The Record of the Saints Caliber (93 page)

Erygion took the book back and set it on the table. “We’re relics of a bygone age, Nuriel. Even you, as young as you are. We’re out of time.”

“I won’t believe that.” said Nuriel. “As long as there are stars in the sky, we still have a chance.”

Erygion gazed upon Nuriel. “Then reconsider. Go back to Duroton. Go back to Isley and Celacia. Work with them.”

“Never.” said Nuriel. “I believe in Holy Father.”

“You’ve been out there.” said Erygion. “You’ve seen what it’s like. You’ve seen the corruption, the depravity of the Kings and their Exalteds. How can you tell me you still believe in anything? Tell me Nuriel, the Infernals you killed, they weren’t just Infernals, were they? They were something else, weren’t they? Something on a frail leash held by King Gatima?”

“How did you…”

“You’re not the only one with secrets, Nuriel.” said Erygion. “So tell me, Sanctuary knew about it, didn’t they?”

“No.” said Nuriel. “They didn’t…they
don’t
.”

Erygion huffed. “You really don’t think they knew that Behemoth Kraken was an Infernal? And what about this new one I hear, Leviathan Hydra I believe they are calling her.”

“After I killed him, me and Hadraniel went back to Gatimaria to report.” said Nuriel. “We both made a pact to keep quiet about it, to pretend that Kraken was killed by the Infernals. Me and Hadraniel watched the reaction of King Gatima and the Oracle when we told them. Gatima knew. I could see it in his fat face. When we told him that Kraken had been killed by the Infernals, he knew we were lying, and he knew that we knew. But the Oracle, he didn’t. There was no way. Neither me nor Hadraniel believe that Sanctuary knew about it. When I’m back in Jerusa, I’ll be keeping a close eye on Gatima.”

Nuriel looked past Erygion, to the shelves of Sanguinastrums. “If Sanctuary knew, don’t you think they would have recalled Hadraniel? Wouldn’t they have tried to recall me?”

“Perhaps.” said Erygion. “Perhaps not, if it suits their need. Maybe they figure you and Hadraniel knowing about it helps keep Gatima in check. Maybe they figure—”

“I
will
keep him in check. And just because some are evil, does not mean all are.” said Nuriel. “And I’ll never believe that Holy Father could be a part of any of that.”

Erygion crossed his arms and stared at Nuriel for a moment. He held out her Sanguinastrum. “Take it back, Nuriel. Trust me on this.”

“No.” said Nuriel. “I’m done with all of that.”

Erygion exhaled loudly and walked over to the shelf. He took down Nuriel’s fake Sanguinastrum and placed her real one back on the shelf. He held the fake between his fingers and looked at Nuriel as he dropped it.

It hit the floor with a tiny crash that made Nuriel cringe. For a moment she was certain she would be consumed by her armor. Nuriel looked back at Erygion. “How many of those are fakes? How many Saints know about this? About what you’re doing?”

“There are a few.” said Erygion. “A
very
few.” He walked back over to Nuriel.

“Do we have a deal?” asked Nuriel.

“You’re going to forget all this?” asked Erygion, doubtfully.

“I’m forgetting everything I know up to the point I leave this room.” said Nuriel. “Anything I find out after that, and me and you might have to have words.”

Erygion sighed. “I’ll teach you.” said Erygion. “For Karinael’s sake. She’s a good girl. I’ll be glad to see her out in the field.”

“That makes one of us.” said Nuriel. “So, it can be done? Will I be able to bolster her Caliber enough that she isn’t killed by the armor? Can I do it without her or anybody else knowing?”

“Probably.” said Erygion. “It’s never been done to help somebody wear Star-Armor, at least to my knowledge. If it works, it’s going to be tiring for you, and you’ll have to do it for a few days until she fully syncs with the armor. If you can give her enough to last two or three days, I imagine she’ll be fine.”

Nuriel puffed. More doubts to shadow her roads. “Understood.”

“Promise me something though.” said Erygion.

“What?” asked Nuriel.

“Watch out for her.” he said. “She’s a good girl. You know that. We need her out there. We need more like her out there. I once thought you were one of them.”

Nuriel frowned. “The Holy Few believe she will betray Sanctuary. That she will betray Admael. Believe me, I will be watching her.”

Erygion cast Nuriel a level look. “They said the same about you.”

Nuriel looked away.

“Do you believe she will?” asked Erygion.

Nuriel pursed her lips. “I don’t know.”

“You watch out for her.” said Erygion.

Nuriel looked at him. “I’ll do what I can for her. But after this, I’m done with secrets. I’m done betraying Sanctuary.”

— 24 —

A CHANGE OF HANDS

The afternoon sun was subdued by gray clouds, casting the council room in dreary light. The gaslamps on the wall were all turned up, but Isley thought their yellow-green light only made the room seem even more gloomy. Isley had become accustomed to wearing a black shroud over his armor whenever he was away from the church, and he stood patiently beside Lord Egret in it now. It was a piece of wardrobe he found completely unnecessary, though he wore it without complaint only because Lord Egret asked him to. He supposed life in Duroton required him to observe certain customs, no matter how ridiculous they seemed. He also supposed it was a small price to pay, considering he was enjoying himself here. Well, except for the reading and writing. He still hated all that and found it even less necessary than the shroud. But Isley had come to respect Lord Egret and even considered him a friend at this point, so he endured the petty torments that observing Duroton’s customs and learning to read and write brought. Isley sighed. Council meetings were another one of those torments he hated. Possibly even more than reading and writing.

