Nyphron rising trr-3 Page 23

  Bartholomew took a small stool from behind one of the stacks and perched himself on it. He sat bent over with his head between his knees as if he might be sick. They waited as the priest took several steadying breaths.

  "It was forty-two years ago, next week in fact," he began, his head still down, his voice quiet. "I had been expecting them for days and was worried. I thought they had been discovered, but that wasn't it. They were traveling slowly because she was with child."

  "Who was?" Hadrian asked.

  The monsignor looked up confused. "Do you know the significance of that amulet you wear?"

  "It once belonged to the Guardian of the Heir of Novron."

  "Yes," the old man said simply. "Your father was the head of our order. A secret organization dedicated to protecting the descendants of Emperor Nareion."

  "The Therom Eldership," Royce said.

  Bartholomew looked at him surprised. "Yes. Shopkeepers, tradesmen, farmers-people who preserved a dream handed down to them."

  "But you're a priest in the Nyphron Church."

  "Many of us were encouraged to take vows. Some even tried to join the seret. It was important to know what the church was doing, where they were looking. I was the only one in Ratibor to receive the would-be emperor and his guardian. The ranks of the Eldership had dwindled over the centuries. Few believed in it anymore. My parents raised me to be a Loyalist, to believe in the dream of seeing the heir of Nareion returned to an imperial throne, but I never expected it would happen. I often questioned if the heir even existed, if the stories were just a myth. You see, the Eldership only contacted members if needed. You had a few meetings and years could go by without a word. Even then, messages were only words of encouragement reminding us to stay strong. We never heard a thing about the heir. There were no plans to rise up, no news of sightings, victories, or defeats.

  "I was only a boy, a young deacon, recently arrived in Ratibor assigned to the old South Square Church when my father sent a letter saying simply: He is coming. Make preparations. I didn't know what to think. It took several readings before I even understood what he meant. When I realized I was dumbstruck. The heir of Maribor was coming to Ratibor. I didn't know exactly what I should do, so I rented a room at the Bradford Boarding House and waited. I should have found a better place. I should have…" He paused for a moment, dropped his head again to look at the floor and took a breath.

  "What happened?" Hadrian asked, keeping his voice calm, not wanting to do anything to stop the cleric from revealing his tale.

  "They arrived late, around midnight because his wife was about to give birth and their travel was slow. His name was Naron and he traveled with his guardian, Tramus Dan and Dan's young apprentice, whose name I sadly can't recall. I saw them to their rooms at the boarding house and your father sent me in search of a midwife. I found a young girl and sent her ahead while I set out to find what supplies were needed.

  "By the time I returned with my arms full, I saw a company of Seret Knights coming up the street, searching door to door. I was horrified. I had never seen seret in Ratibor. They reached the boarding house before I could.

  "They found it locked and beat on the door. There was no answer. When they tried to break in your father refused them entry, and the fight began. I watched from across the street. It was the most amazing thing I ever saw. Your father and his apprentice stepped out and fought back to back, defending the entrance. Knight after knight died until as many as ten lay dead or wounded on the street, and then came a scream from inside. Some of the seret must have found a way into the building from the back.

  "The apprentice ran inside, leaving your father alone at the door to face the remainder of the knights. There must have been a dozen or more but, wielding two swords in the shelter of the entrance, he kept them at bay. He held them off for what felt like an eternity, then Naron appeared at the doorway. He was mad with rage and drenched in blood. He pushed past Dan into the street. Your father tried to stop him, but Naron kept screaming, 'They killed her!' and threw himself into the crowd of knights, swinging his sword like a man possessed.

  "Your father tried to reach Naron-to protect him. The seret surrounded Naron and I watched him butchered on their swords. I fell to my knees, the blankets, needle, and thread falling to the street. Your father, surrounded by his own set of knights, cried out and dropped his two swords. I thought they had stabbed him, too. I expected to see him fall, but instead he drew the spadone blade from his back. The bloodshed I witnessed up to that point did not compare to what followed. Tramus Dan, with that impossibly long sword, began cleaving the seret to pieces. Legs, arms, and heads-explosions of blood-even across Lore Street, I felt the spray carried on the wind like a fine mist on my face.

