Chapter 17

The man, escorted by two Ibanee guards into the captain’s cabin aboard the Storm’s Bride, didn’t look particularly impressive. He was of middle-age, short, obese and his hairline was receding, but his clothes were of exquisite quality. Luwani var Dosha was satisfied with the man’s appearance and dismissed the guards.

“Greetings to you, Warlord Thar’Haghanosh. Take a seat, please,” she offered.

“Your Royal Highness,” the Warlord of the Silent Hand bowed and greeted before taking the proffered seat. “I’m accustomed to meeting your son, Agon, so it’s a pleasure to finally make the acquaintance of the beautiful and famous var Dosha family matriarch. I wonder to which lucky circumstance I owe this honor.”

“My son spoke the truth of you; you are a genuine businessman,” Luwani responded while gracing him with a smile. “You do not waste any time, coming straight to the point of this meeting. I recently discovered most convoluted developments endanger the peace in Aloria,” she continued when the Warlord was seated. “I can’t just stand by and watch the peace being disrupted when so many of our people have suffered and even died to secure it. The danger to peace and prosperity for both of our homelands has to be eliminated. I am distressed the life of an innocent once again will have to be sacrificed for the greater good of our countries but it’s an unalterable necessity nonetheless.”

Luwani var Dosha paused her explanation at this point to intently watch her counterpart’s reaction but the warlord’s expression didn’t give away any feelings.

“I don’t know how versed you are in the history of the Alorian Empire, nor if you’re interested in politics at all, but the problem I need you to eliminate is of utmost importance,” she continued. “If we hesitate and waste what little time we have, irreparable damage may be caused by it. Trustworthy sources revealed to me that a daughter of Callandrea Rossano’Shenta survived the massacre the Yorak committed among her family,” the Queen related firmly. “This should be a reason to praise the gods for a miracle and a cause to celebrate; that it is not, greatly saddens me and imposes upon me a heavy burden. A Rossano’Shenta daughter ascending the Alorian Empire’s throne once again will undoubtedly cause a war. A war in which every nation along the waters of the Ewu will become involved and the fires of war will further escalate, unstoppable. Ibanee certainly will take part in this war and even the Yorak might return to these lands. I’ll do everything in my power to prevent this from happening; Sybelien Rossano’Shenta must die before it’s too late.”

“To begin with, I want to reassure you I am familiar with the history of Aloria and especially with the Yorak raid on Katerra,” Thar’Haghanosh replied. “I was in Katerra when it happened. I saw the fires and the ruins. I saw the corpses of my slaughtered compatriots littering the streets, and many of my family were among them. My father was an official of the Alorian Empire, tasked to supervise the paving of Katerra’s roads. He wasn’t very important but he was proud of his work. He died the night the Yorak breached Katerra’s walls. He never had and didn’t know how to fight, but he died defending the gates of the White Citadel while the Alorian army fled Katerra.”

The Warlord of the Silent Hand rose from his chair and walked toward the cabin door, where he turned and looked at Luwani var Dosha.

“I thank you, your Royal Highness. The same as you, I recently heard Sybelien Rossano’Shenta survived. Even more, I received an offer to support her ascendance to the Alorian throne. I wasn’t sure how to think about the offer until you talked to me just now. Now I know.”

Sandrovan Thar’Haghanosh said and then he left.

Anjatta and Agon var Dosha stood on the deck of the Storm’s Bride and watched the Warlord of the Silent Hand leaving the captain’s cabin.

“You said you wouldn’t help mother to kill the girl but you sent the assassins’ warlord to her,” Anjatta remarked with a frown.

Agon nodded. “I did and I’m certain it won’t help her at all,” he replied with a smug smile on his face. “Despite his profession, Thar’Haghanosh is a man of honor. He wouldn’t take a job requesting of him to kill a little girl. Furthermore, he is a member of the Midnight Council and Sybil Ghyssa, or Sybelien Rossano’Shenta as the case may be, belongs to Jorsha Sammon, another member of the Midnight Council; they don’t take orders to kill each other. So the truth is, I did mother a great disservice. The Midnight Council now knows of her plan to kill the girl and they protect their members.”

“I hope your prediction holds also true for ex-members of the Midnight Council,” Anjatta replied. “Sybelien left the services of Jorsha Sammon. Just like your sister, she pledged her life to the Nameless Son.”

