The Elder Blood Chronicles Bk 1 In Shades of Grey (9 page)

He gave a snort of amusement. “The Fionaveir
in Sanctuary? Not bloody likely. Not those two at any rate. There
may be a couple in the city, but none that you will notice.”

“The what? I don’t know that word.”

“Fionaveir, it’s an order. I suppose that’s
what you would call it. Order, a group of people all following one
particular goal. In the case of the Fionaveir, it’s the pursuit of
justice despite what the law has to say on the matter. I believe
most call the sort Vigilantes.” He watched her expression and
nodded. “Yes, I do believe I see your understanding. The Hall of
the Justicars lies in Sanctuary. So a large group of vigilantes
would be doing good to stay far away from the city lest they find
themselves in a hangman’s noose. This, in the case of the Elder
Bloods, wouldn’t do much more than annoy them. It takes more than a
noose to kill an Immortal.

“So, I shouldn’t ask anyone about them
either,” she added with a sigh.
So much for hiring a mage to
locate them if she ever needed help.

“Exactly, you shouldn’t mention them and you
shouldn’t mention where you are really from. Both would be bad. If
asked, say you are from Bliss. For the most part, it won’t be a
lie. You’ve spent more of your life here than you did in
Merro.”

“Why would it matter where I was from? Merro
doesn’t even exist anymore. It’s a wasteland. No one even calls it
Merro anymore they call it the Southern Wastes. And why would
anyone but a peasant be from Bliss?” She demanded.

“Everyone from Merro is supposed to be dead,
so let them all stay dead for a while longer. You will know when
it’s time to tell your secrets. Until then, be the Temple girl from
Bliss. As far as the peasant part goes, you won’t act, dress, or
look like a peasant. So they will be asking themselves that very
same question why would someone other than a peasant claim to be
from Bliss. It adds a nice little bit of mystery.” His tone was
gentle but firm, and she nodded her agreement, though she still
didn’t understand.

“Why do they call themselves that? Fionaveir
is an odd name. My father was one of them wasn’t he? I mean Havoc
and Victory said he was, but you would know the truth of it,
right?”

Fortune nodded slowly and seemed to consider
his words before he spoke. “He was, and a very good one at that. He
retired with honors and the blessings of their leaders. Most
Fionaveir do not retire. Most find death in service, but your
father was an exception. He found love rather than death. Saved a
merchant’s girl and ended up married.” He took another drag off his
cigarette and shrugged. “Don’t suppose it can hurt to tell you of
them and it will save you from asking others.”

He paused again and she settled back awaiting
his words. He was about to explain what had been a mystery to her
as long as she could remember. She tried to hide her eagerness for
the story as he cleared his throat and began in a soft clear
voice.

“Fiona Veirasha was a Justicar about three
hundred years ago. The order had been formed some time before she
became a member. Despite how all believe it represents Justice, it
actually provides a shield against Justice to the High Lords. The
laws have loopholes, you see, and Justicars must have permission
before they can enter a High Lord’s land. The only place they have
full authority is the heart of Sanctuary, and few High Lords break
laws in that particular area. So by the time Fiona joined up, the
Order of Justicars was rather corrupt. Upon seeing this, she began
to try to cleanse it. Over the course of a few years, she had
gained a reputation as well as the love of the High Commander of
the Justicars himself. He respected her for her efforts, and helped
her where he could. For the most part, the laws had his hands tied,
though, and he refused to break the law, despite her pleas for true
Justice. And while she had gained his love she had at the same time
gained the hatred of several very important people. It wasn’t long
after she had married the High Commander that she was framed and
arrested. She had gained too much power in that marriage, though
she had not married for power. The crimes they claimed she had
committed were heinous ones and the charges could not be ignored.”
He paused in the story and took another drag from his cigarette.
His expression was disgusted as if the story left a bad taste in
his mouth. Jala leaned forward in her seat silently, willing him to
continue.

