I was fooled for a long time too, but imagine my shock when he failed the blood test that he previously passed. No doubt the result of the same potion Esrahaddon used on King Amrath and Arista th
at made Braga suspect the Essendons. I suppose, looking back on it, we should have guessed a wizard of the Old Empire wasn’t a fool and would never lead us to the real heir.

  “But there was another, wasn’t there? And you performed whatever trick you did the first time to find her.” Guy peered at Mercy. “What is she? A bastard child? A niece?” He advanced toward Miranda. “Hand her over.”

  “No!” the old professor shouted.

  One of the soldiers grabbed Miranda, and the other pulled the girl from her.

  “But let’s be certain, shall we? I will not make the same mistake twice.” With a deft sweep of his wrist, Guy slashed Mercy across her hand. She screamed and Mr. Rings hissed.

  “That’s uncalled for!” Arcadius said.

  “Watch them,” Guy ordered his men while he moved to his horse.

  “Hush now, be a brave girl for me,” Miranda told Mercy.

  Guy carefully laid his sword on the ground, then withdrew a small leather case from his saddlebag. From it, he pulled forth a set of three vials. He uncorked the first, tilted it slightly, and tapped on it with his finger until a bit of powder sprinkled onto the bloodstained end of his sword.

  “I want to leave now,” Mercy whimpered as the guard held her fast. “Please can we go?”

  “Interesting,” Guy muttered to himself, then applied the contents of the next vial. This one held a liquid that hissed and fizzled when it landed on the blade.

  “Guy!” Arcadius shouted at him as he stepped forward.

  “ Very interesting,” Guy continued. He uncorked the last vial.

  “Guy, don’t!” the old man yelled.

  He poured a single drop on the tip of the sword.

  Pop!

  The sound was like a wine bottle cork coming free and the flash was as brilliant as lightning.

  The sentinel stood up, staring at the end of his sword, and began to laugh. It was a strange and eerie sound, like the song of a madman. “At last. At long last, I have found the Heir of Novron. The quest of my ancestors will be achieved through me.”

  “Miranda,” Arcadius whispered, “you can do nothing more by yourself.” The old man’s eyes glanced toward the refugee camp.