Kazia Read online

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One: Conjunction

  Chapter Two: Accusations

  Chapter Three: Dinner

  Chapter Four: Arguments

  Chapter Five: Into the City

  Chapter Six: Ketrin

  Chapter Seven: Midnight Rites

  Chapter Eight: Approaching the Temple

  Chapter Nine: The Plans Flies Lay

  Chapter Ten: The Morning After

  Chapter Eleven: Council Meeting

  Chapter Twelve: Hall of Justice

  Chapter Thirteen: Sun Temple

  Chapter Fourteen: Nearly Friends

  Chapter Fifteen: Back at the Palace

  Chapter Sixteen: A New Guard

  About the Author

  No cost is too high to preserve the Victory Prophecy.

  High Priest S’Rak is cursed with the ability to foretell the future. Sometimes. The problem with prophecy is that the gods get involved, and if any god is working to complete one, there’s always another god working to prevent it. S’Rak knows that something bad is coming. He knows that he can leave and avoid a great deal of pain and suffering and woe.

  Captain Jisten doesn’t have mystical abilities to rely on, so he relies on his own senses and on logic. A murder in the city of a person he holds dear drives a deeper wedge between the already-strained relations he has with the high priest. The events of the summer continue to haunt him even as S’Rak is named a murder suspect.

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  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Kazia

  Copyright © 2016 A.C. Ellas

  ISBN: 978-1-4874-0591-5

  Cover art by Angela Waters

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by eXtasy Books Inc or

  Devine Destinies, an imprint of eXtasy Books Inc

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  www.eXtasybooks.com or www.devinedestinies.com

  Kazia

  Dark Servant II

  Book 1

  By

  A.C. Ellas

  From the hidden kingdom, the unthroned prince shall rise with the banner of the sun in one hand and the banner of the river in the other, then shall the eternal dancer take his place in the hall of night and all the armies of life shall deliver such a blow to the citadel of chaos that the Unmaker shall be undone and all Her works laid ruin. Peace and order shall fill all the lands, the balance shall be maintained and a new age of prosperity shall lift the hearts of even the downtrodden and weary.

  Carziel, second Thearch, in the year of the war 249

  Chapter One: Conjunction

  Erday, the 37th of Thermon, in the year 1532

  Єvmεra Atεlio, Thamεros Fεngari, εtos tohn o Polmnion 3279

  7th day, 2nd week, (waning) Thameros’ moon, Year of the War 3279

  The parchment was ancient, yellowed and cracked at the edges. The ink was faded but still dark enough to see. Rak smoothed the parchment with a careful hand and weighed down the corners with carved stones to prevent the map from curling back up or flying off in the gentle nighttime breeze.

  Rak opened the shuttered lantern to shine yellow gaslight down on the ancient, yellowed surface. “Come, S’Ioli, tell me what you see.”

  His earnest young assistant studied the parchment. Ioli had sworn his vows to the Lord of Night less than a year ago, earning the honorific S before his name. It stood for either sεravion, servant, or siflion, sibling, depending on whom one asked. Rak thought it likely the S really stood in for both possible meanings. They were all servants of the God and siblings to one another because of that.

  The younger priest’s fingers flashed in complicated patterns that Rak could easily read. Ioli had been born mute, so he used the Okyran fingertalk, a language originally developed by the monks who’d taken vows of silence, to communicate. “It’s a star map.”

  “Yes,” agreed Rak. “It is a star map, but it is a very specific star map.” It was one of Rak’s duties, as Ioli’s superior, to continue to instruct the younger priest. They had only recently been able to resume their study of astrology, an obscure branch of divination, and one that was often laughed at by the sun worshippers who did not understand the deeper mysteries of the night.

  “Specific how?” Ioli asked.

  “Look to the position of the planets on the map,” Rak suggested.

  Ioli abruptly looked up, out over the low wall of the high tower, studying the horizon to the north. The young priest did a full three hundred sixty degree scan of the night sky then returned to the map. “The planets are in the same positions here as in the sky.”

  “Yes. This is a map of tonight’s sky.”

  “That’s impossible,” Ioli signed. “This map is hundreds of years old.”

  “Thousands,” Rak corrected. “It is three thousand years old. Obviously, this is not the original but a copy. This map was drawn when the Victory Prophecy was first given; it tells us when the events spoken of in the prophecy will begin.”

  Ioli looked at the sky once more. He was trembling and not from cold. He looked at Rak, his warm brown eyes wide with emotion. His hands came up, the fingers danced. “It has begun?”

  “It has,” Rak agreed. He looked to the sky himself. At this latitude, the shimmering pearlescent road of the gods bisected the night sky. That, too, was noted on the ancient star map. They were in the right place, and the planets were aligned against the backdrop of stars in precisely the correct positions. “Yes,” he repeated slowly, “it has begun.”

