The First Champion Page 7

  Despite the surprising strength of her feelings for him, Kaiser worried Sorrell. His absolute refusal to give up in the face of hopelessness was one of the things she admired most about him, but when it came to his family, he refused to see reason. At what point did the inability to give ground or find a compromise become a weakness?

  Kaiser was not alone in suffering terrible loss. They all carried their own painful burdens. But he had allowed himself to become so rigid that he would break before he would bend. It was a silly thought, but Sorrell was hurt by the idea that Kaiser would cast her aside the moment her needs infringed on those of his children. He had made it clear by his words and actions that he would sacrifice any of them if it meant saving Tarathine.

  “This is my fault,” Kaiser said. “I should have listened to Mariel. She tried to warn me. I should have found a way to get us out from beneath the headsman’s axe that waits above the neck of every reaver. We could have escaped Northmark. If I’d listened to her, none of this would have happened.”

  Emboldened by their earlier confrontation, and feeling that she had nothing left to lose, Sorrell decided she would not let Kaiser’s statement stand. She could not abide his morose tone.

  “You don’t know that,” Sorrell said. “That’s just wishful thinking on your part. It’s easy to go back and rewrite the past in our memories. But the truth is, it could have been worse, much worse. Or, you might still have ended up here anyway. You’ve no idea how fate works, or how we walk the paths set for us. Perhaps you were always meant to be here, and there’s nothing you could have done to change it.”

  Kaiser looked at her, clearly surprised by the vehemence of her response.

  “I used to think I made my own fate,” Kaiser said. “But this is no fate I’d ever choose. Have I been a fool my whole life? Has my family paid for my ignorance?”

  “You’re no ignorant fool,” Sorrell said, her gaze not wavering from his. “You’ve done the best you could with circumstances that would have destroyed a lesser man. We’ve only made it this far because of you. And if our path takes us into the heart of darkness that Lacrael and Niad claim the Palacostian Empire to be, I’m sure you’ll find a way to survive that as well.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “Because it’s who you are. It’s what you are. You’re allowed to have doubts and moments of weakness, but don’t think for a second that you’ll allow yourself to wallow in them. I know you, and I know what you’re capable of. None of this is your fault, but it is up to you to find your way through it.”

  Kaiser stared into her eyes, and he remained silent for so long that Sorrell began to worry that she had made a grave mistake. The last thing she wanted was to overstep her bounds with Kaiser.

  Finally, Kaiser spoke. “You remind me so much of her.”

  His voice was almost a whisper. To Sorrell’s surprise, he reached over and clasped her hand. His grip was strong, and his touch almost desperate. Sorrell forced herself to squeeze his hand in reassurance. Together, they sat hand-in-hand in the tiny hut in the middle of a desolate desert while Kaiser’s words twisted in her heart like a dagger.

  Chapter 9

  MAZAREEM STOOD ON A high wall and looked out over the sea of miasma. His vantage point provided the illusion of being above the clouds. In the distance, he spotted a disturbance in the mist as something massive passed just below the surface. A blight star, he guessed. He did not know of anything else large enough to produce a wake in the miasma.

  Over the past few days, he had enjoyed a sort of limited freedom. He was able to come and go as he pleased, but he was not able to escape the presence of his honor guard. They followed him everywhere he went. Mazareem had to play the part of a risen one to perfection, lest anyone suspect he was false and the ruse come to an abrupt and painful end.

  It turned out the fortified city was named Candeth, and it was a holding of Dezerath’s family. She was intent on setting out for Orcassus as soon as possible, and she was throwing every bit of her authority and time into organizing the holy procession. They were calling the journey ahead of them a pilgrimage. Mazareem was the divine vessel that would bring them glory. He chuckled to himself. He had played many roles over the last thousand years, but this was a new one for him.

  Despite Dezerath’s confidence, she did not possess all the facts. For one, she had no idea that Mazareem’s trespass had been announced the instant he stepped into this realm. Hunters would be seeking him even now, and he expected them to arrive soon. Today, in fact. Seplica, the elite soldiers of the Palacostian Empire, had a secret method for traversing imperial territory much faster than foot or beast could carry them. If they had set out within hours of Mazareem’s arrival, they should reach Candeth sometime today.

