The High Priest and the Idol Page 5

  “Why did she want to do that? I thought you said she was…” Jemeryl trailed off in confusion as she tried to work out the implications. The morphology would not do any permanent damage, would it?

  “I don’t think it’s what she intended.” Ciamon shrugged, diffidently. “Shall I carry on with the story?”

  “Oh…yes.”

  “In the cellar, being engulfed by the effects of the morphology, I missed what happened next. The first thing I knew…” He grimaced. “The convicts had seized their chance. They’d got the sword off one warder and stabbed him. I got my eyes open in time to see them finish off the witch, who was still on his knees by the emanator. I tried to stop them, but the upper dimensions were gone. Then Ralieu grabbed my arm and told me to get her out. She’s too old to move fast on her own. We escaped before the convicts noticed, and then Ralieu locked the door.”

  Ciamon paced to the other side of the room and back, in obvious agitation. “The stable hand—a nice girl, and the cook…” He stopped pacing and met Jemeryl’s eyes. “And I’d just helped lock them in a room with a couple of armed murderers.”

  “Without magic, there was nothing else you could have done.”

  “Except, once we’d gone a hundred yards, all our senses returned. We could have unlocked the door and dealt with the convicts when they came out. That’s what we should have done. When Ralieu sent me to get helpers, I thought she wanted to send them in, but Ralieu ordered them to brick up the door. I tried to stop them.” Ciamon’s face twisted in pain. “But I was just a gofer. She was a revered elder. Nobody paid me any attention. I couldn’t fight her. You know what sort of sorcerer I am. Ralieu had me beat on every paranormal plane. And all I could think about was the people in the cellar.”

  “It’s…” Jemeryl could not find any words.

  Tears formed in Ciamon’s eyes. “The Coven is foul from top to bottom.”

  “No.” That much Jemeryl could deny. “Ralieu is just one corrupt sorcerer.”

  “From top to bottom. I wanted Ralieu to pay for what she’d done. I contacted the Coven. I sent a message to Alendy himself. And he ordered me to shut up. He said if I spread the story, he’d have me recalled to Lyremouth and set me cleaning the Coven latrines. That’s when I started doing what I should have done from the start.”

  “What?”

  “I found out exactly what Ralieu was up to. I started reading her notes, probing around in her study when she wasn’t there. The morphology she’d designed. It puts a perceptual bar on the upper dimensions. The emanator draws its power from auras. That’s why she’d needed the cook and the others, so there were enough to draw on.”

  “Why would Ralieu want to do such a thing?”

  “Like I said, I think it was a mistake. She was playing around with mind control, but her morphology was wrong.”

  “But you’ve done it on purpose, right? You read Ralieu’s notes and made a stronger emanator, so it projects its morphology on the skein for miles rather than yards. Why? What next?”

  “I didn’t have to make it stronger. Like I said, the emanator draws its strength from people. The more people integrated in its morphology, the stronger it is, so the boundary expands, which in turn draws in more people.”

  Jemeryl paused, juggling the sums in her head. At last she asked quietly, dreading the answer, “How far can it go?”

  “Eventually, it will cover the entire world. I’m going to put an end to magic and the Coven.”

  Jemeryl turned her head and stared out the window. The sun was touching the horizon, turning the sky to fire. Red and purple flared across the heavens. Tevi was right. The desert sunset was awe-inspiring. The same sun was also setting over Lyremouth, miles to the north. Was it also setting figuratively? Were the Coven’s days numbered?

  *

  Two others were watching the sunset from a temple balcony.

  The taller figure, a man, spoke first. “The woman who arrived today, what do you make of her?”

  “I think she proves what we’ve suspected all along. Ciamon is a renegade Coven sorcerer.”

  “He’s certainly no priest.”

  “That much is obvious.” The woman paused thoughtfully. “No…he’s a sorcerer sure enough. And the Coven sent an old friend to talk to him.”

  “If he’s a sorcerer, why would he want to rid the world of magic?”

  “Who knows? I used to think his goal was to be the only sorcerer left.”

