The Record of the Saints Caliber (55 page)

“She has never said as much to me, no.” admitted Isley. “But I know she does not seek the Goddess’s love. I know she does not seek anything for the benefit of mankind. I have observed that Celacia is a person all her own, with duties and oaths sworn upon bygone ages that we are not privy to. She seeks something here, in your lands, and I believe that is nothing less than a new age for herself and her master, Darkendrog. Your hammer is an object of her own age. It is a relic of her own past. As such, she needs it for her own desires.”

Balin raised an eyebrow. “Then tell me, Saint Isley, if you believe what you have said, why would you have aligned yourself with her in the first place?”

Isley regarded Balin for a moment and then said, “Because I too seek to herald a new age. It is true that many Saints today have lost their way. I believe Sanctuary has lost its way as well. There are, however, a small few of us who still believe in our duty. A smaller few of us are inclined to fulfill our duty, even if that means betraying Holy Father.”

“And what of your allies that followed you here?” asked Balin. “Do they, like you, seek to fulfill their duty?”

Isley paused, thoughts of the other Saints coursing through his mind. He looked up at Egret briefly and said, “Lord Egret is wise to have chosen me as his lieutenant. Of the fellow Saints who followed me here, only I am inclined to see my duty to Aeoria fulfilled.”

There was some hushed murmurs from the table. Balin raised an eyebrow and asked, “So, your companions cannot be trusted?”

Isley’s silver eyes gleamed as he looked into Balin’s own. “For your purposes, Umbrial, Tia, Gamalael and Arric can be trusted and shall be loyal. Lord Tarquin shall make an excellent commander for your new Saints Alliance. Of them all, the only one who is dangerous to you is Nuriel.”

“She was your apprentice.” remarked Balin, cocking his head. “You do not think highly of your own student?”

“The others don’t care one way or another if the Goddess is awoken.” said Isley. “They are the stock and store of Sanctuary. They have lost their way. But Nuriel is devout. Nuriel’s heart and soul belong to Sanctuary.”

“You speak in circles that Celacia would find admirable.” said Balin with some disgust. “You tell us that only you are inclined to see your duty through, tell us that Nuriel is dangerous, and now tell us that she is devout like yourself?”

Isley’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not listening. I did not say she is devout like myself. I told you that only I am inclined to see my duty to the Goddess through. Nuriel’s devotion is unequivocally to Sanctuary. And for that she is more dangerous than I can explain to you.”

Balin looked at the Council and leaned over the table as they all began exchanging frantic whispers.

Isley could see that none of them would understand his words. Of all the men in Duroton, only Egret shared the same responsibility to duty as he, and only Egret would ever understand him. Isley thought it a blessing from the Goddess that Egret had chosen him.

“All this Council needs to understand is that Saint Isley’s purpose aligns with my own.” said Lord Egret. “Neither of us shall see Celacia herald the final age into this world so long as a single star remains in the sky.”

Balin stood back up from the table and pinched at his forehead. He looked at Isley with some exasperation, a sentiment that seemed to be shared with all the Councilmen, and sighed. “Why does Celacia trust you then?” asked Balin. “If you are against her, why does she trust you? Celacia does not seem prone to being duped.”

“I was there when Celacia was unearthed.” said Isley. “Deep in the earth, in the Womb of the World.”

“We have heard the tales of the Womb of the World.” said Balin. “It is said that it is a bottomless void that leads to the heart of the world. The legends say that from that pit were born the Dragon Kings of the First Age.”

“I know not of the tales you speak, for they are not taught to us at Sanctuary.” said Isley. “But I can say that it is a pit vast and deep and none have ever seen its bottom. I can also tell you there are areas of that pit rich with gems and King Gatima has his men ceaselessly mining it. The miners hang from outcroppings and rocky shelves, dangling above the bottomless void as they work the sheer walls, pulling stones from it. I was there to oversee the mines, to make sure thieves did not steal away with any riches.

