From Morlana ni'Choya, Convergence: Annotated Letters of Catarin deSangre
Dear Riana,
I write this in the dim hope that you will receive it safely. Castomira's so-called "Royal Elites" are rapidly becoming a hazard for couriers. I've hired an independent, a Serpentlord named Caprian Zyle, to bear this message quickly to Jaru. I have instructions for your father; they're enclosed.
The situation in Imperial Seleucar is desperate. Leophine Errikale continues to express a pious neutrality, but he must eventually be swayed by the weight of Castomira's supporters. I'm sure you're up to date on the news? Castomira bore a son by Mycale, and named him Parni. The child's claim is weakened by illegitimacy only as much as my claim is weakened by my gender. Law and tradition interact torturously, but in the end, the empire must follow whomever is crowned, and in my absence, Castomira might crown the child within a few months. Her legal status as a war criminal does not affect Parni's personal claim, but it does hinder Castomira in advancing it; that small mercy is the only thing that gives me hope.
I'm traveling from manor to manor, trying to gain support, trying to learn who my friends are. Orin Grandier taught me much, and introduced me to a great many people, before he was assassinated, but with Imperial Seleucar in Castomira's grip, under martial law, most of the lords who would have supported me are reluctant to make a commitment. Many have joined Castomira's cause, and they send levies of soldiers to the city. An army is slowly amassing, to forestall any military move I might make. That, too, makes it difficult for me to gain material assistance from lords who once backed me wholeheartedly, even though I hear a waterfall of empty words.
My political position is growing closer to hopeless each day, and execution or exile are distinct possibilities. But I might welcome failure, for my heart has been broken in a hundred places. Lucaine Pyramides is dead.
I was the first to find him, since I fled the palace to follow his route. The assassinations at the palace must have been timed to coincide with Lucaine's murder, robbing me of all my closest supporters. They . . . they burned him alive, before stabbing him to death. I can't imagine by what treachery they overpowered him. At the scene of the murder, they left his sword, in two pieces. The end of the blade is buried in an ancient oak, and the tree will surely grow around it, preserving it forever. The hilt and the other half of the blade are with me, along a notebook full of poems, written on bloodstained paper. Now tearstained, as well. I read it every day, and every day I waver between suicide and revenge. It will have to be one or the other.
I never knew how much he loved me. And now that I know, I don't think that I can ever love again. He wrote one hundred poems, and in them I can track the progress of a love I never got a chance to return. It's been raining for weeks now. I feel certain that the skies themselves mourn, as I do. The jewels in the Staff of Nicator have changed from white diamond to smoky quartz. Does this mean that the Staff shares my grief, as well? Is the Staff causing the rain? Or is the Staff weakening, along with my inner resolve, warping along with my soul?
Pray for my victory, for I will need the help of all the gods.
Yours,
Catarin
From Lord Damen Kephry, Collected Correspondence
My dearest Margaux,
My astonishment is complete, but my loyalties are not so baffled. A Second War of Succession is inevitable now, and I cannot wait to fight for my rightful ruler! But this story does not merit a haphazard telling, and so I must begin at the beginning.
I'd been invited to take command of the newly-formed Royal Elites. Leophine Errikale had created the Elites as a peacekeeping force, and intended it to be a fully neutral one. However, in the wake of the assassinations of Catarin's key supporters, the Royal Elites "coincidentally" came to be commanded entirely by officers who had fought on Mycale's side in the recent War of Succession. Leophine Errikale might have wished to distance himself from his late brother, but he also held a keen knowledge of which way the wind was blowing.
As I'd been a vocal supporter of Mycale during the War, and since my reputation is one of integrity and courage, the new Duke of Seleucar was only too eager to have me as Knight-Commander of the Royal Elites: a figurehead position, no doubt, but still one that interested me. Perhaps as official leader of the Royal Elites, I could take steps to make them truly neutral, instead of simply puppets to Castomira's hidden will. For there could be no doubt who was behind the recent assassinations, and Catarin's flight from the city. The other lords, greedy though they might be, were also craven. Only Castomira had both the ruthlessness and the bravery to unleash such a concerted attack.
