Arts of Dark and Light: Book 01 - A Throne of Bones (112 page)

CORVUS

The Sanctal palace cast long shadows over the great hill upon which it stood and onto the plaza below. Corvus and his fascitors strode into the crowds in the plaza, which were considerably more orderly than the mob surrounding the elven embassy had been, but they were very nearly as numerous. Monks from the various orders wandered about, awestruck to find themselves in the vicinity of the holy site. Priests closer to the bottom of the holy hierarchy than the top strolled about arm in arm, discussing theology. And the common people pushed and shoved to get closer to the fountain at the center of the square, the water from which was said to have been blessed by Sanctus Petrus and was known to possess miraculously curative powers.

But all of them, clerics and common citizens alike, hastened to get out of the way of Caius Vecellius and his axe bearers with unusual alacrity. Corvus wondered if it was possible that news of the impromptu execution of the Church guardsman had already reached the crowds here. It seemed unlikely. But then, it was said that bad news flew faster than the crows who bore it.

He had his answer soon enough, as the coldly glaring stares of the guards at the foot of the steps at the bottom of the hill told him they were still respectful of his office though clearly not of the man who held it. It was apparent that they knew very well what he had done, and they did not approve. Even so, they made no move to intercept his progress, which was a relief. The very last thing the city needed right now was a power struggle between the government authority and its religious counterpart.

“We may be wise to be a little circumspect in our actions,” Corvus said to Vecellius as they began to mount the marble steps that would lead them directly to the entrance. “One more beheading, and they’ll be calling me Carnifex instead of Corvus.”

“Men have borne worse,” the unflappable captain replied. “Any citizen who fails to respect consular imperium deserves to die. For stupidity, if nothing else. Are you well, my lord consul? Your breathing is a little labored.”

Corvus stifled a groan as they continued to mount the steps. One tended to forget how heavy one’s armor could be when one was accustomed to one’s mount doing most of the work of carting it about. He wasn’t merely breathing hard—his legs were downright burning by the time they reached the top of the stairs and the path to the palace’s great double-doors, which were standing open.

To Corvus, the opening looked more like a monstrous maw than an indication that they were welcome in the heart of the Church. Of course, only he knew the secret of what might be waiting for them inside. He still found the elf’s tale to be fantastical, but then, the Scriptures were full of wonders that no Amorran had ever seen. His own son had claimed to see things on his trip to Elebrion in which Corvus still couldn’t honestly say he believed. It was said that God worked in mysterious ways, so who was to say that men understood the works of the devil any better?

A bishop in gleaming white ecclesiastical attire greeted him at the head of a group of white-armored guards. “My lord consul, I am Father Sebastius. The Sanctified Father asked me to await your arrival. If you will be so kind as to accompany me, he will receive you in the Apostular.”

Corvus nodded, noting the double bars on the crosses stitched onto the priest’s mitre. Not a bishop, but an archbishop then. And, unlike the guards at the stair, the archbishop didn’t seem to consider anything amiss about a consular visit. But it was interesting, if not entirely unsurprising, to learn that his visit was anticipated. “Thank you, Excellency.”

Again he was led through the maze of colorful patterns cast on the floor by the plated windows, past paintings and statues of incalculable value, each created by the past masters of their day. But the holy awe that had struck him so powerfully before was now gone, replaced by a burning anger that this holiest of Man’s holies had been desecrated, not by the spiritual powers of the air, but by a much more earthly and material evil.

For the first time, he truly understood what was meant by the concept of righteous wrath. The anger that filled him was not his own, he was merely its vessel. All his fear and all his worries for his family, for his House, and for his city were like logs thrown on a mighty bonfire, consumed by his fury that not only Holy Mother Church but the Sanctal Office itself had been corrupted by an inhuman invader.

Ecclesiasticals of every rank bowed respectfully as he and the archbishop passed. Corvus ignored them all. Some were offended by the slight. Others, perhaps more perceptive, were only troubled. They knew it was never a sign of Heaven’s favor when armed men with faces like thunder strode purposefully through God’s temple. Particularly on those occasions when such men were followed by other men bearing fasces and axes.

