The High Priest and the Idol Page 4
The wagon crew and guides needed no second telling. They hurried away, before anyone had a chance for a change of mind.
The red-cloaked soldiers formed a curved phalanx behind Jemeryl and the two witches, hemming them in. Then a rough shove on her shoulder propelled Jemeryl forward, a few steps clear of Gante and Taedias.
After days of being ignored, Jemeryl was now the focus of attention. The captain slowly scanned her up and down, and then sneered. “So. It’s a glorious, almighty sorcerer. Do you want me to kiss your arse?”
Behind her, Jemeryl heard Taedias draw breath, about to say something. She glanced back in time to see Gante nudge him in the ribs to shut him up. For all her reticence, Gante had the more common sense of the two, although this was no great feat.
When nobody spoke, the captain went on. “I used to live in the Protectorate, slogging my guts out to pay taxes so you could swan around, doing nothing and playing at being god. Well, we’ve got a new god now.” He laughed. “You’re not saying much. Is being a mere mortal all a bit of a shock to you?”
“There doesn’t seem much to say.” Jemeryl paused. “But I’ll concede that losing access to the higher dimensions was a surprise.”
“A surprise? You have no idea. We’re all going to be equal, and you won’t like that, will you? It’s going to be the end of the Coven.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Taedias would keep silent no longer.
The captain glared at him. “Who asked you to speak, sonny-boy?”
Thankfully, Taedias shut up, which could only have been due to surprise. Jemeryl was sure he lacked the intuition to realise the captain was deliberately trying to provoke a response.
After a few more seconds of silence, the captain turned to his troops. “Take them away.” He glanced back at Jemeryl. “We’ve got a nice dark room ready for you.”
The dark room turned out to be a cellar under the temple. Judging by the boxes to one side it was normally used as a stockroom. Presumably, the temple did not have much call for a purpose-built dungeon.
“You can’t keep us here!” Taedias had got over his surprise. Jemeryl knew it had been too good to last.
“Can’t we?” the captain threw back.
“There are no windows.”
The captain peered around, feigning deliberation. “You know, I think you’re right. There aren’t.”
Taedias stomped up to stand toe to toe with him. “I demand you take us to whoever’s in command.”
“You demand?” Any veneer of humour had vanished from the captain’s tone.
“This has gone on long enough.”
“Believe me, it’s only just started.”
“Listen, you oaf—”
“Taedias!” Jemeryl had to intervene before things got out of hand. She grabbed Taedias’s shoulder and pulled him away, then faced the captain. “I’m sorry for my assistant. He’s…” a pompous little ass with the brains of a cabbage. Although true, this was not something Jemeryl felt she should say aloud. She hunted through her head for something placatory.
She did not get the chance. Without warning, the captain backhanded her across the face. Jemeryl staggered away and stumbled to her knees. Of course, the insulting oaf was the opening the captain had been looking for, the sort of defiance he had sought as an excuse for some rough treatment. And although Taedias had been the one to rise to the bait, there was no doubt that she, as a sorcerer, was the one the captain wanted to go after.
Flanked by two soldiers, the captain moved in close, his eyes glinting in the torchlight, both hands balled into fists. “Things are changing and you’re going to learn the new rules.”
The soldiers hoisted Jemeryl back to her feet and held her, arms locked behind her back. The captain raised his fist for another blow. Jemeryl tried to cower away, but pinioned as she was, she could not shield herself from the attack.
“What’s going on?” A new voice rang out.
The captain jerked around and faced the woman standing in the doorway. “The prisoners are…”
“Yes?”
“I…um…felt…”
Under the woman’s stern gaze, the captain straightened his back, standing blankly to attention. The soldiers released their grip and edged away. Gently, Jemeryl probed her injuries. Her shoulders tingled from the strain they had been under and her face throbbed, but she knew things could have been so much worse.