“One day I heard the cry of men. Terrified screams. I came to see what was the matter. There was an outcropping of stone, a large shelf of rock. Upon this shelf there was a small crater, and as the men waved their torches, the body of a woman could be seen within it. She was beautiful, in black armor, and she appeared to be sleeping. I thought she was a Saint. It was like she was entombed in the stone. As if she had fallen upon that shelf long ago and over the ages the very stone had begun to swallow her.” Isley looked at the Council. “The stone did swallow her. The woman at the bottom was Celacia. She had laid upon that floor for so many ages that her aura had slowly crumbled the stone from her body and she sank inch by inch into it. The men tried to pull her out, but those who got too close to her died, withering before our very eyes.

“It was I who pulled her out. My hands burned with pain as I held her body, and I had to shine my Caliber so brightly to withstand it that the entire pit was aglow in my light. It was my Caliber’s strength that woke her. She came to and seemed very confused. In her confusion her deathly aura flared, stone crumbled and all the miners with me died. Despite the pain of being so close to her, I spoke words of comfort and slowly she calmed down. There was something about her. She seemed familiar to me, like a person I should know. At first I thought she was a fellow Saint, but it quickly became apparent to me that she was something entirely different. Her stellaglyph was odd, but yet seemed familiar. I cannot tell you why, but I knew she was somebody special. She was somebody important. And in my heart I knew that it was the will of Aeoria for me to find her.

“I took her from that pit and stayed with her many days. She told me very little of herself, and I could never glean enough information from her to determine who or what she was. I knew she was not of our age. She was puzzled by this world. Disheartened by it, even. At night she would look to the starless skies and she would weep, calling out the name Darkendrog. It was as if she could see something in the heavens that I could not. Then one day she told me that she had some things that she had to do; things she had to learn. And we parted ways.

“I returned to Gatimaria. I told Gatima that there had been an accident in the mines and that many of his men had died. He reassigned me to other jobs and then one day, out of the blue, Celacia came back. She had sought me out. She was different now. More certain of things. I did not know where she had gone or what she had done. I have since learned from Egret that she had come here and was living in the Stellarium, but I also have reason to believe she went to Sanctuary and may have secretly secured the loyalty of some Saints there.”

Balin pursed his lips and nodded. “We too believe as much. It’s hard to gauge anything from her. As you are aware, Saint Isley, Celacia is quite secretive.”

“She is.” said Isley.

“He’s blathering on again.” growled Gefjon, throwing up a hand. “Get to your point! Answer the question! Why does she trust you?” There were some murmurs of agreement across the table.

Balin looked at Isley. “So you’re saying that Celacia trusts you because you were the one who awakened her?”

Isley looked at Balin, feeling his own patience running thin. “That’s not it at all. She trusts me because I promised her I would see her dead.”

Hands flew up in the air and the table erupted with angry comments. Balin himself buried his face in his hands before he looked at Egret and said, “Lord Egret, your lieutenant is wearing on this Council’s patience. At this point, I fear we have little recourse other than to—”

The door to the Council room swung in with such force that it slammed hard against the wall. Lord Tarquin strode in. His black shroud did little to conceal how dirty and weary he was. He stank of smoke, and Isley thought, blood. Tension gripped the room as Tarquin became aware of Egret and Saint Isley. His face dissolved into a terrible scowl and he cast menacing eyes upon Isley. Beneath his shroud, Isley could see that his hand went for his sword.

“Lord Tarquin,” said Egret, giving the slightest of bows. “You are in Council, not war.”

Balin’s face was pale and the entire Council quiet and just as white in the face as he. Balin composed himself as best he could and said, “Lord Tarquin, you’ve returned much earlier than expected.”

Tarquin kept his hateful eyes on Isley for a moment longer before peeling his gaze away and to Balin. “We have to talk. Now.”

Balin licked his lips. “Understood.” He looked at Egret and Isley. “You are dismissed, Lord Egret and Saint Isley. We thank you for your council.”

Egret and Isley both bowed slightly before turning and stalking out the door. After it had clicked shut behind them Tarquin turned to Balin and said, “We have a huge problem. That Saint Nuriel went crazy. The bitch turned on us. She killed all the others and nearly me as well.”

