Chapter XXIII

Mahla was awakened in the middle of the night by the shouting of castle guards and servants. Once she'd gotten her bearings and was fully awake she asked one of the servants, “What in the Void has everyone all worked up?”

“The Queen's husband's been murdered! Right here in the castle!”

“So why did you take that as the cue to leave?” Lila asked Mahla, two hours later, as the whole Dunn Banner Mercenary Company was on the road, heading north from the capital city.

“If the King could be murdered within the very walls of the castle obviously the castle isn't safe,” Mahla told her. “And who knows how many assassins are inside the castle walls, and who all they might target? No, that capital has a history of all the important people dying there. Frankly, now that the Law's been torn down anyway I'd vote for making a new city the capital. Aius is cursed!”

“When you're Queen you can change it,” said Lila, and then added, in a lower voice. “If you ever get the stomach to make that happen.”

“No, by all means, Lila, speak your mind,” Mahla said, loudly.

“Fine! You're the one who should be on the throne, it's yours by right, everyone knows that!” said Lila. “So why didn't you take what was yours while we were there? Demand that Queen Aryn step down and let you rule? If you did it publicly she'd have a hard time refusing, especially if you pushed the whole 'succession' issue.”

“Getting her to step down wouldn't help much. Do you not know the basics of Arxian politics?” Mahla asked.

“Enlighten us.”

“The Council decides who wears the crown,” said Mahla. “You think they're going to be in a hurry to award the crown to some former sell-sword who's pressing her claim aggressively? No, blood only matters so much. We're both of King Melech's line, so we both have the blood to rule. If I ordered Queen Aryn to step aside and let me rule they'd think I was greedy, power-hungry, and they wouldn't want me on the throne. No, the Council has given power to a second-born, even a third-born time and again if the first-born proved too greedy.”

“That's ridiculous!” Lila said. “They should reward people who go after what they want!”

“The common theory goes that it's usually those who desire power the least who deserve it the most.”

“Stupid!”

“I didn't say it was MY philosophy.”

“Those who desire power the least obviously have no drive, no ambition. What would they do with power? What good would they do for Arx?”

“Again, not my philosophy,” Mahla said. “But it's what I have to work with.” Mahla had always wondered why Tyson, not only taught her how to fight but also taught her about Arxian politics. He'd usually justified it by telling her that if she knew how Arxian politics worked she'd be able to predict political unrest, which always provided opportunity for sell-swords. Now it all made sense, certainly a lot more sense than it had back when he'd first taught her those lessons.

Roughly an hour after Lila and Mahla's conversation about why Mahla had not seized the throne, they saw a large number of armed knights on horseback riding up to them. Even though most of the former Dunn Banner mercenaries, now Mahla's knights, were on foot, giving them a slight disadvantage, they were pretty sure they could defeat such a small force if a fight broke out. Mahla kept a hand on the hilt of her sword, but did not draw it. The approaching knights carried the banner of Count Osias, a tower with skulls at the base and an angel on top. Count Osias himself was riding with them, Mahla could tell who he was based on the way the other knights let him pass them and bowed their heads as he did. He rode up close to Mahla and then dismounted from his horse.

“Count Osias, of the County of Migdal. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” Mahla asked.

“Have you not heard the news?” the count responded, his voice gruff and low.

“The King, Queen Aryn's new husband, has been slain,” Mahla said. She wasn't sure if that was the news Osias was referring to, but it did seem the most likely.

“And the assassin named you as his client,” Count Osias said. “The Queen is furious, she's ordered that you be arrested immediately and brought in for trial.”

Mahla looked around at Count Osias' knights, and at her own. If a battle broke out it would be short-lived, and rather one-sided. Still, she preferred not to fight if she didn't have to. “Is that what you're here for? To arrest me?”

“That depends. Did you hire the assassin who killed King Paolo?” Osias asked.

“No! Of course not!”