  "When the last seret fell, Dan ran inside only to emerge a moment later with tears streaking down his cheeks. He went to Naron and cradled the heir, rocking him. I will admit I was too frightened to approach or even speak. Dan looked like Oberlin himself bathed slick from head to foot in blood, that sword still at his side, his body shaking as if he might explode. After a time, he gently laid Naron on the porch. A few of the knights were still alive, groaning, twitching. He picked up the sword again. It was as if he were chopping wood. Then he picked up his weapons and walked away.

  "I was too scared to follow, too terrified to even stand up, and I did not dare approach the house. As time passed, others arrived and together we found the courage to enter. We found the younger swordsman-your father's apprentice-dead in the upper bedroom surrounded by several bodies of seret. In the bed was a woman stabbed to death, her newborn child murdered in her arms. I never saw or heard anything of your father again."

  They sat in silence for a few minutes.

  "It explains a lot I never understood about my father," Hadrian finally said. "He must have wandered to Hintindar after that and changed his name. Dan-bury. Even his name was a riddle. So the line of Novron is dead?"

  The old priest said nothing at first. He sat perfectly still except for his lips that began to tremble. "It's all my fault. The seed of Maribor is gone. The tree, so carefully watered for centuries, has withered and died because of me. If only I had found a better safe house or if I had kept a better watch." He looked up, the light of the lantern glistened off tears. "The next day, more seret came and burned the boarding house to the ground. "I petitioned for this church to be built. The bishops never realized I was doing it as a testament-a monument to their memory. They thought I was honoring the fallen seret. So here I remained, upon their graves, guarding still. Yet now I protect not hope, but a memory, a dream that because of me, will never be."

  ***

  At noon, the ringing of the town bell summoned the citizens to the Central Square. On their way back from the church Arista, Hadrian, and Royce entered the square barely able to see due to the gathered crowd. There they found twelve people locked in stocks. They each stood bent over with head and wrists locked, their feet and lower legs sunk deep in mud. Above each hung hastily scrawled signs with the word, Conspirator written on them. The young red-haired Emery was not in a stock, instead he hung by his wrists from a pole. Naked to the waist, his body covered in numerous dark bruises and abrasions. His left eye was puffed and sealed behind a purple bruise and his lower lip split and stained dark with dried blood. Next to him hung the older woman from The Laughing Gnome, the one who told of the Imperials burning Kilnar. Above both of them were signs reading, Traitors. Planks circled the prisoners, and around them paced the Sheriff of Ratibor. In his hands he held a short whip comprised of several strands knotted at the ends, which he wagged threateningly as he walked. The whole city garrison turned out to keep the angry crowd at bay. Archers were poised on roofs and soldiers armed with shields and unsheathed swords threatened any who approached too close.

  Many of the faces in the stocks were familiar to Arista from the night before. She was shocked to see mothers, who had sung their children to sleep, now locked in stocks beside their husbands, sobbing. The
children reached out for their parents from the crowd. The treatment of the woman from Kilnar disturbed her the most. Her only crime was telling the truth and now she hung before the entire city, awaiting the whip. The sight was all the more terrifying knowing it could be her up there if Quartz had not intervened.

  A regally dressed man in a judge's robe and a scribe approached the stocks. When they reached the center of the square, the scribe handed a parchment to the judge. The sheriff shouted for silence, then the judge held up the parchment and began to read.

  "For the crimes of conspiracy against her royal eminence, the Empress Modina Novronian, against the Empire, against Maribor and all humanity; for slander against His Excellency the Empress' Imperial Viceroy; and for the general agitation of the lower classes to challenge their betters, it is hereby proclaimed good and right that punishment be laid immediately upon these criminals. Those guilty of conspiracy are hereby ordered to be flogged twenty lashes and spend one day in stocks, not to be released until sunset. Those guilty of treason will receive one hundred lashes and, if they remain alive, will be left hanging until they expire from want of food and water. Anyone attempting to help or lend comfort to any of these criminals will be likewise found guilty and receive similar punishment. Sheriff Vigan, you may commence."