Remembering that fell night, I am tremendously glad that I asked you to stay at our country home with the children. Assassination is always a fear among prominent nobles, but for seventeen to die in a single night is unheard-of. Some were poisoned. Some fell prey to convincing "accidents." Some were killed by stealth, some were killed openly by masked mercenaries, and one was even killed by the suspicious explosion of his alchemical laboratory. Lord Orin Grandier, Catarin's strong voice in the circles of power, was found hanged in his bedchamber, with spikes driven through his eyes. Early that morning, Catarin fled the city with a tiny retinue, and even she barely escaped an assassin's knife. Only the alertness of her personal guard saved her from the black-clad Serpentlords who attempted to infiltrate her room by night. I understand her bodyguards were hand-picked by Lucaine Pyramides. He chose well. I was aggrieved to learn of his death. He was a good man, in the end.
The new turmoil in the city is tragic. I'd been certain that Catarin would quietly assume the throne, and so I'd never declared personal loyalty to her, thinking my support unnecessary. Perhaps if I, and others in my situation, had lent Catarin the legitimacy she needed, Castomira would never have dared to carry out her vengeful plot. However, since the former Mycale supporters assumed that I would support the infant Parni against his noble aunt, I found myself in a position to subvert Castomira's faction from within. In resorting to assassination, Castomira had proven herself without honor. The Code of Knights requires that honesty be met with honesty, deceit with deceit; honor with honor, treachery with treachery. Those without honor must be extinguished without mercy. I resolved to attain a high position within Castomira's evil alliance, that I might bring it down around her ears.
So it was that I found myself at the provincial mansion of Count Xenius Kyra, a former supporter of Catarin, now eagerly on what he perceived to be the winning side. So it was that I found myself sitting to a seven-course meal with none other than Castomira Brangwin herself! I'd met her before, during my service to Mycale. Where before, her face had been pleasant enough, if not pretty, and her eyes had been cool, but not cold, now her face was as perfectly beautiful as a marble statue, but her eyes were as emotionless and as fixed as those of a corpse. The table was set for ten, yet only nine were present: Count Xenius, at the head; myself, to his left hand; Castomira, to his right; one of Castomira's henchmen, a joyless sort with a beak nose and a permanent scowl; and five minor nobles, vassals of the Count. The seat to my right, across from Castomira's henchman (introduced to me as one Trenton Deis), was empty, and had no place-card.
I had little time to wonder about the empty seat, however, for no sooner had we exchanged pleasantries than a footman announced the arrival of Princess Catarin deSangre. I was astonished. Surely the princess would not have come to this mansion knowing who guested there? Or had Catarin come to plead for peace? Castomira's expression betrayed little, but there was no peace in it.
Catarin's shock as she surveyed the guests was quickly stifled by her courtly training, but it was clear to me that she had not expected to see Castomira Brangwin dining there that night. Then there was only one possibility: she had walked into a trap. I was prepared for anything, even outright murder at the dinner table. I had set aside my sword, but I was prepared to fight for my rightful queen, even if only with a butter knife. But I had to wait for the trap to spring shut. I had to await my moment.
Catarin played her part well. She sat, she spread a napkin on her lap, she traded polite greetings with all present. She complimented the wine. She casually inquired as to the reason for Castomira's visit to Count Xenius's lands.
"Ah, Count Xenius was just about to formally announce his support for my pet cause. You know, the coronation of the rightful heir, Parni?" Castomira was the very image of calm. I felt cold just watching her.
Catarin turned to the Count. "Then, Count Xenius, you believe that Lady Brangwin will be a suitable regent for the child?"
A smile oozed across the Count's face. "Surely, your Highness, when a new Prime Minister is appointed . . ."
". . . surely the new Prime Minister will be hand-picked by Castomira. Do you doubt that?"
"Regardless, your Highness, I've chosen to back Prince Parni with my life, if need be."
"The need may well arise, Xenius," Catarin said, in an admirable, if ill-advised, display of defiance.