  * * * *

  Rivday, the 38th of Thermon

  There was blood everywhere. Commander Vrathis looked away, fighting down the gorge trying to rise up his throat. After a few, deep breaths, he whispered, “Sun Lord, protect us,” and turned back to the gruesome tableau, focusing on one discreet spot at a time. Dried blood covered the wall of the northern ward tower, not in some random splash pattern but purposefully placed there in the form of arcane runes that glowed darkly even in the light of the morning sun. The runes spilled off the wall of the tower onto the ground around the body that was at the center of the concentric rings of writing.

  The katrami flies had already found the body. They always came when blood was spilled. The flies were a menace, a horror left behind by the ruined temple across the river from the city. The ruins might be a comfortable distance away, but the flies weren’t confined to it. Their deep buzzing as they fed on the blood chilled all who heard it.

  The individual insects were large, easily the length of a man’s thumb. Their bodies were mainly black, with a metallic blood red thoracic casing, and they looked much like a larger version of the ordinary housefly, except for the razor-sharp mandibles. One fly wasn’t much of a threat, but there was never just one fly. The insects traveled in swarms, and they were predators as well as scavengers, feeding on blood and laying their eggs in flesh.

  Vrathis swallowed down his bile yet again. The naked woman was spread-eagled on the ground, her body
uncovered because no one wanted to get that close to the flies. Her hair had been shorn slave-short, recently by the ragged look of it, but the cut tresses were gone. Her throat had been sliced open with a sharp blade in a single, smooth motion, leaving a clean wound. Carved into her abdomen was a design of a lightning bolt crossed with a sword. Other evil runes had been cut into her breasts, arms and on the tops of her thighs. Her skin obscenely undulated as the burrowing flies sought to lay their eggs.

  A fire burned on the ground between her spread legs, spreading thick, sweet-smelling smoke into the air. The fuel appeared to be dark chunks of some sort; he couldn’t make out many details.

  Inspector Knellyth, one of his best men and the first to respond to the summons of the street patrollers, walked over to him, making a wide circuit around the body. “Commander, so far, we know very little. My men have cordoned off the area and are preparing to question those living nearby. I’ve called for the sun priests to get rid of the flies and also to examine the area for magic residue.”

  “Good thinking.” Vrathis looked at Knellyth, grateful for the interruption, the excuse to look away from the body. “Once the flies are cleared out, we’ll need to inspect the body. This was obviously a ritual killing of some sort; I’d like to know whose ritual it was and whether the ward was damaged.” The city boasted four ward towers, buildings containing magic contributed by all the gods of the land that served to keep the bulk of the flies at bay. Attacks had become rare since the ward towers had been built, but the city folk prudently continued to follow the blood precautions laid out by their forebears. “Any idea who she is?”

  “Not thus far,” Knellyth reported. “Nobody’s come forward to report a missing wife or daughter, and we haven’t found any clothing or belongings that might indicate her station.” The inspector cleared his throat, glanced at the body then said, “I believe that the crossed lightning bolt and sword is the sigil of the Lord of Night.”

  “Yes, it is.” Vrathis shrugged. “But that sigil is so obvious, I almost feel that it was planted there to mislead us. I will wait to hear what the sun mages say. They, above all others, can recognize the magic of their opposites.” He motioned for Knellyth to carry on and walked over to the artist. He looked over the thin man’s shoulder as the details of the scene were carefully recorded. “We’ll need at least three copies of everything,” he told the man.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the artist. “Once I have the images fixed, I’ll be able to create as many copies as you need, sir.”

  The man started to explain the lithographic process, but Vrathis cut him off with a hurried “thank you” as he heard horses approaching—the clop of hooves and creak of tack carried because the city’s traffic was being routed around the cordoned-off section.

  Two full sun priests, mages by their robes, rode at the head of a small procession of half a dozen acolytes and four of the sun guard, accompanied by the commander of the sun temple guard, Teok.

  Vrathis recognized one of the mages, Photas, on sight, but the other sun mage was unknown to him. The watch parted to let the procession through then closed in behind them. “There are entirely too many people here,” Vrathis commented. “Does nobody have duties this morning? Patrols to ride? Reports to write? Is nothing else at all occurring in our city?”

  Knellyth stepped away and spoke to one of the senior patrollers.

  By the time the priests had dismounted and tied their mounts, the crowd had thinned notably.

  “Brother Photas,” Vrathis called as the thin, angular man edged through the remaining crowd with an apologetic smile. “We desperately require your assistance here.”

  The sun priest stopped dead at the first sight of the body, his large throat prominence working rhythmically. He tugged on the ill-fitting collar of his robes, as if finding the loose garment too restrictive. “Yes, yes, of course.” Photas turned away from the woman and motioned to the acolytes. “Spread out around the tower, light the pots then fan the smoke inward. Teson, can you assist them while I speak to the commander?”

  The other sun mage nodded his head cordially. “Be happy to.” He helped the acolytes pull the ceramic pots from the panniers on their saddles.

