The Heirophant paced, deep in thought. It was unusual for Armin to see him nervous, and it concerned him. He looked to Ericha, seeing if she shared his concern, but the young lady was momentarily disregarding her duties as Heirophant's Guard to gape in wonder at the Chataeu du Soleil. Armin smiled to himself, his concern for the Heirophant momentarily allayed by the rookie's wide eyed wonder. He remembered the first time he had seen the gold-gilded halls and marble stonework of one of the Chataeu's many staircases. Knowing she would be absorbed for a while by the tapestries, ornate chandeliers, and wealth of Montaigne, he turned back to the Heirophant.
He had paused in his march, and for a moment Armin saw again the simple Castillian priest beneath the ornate triregnum and brocaded pallium. The Heirophant looked up, smiling wryly at his old friend. For a moment, he looked very tired. The weight of the souls of Theah was upon his shoulders, and its burden and age weighed heavily upon his shoulders. Despite that, his thin face and whitened hair held a kindness Armin knew well to be genuine. It would be his honor to die for the Heirophant, but he doubted very much if such an honor would come before he was asked to retire in another year.
"Armin, my old friend, you look troubled."
"Troubled by your troubles, Your Holiness. Does this meeting with L'Empereur trouble you so?"
The Heirophant's wrinkled face parted in a wide grin. He extended his hand and laid it upon Armin's shoulder. The weight was light, but Armin placed his own hand over the Heirophant's and bowed his head.
"I am troubled, my friend. The Empereur's decision to renounce the Vaticine places the souls of all Montaigne in jeopardy. I hope he has enough care for his people's salvation, if not his own, that he will turn from this folly. I suspect, however, that the actions of a few radicals will sour this conversation. I can only pray that he will not believe that I was responsible for the ill conceived assault upon Charouse - "
His words broke off as the elegant oak double doors at the top of the staircase opened. He patted Armin's hand, smiled warmly again, then turned. His back straightened. At the top of the staircase, Armin could see the layers of yellowed silk that bedecked L'Empereur tonight, and his hand unconsciously tightened upon his blade. It was said that a single one of L'Empereur's many outfits could feed and clothe a dozen peasant families for a year. L'Empereur's corpulent bulk began stepping slowly down the steps.
The effect might have been regal if Armin did not wonder curiously how many years it had been since L'Empereur had seen his feet. As he drew closer, Armin saw that his face, beneath a powdered wig, shined with sweat from the endeavor. He drew to the landing, and paused.
The Heirophant turned back to Armin. "Wait here. I will not leave your sight, my friend,” he said, quelling the protest before Armin could voice it. Armin nodded, and watched as the elderly Heirophant began the assent up the marble steps. He turned to look at the man who stood behind the Heirophant.
Remy du Montaigne, L’Empereur’s cousin and Captain of the Lightning Guard, looked bored. He had the lazy swagger of idle nobility, but his inattentiveness was a simple ruse. Armin noted how his eyes flicked up quickly as the Heirophant began his ascent, then back down to examine his most recent manicure. His disrespect for the very head of the Vaticine made Armin’s ears burn, but he simply tightened his grip again and lowered his gaze. It was said that Remy du Montaigne was the deadliest swordsman in Montaigne, and Armin knew an adversary he could not hope to best when he saw one.
Remy leaned lazily against the balustrade, continuing his preening, as the Heirophant reached the landing. Despite his age, he was spry, and made the ascent in a fraction of the time it had taken L’Empereur to descend a similar distance.
Armin strained to hear the words exchanged between the men, but their voices were subdued. Armin could hear the quiet, placating tone of the Heirophant, and the short, angry hiss of L’Empereur Leon’s response. The Heirophant continued, despite the rudeness of L’Empereurs, his words soft, melodious. He had faced the Council of Cardinals on dozens of issues, men of great power and influence themselves, and proven victorious. There were few men more suited to diplomacy, or with greater reserves of patience.