When they reached the heart of the palace, Sebastius stopped at the closed doors behind which the great throne room lay. He gestured toward the fascitors with an expression of mild regret on his face.

“His Holiness has instructed that only the lord consul may enter into his presence today.”

Caius Vecellius quickly looked to Corvus, who shook his head. There was no point in protesting the matter. In the unlikely event that the Sanctified Father, or whatever it was that possessed him, intended to start a war with the Senate by murdering him, eight men armed with axes could hardly hope to defend him from the hundreds of Church guards, the brutal ex-gladiators of the Redeemed and the priests of the various military orders, throughout the vast palace. If he was expected, then the creature wanted something from him.

And he had a pretty good idea he knew what it was.

“Relax, Captain. I very much doubt I’m in danger of anything but a lengthy penance.”

Vecellius nodded, but he didn’t look happy. Corvus didn’t know what the captain had gleaned from the various conversations he’d overheard during the past few days, but he seemed to be aware that something well out of the ordinary was taking place. The archbishop smiled, nodded to Vecellius, then indicated that the doors should be opened.

For the third time since he’d come back to Amorr, Corvus walked down the long, carpeted aisle toward the spectacular Sedes Ossus. This time, the throne of bones was alone on the dais except for the red-robed figure enthroned upon it. It was a magnificent sight in the dim torchlight that lit the room, although from a distance, the red of the Sanctal robe made it look as if the throne preserved not only the bones and gilt skulls of the apostles but also their blood and gory viscera. Behind him, there was a dull boom as the doors closed, but Corvus didn’t break his stride, determined to cloak his fear in his rage as he stalked toward the seated man.

The Sanctiff hadn’t moved or shown any reaction to his approach, and for a moment Corvus wondered if he might be sleeping or perhaps even dead. Then he lifted his head, and Corvus recognized the bearded face of the man he’d acclaimed himself in this very room.

His Sanctified Holiness Pelagianus, formerly Giovannus Falconius Valens, did not look well. His face was white and drawn, his dark eyes were haunted, and there were lines etched deeply into his face despite his relative youth. What struck Corvus most, however, was the way the Sanctified Father flinched as Corvus mounted the three stairs that led up to the platform upon which the precious relic of relics was set.

The four grinning skulls on the throne were more welcoming than the one that flesh still covered, if tightly. But, being a dutiful son of the Church, Corvus fell to one knee and kissed the carved gold ring that was held out to him by Pelagianus’s long-fingered, almost skeletal hand. The metal was surprisingly cold on his lips, and he jerked back then looked up and was startled to see that the Sanctiff’s eyes were no longer haunted, but were staring at him in an almost inquisitive manner.

“Rise, my son,” Pelagianus said in a quavering voice that matched his sickly, almost withered appearance. Surely this could not be the immortal monster of whom the elves spoke with equal measures of respect and fear.

“Your Holiness, are you well?” Corvus asked, confused and almost more dismayed at finding this shrunken wreck of a man than the ancient and powerful creature he’d been expecting to confront.

The Sanctiff started to respond, but then he cried out like a child and raised his hands over his face. He began gibbering fearfully as if terrified by Corvus’s mere presence.

Or, Corvus thought as his blood ran cold, by someone behind him.

He straightened his back and turned deliberately around. He was not entirely surprised to see a figure standing in the middle of the carpeted aisle down which he had just walked a moment ago. It was the archbishop, Sebastius.

Despite the mitre he wore, he was neither tall, nor was imposing, but there was something intimidating in the way he slowly walked toward Corvus. In contrast to the friendly, welcoming smile he’d worn earlier, the side of his mouth was twisted in a contemptuous smirk. His white vestments stood out against the rich red carpet of the throne room. It gave Corvus the impression of a bone jutting out of a river of blood.

So here was the answer.

Corvus walked slowly down from the dais, resisting the temptation to reach for his sword hilt. The elves said such creatures couldn’t be killed. But he found that hard to believe. After all, elves were said to be immortal too, and yet they died as easily as anything else a man could swing a sword at. “Who are you, and what have you done to the Sanctified Father?”