When it was clear there was going to be no further answer, the woman continued. “Unless I missed something significant that happened before I arrived, I really can’t see why any violence is necessary.” She looked around. “And I don’t think this is suitable accommodation for our guests.”
With a sharp gesture, she dismissed the soldiers. They hurried from the room. At last, the woman’s attention turned to Jemeryl. “Let me apologise. The world is changing. Great times are coming and it can go to people’s heads. I’m afraid our sentinels can sometimes be a little too zealous in their duties.”
“That’s all right.”
If all right was a tad overgenerous, the improved situation was enough that Jemeryl was not going to quibble over semantics. She considered the new arrival. The woman was in her forties. Despite being short and a little on the plump side, she had a commanding presence and an expression that said she was not to be trifled with.
The woman spoke. “Let me introduce myself. My name is Sefriall. I’m deputy to the High Priest. I know you’ve come from Lyremouth, but you are…?”
“Jemeryl, oath-bound sorcerer of the Coven.”—or I used to be—“These are Gante and Taedias, my assistants.”
Sefriall nodded her head in acknowledgement. “Please, follow me.” She continued talking as she led them from the cellar and into a clearly residential section of the temple complex. “We had expected a delegation from the Coven, although not so soon. It was mere chance that our routine patrol found you. We had thought it would take longer for word about the ascendancy of Equalitus to reach Lyremouth.”
“Equalitus is the name of the High Priest?” Jemeryl guessed.
Sefriall glanced at her. “Equalitus is the god he serves—the only god worshipped in this temple.”
“I thought the temple was dedicated to a god of prophecy.”
“This temple used to house many creeds, the followers of Harretha among them. But no longer. Some months ago, the High Priest arrived, and taught us about Equalitus, and showed us his power—the power to rid the world of corruption and injustice. I was a priest of Koneath, the Cyclian builder, until I was shown that Equalitus was more deserving of my devotion.”
“All the priests changed their allegiance?” From what Jemeryl knew about the hold religion could exert on its followers, this seemed surprising.
“Alas. Not all. Some could not see their error.” Sefriall looked regretful. “They have left the temple.”
Jemeryl could think of only one way to stage that sort of coup. “The High Priest, he’s a sorcerer?”
“There are no sorcerers in Kradja anymore. The god Equalitus removes the iniquitous gifts from all under his emanation.”
“So he’s behind my inability to reach the higher dimensions…to work magic?”
“But of course.”
“Why?”
Sefriall frowned. “Why what?”
“Why does the High Priest want to stop people using magic?”
“Because magic is a curse. Because it’s unfair. It allows the few to subjugate the many. It is the root of all the evil and hardships that beset the world. This is what the High Priest has shown us. At the moment the blessing of Equalitus covers just one town, but as the number of his followers grows so does his strength. Equalitus will remove the blight of magic from the entire world and usher in a new age of freedom and equality.”
Jemeryl stopped, head spinning. “The entire world? You mean it? Not just Kradja? The High Priest wants to destroy the Coven?”
Sefriall shook her head. “Please don’t think of it as destruction. The High
Priest only wishes good for all humanity. He will bring about the Coven’s downfall, and I understand that you’ll oppose this. But your opposition will be fruitless. Please, try to understand, we don’t wish you harm. But the time of empires and sorcerers is over. The time of liberty and equality is here.”
The room they finally reached was sleeping quarters, presumably either for guests or priests. A row of four beds and footlockers lined one wall. A wide window provided a view over the gardens that bounded the temple on three sides.
Sefriall indicated a table against the wall with wine, fruit, and a wash bowl laid out. “Relax. Refresh yourselves. The High Priest will see you as soon as he’s available.”
After a last bow, Sefriall left. Once the door was shut, Taedias shuffled over, head down, shoulders hunched. His manner was more subdued than Jemeryl had seen before. The assault in the cellar had clearly shaken him. If Jemeryl had known the threat of violence would have such a strong effect, she might have been tempted to use it before.