Balin’s face went even whiter and his hand began rubbing nervously at his cheeks. From the table the Councilmen all looked at each other in stunned silence. Balin’s cheeks balled out as he blew out his breath and ran a hand through his hair. “Are there any survivors?”

“No Saints but plenty of Icelanders.” said Tarquin, then more venomously added, “I was promised loyal Saints.”

“What about the soldiers we sent with you?” asked Jord.

“They’re holding just off the shores of the Crashingstones,” said Tarquin. “I used Whisper to get back here quickly.” He fixed his dark eyes on Balin. “This is no good.”

Balin grimaced. “What about this Nuriel? Did you kill her?”

“No.” said Tarquin bitterly. “That crazy bitch turned on us. Started freaking out and killed her companions. I tried to stop her but by that point I had exhausted too much of my power. There was no way I could face her. Those Saints are quick.”

“This is no good,” said Gefjon, shaking his head nervously. “This is no good at all. If word gets out…”

A rush of panic gripped the Councilmen. They started throwing about all manner of frenzied ideas and conspiracies to cover their tracks. Chaos began to seize the Council when Balin finally composed himself and raised his hands and said loudly, “Order! Order!” The voices died down and Balin continued. “Celacia will be here tomorrow morning. We’ll have her clean this up. This is partially her mess.”

“But what about the Icelanders?” shot Aldur. “We have to act now. We can’t let this go any longer. They could already be sending quick-hounds out. If word gets out that we sent an attack—”

“Send ships!” shot Gefjon. “Lord Tarquin, take a full legion and scour the Icelands. We can’t delay this.”

“I concur with Gefjon,” said Jord. “Lord Tarquin has to go back immediately and finish this.”

Once again the Council fell into a chaos of men talking over each other. Balin tried to call order again but the door to the room swung open and Dagrir stepped in. He wore his lacquered black armor that was etched in silver with intricate patterns of phoenixes, and a crimson cape bearing the crest of Duroton. He looked upon the panicked Councilmen with some amusement as he shut the door. Their voices all died down, but their faces were white as ever. “Is everything all right in here?” asked Dagrir.

“Your Grace,” said Balin, bowing. Tarquin followed suit, and all the other Councilmen stood and bowed before taking their seats again. “We did not expect you this morning.”

“To be honest, I did not intend to join. My father wanted me to pop in and see how we’re coming along with finding a phoenix egg.” said Dagrir. He looked at Tarquin. “I was hoping to find Egret and Isley here, but it seems you’re all onto far more interesting topics.”

Balin inhaled deeply and cast a quick glance at his fellow Councilmen. He turned back to Dagrir. “Your Grace,” he said. “It’s quite fortunate you stopped in. There seems to be an issue, and as you are Council of War, this is a matter entirely in your hands.”

Dagrir’s brow furled with puzzlement, then his face suddenly melted into something more like exasperation and he pursed his lips, shaking his head. “It’s my brother, isn’t it?” he exhaled loudly. “Please don’t tell me he’s done something stupid like declared war on us.”

Balin looked at the Council and they all forced a small laugh of amusement. “Well, your Grace, as it turns out, that’s not quite the case, though one could make a fine argument that your brother is the cause of it.”

Dagrir wiped a hand down his face and pulled out a chair and plopped himself down in it. He shook his head in silence for a moment and then, without looking up at Balin, said, “Well? What is it?”

“You’ll recall that when your brother last sat in on the Council, he ordered reparations to be paid to the Icelanders.” said Balin.

“I do.” said Dagrir. He looked up at Balin. “As I recall, we later agreed we would not send payment just yet?”

“As it turns out, your Grace, the Council decided to send Lord Tarquin and the Saints to pay this year’s reparations.” explained Balin. “With your brother scheduled to take the throne, we felt it prudent to act, however partially, on his orders.”

“Get on with it,” said Dagrir, looking down at the table, a look of expectant displeasure on his face.