“Sextus Valerius Corvus,” the archbishop replied in a voice that seemed oddly deeper than before. “Permit me to congratulate you on your election as Consul Aquilae. I am told it was by near-historic margins.”

“Thank you,” Corvus said. “You have me at a disadvantage, Excellency. How shall I address you? I doubt your true name is Sebastius.”

“My name is not relevant. And it would take you a lifetime of study to begin to understand the advantage I have over you, my lord consul. But I mean you no harm, Corvus. In fact, I have been waiting for you. I have need of you.”

Corvus nodded. As for what it told him, he wasn’t surprised. Any creature, however powerful, that preferred to operate by stealth would naturally be loathe to engage in a direct confrontation that would bring the wrath of the Senate down upon it. And if it wanted him dead, he’d already be dead. He decided to test its willingness to cooperate. “Release His Holiness. Then I’ll speak with you.”

“Very well.” The thing called Sebastius gestured with its left hand. “You may go, Valens.”

Corvus looked over his shoulder.

The Sanctiff seemed to roll off the apostolic throne. Hunched over in his finery like a beggar trying to stay warm, he scurried down the steps and off into the deep shadows of the chamber. His movements were barely human. It almost looked as if he had been reduced to the state of a mindless, frightened animal.

“Thank you,” Corvus said. “Is that how you treat every man who cooperates with you?”

“It is how I treat those who play me false. He thought to use me to serve his ambition.” It chuckled softly. “I see you are not entirely without fear, Lord Consul, and yet you master it well. Yes, I think we can be of use to each other, Valerius Corvus. I believe you are the one I seek.”

“Ah, but do I have need of you?”

This time, the creature actually laughed out loud. “My dear lord consul, your empire is crumbling! Your city is on the edge of panic, your allies have abandoned you, your enemies outnumber you, your own brother has turned against you…and you ask me if you need me?”

“I didn’t say I lacked problems. I merely wondered what, if anything, you could possibly do to help me with them. I can’t see that you have served the Sanctified Father well.”

“I do not serve.”

“We all serve someone,” Corvus said with a contemptuous smile. “In one way or another. Even your kind has its purpose.”

The creature smiled, exposing teeth that were whole and strangely unstained, as pearlescent as a child’s milk teeth. Corvus remembered the elves telling him the creatures could remake themselves even when dismembered and burned, and he wondered how long ago this thing had become Father Sebastius. Months ago? Decades ago?

“Don’t you wish to know what I want from you?”

Corvus shook his head. “I already know. I’m a general and the consul of the legions. You’re a creature who skulks in darkness and wears a false face. You want me to fight your battles for you. What else could you possibly want?”

It glared at him, anger flashing across its nondescript face. For all its age, it did not appear to have much self-control. He supposed it was not accustomed to being spoken to in such a manner. “Yes,” it admitted reluctantly. “I do. But don’t be fooled, Lord Consul, and don’t presume to judge me. I am far older than you would believe. I have raised armies and led them to victories greater than any you could even conceive.”

“But you don’t have the time to raise one now, do you?” Corvus broke in. When it remained silent, confirming his conclusion, he continued. “Are you the one behind all this? Behind the rebellions in the provinces and the allied leagues?”

“I had nothing to do with them. Indeed, I wish for you to quell them with all haste.”

“So do I. What is in it for you?”

“I need a strong and united empire, led by a skilled and charismatic leader. I need an army of five hundred thousand, with which I can defeat the armies my brothers are raising even as we speak. I need Amorr hale and whole. And I need you, Valerius Corvus.”

“Amorr doesn’t have an army of five hundred thousand. I wish it did.”

“I can give you one. With my help, the people will flock to your standards. The opposition will lay down their arms and join you; those who don’t, you will crush yourself.”

“How can you help…?” Corvus’s voice trailed off. His eyes narrowed. “You are saying there is another one of your kind involved with the revolts?”

“It seems likely. Amorr is the great power on Selenoth. Perhaps all the unrest here is simple human intransigence, but I sense a familiar hand behind it. I thought to use the Church because it was less obvious than the Senate, but it seems one of my brothers has been subtler still.”