Chapter 1

  Varus

  The sun broke the horizon, its warmth cooled by the wind, and with it, flowers bloomed and drank its essence. Varus walked within the manicured path of the Hanging Gardens like he had a thousand times before. He relished the springtime beauty of the month of Highblossom.

  Outside the tranquil order of the gardens, the streets of Avictfell turned to chaos once again. Varus anticipated the regularity of the commonfolk riots as they had done every season of Varus’s fifty-two years. Only the reason for the riot kept such actions from becoming a true tradition. He trusted the Crimson Cloaks to enforce Imperial law within the capital.

  Varus suspected his increased salt tax had invoked the mob this time. The salt merchants were collateral damage, traders of the commodity used for food preservation. The salt tax’s true intent was to seize the colored magical salts required for Essemancy. Hopefully, the effects would reach House Medistein and shatter their salt monopoly.

  Another Avict Bay breeze cooled the sweat on Varus’s brow. The faint smell of the sea mixed blooming honey suckle. Lush vines with splatters of yellow-white flowers clung to the garden’s stone walls. Varus walked along a stoned path beneath the soothing shade and stopped at a round window in the stone wall. A different type of vine had grown over it, obscuring the view. The turquoise flowers were native to the luminescent Nightwood, a forest in his homelands known as the Expanse. He reluctantly cut away the vines withe pruning shears. Varus relished gardening not only for the hobby but for the exercise. Gardening helped him maintain a build of a man twenty years younger with broad shoulders, a flat stomach, and corded muscles.

  Varus hated killing such beauty, but sacrifices were necessary to maintain order.

  Tradition transformed into pride. Every day he would stroll through the Hanging Gardens, tending to them. The actual gardeners allowed it, likely because he was a lord. Over time, they had grown to accept and trust his abilities. Varus had practiced gardening for decades and had developed a knack for the hobby. He finished trimming the vines in an orderly fashion and admired the robust city beyond.

  “Lord Varus,” his scribe Svetlana said. He recognized her soft, courteous tone. “An inquisitor is here to see you.”

  Varus turned. Svetlana had a fair complexion with long, dark hair styled in intricate braids that hung to her waist. Every braid was immaculately ordered--as things should be.

  “Send him in,” Varus said, his tone polite. He wiped sweat beneath his square, clean-shaven jaw with the back of his glove.

  “No, her, my lord.”

  His eyebrows furrowed, female inquisitors were rare.

  Svetlana took care in the garden, staying on the stepping stones, and crossed the covered porch beneath the archway to enter his adjacent office. Easy access to the gardens allowed Varus to meditate on matters of governance. A moment later, Varus heard the chamber door open and close. Svetlana ushered the inquisitor woman to the porch, bowed to Varus, and took her leave.

  “Inquisitor Karolin,” she introduced herself with a bow.

  Being the Arch Marshal of the empire, Varus did not return the bow. He only bowed to the Emperor, a senile fat man who happened to be his father.

  The inquisitor wore black clothes as expected. Instead of a dress, she wore the usual attire of an inquisitor--breeches and a tunic. She was tall for a woman, nearly as tall as himself, who stood over six feet. That was where the similarities ended. She was narrow, with a slouched posture and a skeleton-like appearance. Her short, thick hair matched her midnight black clothes. Standing beneath the shaded porch added to its darkness, which contrasted with his closed crop hair that had grayed long ago. Varus stared with hard, expressionless eyes, studying the woman. She held the parchment in her hands.

  “Lord Varus,” Karolin said. “Grand Vicar Rodrigo wishes to appeal to His Majesty Emperor Viktor I for military aid. The Vanavians continue to raid from the northern Hinterlands.”

  “Did the empire not recently render aid against the Julk. Does the Grand Vicar assume he now commands the empire’s armies?”

  Karolin looked down with an odd embarrassment. Her response felt contrived, as though she anticipated his expectations.

