The Record of the Saints Caliber (77 page)

“It’s the principle of the matter.” said Balin. “You let him have this little wall, and tomorrow he’ll be taking a village. Then a city. And then he’ll be outside the gates of Durtania herself.”

“Hear! Hear!” cried the Councilmen.

Dagrir looked at Balin. “Do
nothing
right now. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, my Liege.” said Balin. “Onto the next matter then. We have—”

Dagrir himself would have cut the man off if there was not a knock upon the council room door. In stepped Lord Egret, his armored form covered in his black shroud. “Sorry for the interruption, your Grace. My Lords.” he said, bowing to Dagrir and then the Councilmen. He looked back at Dagrir and fell to a knee, placing the back of his hands upon the floor before him. “I’m sorry, my
Liege
. Your father has passed to the Lands of Duroton. He is one with its sky.”

Everybody within the council room got up and fell to a knee before Dagrir, placing their palms upward on the floor before them. “My Liege!” they roared in unison.

Dagrir frowned and looked up to the dark sky above, and closed his eyes, saying a silent prayer to his father. He looked back down and said, “Rise.”

All within the council room stood back up.

“Lord Egret,” said Dagrir. “I would have you accompany me to my father’s chamber.”

“Yes, my Liege.” he said with a bow.

“Shall we come to pay our final respects as well, my Liege?” asked Balin.

“No.” said Dagrir. “I want this Council to figure out a means in which to deal with Celacia. By morning I want a plan in place to rid our lands of her.”

“My Liege,” said Balin. “I’m not certain this will be easy. As far as the Jinn know, Celacia cannot be killed, and I do not think she will leave if we ask her nicely. I feel it is this Council’s duty to remind you that she desires the Skull Forge as much as we do, and she brought it here under specific terms. Granted, we were likely the only kingdom to extend a welcome to her, but it must be remembered that she is the one who brought the skull and she desires it as much as we do. Are you certain that this is a wise decision? If we try to remove her and it fails, who knows what she might do. Perhaps more discussion on this topic and the topic of the Saints Alliance is needed. At least, until we have time to consider all options.”

“No.” said Dagrir plainly. “Figure something out. Anything. Speak with the Jinn. Certainly they must have some sort of runic bindings that can hold her. Perhaps even the Black Cells.” Dagrir paused and gave Tarquin and the rest of the Councilmen a knowing and deliberate glance. “This Council can be quite crafty when it wants to. Figure something out. And as far as the Saints Alliance, it is dissolved. There will be no further discussions on that matter.”

Egret’s face betrayed a smile and locked eyes with Lord Tarquin for a moment. Tarquin was silent, but Dagrir would have sworn he heard him snarl like an angry dog.

There were some whispers through the council room and Dagrir saw many heads shaking. “Do I make myself clear?” he said loudly.

“Yes, my Liege.” said Balin. “Abundantly clear. Beneath the Duroton sky, your will shall be done.”

“What of Saint Isley?” asked Tarquin, his eyes narrowing as he glanced at Egret. “Shall he be dispatched of as well?”

Dagrir looked at Egret for a brief moment and then said, “No. If Lord Egret likes him, then I like him. Isley can stay as Egret’s lieutenant. But Celacia is something entirely too dangerous to have walking around our kingdom, and there are many whispers amongst the Jinn that she herself shall herald the age of destruction upon this world. I want a plan put to action on her and her alone. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Liege.” said Tarquin.

“Very good.” Dagrir said. “Make sure the plans do not leave this council room. Involve the Jinn if needed, but nobody else.” Dagrir took leave of the room, Egret following him with one last surreptitious smile and wink at Tarquin, as he closed the door behind him.

Tarquin’s hands balled into fists. “That arrogant son of a bitch!” he spat. He turned his hard eyes upon Balin. The council table and all the chairs began to float a couple inches off the floor. He pointed an armored finger at the man. “I was promised the Saints Alliance! I was to be made a Commander of equal rank as Egret!”

Balin placed a hand on the back of one of the floating chairs and pushed it down to the floor. “Calm yourself, Lord Tarquin.” he said, looking at the man.