  Mazareem’s gamble was that they had not come to kill him on sight. He could recall nothing of the woman that had cursed him, but the very existence of the curse implied a vindictive effort that went far beyond a desire to see him simply slain. If he was right, this woman would want to gloat over him, probably torture him, before she did something so final as to kill him. He hoped so, at least.

  So he watched and waited above the city’s main gate. He stared into the swirling miasma with distaste. The stuff was volatile, dangerous, and unpredictable in a way that set Mazareem on edge. But they had no choice other than to travel through it. The Palacostian Empire sat in the heart of the Ravening. Only the great walled cities kept the corruption out and the citizens safe. It would take their procession at least ten days to reach Orcassus once they departed. That was plenty of time for something to go horribly wrong in this hostile land.

  A commotion beneath his feet interrupted Mazareem’s dire musings. Someone had appeared from the mist and started pounding on the gate. Their harsh voices carried up to where he was standing, demanding for the door to be opened. His hunters had arrived.

  Nearby, Mazareem’s guards had heard the same. They approached him, eyes cast down in subservience. He turned his attention to them and waited patiently until they stood before him. It would not do for them to detect impatience in his demeanor, and he certainly could not scorn their worship.

  “Forgive us, risen one,” one of the two female guards said. “But it sounds as if seplica from Orcassus are at the gate. We should return to the venerator and see what their arrival portends.”

  “Let it be so,” Mazareem said in his best holy voice.

  He had no idea how an avatar of death would speak or act, but these women seemed to revel in his exaggerated mannerisms. A little voice warned him not to take the act too far. There was a fine line between enthusiasm and caricature.

  With his honor guard in the lead, the three of them descended the long stairway back down to street level. Once in the city proper, Mazareem did his best to move without any semblance of haste. His guards kept glancing over their shoulders, obvious in their desire to reach the Venerator’s Hall as quickly as possible. Neither of them dared speak to ask him to walk faster. Let the seplica wait.

  To demonstrate just how little he was concerned about the visitors from Orcassus, Mazareem stopped at a storefront that faced the street. His guards spun on their heels and marched back to stand on either side of him. They waited impatiently while he inspected the goods on display.

  What he was really looking at were the laborers manning the shop. Here was a rare glimpse of Palacostian men. There were three men, two aged and one young, managing the goods spread out for sale. Each one went about his work, pretending not to notice Mazareem and his two guards. In the back, Mazareem heard the rhythmic clinking of hammer on anvil.

  The men were the backbone of commerce and industry in the empire, producing the goods that the women required. This hard division of the sexes was an odd arrangement, and something about it tickled Mazareem’s memory. But to his frustration, the line of thought ended at the hole in his recollection. The only thing he could conclude was that the woman that cursed him wanted the empire to function this way.


  “Risen one, we must make haste,” one of the tomb keepers said behind him.

  “The beating of your heart screams at you that time is short; your own blood is the sand in an hourglass that will soon run dry,” Mazareem said. “For the dead, there is only eternity. The glass is empty and the heart silent.”

  Mazareem could not see the reaction his words produced, but he relished the thought of confusion and consternation on their faces. He heard their armored feet shuffle on the cobblestone street.

  After a long moment of waiting to see if they would speak, Mazareem turned around. “But for the living, the immediacy of the present demands allegiance. Very well, let us attend to the venerator.”

  His guards looked relieved. They set out for the center hall at a brisk pace, which Mazareem matched this time. Behind them, he did not fail to notice that the men looked up only when they thought he and the women would not see.

  Outside the venerator’s hall, a crowd was already forming. Word of new arrivals spread fast in a city where they were rare. Unexpected visitors from the miasma were unheard of, and official seplica from Orcassus were unprecedented. Judging by the snippets of conversation Mazareem overheard, it had never happened.