Armin turned back to Ericha, still bemused by her youth and curiosity. He headed over to her to urge her not to touch anything, lest a priceless vase place the Heirophant’s negotiations in even more danger. She looked away from the tapestry she stared at, and beamed a dazzling smile at Armin.
“This place is amazing, sir. There is enough wealth in this room to make every man, woman, child in my village a wealthy merchant.” She smiled again, a bit wryly. “And this is but a stairwell.” She shook her hand in wonder. Armin clapped her on the shoulder. Were he a younger man…
“You feign innocence after I am forced to COWER in my chateau?!”
L’Empereur’s ire reverberated off of frescoes, ancient tapestries, and crystal chandeliers. Armin spun, and saw a face purple with rage, and even from this distance his eyes could make out the spittle on L’Empereur’s pasty lips.
“How DARE you!”
His hands pushed forward, suddenly, an angry reaction, and Armin watched in horror as the Heirophant, his charge and friend, tipped backwards upon the top of the landing. His hands waved, reaching for some sort of support, and there was a moment as he toppled backwards that Armin could see the fear in his eyes. His feet moved of their own accord, a desperate thought of catching him propelling him forward even as he heard the first sickening smack of the Heirophant’s head against the hard marble steps.
L’Empereur and Remy’s faces were both wide-eyed with shock, and Armin took the steps three at a time up towards the falling man. He saw his feet go over his head, once, twice, before he managed to catch his fall in his arms. Please, Theus, let him live. Protect his Holiness –his thoughts cut off as the Heirophant’s lifeless gaze stared up at the chandelier.
Armin’s breath caught in his throat. He touched a hand to his friend’s face, closed the eyes of the man he had dedicated his life to serving. There was only one other thing to do, one thing that could be done. His grip tightened upon the hilt of his blade, and he freed it with a shaky jerk as he pushed himself to his feet.
“Murderers! You … killed …” His voice caught on the lump in his throat, and he blinked back the tears in his eyes. At his accusation, the momentary shock and fear upon the face of the L’Empereur disappeared. Armin charged up the steps, his resolve growing with his fury, and L’Empereur cringed in fear, stepping backwards as quickly as his bulk would allow.
“Kill them, Remy! Kill them!”
The panic in his voice made his voice high and nasal, but Remy du Montaigne stepped between his cousin and the Eisen bodyguard. His sword flicked out effortlessly, the point aimed at the charging man’s eyes. His knife was freed with the same fluid effortlessness, and for a moment, the bored nonchalance disappeared from his countenance.
“Ericha! Run! The Crosses must be warned!”
Ericha, her blade already freed as she ran after Armin, ground to a halt. She saw the desperation in his eyes as he halted himself, his blade angled warily at Remy. Remy’s gaze flicked to her, and she shuddered. His eyes were as cold as death, and as their swords touched, testing one another, the impact of Armin’s words drove home. The Heirophant had been murdered. The Crosses must be warned. She turned, and ran.
L’Empereur screamed behind her, calling the Lightning Guard, the most elite swordsmen in Theah, down upon her. She dove to the wall, avoiding the doors from which Guardsmen would soon be boiling out, and slashed her sword cleanly through the rope that held the crystalline chandelier in place. The rope jerked upwards, and Ericha gripped the end tightly as the weight of the chandelier nearly pulled her shoulder from its joint. Her body soared upwards, and she floated for a moment before coming down heavily on one of the balconies above. She felt a sharp pain in her ankle, but pushed herself upwards. As she pulled open the door, she heard a shout cut off behind her, and she lost precious moments to turn and look behind her.
Armin, fell to his knees, grasping his throat. ‘So soon?’ thought Ericha. She saw the blood stain his gloves, Remy calmly cleaning the blade, and his gaze languidly move up to her place in front of the door. She suppressed the desire to scream, throwing open the door to a hallway. She ran, her legs pumping, diving past bewildered serving maids and appalled nobles, and slammed herself against the first oaken door she saw.