As they waited for Balin to bring the Council to order, Isley couldn’t help but notice the lack of idle chit-chat amongst the Councilmen. They were all present, save for King Dagrir, but not even Balin or Gefjon made any smalltalk. The old man, Rankin Parvailes, was in his red robes looking quite dour as he absently toyed with his abacus. Gefjon, Jord, Aldur and the others all sat around the table looking down at the papers and documents before them, though Isley could see that none of them were actually reading or doing anything other than just sitting there quietly. Even Balin just sat at the head of the table, lost in personal thoughts. Even though he and Egret were rarely invited, Isley had become accustomed to the mood and mannerisms of the Council, and he could feel a tension in the room.

The door opened and Lord Tarquin entered, his black shroud flowing like shadows around him in the breeze of the door. He said nothing and didn’t even acknowledge Lord Egret or Balin with so much as a polite bow. Isley’s silver eyes tracked him as he made his way to the far end of the table, taking a place standing in a dimly lit corner of the room. There was nothing odd about his bitter expression, permanent scowl or piercing eyes. The man always looked put off and in the mood for a fight. But there was something about the way he stood away from the light and the way his black shroud hung over his body that was just not right.

Balin stood up from his seat and began calling the Council to order, but Isley kept his gaze fixed on Tarquin. There was definitely something off about him; definitely something not quite right. Isley focused on the man’s stance and the way the shroud fell over his body. It was something about the way it draped over his shoulders…and hung differently on his left side. Isley’s eyes narrowed as he came to a sudden realization.

Tarquin’s eyes shifted and locked with Isley’s. He nodded slightly to Isley, but Isley kept his eyes locked on him. He saw Tarquin shift on his feet, uncomfortable with the gaze. Isley gestured at Tarquin’s left side with a slight nod from his head. Tarquin simply broke his gaze.

Balin brought the formalities of calling the Council to order to an end. With a sigh, he added, “So, with that out of the way, let’s get right down to business, shall we?”

“Where is Celacia?” asked Isley, his eyes still locked on Tarquin. He could feel all the Councilmen’s eyes turn to him, could feel the abrupt stop in Balin’s momentum.

“I’m sorry?” asked Balin.

“Where is Celacia?” asked Isley again, his eyes still on Tarquin.

Tarquin scowled back and returned a hard gaze.

Balin turned his head and followed Isley’s line of sight to Lord Tarquin. He turned back around. “I’m sorry, Saint Isley, I was not aware you had been appointed Standing Speaker of today’s Council?”

Isley would never understand council room etiquette. It seemed so petty and trite. At that moment he decided once and for all that he really did hate council meetings even more than his language studies. “Forgive me.” said Isley. “I forget that this Council hears only answers to questions it asks.”

A few of the Councilmen cleared their throats and shook their heads. From the corner of his eye Isley could see the smirk on Lord Egret’s face. Isley realized that he was something of an amusement to Lord Egret, even though he never meant to be. Isley just could not wrap his mind around some of these Durotonian ideas and customs, such as proper meeting etiquette. Seemed to Isley that more would be accomplished if everybody could just speak their mind and be done with it.

“I will have Saint Isley review council etiquette.” said Egret. “Again.”

Balin sighed, thoroughly unamused. “If it’s alright with Saint Isley, I would like to proceed?”

Isley tilted his head in a nod. “My apologies, sire.” Now he was just being surly. Isley knew that in Duroton the word ‘sire’ was only used for addressing royalty. Nobles, such as the Councilmen, were to be addressed as ‘lord’.

Balin puffed and pursed his lips up in a frown. His dark eyes fell on Isley. “Actually, Celacia is the topic of today’s meeting. We were hoping you might know her whereabouts?”

Isley regarded Balin for a moment. “No.” His eyes shifted to look past Balin to Lord Tarquin. The man seemed to be getting quite upset with his stares, but Isley really didn’t care. “But I am willing to bet Lord Tarquin knows a thing or two.”

Tarquin’s lips turned up in a snarl. He took a step forward out of his corner, growling a curse to Isley about how he wasn’t going to tolerate being stared at like some sort of abomination.

“Your lieutenant is out of line,” said Balin, looking at Lord Egret. “Need I remind you that we are in Council?”

Isley felt Egret’s hand fall upon his shoulder. “Saint Isley,” said Egret. “Fall to order, please.”

Isley’s eyes narrowed at Tarquin, but he nodded his consent. “Forgive me, Lord Egret.”

Balin blew out a breath and shook his head. He looked at Isley. “Lord Tarquin says you were the last to see her. We’re hoping you might shed some light on where she may have gone? As you know, she has not been seen in two-weeks.”

“She only told me she was going away for a while.” said Isley, looking at Balin. “She would not tell me where she was going, and she would not tell me for how long.” His eyes shifted back to Tarquin. “But I believe Lord Tarquin was actually the last person to see her.”

Balin turned and looked at Tarquin and the two seemed to exchange some unspoken words. Balin nodded at him and Tarquin scowled. Lord Tarquin stepped out from the corner, and with his right hand, through off his shroud. He was in his black armor with the gray spirals painted up his right arm. His entire left arm was missing at the shoulder. His blue eyes locked on Isley and seemed to smolder.

“Lord Tarquin,” said Egret. “Were you attacked by Celacia? When did this happen?”

“Two weeks ago. The bitch took my arm,” he spat. “She grabbed me. Withered it. The Jinn had to amputate the entire thing.”

Balin looked at Isley and Egret. “As you can see, the subject of Celacia has become rather dire.”

“Why would Celacia attack you, Lord Tarquin?” asked Egret.

Tarquin’s stormy eyes shifted to Egret. “She demanded the Mard Grander. I told her where to stick it.”

Isley turned to Egret. “He’s lying.”

Tarquin snarled. “What did you say?” he spat, stepping closer. From the light of one of the gaslamps Isley could see that the skin on the left side of Tarquin’s face was yellowed and grayed in sickly looking patches.