“I believe you,” Osias said. “I would still try to take you in to face trial, prove your innocence, if I believed you'd face a fair trial, but lately the Queen has been out of control! She's ignored the rights of the nobility, accused them of heinous crimes so that she can justify taking them in without evidence. There are even rumors that the witnesses at the trial of Countess Yael were bribed, and that witnesses who could have spoken in her favor were silenced. Several of the servants in Countess Yael's castle died in 'tragic accidents' shortly after the Countess was arrested, we know that much for sure. The Marquis Husam, whom you arrested, should have been put on trial right away, the royal wedding should have been postponed, and yet the Queen has held him for longer than usual without trial. She's after our land, everyone knows it! And she'll replace every one of us with a puppet noble, some commoner she makes nobility. I know you won't get a fair trial, so I won't take you in for one.”

“Did you come here just to warn me, then? Thank you.”

“To warn you, yes, but there's more. If you stay on the road to Laherig the Queen's soldiers will know where you are going, and they'll catch up to you. Maybe you might be able to win that battle, but then you will have definitely committed treason, and she'd legally be allowed to have you killed on sight. I propose instead that you come with me, northeast of here, to the County of Migdal. I will keep you safe in my castle and send out letters to each of the lords of Arx, calling for a Landsmeet.”

“A Landsmeet?”

“Yes,” Count Osias said. “Frankly speaking, you are the rightful Queen of Arx. It's time for the noble houses to meet together to discuss putting pressure on the Council to remove Queen Aryn from power and put you on the throne.”

“What if the Council refuses?”

“They won't do that, I'm sure! Queen Aryn has abused her power. Surely that's become obvious to them.”

“Alright, I'll travel with you to Migdal.”

. . .

Galia had just finished the final prayer over Ardal's arm. What once was an arm completely covered in crystals, turned totally to stone from the elbow down, was now transformed back into a normal human arm, with soft flesh and muscle. He could feel the back of his fingers against Galia's forehead, and his fingertips against hers. Just to have feeling in his arm once again was invigorating, and his shoulder no longer sagged from the weight.

“See?” Galia said. “While having a good heart did much for you, your faith did so much more. It's because of your faith, your dedication to God, that he healed you completely this time.”

What a God Saklas was. He would heal you slowly of your disease if you were a good person seeking healing from his priests, but if you worshiped him? Sold your soul to him? Then he'd heal you completely. Of course, even as Ardal thought on the twisted nature of this double standard he realized that he himself was both hardly in a position to complain and an exception to the rule anyway.

He'd told Galia that he'd converted after the dinner at Sir Gilad's keep because he wanted her favor, not because it was true. He would need to play the part of a loyal Agalmite for the next few days, just until he could get his followers into the city and kill Sir Gilad.

Come to think of it, how did he know his followers were still nearby? It had been three days since he'd left them, and when he'd left them he'd simply run off the second he saw Galia and Sir Kedem. He'd never explained to them anything about what he was planning. They might have assumed he'd abandoned the mission. For a moment, he considered doing that. “They've probably left, given up, thinking I abandoned them, and I can't do this on my own. I've been offered a job here, and a beautiful young lady is letting me stay with her. I could settle down here, be happy, live the rest of my life in peace. Haven't I seen enough conflict?” But then he remembered the entire reason why Sir Gilad was being targeted in the first place; he had been murdering Nihilites, and allowing the Inquisition to torture and execute people every day. He'd never see peace in this town, not unless he did what he needed to do in order to bring down Sir Gilad, but he could not leave the city to see if his followers were still there. He decided that after he'd completed his first day of work on the city walls he'd pray to Elykos, asking if the followers were still nearby. Certainly Elykos would know.

“Would you mind if I stayed here a few more days?” Ardal asked Galia. “Just until I've earned enough money to afford my own home.”

Galia leaned in, taking Ardal's newly-healed hand in her own hands, and with her face close to his said, “You stay here as long as you want.” It was obvious that when she said it she was implying more than just “in this temple,” but also “in this city.” She'd probably known for a long time that he hadn't been planning on staying after being healed, but now she wanted him around, and he had the possibility of building a life there. Maybe in time he would be building a life there, just not under the terms she expected.