  With that, he thrust the scroll into the hands of the scribe and promptly walked back the way he came. With a nod from the sheriff, a soldier approached the first stock and ripped open the back of the young mother's dress. From somewhere in the crowd Arista heard a child scream, yet without pause the sheriff swung his whip even as the poor woman cried for mercy. The knots bit into the pale skin of her back and she howled dancing in pain. Stroke after stroke fell with the scribe standing by keeping careful track. By the time it was done, her back was red and slick with blood. The sheriff took a break and handed the whip to a soldier, who performed similar punishment on her husband as the sheriff sat by leisurely drinking from a cup.

  The crowd, already quiet, grew deadly still as they came to the woman from Kilnar who began screaming as they approached. The sheriff and his deputies took turns whipping her, as the day's heat made such work exhausting. The fatigue in their arms was evident by the wild swings that struck the woman high on her shoulders as well as low on her back, and even occasionally as low as her thighs. After the first thirty lashes, the woman stopped screaming and only whimpered softly. The whipping continued and by the time the scribe counted sixty the woman merely hung limp. A physician approached the post, lifted her head by her hair, and pronounced her dead. The scribe made a note of this. They did not remove her body.

  The sheriff finally moved to Emery. The young man was not daunted after seeing the punishment carried out on the others, and made the bravest showing of all. He stood defiant as the soldier with the whip approached him.

  "Killing me will not change the truth that Viceroy Androus is the real traitor and guilty of killing King Urith and the royal family!" he managed to shout before the first strokes of the whip silenced him. He did not cry out, but gritted his teeth and only dully grunted as the knots turned his back into a mass of blood and pulpy flesh. By the last stroke, he too hung limp and silent, but everyone could see him breathing. The physician indicated such to the scribe, who dutifully jotted it down.

  "Those people didn't do anything," Arista said, as the crowd began to disperse. "They're innocent."

  "You, of all people, know that isn't the point," Royce replied.

  Arista whirled. She opened her mouth, hesitated, and then shut it.

  "Alric had twelve people publicly flogged for inciting riots when the church was kicked out of Melengar," he reminded her. "How many of them were actually guilty of anything?"

  "I'm sure that was necessary to keep the peace."

  "The viceroy will tell you the same."

  "This is different. Mothers weren't whipped before their children and women weren't beaten to death before a crowd."

  "True," Royce said. "It was only fathers, husbands and sons who were whipped bloody and left scarred for life. I stand corrected, Melengar's compassion is astounding."

  Arista glared at him, but could say nothing. As much as she hated it, as much as she hated him for pointing it out, she realized what Royce said was true.

  "Don't punish yourself over it," Royce told her. "The powerful control the weak; the rich exploit the poor. It's the way it's always been and how it always will be. Just thank Maribor you were born both rich and powerful."

  "But it's not right," she said, shaking her head.

  "What does right have to do with it? With anything? Is it right that the wind blows or that the season's change? It's just the way the world is. If Alric hadn't flogged those people, maybe they would have succeeded in their revolt. Then you and Alric might have found yourselves beaten to death by a cheering crowd because they would hold the power and you two would be weak."

  "Are you really that indifferent?" she asked.

  "I like to think of it as practical, and living in Ratibor for any length of time has a tendency to make a person very practical." He glanced sympathetically at Hadrian, who had been quiet since leaving the church. "Compassion doesn't make house calls to the streets of Ratibor-now or forty years ago."

  "Royce…" Hadrian said, then sighed, "I'm going to take a walk. I'll see you two back at the Nest in a little while."

  "Are you alright?" Arista asked.

  "Yeah," he said unconvincingly, and moved away with the crowd.

  "I feel bad for him," she said.

  "Best thing that could have happened. Hadrian needs to understand how the world really works and get over his childish affection for ideals. You see Emery up there? He's an idealist and that's what eventually happens to idealists, particularly those that have the misfortune of being born in Ratibor."