  The man looked startled. “You think he can still work magic?”

  “Yes. Remember his idol.”

  The man pondered this for a while. “He plans to rule the world?”

  “I’m not sure. I sometimes wonder if he truly believes what he spouts about equality and justice. Perhaps he’s telling the truth about his aims.”

  “Or maybe he has a really big grudge against the Coven,” the man suggested.

  “Maybe. Home-grown enemies are always the most vengeful.”

  “Like our own home-grown enemies?”

  “Darjain and his followers?” The woman laughed. “Darjain doesn’t understand the concept of vengeful. Alkoan is more of a threat.”

  “I’m watching him.”

  “Good. And though Darjain is too indecisive to pose a threat, he’s still the figurehead for the old priests. Anything that happens will start near him. Don’t let your guard slip.”

  “This new arrival doesn’t change anything?”

  “I don’t think so. Ciamon and his sham god have broken the old order. We need to be ready to seize our chance and build a new one.” The woman spoke confidently.

  “I still can’t get over the brazen sacrilege. How dare he desecrate our temple? Does he think we can’t tell the difference between the work of divinity and cheap magic tricks?”

  “He’s a sorcerer. For all his vilification of the Coven, he’s just as bad. Sorcerers’ powers make them think they’re on a par with the gods.”

  “He’ll learn of his error.”

  “Oh yes. You may count on it. Ciamon used his magic to tamper with things he had no right to touch. He has mocked the gods. The gods will not be mocked.”

  *

  The central hall of the temple at Kradja was a huge, echoing space, filled with the undulating rumble of early morning worshippers. From a balcony at the rear, Jemeryl looked down on the scene. Places where shrines to older gods had been removed were obvious, even to someone who had never seen the temple before. The outer circle of alcoves stood empty, lacking a focus. Yet nobody seemed to care about the vacant plinths and unadorned altars. All attention was centred on the middle of the floor, where stood a golden idol. A circle of armed guards held back the eager crowd.

  “Why set yourself up as a High Priest? Why the new religion?”

  Ciamon leaned on the balustrade beside her. “Why not? Somehow it seems appropriate. Isn’t the idea of equality worth worshipping?”

  “You’re deceiving people.”

  “It’s for their own good.” Ciamon looked awkward for a moment, but then shrugged. “The area of the skein affected by the morphology depends on the population it can draw on. I had to set the emanator up in a large town. I thought about Villenes, but whoever picked Kradja for the temple wasn’t working by chance. This is the centre of a convergence of ley lines. They concentrate power in the skein, making the morphology all the more effective.”

  “That doesn’t mean you had to take over the temple.”

  Ciamon sighed. “I needed to make sure the emanator was safe. I encased it in the idol as the first step, to stop accidental damage, but it won’t do much more than that. I’m affected by the morphology the same as everyone else, so there’s nothing I could do if anyone attacked it. I needed help. And I needed to give people a reason to help me.”

  Jemeryl indicated the guards in their red cloaks. “Did you instigate them, or were they here before?”

  “My deputy, Sefriall, set them up. She calls them the sentinels.”

  “They’re ready
to fight and die for a story you’ve made up?”

  Ciamon flinched at the word die. “I’m hoping it won’t come to that. But if the sentinels are called on to fight, it will be for the sake of creating a better world. Isn’t that worth dying for?”

  “You’ve still got them believing a lie.”

  “It’s a story, not a lie.”

  “Those worshippers down there, do they appreciate the difference?”

  Jemeryl watched Ciamon struggling with his conscience. He had been the most honest person she had ever known. He had also been the most compassionate. Had shock at what he witnessed in Serac let his compassion overwhelm his honesty? Had his ethics been taken beyond the breaking point? Jemeryl wanted to understand.