  “I also bring word that the last Great Expedition has failed. The Julk annihilated the combined Imperial and holy Tellisium army.”

  “How would you know this?”

  Karolin shifted. “Because I alone returned from Sojun. I fear they may seek to retaliate. They build a massive invasion fleet as we speak.”

  “It’s been a long time since the Julk dared cross Sandbottom Strait, let alone sail across the Enthos Sea and invade.”

  “I merely bring the news, whether you believe it is your choice.”

  I believe it, but the Assembly won’t. “If the Julk invades, I will crush them just as I have before. As for Grand Vicar Rodrigo, he assumes the Imperial Army would fight this battle for him again?”

  “He would have you defend the empire, to uphold your duty--”

  “He’s not in a position to lecture me on matters of duty.”

  “Of course, my lord,” Karolin said. She shrunk down and stared at her feet.

  Another conditioned response. What game does she play? A rogue weed had sprouted in the flowerbed. Varus plucked it free.

  Karolin rubbed the back of her neck. “I’ll tell him you have heeded his words and are considering how best to respond.”

  “Tell me, why is it an inquisitor brings me such news? Why would he not message Svetlana with his Essemancer?”

  Karolin shifted, averting her eyes. “Because I have news concerning your son, my lord.” Karolin hesitated. “Regrettably, I fear he perished at the hands of the Julk during the Great Expedition. I feel you must know, he gave his life to save my own.”

  A numbness tore at his chest. Communication with the Fourth Expedition ended long ago. It took a year, but eventually, he accepted his son had died. This news confirming his death stoked dormant coals, rekindling his grief. He suppressed his grief, refusing to let it take root. No point in grieving for the dead when there was nothing he could do. Grief is for the weak, “Did he suffer?”

  “Suffering comes in many forms.”

  Varus considered her answer. “Yes. I suppose it does. Why would my son sacrifice himself for you?” Varus asked, even-toned.

  Karolin hesitated. She looked down in shame. Varus studied her body language, analyzing her. She stepped forward onto the first stepping stone. The sunlight glimmered off the tear running down her cheek. “He was my lover.”

  Varus closed his eyes, contemplating that word and everything it entailed. Family was an extension of legacy, and legacy mattered most. “So you are with his child? You come seeking aid?”

  Karolin frowned. “No, on both accounts. I only come to bring you his last words.” She held out the letter.

  Varus approached, took the letter, opened it, and began reading. “This script is not his writing. It’s too chaotic.”

  “I had to rewrite it; his blood covered the original.”

  Varus glanced at the letter, then back to Karolin. “You may as well tell me what’s on it.”

  “I fear I wouldn’t do it justice.” Varus stared at her in silence. Karolin straightened upright. “I see him in you. Tall and broad-shouldered, with the same strong jawline. But mainly the eyes--hard eyes that have experienced much sorrow.” Varus rubbed his jaw, studying her. Something about her mysteriousness was difficult to discern, and it irritated him. He prided himself on his ability to read people, but he couldn’t discern the facade of this inquisitor, which irritated him. He was unsure of her ulterior motive.

  “Did he die with honor?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you love him?”

  “Yes.”

  You’re a sly one, he thought. “How did my son come to love an inquisitor?”

  Karolin paused. She wiped the tear from her face. Is that genuine? Varus waited. His ploy of asking affirmative questions had loosened her tongue.

  “Over time, through battles and mutual admiration.” Karolin took a deep breath and exhaled. “And because of our shared torment from the Julk.”

  The Julk were cruel, fierce fighters, yet not barbaric despite what the Grand Vicar preached to the people. Though they took slaves and concubines, the Julkan Emirates conquered Sojun and restored order. He had grown to respect that about the longtime Imperial enemy. “I know of the Julk ferocity from personal experience. They are a culture that can inflict great pain, but they can also impart much wisdom. It is from a freed Julk slave I learned to appreciate horticulture by sculpting nature into order. Vegetation is scarce in their lands, and they consider gardens a luxury. I found gardening brought a certain relaxed healing. A sense of calm tranquility that let me cope with the suffering and horrors of war. You should consider--”

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  “They tortured us,” she spat in disgust. “Nothing about the Julk culture is wise or relaxing. You learn your son has died and all you talk about are plants!” Both her hands gestured to a bunch of forgot-me-nots flowers nearby.