It opened easily, and she tumbled within. Prone, she kicked the door closed behind her, and pushed herself to her feet. She took in a bedroom, sumptuously appointed with white linen. She scrambled to bar the door, and quickly fled to the first of the twin oak doors in the room. She threw it open, and was answered by the shriek of a bathing noblewoman.
“Sorry, ma’am.”
She slammed the door, spun, and ran to the other. The door she had barred pounded ominously. She could hear the calls of the Guard even as she threw open the other door – to a small closet.
Perfect.
She glanced back at the pounding door, closed the closet door behind herself, and breathed deeply. She hated this part. She closed her eyes and held her breath, and felt the darkness of the closet wrap itself around her. She plunged though cold, and was gone.
“I’m sorry, Monsieur, but she appears to have eluded us.” Lieutenant du Toille looked suitably embarrassed, as Remy stepped into the bedroom. He nodded his head at the frightened young noblewoman, and turned to the only other exit from the room.
The closet door lay open, its contents in disarray after the Lightning Guards search for a secret door, a trapdoor, anything to indicate how the young Eisen woman had escaped from a windowless locked room.
Remy idly lifted the mattress of the bed, glancing underneath. Nothing. He surveyed the room once more, but his Guard has torn the place apart. Perhaps she was a Porte sorceress? No – she was Eisen, clearly, and even if she had possessed some portion of Montaigne sorcery, she never would have been admitted into the Heirophant’s most trusted guards. Curious. He realized L’Empereur might hold him responsible for this, but the thought did not bother him. He had cultivated loyalty to himself as the most important of traits in the Guard, and it was unlikely his cousin Leon would dare do more than chastise him privately.
He could of course, kill the lot of them and explain their deaths as part of a more acceptable escape; one L’Empereur would find more believable. He negated that possibility – there was the off-chance that L’Empereur would investigate himself.
Which left only one other option. His gaze flickered over to du Toille; he was a good man, and had proved loyal so far. The du Toille’s had a reputation for piety – perhaps it was time to put his loyalties to the test. Resolved, he turned to the Lieutenant.
“Lieutenant du Toille, I have an assignment for you. Come to my office.”
He nodded once again to the noblewoman, clothes still in disarray, and stalked out. It was a desperate gambit, but if it worked, the power of the Vaticine would grind to a halt overnight.
The two men strode purposefully towards his office, and as Lieutenant du Toille opened his mouth to speak, Remy raised a hand to silence him. “In my office, Du Toille.” Lieutenant du Toille fell silent. It was unlike Remy to be so … secretive. It concerned the young lieutenant, but he swallowed his concerns. Soon enough, they arrived, Remy sitting behind his desk and the lieutenant coming to attention in front of it.
“Lieutenant, a matter of grave importance to L’Empereur is about to be entrusted to you. I will need your oath as a gentleman that what we speak of will not be repeated outside these walls, and that you will do the task I assign to you.”
Du Toille’s chest swelled. His heart skipped for a moment – while the tabard of the Lightning Guard had been a great accomplishment, his service in the palace had been dull. He did not believe his service had been so excellent as to be taken into confidence by Remy du Montaigne, but whatever he had done, this opportunity was surely sent by Theus.
“Of course, Sir. You have my oath.”
Remy nodded, a slight smile playing at his lips.
“Excellent, Lieutenant. I will need you to take the finest men you can trust for this task, and arrest the bishops of the Vaticine that are here in Montaigne.”
He smiled at the look of shock that could not be contained on the Lieutenant’s face. His plan was simple, but brilliant. With the bishops missing, the Council of Cardinals would be unable to elect a replacement Heirophant – and it would take years before the bishops could legitimately be declared dead. He glanced up from his thoughts, saw the Lieutenant’s features steady. He had decided.
“Yes, sir. I will depart immediately.”
The Lieutenant’s face was white, but he turned stiffly on one heel. The door closed. Remy smiled to himself. The game was afoot. Things would get … interesting … now. He turned around in the chair, trying to work out the puzzle of the disappearing Eisen in his mind.
It would be hours before he moved again.
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