He made a couple of aborted attempts to speak before whispering, “Now we’re here, do you think there’s any chance of us finding Ciamon?”
Jemeryl stared through the open window at the gardens while her thoughts churned over what scraps of information she had. Was she reading too much into what Sefriall had told her? However, the guesswork was building up into a picture. Alendy had not revealed everything he knew about Ciamon. Even if he had, Jemeryl was getting the increasing suspicion that Alendy himself did not have more than a fraction of the full story.
When she did not reply, Taedias went on. “Do you think there’s any point in us asking Sefriall about Ciamon?”
Jemeryl took a deep breath. “I have the sneaky suspicion we’re about to meet him.”
*
Evening was at hand when a temple servant arrived to escort Jemeryl and the two witches to the promised meeting. They were shown into a large audience chamber. The setting was clearly designed to impress. The vaulted ceiling was decorated with gold leaf motifs. Mosaic tiles covered the floor. The low sun shone horizontally through ornate arched windows and glinted off walls of polished pink marble. At either side stood a row of silent, unmoving sentinels in their red cloaks.
At the end of the room, the High Priest sat on a raised dais, although not on a throne. His ordinary chair seemed all the more modest by comparison with its surroundings, as if to make the point that he was merely a humble servant of his god. His robes were plain, unadorned white. A small group of attendant priests was gathered behind him, Sefriall among them.
The servant who had escorted Jemeryl indicated a spot for her to stand on, suitably removed from the notables to show proper deference. Jemeryl ignored the guidance and advanced to just before the dais. The priests behind the chair glared at her in agitation, but did nothing, leaving it to their leader to deal with the show of impertinence.
Jemeryl looked up at the High Priest. Apart from a receding hairline, he had not changed much. “Hello, Ci. It’s been a long time.”
“Jem!” Ciamon looked first surprised, then annoyed. “So they roped you in to talk me round. It’s not going to work. And to be honest, I’m disappointed in you.”
“Alendy did talk me into coming, but I only said yes because I wanted to help you.”
“Help me?”
“As far as you’re willing to be helped.”
“Great. Because the help I want is in putting an end to the Coven and the Protectorate. Was this what you had in mind?”
“I can’t believe you mean that.”
“Why?”
“Because the Ciamon I knew cared about people, and wouldn’t have killed millions, for any reason—good or bad.”
“You’re here to lecture me about killing people?” Ciamon sounded outraged.
“I’m here because I’m your friend.”
“The Jemeryl who was my friend wouldn’t have helped cover up murder.”
“Who’s been murdered?”
“You don’t know?”
Jemeryl paused, scouring her memory. “Alendy said some people were killed in an accident. The same accident where you were injured.”
“It was no accident.”
“Whatever happened, it—”
“You don’t brick people up in a room to starve by accident.”
“Starve? When did that happen?”
“You really don’t know?” Ciamon’s expression softened and he leaned back in his chair. “They hid the truth from you as well? I’m relieved. I wouldn’t like to think you’d lost all your—” He broke off and looked around. “I want to talk to Jemeryl in private. You may leave us.”
The faces of the attendant priests showed a mixture of curiosity and resentment, but they obediently filed from the room. Predictably, Taedias needed additional prompting from the soldiers before he also left. The doors closed after the last one. Ciamon pushed himself from his chair and approached Jemeryl. His expression was hesitant, wary, but then it eased into a true smile and he grasped her by both shoulders.
“As you said, it’s been a long time.” His smile warmed still more. “I’m pleased to see you. I’d wondered how you were doing.”
Jemeryl took a step closer and wrapped him in a quick hug before moving away. “I’ve always been meaning to write to you but…” She shrugged. “You know how it goes. Time slips by.”
“Where have you been?”
“Last eight years, I’ve been town sorcerer in Horzt. Before that I was way up north in Bykoda’s empire, as it was then. She’s dead now. How about you?”