  You will not stir my emotions to turmoil. Varus said nothing. Instead, he channeled his emotions by squeezing the shears in his hand.

  She bit her lip, holding back a sob. “We waited for a chance to escape. We almost made it together, but the Julk caught us,” another tear ran down her cheek. “He distracted them and told me to run.” Karolin interlaced her fingers, palms facing her belt buckle--hiding the truth.

  There it is. Varus suspected more of the story. Unbeknownst to some, his son Viktor preferred men, making it improbable they were lovers. Named in honor of his grandfather Emperor Viktor I, perhaps his son Viktor II finally intended to do his duty and father an heir. The question is, why was she lying? Was her distress hindering her ability to think clearly? Did this woman win his son’s heart or was the affection misinterpreted? Karolin’s demeanor incited doubt. Something about her seemed disordered. He reputed inquisitors for their crafty deceit and ability to manipulate. She hid the usual tells well. No fidgeting, no rolled back lips, no avoiding eye contact, specifically at crucial moments. Yet, subtle expressions revealed the chaos that lurked beneath her facade. The way her expressions seemed almost intentionally controlled. Her eyes and mouth contorted in mismatched manners. Karolin acted as any expected mourning lover would. Varus admired her skill, but years of service in the Imperial Assembly had honed his lie detection. He read past her intentions, nonetheless. The question was why.

  “Something else not mentioned in the letter. The Julk fleet. They are building a fleet. I can’t be certain, but--”

  “Lord Varus,” a guard interrupted frantically. “The commonfolk riot.”

  Two men came into view; a captain and a sergeant. Svetlana chased behind them. “I am sorry, my lord. I tried to tell them you had a visitor--”

  “It’s fine,” Varus said to Svetlana, holding his hand out. She sighed with relief. “Svetlana, please escort Inquisitor Karolin out and ensure her our hospitality before she continues her travels.” With a bow, Svetlana held her hand out to escort Karolin away.

  “My lady,” the captain said, “err, my inquisitor.” He bowed.

  Svetlana escorted Karolin from the garden. Karolin scowled at Svetlana, glanced back to Varus, and left on her own accord.

  The sergeant proceeded onto the stone path. The captain breathed heavily with panic in his eyes. He hurried forward, pushing past the sergeant, stepping on some flowers beside the path to get around him. Varus lowered his eyebrows and glanced down at the crushed flowers.

  “Take a deep breath, Captain Davan,” Varus said. He knew the man as commander of the Crimson Cloak’s--Avictfell’s City Watch. “Compose yourself, calmly tell me the situation, and please stand on the stones.”

  Captain Davan took a deep breath, exhaled deeply, rolled his shoulders back, and began to deliver his report. “The merchants in the square, they are protesting the salt tax.”

  As intended. “What merchants?”

  “The Enthos League burghers, the salt miners, and some merchants. But there are heralds and acolytes among them. I even saw a Lector as well.”

  Bold for a Tellisium high priest to support commonfolk. “Lector Ricci aids the protest?”

  Davan shrugged. “I don’t know the Lector’s name, but he appeared to be observing.”

  I need to attempt to disperse the mob. “What do you know about gardening, Captain Davan?”

  Davan’s face scrunched into confusion. “Nothing Arch Marshal.”

  “You should consider gardening. It’s a great way to meditate on life. Bringing order to nature’s chaos is satisfying. But we must take care to minimize unnecessary damage.” Varus indicated the smashed flowers.

  The guard followed his gaze, looking down at his foot and the crushed flowers beneath it. He swallowed hard and finally stepped onto the rock path. “Yes, Arch Marshal.”