  The pots were familiar to Vrathis; they contained herbs that, when burned, produced a smoke that drove the flies away. The acolytes began to spread out.

  “I need you to check the ward,” Vrathis told Photas, “once it’s safe to approach.”

  “I will. I’ll also cast for magic, see what sort of power was used here.” Photas shook his head. “This does not seem like the work of the dark servants; it feels wrong.”

  “If you would, Brother, we’d be most grateful. What makes you think it wasn’t the dark servants?”

  “I’ve met the high priest, S’Rak,” Photas said. “I’ve worked with him, hunting a chaos mage. This isn’t his style. He’s a Thezi, you know, a beast handler. If he wanted someone dead, why would he do this when he can command dragons, death hounds and night steeds to do his bidding?”

  “Don’t the dark rites use human sacrifice?” Vrathis countered.

  “Ah, yes. Yes, I believe they do.” Photas turned his attention to the acolytes and Teson. The pots were smoking now, and the sun mage was causing all the smoke to blow toward the flies. The deep thrum of rage as the flies were forced away from the blood and the body was a vibration almost felt more than heard. The swarm twisted in the air as if seeking to attack them, and both Photas and Teson were chanting, their hands upraised and golden light swelled from the mages and drove the flies away.

  Vrathis wasn’t the only man to breathe a sigh of relief once the threat of the flies was gone. Knellyth started to approach the body, but Photas stopped him. “Wait, let me check for magic first.”

  Teson motioned to the acolytes. “Back up, give him space; you don’t want to be caught in the backlash.”

  Good idea, Vrathis decided, and he motioned his patrollers back as well.

  Photas waited until everyone was clear before he resumed chanting. His arms reached toward the ward tower, hands spread wide. Golden power enveloped him, concentrating at his fingers. An answering glow emanated from the tower. The energy pulsed like a heartbeat, slow and majestic, then Photas swung his arms down, toward the body.

  Darkness welled up from the stones. The blood-drawn runes pulsated, night fire spilling from them in blue, green and purple tongues. The sun priest’s glow deepened to antique gold and pushed down on the darkness, as if to smother it. The golden and red flames licking along the active front of the sun priest’s efforts met the dark fire. Flame and fury and twisting energies, roiling in a billion chaotic colors, exploded outwards, shattering nearby windows to rain shards of glass upon the street, rattling solid stone, flattening all who stood nearby.

  Teson’s voice rose above the cacophony; his power flowed into Photas’ golden shield, reinforcing and strengthening it, smothering the dark fire until nothing of it remained.

  “You may inspect the body now,” Teson said after a long moment of silence. He handed Photas a flask; the angular man took a long swallow of it before he nodded in thanks and handed it back.

  Knellyth and his team went to work immediately.

  Vrathis walked back over to the two sun mages. Teok had joined them, he noted. “What did you find?” Vrathis asked without preamble.

  “The ward functions; it appears undamaged. The murder created a gap in the defenses that let the flies through, whether on purpose or not, I couldn’t tell.” Photas looked at the body briefly. “The murderer also left a trap behind designed to kill anyone who touched the body. The explosion would have been messy.”

  “I think the gap was accidental,” Teson said thoughtfully. “The magical explosion would have erased most if not all of the evidence here.”

  “Was it the dark ones?” Teok grated.

  “It was night magic,” Photas stated. “Very powerful night magic. There were no traces of chaos magic.” He paused then added, his expression sorrowful,
“According to rumor, High Priest S’Rak and Lady Kazia argued on more than one occasion, but I still have trouble believing he did this.”

  “Lady Kazia?” Vrathis began to swear. The victim’s rank had just complicated the issue infinitely.

  Chapter Two: Accusations

  Being the Commander of the City Watch enabled Vrathis to ride his horse right through the palace gates. He turned to the left, exiting the main, formal courtyard and entering the much more utilitarian courtyard of the palace guard. He dismounted, tied the horse’s reins to a hitching ring, straightened his uniform jacket and walked into the palace.

  Protocol required that he notify Captain Jisten, the commander of the palace guard, but Vrathis was hesitant to do so. Captain Jisten was compromised by his relationship with the main suspect, the high priest and envoy, S’Rak. The two men were known to have a sexual relationship, but the anti-sodomy laws didn’t apply because, according to the justicers, the dark priest was bi-gendered. Whatever that meant.

  He walked quickly through the palace to the crown prince’s office. Jethain was the military commander of the kingdom and had been for years. Both Vrathis and Jisten reported to the prince; their commands were thusly kept separate although there was some crossover. A pair of palace guards stood duty before the prince’s doors. The palace guard drew its men mainly from the army, but some came from the watch, and in either case, he was known on sight.

  The slighter of the two guards rapped once on the door, opened it and said, “Your Highness, the Commander of the Watch to see you.”

  “Send him in,” replied the prince’s mellow tenor.

  The guard opened the door the rest of the way and nodded to him. “Sir, the prince will see you.”