“Thank you, Galia,” Ardal said, and he kissed her hand. “I'd better get to work, then. I'll be back soon.”

For the first time, Ardal walked through the city unattended, and he did so without fear. The inquisitors were about, questioning random citizens, and the city guards watched for people to give them the slightest excuse to place them under arrest. Yet Ardal knew that he was all but untouchable because of the story Elykos had given him to tell them. No inquisitor would dare question this brave pilgrim, near martyr of the faith and lone survivor of a barbarian attack.

He found his way to the western wall of the city, where other workers were already present. The foreman, a man with gray hair, large forearms, and a grubby face, turned to watch as Ardal approached. “Nice goatee,” the foreman said. “You're the pilgrim, then? The one who needed a job?”

“Yes, that's me. Did Sir Gilad already tell you I was coming?”

“Not all of us are important enough to talk to him in person.” There was a bitterness in the foreman's voice as he spoke. “He sent a messenger. So, your Gavish is totally cured, then?”

“Yes, it is.” Ardal showed him his right hand.

“Good. Grab some bags of mortar and get to work.”

The bags of mortar were heavy, and the weight inside was uneven and shifting with every step. It was easy to lose your balance carrying those bags, and Ardal even saw a few other workers nearly lose theirs. Just as he got the bag up to the top of the wooden scaffolding beside the wall, one of the other workers said, “Good, now bring some bricks too.”

None of these people seemed happy for the extra help Ardal provided. Throughout the whole day they seemed to sneer at him, glare daggers at him whenever he wasn't looking right at them. He could swear he heard them mutter curses at him whenever they thought he was out of ear-shot.

It wasn't until he'd been working at the wall with them for several hours, spent most of the time just working as the guy grabbing supplies, that he saw something that explained their animosity. For a fleeting moment he saw a blackstar talisman slipped into the wet mortar, and then more mortar was added on top of it to conceal it. Then it all made sense. These men were warlocks, and the reason why they were so cold to Ardal, even shooting him dirty looks, was because they had heard the story about him being a pilgrim of the Agalmite faith. How ironic, the very thing that kept him alive in the city at large might very well get him killed on this work site, a place he would not be working if not for his new reputation.

Throughout the day he tried to think of ways that he could bring up that he was one of them, get in on whatever they were planning, but it occurred to him that perhaps not all of them truly were warlocks, placing blackstar talismans in the mortar. Some of them might very well be loyal Agalmites, and the last thing he wanted to do was reveal the potential plan these men had to those not loyal to their cause.

Once the workday was done, Ardal hurried back to the temple. He didn't want to linger near the wall for too long, lest the workers should turn violent on him. He found a dark space near the entrance and sat down in it, beginning his prayer to Elykos.

“Are you there? Elykos, I need your guidance.”

“You most certainly do,” responded the inaudible voice.

“Are my followers still waiting for me outside the walls?”

“Yes, Ardal. They still await your orders. I told them to stay put. And it looks like you have some followers on the inside of Bogeid as well.”

“They think I'm an Agalmite and want to kill me.”

“You need to act on that right away. Even now they're plotting to arrange an 'accident' tomorrow. You need to meet them in the tavern. Val, the foreman has a private room. Tell him you know about Xaphan, and the Wet Fire.”

“What is Wet Fire?”

“Val will explain to you what Wet Fire is. Xaphan is his familiar.”

“I can imagine saying Val's name after I've entered, even though he didn't tell me his name might help?”

“No. For all he knows Sir Gilad told you his name. Not even inquisitors would know about Xaphan, or about Wet Fire. That's your way in. When he questions how you know such things tell him 'Therion's heir' told you.”