“Oh. I’ve been here and there. Mainly there. People keep sending me somewhere else.” He pulled a wry smile. “You remember how good I was at making myself popular?”
Jemeryl studied him, refreshing her memory. Ciamon was definitely her type, tall and dark-haired, with a relaxed manner and self-deprecating humour, but he lacked Tevi’s calm, inner toughness. Tevi knew who she was. Though he might deny it, Ciamon would always be searching for someone else to tell him the answer.
“Alendy said you’d not had an easy time.”
“Alendy!” Ciamon spat the name as if it was an obscenity.
“I don’t like him either.”
“Now he’s Guardian. What does that say about the Protectorate? I wouldn’t trust him to protect a hen house. He—” Ciamon broke off, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Do you know what he did?”
“You said he murdered someone.”
“No. Not him, but he let it happen. Then he tried to cover it up.”
“How?” Jemeryl did not trust Alendy, but deliberate murder was hard to believe.
Ciamon dropped his hand and wandered back to his chair, although he did not sit. “My last posting for the Coven. I was sent to work with an ancient harpy called Ralieu. She wouldn’t tell me what she was doing, just got me running around, tidying up after her.” His shoulders twitched. “It was pretty much all I’d been doing since leaving Lyremouth. You’d be surprised at the tricks I’ve picked up. I’m really handy with a broom now.”
Jemeryl pursed her lips, trying to keep her expression neutral. Ciamon would be the first to admit that he was not a very good sorcerer. Jemeryl hoped she was not unduly arrogant in believing his abilities to fall far below her own. However, he was able to perceive and control all seven dimensions, and he was not stupid. The Coven had clearly been wasting his talents.
Then more memories slotted into place. Back when they were apprentices, Ciamon had been a poor student, lacking dedication. He had compounded his shortcomings by neglecting to develop what ability he had. While she had been ambitious, Ciamon had been cynical about the power structure of the Coven, knowing he would never rise up its ladder. At times he had been deliberately perverse, revelling in failure. The lack of rivalry between them might have helped the start of the relationship, but had the incompatibility ultimately put an end to it?
“You resented being treated as a lackey?” Jemeryl certainly would have, in his place.
“What was she doing?”
“Trying to enslave people. Taking over their minds. And I was helping her.” He gave a sigh. “That would be bad enough. But then she ran her experiment.”
Ciamon leaned forward against the chair, shoulders slumped, eyes closed. “Two convicts from the town were brought over. I don’t know what they’d done, but they’d both been condemned to death, so it meant they lost any rights as human beings.” His voice dripped scorn. “We had an underground test room. Ralieu got everyone to assemble—her, me, a witch, the convicts, a couple of warders, and three people who worked for her.” He shook his head. “The cook and the gardener. A stable hand. Ordinary innocent people.”
“Why the cook?”
“Ralieu needed the numbers. I’ll explain later. She’d built this device in the centre of the room. The witch was in charge of making the final adjustments. I was by the door with Ralieu. She was monitoring. I was twiddling my thumbs. Then the witch dropped the last crystal into place and my head imploded.”
“That was when you got injured?”
“I’m not injured. No more than you are. It was just the shock of having my senses in the upper dimension ripped away.”
“Right. That’s what happened to me at the oasis.” Jemeryl frowned. “But I don’t remember seeing any device. Were the soldiers carrying one?”
“No. It’s not portable And anyway, there’s no need. The range of the emanation is suff—”
“Hang on a moment.” Jemeryl’s thoughts had backtracked a step. “You’re telling me you’ve brought this device to Kradja?”
“No. I made my own copy when I got here.”
“Why? What is it?” And are the effects permanent? Jemeryl could not bring herself to voice the last question.
“It’s just a harmonic array emanator. It imposes a morphology on the skein. The tricky bit is getting the morphology right. That’s what Ralieu was working on.”