  “It’s no different to how it was before. Kradja is built on religion. Every weird cult you can think of comes here. If you go back far enough, somebody made them all up. They’re all stories. I’ve just created one more. People can carry on praying and making offerings, but now it’s for something real. Once the morphology has encompassed the entire…”

  Ciamon broke off and then continued, his voice more confident, alight with passion. “Can you imagine what it will mean? What the world will be like when everyone is equal? When people like Alendy and Ralieu have to answer for what they do, the same as everyone else? They won’t be able to get away with murder just because they can see other dimensions. And outside the Protectorate, there’ll be no more sorcerers setting up empires and enslaving people. With true equality there’ll be freedom for all, and justice, and an end to bigotry. You must see that. The Coven is corrupt and has to go. We can make the world better. We have to.”

  Jemeryl stared at the idol. The Coven was not perfect. Too many sorcerers thought they were better than ordinary people. Undoubtedly the abuse of power went on, but was getting rid of magic the answer? What would Tevi say? At the thought of her lover, Jemeryl felt her expression soften. Would life be easier if they were equal in the eyes of everyone?

  “I don’t know,” she said at last.

  “Really? That’s a more reasoned answer than I’d hoped for, but I’m betting Alendy won’t be so ready to start thinking.” Ciamon turned away and wandered to a small window. “You asked about my justification for taking over the temple. I know the Coven will try to destroy the emanator and stop the morphology. The sentinels are here if Alendy hires a band of mercenaries to attack it. And beyond that…” Ciamon smiled, staring into the distance.

  “What?”

  “Let’s just say I have other defences in place.”

  “What are they?”

  He glanced back at Jemeryl. “The other dimensions are still there, you know. Magical artefacts still work, like the emanator itself. So I put some spells in place before the morphology was activated.”

  “What sort of spells?”

  “It’d be best if I don’t tell you in detail, but take it from me, no matter what sort of attack the Coven launches against this temple and the idol, it won’t harm the emanator.”

  Jemeryl frowned. Ciamon had been a weak sorcerer and a poor student. What sort of spells could he have set in place? “Are you sure? I wouldn’t like to guarantee any sort of defence against all the Coven resources.”

  “I can.” Ciamon smiled, his eyes fixed on something outside the window. “The emanator is absolutely secure inside the idol. You can tell Alendy to save himself the trouble of trying to destroy it.” He paused. “That’s if you go back to Lyremouth.”

  “You want to keep me here?”

  “I’d like to. But you’re free to go if you want.” A boyish grin lit his face, replacing his former earnestness. “Come and see my idol close up. See if you can spot one of my protective spells.”

  A flight of stairs led down to the main floor of the temple. The worshippers shifted respectfully out of the High Priest’s way. Initially, Jemeryl’s attention was on the faces around her, noting the happy expressions, bordering on rapturous. Abruptly, she became aware of a shift in her own feelings, although, once spotted, she recognised it had been building up, step by step, as she crossed the floor. She stopped and stared at the idol, still a few dozen yards away.

  From the balcony, it had been an aesthetically pleasing likeness of a naked man, sitting cross-legged. Now it was beautiful, displaying a perfection of form that seemed to be expressing some profound truth about the nature of life. More than this, she felt a wave of love engulf her. Tears of joy formed in her eyes.

  “It’s projecting a glamour.”

  Ciamon’s grin broadened. “Yep. And the closer you get, the stronger it is. I’m betting most people won’t be able to bring themselves to hurt it, long before they get close enough to try.”

  “It’s effective. But…”

  “But?”

  “Coven rules forbid casting a glamour on people without their consent.”

  “It’s not hurting anyone.”

  “It’s an abuse of magic.”

  “It’s a non-violent way of protecting the idol. And I needed to do something to get people to believe my new religion was real.” Ciamon indicated the crowds jostling to get nearer to the idol. “Look at how happy they are. You can’t tell me they’d refuse their consent, even if I told them the truth.” He sighed. “But I have to go. Sefriall wants to talk to me about something. Think about what I said. I’d really like it if you stayed here with me. Even a High Priest needs friends.”

  Jemeryl watched Ciamon leave and then turned back to the idol. The glamour it cast was seductive. She could happily have stood, basking in its love all day—except that she knew it was a simple exercise of magic, and her helplessness to resist it was frightening. She was vulnerable to spells in a way she had never been before. Fear overwhelmed the love.