Following Elykos' advice Ardal left the temple and made his way across town, to the tavern. To the Nihilites a tavern was always a den of sin the sort of thing that they would need to repent of later in order to gain forgiveness and take steps towards enlightenment. He couldn't say for sure, but it seemed to him that the Agalmites had no problems with taverns, that reveling in the worldly pleasures of sugary food and strong drink were not sinful at all. Since the Arxians had conquered Nihilus, the taverns had all been doing better than ever before, business-wise. In fact, since most of the rich land owners were dispossessed of their land the bar-tenders and tavern-owners were the richest Nihilites in all of Nihilus.

As Ardal entered the tavern he could hear all of the drunken conversations the patrons were having, swinging their beer glasses around as they gestured wildly to make their point.

“I'm telling you, maybe Duke Jachai would have been able to beat Sir Gilad when he was young, but that time has passed! Now Sir Gilad's the best knight in the realm!”

“You think just because Duke Jachai is old he can't win a joust? Jousting takes more than strength, it takes coordination and skill! No one can touch Duke Jachai!”

“Sir Gilad's better with his lance!”

“How do you know that?”

“Your wife told me.”

“Oh...HEY!”

And that conversation erupted into a brawl. Other patrons laughed and took bets on which of the two men would win. Ardal kept his distance from the fight and asked the bartender, “Which room is Val in?” The bartender merely pointed, said nothing, most of his attention was on the fight. The bar-tender wondered how much he'd have to pay to fix all the damages from this little brawl. Most of his bouncers, who usually broke up these fights, had quit, said the job was too dangerous. Considering that most of his former bouncers were veterans who had seen war the bartender was thinking about retiring soon.

Ardal came to the door. He could hear the voices of the men talking inside, somewhat hushed so that they couldn't be heard over the noise in the rest of the tavern. He knocked on the door.

“Who is it?” came Val, the foreman's voice, from within.

“It's Ardal, the new guy at the construction site.”

There was a pause, and then Val opened the door just slightly. “What do you want?” Val demanded. Behind Val's back Ardal could see the other men picking up their ale and beer bottles, prepared to use them as weapons if Ardal was there to rat them out or do them harm.

“I know about the Wet Fire and Xaphan,” Ardal said.

Val's eyes widened, “Get in here, quick!”

Ardal rushed inside the room and Val promptly closed the door behind him. “Thank you. Gentlemen,” Ardal gave the other men in the room a slight bow of his head.

“How do you know about the Wet Fire and Xaphan?” Val demanded.

“Therion's heir told me.”

“Therion's heir...” Val considered it. “What did he tell you about Wet Fire?”

“Just said to say that I know about it.”

Val laughed, “Yes, that sounds like him alright.”

“Only ever tells you just enough for you to take the next step?”

“Pretty much. Following Elykos' orders you do a lot based on faith.”

“Yes. So, what is Wet Fire?”

Val smiled and picked up a candle from the table. “See this candle? The wick is soaked in wet fire. Try to light it with a match.”

Ardal picked up the box of matches from the table and took the candle in his hand. He struck the match and held the flame up to the wick. He thought at first he needed to melt away the wax on the wick, but after he'd been holding the match there a good long while still nothing happened. “So...Wet Fire makes something impossible to light?”

“You think?” Val said, chuckling. “Dip the wick in this glass of water.”

Ardal looked at Val quizzically, expecting more of an explanation. When he got none he did as he was told, dipping the end of the wick in the water. In an instant the wick was lit, and fire spread across the surface of the water in the glass. The fire was so hot the flames were purple, and the wax of the candle all but completely melted. Ardal dropped the candle into the glass and watched as the water evaporated around the flame and the glass broke. Val and the other construction workers laughed, and one of the workers brought an empty metal tankard down over the flame, suffocating it.

“Wet Fire is a substance that catches fire when it comes in contact with water, and it burns so hot that water only feeds it. Only smothering the fire can put it out. I don't know how or why it works, but I know it works, Xaphan taught me how to make the stuff.”