  The throng parted to let Mazareem and his guards pass through into the venerator’s hall. Every mouth went silent and every eye turned toward him as he walked through their midst. Mazareem was not sure what he should do, so he acted as if he was above their attention. They seemed to approve of this.

  Inside, the hall was packed. The only open space remaining was in front of Dezerath’s throne. Four armored soldiers stood before the throne. Their armor was ornate, in the same style of the tomb keepers, but incorporating a reinforced pack on their back. Tubes ran from this pack to the faces of their closed helmets. Three of them remained helmeted, while the fourth stood facing Dezerath with her helmet tucked beneath her left arm.

  Mazareem’s sudden appearance interrupted what appeared to have been a heated exchange between Dezerath and the leader of the newcomers.

  “Ah, here he is in the flesh,” Dezerath said, hand raised to gesture Mazareem forward. Her raised voice boomed in the great room. “Come forward, risen one, and inform these usurpers of my glory that they’re not welcome here.”

  The quartet of seplica turned to observe Mazareem’s approach. His honor guard hung back, and he advanced towards the throne alone. The unhelmeted woman stared at him with eyes as hard as diamond. Without a doubt, this woman knew Mazareem was false.

  Mazareem climbed the steps to stand next to Dezerath. He turned to face the room, one hand on the back of the venerator’s throne of bone.

  “I am Pynel, of the empress’s seplica,” the unhelmeted soldier said. “I have come to collect the risen one in her name and return him to Orcassus with all haste.”

  Mazareem blinked as he tried to unscramble her words. She spoke the empress's name, but his mind could not grasp the sound, and it left a blank that he had to fill in himself. That effort made the rest of her statement difficult to comprehend. He grasped onto a piece of concrete information. She was seplica. Elite of the elite amongst the tomb keepers. The Orcassian royal guard.

  “As always, Orcassus wants all the glory for itself,” Dezerath said. “But you’re too late. The risen one has invoked the rite of oblation, and he chose me as his vessel. Not even the empress herself can defy the ancient rites. I will travel to Orcassus and undergo the rite myself. Now scurry back the way you came and report your failure.”

  Pynel’s uncompromising gaze found Mazareem’s. “Is what she says the truth?”

  “I have chosen Venerator Dezerath, as is my right as one who has returned from the grave,” Mazareem said. “Who are you to question my will?”

  “And you know what the rite of oblation requires?” Pynel asked, her question directed at Dezerath.

  “Do you expect to find fear here?” Dezerath said. Her tone was defiant, and she sat straight backed and rigid on her throne.

  Pynel contemplated this for a moment before turning to confer with her companions. They conducted a hushed conference beneath the gaze of Mazareem, Dezerath, and the gathered crowd. Their muted voices were the only sound in the great hall.

  Finally, with a nod to the other seplica, Pynel turned back to Dezerath. “It’s not what we anticipated, but it seems events are already in motion that cannot be stopped. One of my number will return to Orcassus to report. The other two will stay with me. We’ll escort you on your pilgrimage to the capital.”

  Dezerath seemed to have been anticipating this answer. She surged to her feet the instant Pynel stopped speaking.

  “You’ll do no such thing!” Dezerath said. “I’ll not have my glory stolen and my legacy tarnished. Do you take me for a fool? If we arrive in Orcassus with a seplica escort, the story will be that we arrived with the empress's blessing. But I’ll not share this honor. The risen one chose me! He ascended in a crypt that’s been in my family for generations. He didn’t choose Orcassus or any other city. Let the empress stew in her jealousy. This triumph is mine and mine alone!”

  Pynel weathered Dezerath’s outburst without flinching. Her implacable gaze never faltered. Mazareem suspected that Dezerath had misjudged her opponent. The young venerator was no match for the battle-hardened seplica.

  “The ancient rites are sacrosanct, no one can deny this,” Pynel said. Her voice could have cut stone. “But those rites only exist because the empress upholds their sanctity. Without her blessing, your glory is naught but vanity. You will submit to my decision, or you’ll step down from that throne and show this crowd if there’s steel behind your bluster.”