Agon looked down and slowly shook his head. “I had hoped it was something you said to tease mother but she seemed to be delighted about it,” he replied. “Do you seriously believe this Jabbit who came aboard our ship is a god?”

Whereas Agon looked down, Anjatta looked up at the sky as she answered his question. “People believe in gods because they can’t explain the world without them. Why is the sun wandering across the sky every day but vanishes beyond the horizon when the night approaches? Because Osandra, the Goddess of the Sun and Light, is fleeing from her dark suitor Collabraz, the God of the Moon and Darkness, who is forever chasing her; if he ever will catch her, day will become night ... until she can escape his clutches again. That’s what Jabbit does for me - he explains my world; a world which wouldn’t make any sense to me without him.”

Agon had no ready reply for his sister’s declaration but was absolved from the burden to find one by their approaching mother. The sunny sky darkened as a thunderhead in the guise of Luwani var Dosha strode towards them.

“Congratulations you two,” their mother hissed. “It seems there is no one in this gods-forsaken city ... nor on this ship,” she added glaring at her children. “Who understands what needs to be done. The girl will live but I wonder if you two will still feel as smug when many thousands die because of it. I sent a message to my ally Golan Mandorak, the King of Isostres, to mobilize his army and we’ll return to Ibanee, where I’ll convince my good brother Hassunabi to do the same. Katerra will be burning again because a little girl was rescued today.”

Anjatta’s fingers played with the pendant at her necklace as she looked at her mother. “Your scholars named them the ‘Relics of Power’,” she replied, her voice tight. “He called them a debt which has to be paid. I never had to question who knew the truth. You’re right, mother, the blood-toll due on this debt is very high and it has to be paid in full.”

“We cannot leave immediately,” Agon intervened while his sister and mother glared at each other. “The provisions on the ship need to be replaced. It’ll take two more days before we can leave Katerra.”

“Good,” Anjatta commented. “It gives me time to warn my new friends of your plans, mother.”

“You’ll stay on this ship!” Luwani commanded.

“No - I’m not your prisoner,” Anjatta replied. “I go where and whenever I want to go!”

“Agon!” Luwani started.

She fell silent when she saw her son already shaking his head. Wordlessly but fuming, she stormed off, returning to the captain’s cabin.

“We found them at the crossing between Sinners Descent and Holy Man’s Turnaround. The dead bodies of my brethren were so horrendously maimed we hardly could recognize them as human remains ... and the worst of the mutilation wasn’t caused by scavengers but by those who murdered them,” the Untar of the Bhansun reported.

The High Priest sat behind his redwood desk. He looked up from the parchment he studied and watched the man standing before him. Ashun Kal’Thys face was hidden within the shadows of his large hood but the High Priest knew his countenance. He tried to imagine how that face would look like contorted by anger.

“My heartfelt condolences,” the High Priest sympathized. “I presume Princess Rhaseris wasn’t among the dead. Any ideas regarding her present whereabouts?”

“This morning, Evanis Danjala and a group of men were spotted marching towards the Temple District,” Kal’Thys replied. “I’ve no doubt it was her and these men who slaughtered my brethren and freed the Princess. I’m expecting notification of their whereabouts within the next two hours. I already received notice that the young man whom Dharos’ soldiers arrested this morning obviously has been released again. Only a few hours after he was apprehended, he was seen walking through Katerra once more.”

“It seems our enemies have lost all respect for the Alorian gods and their vigilant priesthood,” the High Priest surmised. “I think it’s high time we remind them to fear the Alorian gods. I want to set an example by rekindling an ancient tradition which will annihilate the root cause of the currently shown disrespect. Take as many warriors of your Order as you need but find and arrest this supposed son of the Faceless God.”

“As carefree as he walks all alone through Katerra, we could catch him without any major fighting involved if we wait for an opportune moment,” the Bhansun Untar suggested.

“To the contrary!” The High Priest declined. “I want his arrest to be widely known. We will hold a public trial and indict this charlatan of heresy. For the first time in two-thousand years, a heretic will be burned. He will be burned at the Black Finger. The memorial stone for the creational war of the gods is the fitting place for the supposed son of the Faceless God to die. In ancient times many heretics had been burned and in the future, we will see them burning again.”