  "But for a moment he might have changed the course of this city," Arista said.

  "No, he would only have changed who was in power and who wasn't. The course would remain the same. Power rises to the top like cream and dominates the weak with cruelty disguised as-and often even believed to be-benevolence. When it comes to people, there is no other possibility. It's a natural occurrence like the weather, and you can't control either one."

  Arista thought for a moment as her eyes glanced skyward, then said defiantly, "I wouldn't be so sure of that."

  Chapter 12

  Making it Rain

  By the time Hadrian returned to the Rat's Nest, he could see Quartz had returned and there was trouble. Arista stood in the middle of the room with arms folded stubbornly, a determined look on her face. The rest watched her, happily entertained while Royce paced with a look of exasperation.

  "Thank Maribor you're back!" Royce said. "She's driving me insane."

  "What's going on?"

  "We're going to take control of the city," Arista announced.

  Hadrian raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. "What happened to the meeting with Gaunt?"

  "Not going to happen," Quartz answered. "Gaunt's gone."

  "Gone?"

  "Officially, he's disappeared," Royce explained. "Likely he's dead or captured. I'm certain Merrick is behind this somehow. It feels like him. He stopped us from contacting Gaunt and used both sides as bait for the other. Brilliant, really. Degan went to meet with Arista just as Arista went to meet him and both walked into a trap. Arista avoided hers but it would appear that Gaunt was not so fortunate. The Nationalists are blaming Her Highness and Melengar, convinced that she's responsible. Even though the plan failed to catch the princess, there is no chance for an alliance. Definitely Merrick."

  "Which is exactly why we need to prove ourselves to the Nationalists," Arista explained while Royce shook his head. She turned to face Hadrian. "If we take the city from the inside and hand it over to them, they'll trust us and we'll be able to get them to agree to an alliance. When you took this job I reserved the right to change the objectives, and I'm doing so now."

  "And how exactly do we take
the city?" Hadrian asked carefully, trying to keep his tone neutral. He was usually inclined to side with Royce, and at face value Arista's idea did seem more than a little insane. On the other hand, he knew Arista was no fool and Royce often made choices based solely on self-interest. Beyond all of that, he could not help but admire Arista, standing in a room full of thieves and opportunists proclaiming such a noble idea.

  "Just like Emery said at The Laughing Gnome," Arista began. "We storm the armory. Take weapons and what armor we can find. Then attack the garrison. Once we defeat them, we seal the city gates."

  "The garrison in Ratibor is made up of what?" Hadrian asked. "Fifty? Sixty experienced soldiers?"

  "At least that," Royce muttered disdainfully.

  "Going up against hastily armed tailors, bakers, and grocers? You'd need to have half the population of the city backing you," he pointed out.

  "Even if you could raise a rabble, scores of people will die and the rest will break and run," Royce added.

  "They won't run," Arista said. "There's no place for them to go. We're trapped in a walled city, there can be no retreat. Everyone will have to fight to the death. After this afternoon's demonstration of the Empire's cruelty, I don't think anyone will chance surrender."

  Hadrian nodded. "But how do you expect to incite the city to fight for you? They don't even know you. You're not like Emery with life-long friends who will lay their lives on the line on your behalf. I doubt Polish here has a reputation that will elicit that kind of devotion-no offense."

  Polish smiled at him. "You are quite right. The people rarely see me, and when they do I'm thought of as a despicable brigand-imagine that."

  "That's why we need Emery," Arista said.

  "The kid dying in the square?"

  "You saw the way the people listened," she said earnestly. "They believe in him."

  "Right up until they were flogged at his side," Royce put in.

  Arista stood straighter and spoke in a louder voice, "And even when they did, did you see the anger in the faces of the people? In The Laughing Gnome, they already saw him as something of a hero-standing up for them against the Imperials. When they flogged him, when he faced death and yet stood by his convictions, it solidified their feelings for him. The Imperials left Emery to die today. When they did, they made him a martyr. Just imagine how people will feel if he survives? If he slipped out of their grasp just as everyone felt certain he was dead-it would be the spark that could ignite their hopes."