  Was this how ordinary people felt every day, back in the Protectorate? No wonder so many of them resented sorcerers. The imbalance of power was bad enough, even if the power was exercised for the good of all, with justice and humility—but when the sorcerers displayed nothing but arrogance? When they got away with murder?

  Jemeryl had sworn loyalty to the Coven. She was oath-bound to obey the Guardian. But was Ciamon right? Should she stay with him?

  *

  Jemeryl and the two witches were shown into the same audience chamber as before. The same group of attendants were gathered behind Ciamon’s chair. For all Jemeryl could tell, they might even be the same sentinels lining the walls.

  Ciamon stood at their approach, although he waited for them to stop before speaking. “I’m sending you back to Lyremouth with a message for your Guardian. When you speak to him, tell him what you have seen here and tell him that the days of the Coven’s tyranny are over. The god Equalitus is in the ascendancy and will usher in an age of peace, justice, and liberty for all. Tell Alendy to accept the inevitable, and bow to the will of Equalitus. I do not wish strife, but the Coven will be undone and nothing can stop it. The Guardian cannot prevail against a god, and only misery will come of any attempt he might make. Finally, although dealings between us have not gone well in the past, assure Alendy that I do not seek vengeance. The time of Equalitus will begin with forgiveness for all who ask.” Ciamon sat down. “You may go now as my messengers.”

  Jemeryl wondered whether Gante and Taedias would remember all that. Not that it mattered. Repeating Ciamon’s words would be a waste of breath. There was no way Alendy would sit back and do nothing.

  Equally, Jemeryl knew exactly what she had to do. She stepped closer to the dais. “Actually, I’ve changed my mind. I want to stay here and support you.”

  Chapter Three—The Tears of Yalaish

  As far as Tevi could work out, someone on the town watch, or maybe two people, had innocently mistaken another watchman’s lover for a whore, and had offered him money for sex. However, whoever it was had only offered a tenth of the standard going rate in Horzt, due to a mathematical error, rather than any thought to compound the insult. A third watchman had accidentally used the resulting brawl to p
ay back a fourth watchman for definitely not cheating at cards the month before. Nobody, including the people in question, had any idea why the other three had got involved, if in fact they had. The only thing everyone was agreed on was that none of them had thrown the first punch.

  Tevi sighed and rubbed the back of her head. Getting a straight story out of them was going to be impossible, partly because everyone had been too drunk at the time to be credible witnesses, but mainly because you never ratted on your comrades to a senior officer, no matter what they had done to you.

  Civilians who had not been in charge of an army might think that the high pressure of commanding a battle was the worst part. Others might pick the logistic headache of getting enough food and shelter to soldiers in remote terrain whenever it was needed. From Tevi’s point of view, although both presented nightmarish problems, they were part of the job she was paid to do. The bit that really annoyed her was this—sorting out off-duty disciplinary issues, firmly enough and fairly enough to maintain respect, when everyone was acting as if she was the enemy.

  She was reasonably sure some members of the watch before her were comparatively innocent. On the other hand, she also had a hefty bill for compensation from the tavern owner for the damage caused in the fight. She had to take some action, and somebody was going to have to pay up. So, with no better information to work on, she split the bill evenly between the seven as a fine, and then added on a chunk to show how irritated she was by it all.

  Inevitably, she was treating some people more harshly than they deserved, and they would resent it, as would the rest of the watch. Tevi took comfort from knowing that the unofficial justice of the barracks would square things out. While her subordinates filed from the room, Tevi made a private bet with herself as to which of them would be sporting more black eyes and bruises by sunset.

  She also caught some muttered comments which she chose to ignore, but the sibilant hiss of the sorcerer’s slut was unmistakable. Tevi clenched her jaw. Of course, they were angry at the fine she had just imposed. The avenue the anger had taken was both predictable and galling. Tevi knew the watchmen had been even less willing to speak than might have been the case with another officer, because she was further from being one of us than mere rank accounted for.