“That's...actually pretty horrifying...” Whenever Ardal had heard previous stories about the daemons teaching humankind how to brew some substance or another it had always been some kind of medicine, like the medicines he made. This was the first time he saw something so horribly destructive.

“Horrifying, but helpful. Welcome to war, my friend,” Val said. “We've been working on a plan to take the city for a long time. Many of the curtains and tapestries in Sir Gilad's keep are soaked in Wet Fire. Spare candles in the Inquisition headquarters here in town have been soaked in Wet Fire, as has the carpeting in the offices of the inquisitors. We were even involved with refitting the old temple to be an Agalmite temple; there are hollow bricks in the walls which contain Wet Fire, which is slowly leaking through the cracks.”

“So...all of those places are just waiting to...”

“Go up in flames, yes,” Val gave a wicked smile. “And how do people typically put out fires? They throw on buckets of water! They'll feed the fires and burn themselves to the ground in a matter of minutes!”

For as much as Ardal hated Sir Gilad and the Inquisition, he felt chills wash over him as he heard this plan. He'd heard the shrieks of utter agony of men and women who burned at the stake before and come to the conclusion that no one deserved to die like that, not even the inquisitors. A fire that hot was bound to get out of hand, kill a lot more than just the inquisitors and Sir Gilad. The fire might even be likely to catch Galia as well. Ardal's heart broke and blood froze at the very thought of Galia suffering such a horrible death.

“And you're living in the temple right now, aren't you?” Val continued. Ardal shuddered to think what Val was about to ask him to do. “Then you have an in, you can walk the halls at night without fear. Go down to the cellar, where they store the food in wooden crates, splash some Wet Fire on those crates. When it comes time we'll make the tyrants of this city burn!” Val reached into his pocket and produced a small vial of a purple liquid, placing the vial in Ardal's hand.

Ardal looked at the vial in horror. Elykos led him to this moment, led him to these people who planned to set the town on fire in order to rid it of the tyrants controlling it, so obviously Elykos wanted him to cooperate with this plan, but he wasn't sure he could do it. He'd received his healing already, how easy would it be to turn on Elykos and the other Nihilites? To actually swear himself to the Agalmite God, to turn in these men who wanted to subject innocent people to horrible deaths, and to spend the rest of his days in this town, living and working. If he turned these conspirators in he'd be even more of a hero, even more respected. Saklas had certainly never asked him to burn people alive. Quite the contrary, Saklas likely knew that Ardal was not a loyal follower and yet still chose to heal him as a reward for being a good man. Elykos, on the other hand, only seemed to want to make sure Ardal was healed so that he could help with this plot.

“Do you want her to survive?” Elykos' voice spoke in Ardal's mind.

“What?”

“The priestess, Ardal. Do you want her to survive?”

“Yes! Please, don't let her die! I'll do anything!”

“Cooperate with this plan. If you are involved you will have a chance to save her. If not she will be caught in the flames that burn away tyranny.”

“So many innocent people will die if we do this!”

“This is war. There is no way to avoid innocent deaths and win, my friend. But if you cooperate, if you have a hand in executing this plan, you will have a chance to save her. If you betray these men, as you were thinking of doing, I will make sure that she dies, one way or another, and then you will die too. Don't forget all that I have done for you, and don't you dare betray me!”

“I'm sorry, Sire!”

“Ardal? Are you alright?” Val asked, wondering why Ardal was staring off into space for so long.

Ardal shook his head and regained his wits, “Yes, yes I'm fine. I was just thinking about...something.”

“Do tell.”

“...I have followers outside the walls of this city, hiding in the woods. If someone could notify them of this plan they could treat the fires starting as a signal to act, then they can break through the western wall, which we can make weak for them.”

“That's a great idea, Ardal!” Val said and patted him on the shoulder. “Thank Elykos you came along to help with this plan!”

“Yes, thank Elykos,” Ardal said, laughing nervously. “So, when do we act.”

“The very next time it rains,” Val said.