Tarquin snarled and turned, and everything fell with a thud.

Balin placed a hand on Tarquin’s shoulder. “You have proven yourself a valuable asset to this Council. Indeed, to the entire kingdom of Duroton. Do not lose sight of the true goal. Soon the Mard Grander will be reforged. Soon we’ll have our own Star-Armor. And then we shall take out Sanctuary. We shall march upon all the southern kingdoms. And I promise you, this Council will see you well rewarded.”

“Hear! Hear!” cheered the others.

Tarquin turned around and looked at Balin. “I want the Mard Grander. I want it out of Egret’s hands and into mine.”

Balin pursed his lips and frowned. “That could be a tall order right now. Egret won’t give it up willingly, and Dagrir would see it in no others’ hands. Give me time to think.” He sighed and plopped himself down into a chair. He rapped his fingers on the table a few times and then said, “So, what do we do about Celacia?”

There were some murmurs and heads shaking.

“I’ll take her out.”

The Councilmen all turned and looked up at Lord Tarquin. He stood there, his face dark and angry.

“I’ll take her out.” he said again.

Balin cocked an eyebrow. “Go on.”

Lord Tarquin stepped forward. “Without my promised Saints Alliance, I have nothing. I am once again under the command of Lord Egret. I also have the most to lose if Celacia resents the loss of her Saints under my command. But I also have the most to gain by taking her out.” He paused and smiled darkly. “I want the Mard Grander. And I want control of the dragon skull. If I take her out, they’re mine. If I cannot have my Saints Alliance, then I shall be in command of Duroton’s new army. I shall head the legions of soldiers girded in Star-Armor. I shall be their Commander. I shall lead Duroton against the kingdoms of the south.” He scowled. “And Egret,” he spat. “He can keep his title. He can keep everything here in Duroton.” He looked right at Balin now. “But the rest of the world is mine for the taking. I shall command our armies.”

Balin looked over his shoulder as the rest of the Councilmen whispered amongst each other. He turned and looked at Tarquin. “
If
you can take out Celacia—and that would seem to me to be a very large ‘if’—I am certain Dagrir would see you greatly rewarded.” He turned around and addressed the Council. “If you can do this, I and the rest of this Council would also see you hold the Mard Grander and lead our armies to victory upon the southern kingdoms.”

“Hear! Hear!” cried Gefjon. “Lord Tarquin has always seen the will of his King and this Council done! Lord Tarquin has ever been a trustworthy ally to us. I say we shall see it done!”

“Hear! Hear!” cried the other Councilmen in unison.

“There’s just one problem,” said Balin. He turned around and looked at Tarquin. “Celacia is a foe quite beyond any of us. Quite beyond even our dear Lord Tarquin here. And even if she weren’t, she can’t be killed, so far as we know.”

Tarquin smiled. “Who says I have to kill her?”

“What are you getting at?” asked Balin.

“In the bowels of the Stellarium is a forgotten place. A dungeon few know about.” said Tarquin. “The Jinn say that in the days when Aeoria walked this earth, it was used to hold angels who fell to the will of Apollyon, and demons and devils. It is a place that not even Celacia can escape. And the Jinn have speculated that it may have even been built specifically to contain her.”

There were some murmurs through the Councilmen. Balin cocked his head and looked at Tarquin. “You speak of the Black Cells, like those found in this very castle? Surely Celacia cannot be contained, even there.”

“No.” said Tarquin. “I speak of a darker place. A place only the Jinn and myself as Captain of the Stellarium Guard know of. They are called the Dark Holds. Cells made of solid star-metal, with no way out. And they shall become Celacia’s tomb.”

Balin turned and looked at the rest of the Council. “And how exactly do you plan to get her into one of those? I can’t exactly picture her walking into a prison cell of her own accord.”

Tarquin smiled and tapped the pommel of Whisper. “Leave that to me.”

♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦ ♦

It was the small hours of the night and the moon was but a partial, pale disc, low in the stark blackness of the heavens. The brick roads of Durtania were cast in shadows by the tall, sleeping buildings that lined them, but every ten yards a lamppost cast puddles of yellow-green gaslight upon Celacia’s path. From down a side-street she could hear roars of laughter from a tavern and see its inviting light flickering upon the walls of a narrow alley. Part of her wished she could go there, to join in the merriment; share some laughs or taste ale and a warm meal and remember what all that was like. Maybe flirt or be approached by a handsome gentlemen even. But the other part of her wasn’t going to let her kid herself. She knew that was an impossible dream. Besides, she had some business with Isley.

Celacia’s armored boots fell lightly upon the road, leaving a trail of dusty prints behind her that were swept away by the cool, night air. Ahead of her, the spires of a church came into view, silhouetted against the night sky. They protruded like the sharp tips of claws above the surrounding buildings which were cast in ruddy light, giving it the appearance of some hellish hand reaching up from the abyss. Celacia was amused by the imagery, and how timely demons always seemed to be.

“Your payment comes due.” came the low, guttural voice of Bulifer from behind her. She could feel a hot wind blow through her hair.

Celacia stopped in her tracks and turned around. The demon Bulifer stood in the center of the road, the very shadows of the surrounding buildings cringing against the veins of fiery light that emanated from his charred, bestial form. Waves of heat rippled the atmosphere around him, distorting his figure. His lips furled into a terrible smile.

Celacia frowned. She had a feeling he would be showing up soon, though she had hoped he would have waited a few more days. She had wanted to check in on Nuriel before having to leave. It didn’t look like that would be happening now.

“Don’t look so down,” said Bulifer, smiling wickedly. His infernal eyes glowed like hot coals. “Now comes the fun part.”

Celacia glowered at the demon. She knew Bulifer had quite the bone to pick with her, and he was going to delight in this. She hated that she had made a pact with him; hated herself for having done it. Still, at the time, she had felt there was no other way. Indeed, there had been no other way. Isley had found her in the Womb of the World and she had awoken to this strange age. Nothing made sense to her; nothing was as she remembered it. There was no Goddess upon the earth; Saints were not as she remembered them; the very kingdoms were all alien to her and the night sky was a desert of black nothingness. She had felt like she was in some sort of strange nightmare from which there was no waking. She
still
felt like that. She couldn’t tell what was real any more; what was memory and what was fantasy dreamed in the darkness of that pit she was found in.

Shortly after meeting Isley, she had gone to the Stellarium to seek answers, and there found only more confusion. It was no longer a stronghold for the Goddess and her Angels. Instead it was held by the people of Duroton and their Jinn. The Jinn reminded her of the Oracles that once served the Goddess—more so than the Oracles serving Sanctuary now—but even still, they felt foreign and strange to her. But it was there that the Jinn showed her the stained glass murals, and when her eyes fell upon the depiction of Rallenar and his Avatar, Calavar, memories stirred in her. They were memories of Calavar, and they were real. They weren’t vague, uncertain images subdued by doubt and dreamy ambiguity. The memories were not complete, but what she had was full of substance and certainty. Like those deep blue eyes of his. She knew she had peered into them many times before, looking into them with desire and hope, longing and devotion. She could remember his touch, the warmth of his arm around her; the heat from his lips upon hers. For a thousand years she slept in that dark pit and he had haunted all her dreams.

But then the Jinn told her of the history of things. They told her how Darkendrog had betrayed the Goddess and killed all of the other Dragon Kings. They also told her of how history recorded her own dark deeds, such as how she had been the one to kill the Avatars.
All
the Avatars. Him included.

And that’s when she remembered their blood. She remembered hatred burning in her core. She remembered the feelings of betrayal, shame and disgrace. She remembered dark places in her soul that she dared not touch upon. But most of all, she remembered that voice: the voice of Darkendrog whispering in her ear, telling her of their betrayal; of Aeoria’s betrayal. Something had been taken away from her—she could not remember what, and maybe she didn’t want to remember what—but something had been taken from her and she killed them all for it. She had killed the Avatars. And it was all written in the books of history collected by the Jinn.