  “I can forgive a mistake once, but never twice. Take this lesson to heart and seize the opportunity. Let me show you something,” Varus gestured Davan to the circled window view he had cleared. The sergeant followed behind. The terraced gardens and town square were visible through the window. “What happens when you throw a rock at a school of fish?”

  “The fish scatter,” Davan said with confidence.

  “What do you see?” Varus gestured through the window.

  “A mob of angry merchants.”

  “Look harder,” Davan said nothing, and after a long moment of uncomfortable silence, Varus answered the question. “I see the leader.” Varus pointed. “The tall man with the dark blue coat. See how he shouts and encourages his men? Notice his stout nature and confident stance. How the others support him. There is nothing quite like the chaos of fire to disrupt order. Take a lantern and throw it into the middle of the crowd. After it shatters, the fire will scatter the mob. Allowing your men to apprehend the leader. When he inevitably resists, do not hesitate to kill him. Be ruthless and efficient, and the rest will scatter.”

  “Fire, my lord?” Davan asked in an uneasy tone.

  Varus nodded.

  “So the stories of the Undaunted are true.”

  “Be sure to remind them of me,” Varus commanded.

  “Yes, Arch Marshal.” Davan bowed, turned, and left. The sergeant did the same.

  * * *

  Varus watched through the freshly cleared garden window as they carried out his orders. It took several minutes, but Captain Davan and the sergeant arrived back at the square with the assembled protesters.

  Davan hurled an oil lantern into the crowd. Screams of panic rose. People scattered away from the flames, some getting pushed over, others trampled. The fire further enraged the mob. Davan grabbed the mob leader’s arm, intending to arrest him, but he jerked free. Davan drew his sword, prompting the other Crimson Cloak guards to do likewise.

  The anarchist retreated and Davan lunged forward, intending to skewer him. The leader pulled a nearby fat man between them to shield the thrust. Devan’s sword sunk into flesh. Varus recognized the rotund man as Lector Ricci of the Tellisium Church. Davan and the leader both froze in horror. The pause was a mistake.

  Dagger in hand, the sergeant approached the rebel leader from behind and slit his throat. Blood spurted onto Lector Ricci’s white tunic, soaking it scarlet. The sergeant grabbed the bleeding man by the hair, pivoting him toward the crowd. Blood sprayed from his slashed neck with rhythmic pulses. Scared shrieks spread the hysteria. Panic protesters dispersed into the side streets, pushing past each other in fear for their lives.

  * * *

  A while later, Captain Davan returned to the garden, and the sergeant followed close behind. Both men carefully stepped onto the stone path.

  “Arch Marshal,” Captain Davan said. “The leader has been--”

  “Captain, was my advice unclear?”

  Davan’s eyes narrowed. “No, my lord. The leader lies dead, and the mob dispersed as you expected.”

  “I see. You execute my orders well. But you seem to have forgotten my lesson. The Crimson Cloaks’ purpose is to restore order and minimize collateral damage. What of the dead Lector?”

  Davan said nothing. He shifted and looked down.

  “Captain, you were careless when you first informed me of the riot. A soldier of the empire must protect its citizens from both external and internal threats. The surest way to succeed is to use your authority as captain to ensure that order. The man you killed was no mere bystander. He was a Lector. My relationship with Lector Ricci goes back decades. We fought on the Second Great Expedition together. I even supported his nomination to become the Grand Vicar.”

  “The Lector was a friend of my lord?” Davan swallowed.

  “Not at all,” Varus stated without remorse. “I hope his Essence lingers in the Void for all eternity. In a way, you did me a favor. I suppose I owe you my thanks.”

  Captain Davan sighed in relief. Varus approached Davan, placed his left hand on his shoulder, and locked eyes. With haste, Varus grabbed Davan’s sword, drew it from its scabbard, and stabbed him in the stomach. Davan’s eyes bulged wide with shock and he coughed blood.