He gave her a slight nod and in a quieter
voice spoke again. “For the first time ever, her husband, the Lord
Commander, offered to break the law. He pleaded with her to run,
and swore that he would prevent them from following. She refused
him, saying, if it would remove his blinders to what the Justicars
really were, she would pay the price gladly.” He paused again
looking a bit pained and cleared his throat before he
continued.

“He prayed often throughout the trial that
she would relent and take his offer to flee. In the end, despite
evidence otherwise, she was found guilty and sentenced to death.
Once again, he begged her to flee and once again she refused. If
nothing else, the Veirasha Bloodline is well known for their
stubbornness, and Fiona was a perfect example of her Bloodline.
When she set her mind, nothing in this world could change it.

On the day of the execution, only one of the
High Lords that had demanded her death was present. He stood beside
the judge who had sentenced her and watched as the High Commander
led his wife onto the dais for execution before the whole of the
city. Normally, there is an executioner for these things, but the
High Lord refused to have one. Saying, if it must be done, he would
do it, so he knew the blow fell true and she did not suffer.

She stood before him with no malice and
kissed him firmly before the city and all the gods. ‘I love you
Caspian, and I know you do as you feel you must. Twice you have
asked me to run, and both times I have refused you. Had I accepted
that offer you would always have a part of yourself that hated me
for forcing you to sacrifice your honor. If my death is what it
takes to open your eyes, then I accept that. Do not let my death be
in vain, Love. See them for what they are, all of them. See what
corruption you feed with your loyalty and duty. See how they abuse
your honor, and remember how I tried to preserve it.’ And with
those words spoken she knelt and pulled her long raven hair from
her neck and offered her life to him. Many in the crowd thought he
would disobey. I think I would have in his place. But Caspian, the
High Commander, did not. With tears showing clearly in his eyes, he
drew his sword and removed his beloved wife’s head with one clean
stroke. With her blood still fresh on the blade, he turned to the
High Lord and the Judge and removed the pin of office from his
cloak. They watched him in confusion as his pristine white cloak
dropped to the bloodstained ground. He tossed the pin at their feet
and stared at them with open contempt. ‘I have performed my last
duty of office as I have been commanded. That is the last command
you will ever give me. My eyes are open now, and I see you for the
creatures you truly are. Her death was not in vain, and the price
for my ignorance was far too high.’

The words had no sooner left his mouth, than
his sword was in motion again. Yet again another head was removed
with one fell stroke of that gleaming blade. The judge stared in
horror at the fallen High Lord and his voice shrilled above the
shock of the crowd as he screamed for guards. None came though, as
all stood frozen in disbelief. ‘You live for now,’ Caspian said to
the judge, pointing a finger at the man’s chest. ‘Mend your ways
and you may continue to live. Remember that it is justice you
serve, not the High Lords. I spare you in this, not for any love of
you, but because I, too, blindly served them. I give you the same
chance she gave me, without near the cost.’ With that said, he
turned his back on the man, as if he were no longer even there. His
eyes fell to Fiona’s body, and he dropped to his knee lightly and
ran a finger through her blood. He spoke words then, so soft no one
in the crowd could hear what he said. Many claimed that he begged
for her forgiveness, but no one truly knows. With a shaking hand,
he traced a line across his own wrist leaving a red smear on his
flesh. The blood sank into his skin where it touched, leaving a
scarlet line. Thus, marked, he would always remember what honor and
ignorance had cost him.

With tears still open on his face he gathered
Fiona’s remains into his blood soaked cloak and slowly stood. He
stared out over the crowds and met the eyes of those that would
look at him. ‘From this day forward, be it Lord or beggar, none
will be spared justice before my eyes and only the guilty will ever
feel the blade of my sword again. I swear this on my wife’s blood.’
Caspian spoke the words loudly and clearly for all gathered to
hear. When he left Sanctuary that day, many of his Justicars
followed him. One by one they cast off their white cloaks and pins
of office and joined Caspian as he left the service of the High
Lords. To this day, they mark their arms with tattoos to signify
when they have achieved some good for the world, despite the law,
and to this day, they call themselves after the woman who died to
open their eyes.” He was silent for a long while after the telling
and simply sat there staring at the bench in front of him.

