Queen of Fire

They climbed down from the rooftop via the ladder on the back wall, making for the only building in Varinshold that seemed to have suffered no damage at all, the squat fortress of black stone sitting in the centre of the city. There had been a bloody battle here, he knew. The Blackhold’s garrison of Fourth Order thugs putting up a surprisingly good fight as they beat back successive waves of Varitai, Aspect Tendris in the thick of the fight, spurring them on to ever-greater feats of courage with unwavering Faith. At least that’s how the story went if you believed the mutterings of the Realm-born slaves. It had finally fallen when the Kuritai were sent in, Aspect Tendris cutting down four of the slave-elite before a dastardly knife in the back laid him low, something Alucius found extremely unlikely, though he did concede the mad bastard had probably gone down fighting.

The Varitai at the gate stepped aside as he approached, Twenty-Seven in tow with his books and various medicines in a sack over his broad shoulder. The interior of the Blackhold was even less edifying than its exterior, a narrow courtyard within grim black walls, Varitai archers posted on the parapet above. Alucius went to the door at the rear of the courtyard, the Varitai guard unlocking it and stepping aside. Inside he followed the damp winding steps down into the vaults. The smell provoked unwelcome memories of his time here, musty rot mingling with the sharp tang of rat piss. The steps ended some twenty feet down, opening out into a torchlit corridor lined by ten cells, each sealed with a heavy iron door. The cells had all been occupied when he was first brought here, now all but two stood empty.

“No,” Alucius replied to Twenty-Seven’s unvoiced question. “I can’t say it is good to be back, my friend.”

He went to the Free Sword seated on a stool at the end of the corridor. It was always the same man, a sour-faced fellow of brawny build who spoke Realm Tongue with all the finesse of a blind mason attempting to carve a masterpiece.

“Which ’un?” he grunted, getting to his feet and putting aside a wine-skin.

“Aspect Dendrish I think,” Alucius replied. “Irksome duties first, I always say.” He concealed a sigh of frustration at the Free Sword’s baffled frown. “The fat man,” he added slowly.

The Free Sword shrugged and moved to the door at the far end of the corridor, keys jangling as he worked the lock. Alucius thanked him with a bow and went inside.

Aspect Dendrish Hendrahl had lost perhaps half his famous weight during captivity, but that still made him considerably fatter than most men. He greeted Alucius with the customary scowl and lack of formality, small eyes narrowed and gleaming in the light from the single candle in the alcove above his bed. “I trust you’ve brought me something more interesting than last time.”

“I believe so, Aspect.” Alucius took the sack from Twenty-Seven and rummaged inside, coming out with a large volume, the title embossed in gold on the leather binding.

“‘Fallacy and Belief,’” the Aspect read as he took the volume. “‘The Nature of God Worship.’ You bring me my own book?”

“Not quite, Aspect. I suggest you look inside.”

Dendrish opened the book, his small eyes peering at the text scribbled on the title page which Alucius knew read: Or “Pomposity and Arrogance—The Nature of Aspect Hendrahl’s Scholarship.”

“What is this?” the Aspect demanded.

“I found it at Lord Al Avern’s house,” Alucius told him. “You remember him, no doubt. They called him the Lord of Ink and Scroll, on account of his scholarly accomplishments.”

“Accomplishments? The man was an amateur, a mere copier of greater talents.”

“Well, he has much to say on your talents, Aspect. His critique of your treatise on the origin of the Alpiran gods is particularly effusive, and quite elegantly phrased I must say.”

Hendrahl’s plump hands leafed through the book with expert precision, opening it out to reveal a chapter liberally adorned with the late Lord Al Avern’s graceful script. “‘Simply repeats Carvel’?” the Aspect read in a furious rasp. “This empty-brained ape accuses me of lacking originality.”

“I thought you might find it amusing.” Alucius bowed again and moved to the door.

“Wait!” Hendrahl cast a wary glance at the Free Sword standing outside and levered himself to his feet, not without difficulty. “You must have news, surely.”

“Alas, things have not changed since my last visit, Aspect. Lord Darnel hunts for his son through the ashes of his great crime, we await news of General Tokrev’s glorious victory at Alltor and Admiral Morok’s equally glorious seizure of the Meldenean Isles.”

Hendrahl moved closer, speaking in a barely heard whisper. “Master Grealin, still no word on him?”