  “Twice,” Varus said. Varus ripped the rank cord from the Davan’s shoulder as he dropped to the ground, pulling the sword free from his stomach. Varus turned. “What is your name, sergeant?”

  “Sergeant Sevric, my lord Arch Marshal,” he said.

  Varus handed the rank cord to Sergeant Sevric. “You are in command now, Captain Sevric. Please remove this man from my presence.”

  Newly promoted, Captain Sevric rendered a sharp salute right fist to his heart. “My lord.” Sevric grabbed Davan by the ankles and dragged him away, leaving a smearing trail of blood in its wake.

  Varus left the garden, walked back to his adjoining office, and sat down.

  Svetlana lingered nearby. “Svetlana, transcribe this letter, please.”

  “Shall I send it with Essemancy?” Svetlana asked. Svetlana usually sent her messages telepathically to other Essemancers in service to high lords and people of importance.

  “No, this is a legal matter. A formal written request shall be required.” Varus dictated a letter of claim on the late Lector Ricci’s estate.

  To Otto Medistein,

  Lector Ricci has made his final sojourn to reside with the All-Father Tellius. By right of law, Lector Ricci’s outstanding debt owed to house Karvyean shall be collected in full from the Ricci estate. The estate was posted as collateral for supporting him as a candidate for Grand Vicar in the year of Dual Elections in 1482. Therefore, please arrange for a notary and transfer of all lands, possessions, and gold savings to house Karvyean’s demesne and that of the Imperial Crown.

  Imperial Arch Marshal Varus Karvyean, co-regent to Emperor Viktor I, of house Karvyean

  Varus had Svetlana draft another copy to send to the Grand Vicar. “Add this at the end,” Varus said. “Who do you intend to appoint as the next Lector for Avictfell?”

  Varus folded each letter to conceal its contents, then poured blue wax from his desk candle. He pressed his signet ring into the wax leaving behind his seal--the household dragon symbol. Beneath the seal, he addressed the letters to Otto Medistein and Grand Vicar Rodrigo Malgais.

  “Instruct a rider to travel to Medistein Tower in Tarona and deliver this directly into the hands of Otto Medistein. Arrange for another rider to travel to Ryvium and deliver this letter to the Grand Vicar.”

  “At once, my lord,” Svetlana said, bowed, and bustled from the room.

  With the help of the greedy Medistein bankers, the Grand Vicar proclaimed another futile expedition, costing him his eldest son, Viktor. Varus intended to recover from his loss. He refused to allow House Medistein or Rodrigo Malgais’ incompetence to hamper his legacy. Varus would let the Grand Vicar deal with the Vanavians in the north. Let him use the holy Knights of Tellius. If Karolin spoke true and the Julk did intend to cross the Enthos Sea in the south, he would meet them on the field and slaughter them as he had in the past. For now, more important matters required his immediate attention. The death of Lector Ricci provided an opportunity he could not waste.

  Viktor hadn’t yet sired an heir, and now he never would. His sole living son and heir, Alek, would need to fulfill his duty where Viktor had failed. Despite his nighttime peculiarities, Viktor had been the preferred son of two poor choices because his mother was Heidi. Alek was from tainted blood and would tarnish the Karvyean legacy. Alek got his bad blood from his mother Maria, her lineage derived from Duke “Mad Max” Markawart. Varus had followed the orders of his father, done his duty, divorced Heidi, and married the mad duke’s daughter Maria. A decision he regretted every day--a rare mistake in his life.

  If he suffered from bad blood, then perhaps his daughter Danika--the eldest child of his true love, Heidi--might continue the Karvyean dynasty. He’d have to adjust some inheritance laws and upset some lords, but such steps were necessary to ensure his legacy lived on. No one, not his capricious father--Emperor Viktor--or the corrupt and nepotist Grand Vicar, and especially not the selfish Medistein bankers, would stop him.