  To emphasize her point, Pynel rested a gauntleted hand on the hilt of her sword.

  Too late, Dezerath realized she had gone too far. Now, she had no choice but to stand down and lose prestige in the eyes of those gathered to watch the confrontation. This would weaken Mazareem’s position once they reached Orcassus, so he decided to act. What was one more wager, when he was already all in?

  “You speak as if I’m still a prisoner of the grave,” Mazareem said. He let his voice drop so that it filled the space. Pynel’s eyes widened in surprise at his sudden interruption. “You trade words with the living and not once give thought to consulting the dead and returned.”

  Murmurs rippled through the crowd, and heads nodded as Mazareem spoke. He took this as indication that his intuition had been correct. The ancient rites might be a sham, but these people believed in them enough to kill and die for the perceived glory.

  Mazareem descended the steps, his pace slow and deliberate. He stopped in front of Pynel. It seemed like the entire room was holding its breath in anticipation of his next words.

  “Venerator Dezerath is young and zealous,” Mazareem said. “Who of you doesn’t remember the passion of youth? We should forgive her if she oversteps her bounds. She knows that her glory is my glory, and what honor she claims is a reflection of my own. Do not mistake her zeal for pride.”

  Mazareem paused. Pynel watched him with calculating eyes. She sensed the trap he was laying for her.

  “Tell me, Seplica,” Mazareem continued. “Whom do you seek to glorify: me or this woman you call empress?”

  He almost choked on the title. Even alluding to the woman hidden from his memory caused him pain.

  Pynel’s jaw muscles clenched as she gritted her teeth. Behind her, the crowd waited expectantly for her answer.

  “Of course, we come to honor you, risen one,” Pynel finally said. “We only seek to ensure that the proper forms and rituals are obeyed. Will the venerator allow us this? The glory will be all hers, we merely wish to assist in getting you to Orcassus safely. The Ravening is a dangerous place. It doesn’t discriminate between the living and the dead.”

  The crowd relaxed. Mazareem sensed the tension drain out of the room.

  “Certainly, you may accompany my procession,” Mazareem said. “But you will defer in all things to my chosen one, Venerator Dezerath. Do
you submit to my will in this?”

  Pynel’s eyes flared, but she inclined her head. “As you wish, risen one.”

  Mazareem turned towards Dezerath. He was surprised to see that she had the presence of mind to be relieved. Perhaps she was not so young and foolish after all.

  “Is this arrangement to your approval?” Mazareem asked Dezerath.

  “I find it acceptable, risen one,” Dezerath said.

  “Then we’re of one accord. Let us put this matter behind us. Seplica Pynel, you may send your soldier to report. After that, please assist Dezerath in preparing for the journey.”

  The matter concluded, the crowd began to disperse. Mazareem suspected they would be discussing this for weeks to come. Pynel dispatched one of her soldiers to travel back to Orcassus, and Dezerath came down from her throne to return to arranging the upcoming pilgrimage. She stalked from the hall, her furious pace the only hint at her mood.

  Mazareem separated himself from his honor guard and went to the nearby quarters that had been set aside for him. He was not physically tired, but he needed to be alone for a time. Keeping up the constant act, while amusing, was proving to be mentally wearisome.

  He had not been in the room for more than five minutes before a sharp knock came from the door. It had to be Pynel. She was not the sort of woman to let what just happened rest. Sure enough, when Mazareem opened the door, he was greeted by Pynel’s scowl. He stepped aside and let the woman in.

  Pynel inspected the room to make sure they were alone before she spoke. When she did, all pretense of respect for his divinity had vanished.

  “I know what you are,” Pynel said.

  “I’m many things,” Mazareem said. “Specifically, to which are you referring?”

  “Drop the act. You and I both know you’re not undead. I don’t know how you duped this entire city into believing it, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve only delayed the inevitable. All roads lead to Orcassus. We’ll arrive later than desired, but there’s no escaping your fate.”