“So my father was a Justicar at one time?”
she asked at last.

“No. He joined long after Caspian led the
first Fionaveir from Sanctuary. All Fionaveir hate the Justicars
though. They see them as more of an obstruction of justice than
what they actually claim to be,” he replied. All of his smiles had
vanished with the telling, and he seemed entirely somber.

“I’m sorry; I didn’t realize the story would
upset you,” she spoke quietly.

“It’s not the story, it’s the memory. A story
would be far more bardic in the telling. That telling was about as
short as I could make it. As I said before all the gods were there.
I was there that day. I saw the pain in Caspian’s eyes. I watched
her innocent blood spill. We all have unpleasant memories, Jala.”
He gave her a weak smile and shrugged. “And they never get any
easier to talk about, no matter how long you wait.” He stood
slowly. “One last thing before I go, do you have your ship
pass?”

She gave a slight nod and fished her pass
from her cloak pocket and handed it to him. He looked down at it
and frowned then calmly ripped it in half.

“Wait, I need that!” Her objection came too
late, and she watched in dismay as the first of the two pieces
fluttered to the floor. He pulled another envelope from his own
jacket and handed it over to her. It was plain white with the word
Quicksilver
written in elegant script on its back.

“That’s a better ship, and you will have an
easier voyage on it,” he said.

She stared down at the envelope and looked up
to thank him and found the room empty.

“My dear, Jala, there you are.” Father
Belson’s voice came quietly from behind her, and she jumped half an
inch at the sound of it. She had forgotten he was even in the room.
She quickly masked her dismay with a smile and moved to give him a
hug.

“Gretchen says the coach will be here anytime
and that I best make my goodbyes hasty,” she said quietly. “Thank
you for all you have done for me. I will miss you and the Temple
more than I can say.” She felt her eyes mist a bit, and he smiled
at her.

“There now, child, you will be back before
you know it. We will miss you too while you are gone and we will
pray for you often.” He kissed her lightly on the cheek and patted
her on the arm to reassure her. She smiled again and hoped he
couldn’t see the truth in her eyes. From the conversation she had
just had, she wasn’t sure she would ever see this Temple again.

The heavy oaken door swung open with a groan.
It wasn’t quite fitted right on its hinges, and Victory had to put
his shoulder into it to get it to move at all. Light crept out from
the room beyond, the pale flickering light of candles and torches,
rather than the steadier more reliable glow of a mage light. The
air smelled strongly of it, all smoke and damp earth. He could hear
voices within, talking low and hushed, and from the sound of it,
more than he had expected. A heavy thud sounded behind him as Havoc
pushed the rough door back into place and stepped up beside
him.

“From the sound of it, we are the last,”
Havoc murmured. Victory gave a slight nod in answer and stepped out
of the alcove into the room beyond. For a moment, the room went
silent. He scanned the room quickly, taking note of who was in
attendance. Caspian sat in his battered armor at a table stacked
high with paperwork that appeared to be partially sorted. His thick
blond hair was pulled back severely, and his expression was one of
distaste. He didn’t even glance up from the letter he currently
read as they entered.

To his right sat Lutheron, the second in
command. He was dressed as dark as his reputation and looked as
though he had planned for a funeral rather than a council meeting.
Lutheron showed no interest in the stack of papers and watched
those in the room instead. His sharp features were expressionless
as he surveyed the room, giving no indication of his thoughts.
Victory tried to ignore the crawling sensation Lutheron’s dark gaze
left on him, and quickly looked past the man.

Standing just beyond him at another raised
table stood Caspian’s wife Faramir, and across from her was
Symphony. Victory raised an eyebrow at the last, the first three
were senior members of the Fionaveir, and their presence was
expected at any meeting. Symphony, however, was not even a member.
She lived in the Fionahold under Caspian’s protection, but nothing
more. As if sensing his confusion, the young woman looked up at him
and smiled. Her gold eyes seemed to catch the torchlight, and for a
brief moment, they held a glow.