Then the hammer fell. I shall describe each event in exact sequence, and see if you are not suitably amazed! If you are reading this to the children, you may wish to read ahead and then decide whether it is fit for their ears.
Like a black sun coming from behind frozen clouds, Castomira smiled, and such was the unrepentant evil in that smile that the wine I'd just sipped lost all its flavor. "Dear Catarin," she said with consummately false sweetness, "what possible reason might we have to fear you? You believe that your personal bodyguard stands outside waiting for your voice, holding the Staff of Nicator safe for your return. But in fact, they are poisoned to death as of this very moment, and the Staff shall be my son's sigil of office. For after all, my sweet, my alliance with the Guild of Serpentlords persists. And my dear friend Trenton Deis is a master of assassins himself. After all, did he not succeed in slaying your lovely knight, Pyramides?"
Catarin's hands trembled as she folded her napkin and placed it on the table before her, as if readying to excuse herself. "I cannot believe that he was overcome by anything less than a regiment of dragons. Certainly not by a single despondent ruffian."
The scowling one, Trenton Deis, at last spoke, a faint smile on his lips. "In his defense, my lady, he was distracted. I believe he was . . . writing something that was very important to him."
A half-second later, Catarin's hands stopped trembling. As a warrior, I knew what that meant, and I shifted my weight so that I could quickly spring to her defense. Deis, master assassin though he might be, either did not notice this sign, or he discounted it. And so he was astonished, and I was not, when Catarin threw herself across the dinner table, sending food and drink flying in all directions, diving full-length across the tablecloth to plunge her dessert fork into Trenton Deis's throat and through one of the arteries in his neck.
Bursting to my feet, I swatted Count Xenius to the ground with my left hand. Then, chivalry be damned, I grabbed for Castomira, intending to hold her hostage against Catarin's safe escape. But Castomira's skin was like stone, and her body was literally immovable. To my amazement, she pushed me aside as if I were a small child, and then, as an afterthought, knocked me to the ground with a magical explosion of dark thunder. I'd never known she was a sorceress. I feared for Catarin's life.
As I struggled to regain my feet amidst a wave of dizziness, I saw Catarin on the floor as well, repeatedly stabbing the lifeless body of Trenton Deis, face and white dress flecked with blood. I've seen that happen, on the battlefield, among those who have never killed: the pent-up hatreds and angers of a lifetime focus on one target, and then death is simply not enough for them. And especially if, as I suspected, Catarin had loved Lucaine after all, I could understand her blind rage. But there was no time for that. No time at all.
"Catarin!" I yelled. Too late. Castomira moved her hands as if caressing an imaginary ball, and where her hands moved, a sphere of black lightning formed. As Catarin came to herself, and suddenly grasped the horror of the bloody justice she'd done, Castomira sent the energy forth. It struck Catarin like a battering ram, and threw her up helpless against the far wall. Castomira advanced slowly, hatred and killing lust written upon her face. The Count and his vassals fled the room, terrified, willing to let the witch and the princess settle their fate unassisted. I ran to the door as well, under a bright and overwhelming inspiration.
"The Staff!" I yelled to the outer hall. "Castomira requires the Staff! Nicator's blood rebels against her power!" I hoped that Castomira's assassins had not seen my actions in the dining hall. I hoped that they would accept my "authority" as nominated commander of the Royal Elites. I hoped that Castomira was too busy luxuriating in her victory to decipher my intent.
Castomira's Serpentlords were well-trained. One appeared before me almost instantly, holding the Staff of Nicator in leather-gloved hands. Before he could speak, I wrenched the Staff from his grip and immediately hurled it in Catarin's direction. And prayed to Sarapis as devoutly as Nicator must have when he first received the Staff . . . if not at such great length.
I kept my attention on the Serpentlord, and my attention was rewarded when he lurched forward with a poisonous bite. But as I struck at him with my bare hands, time seemed to slow. The very air around me took on a syrupy quality, and the high-pitched hiss of my attacker shifted eerily to a low drawn-out rasp. From behind me, a brilliant light shone forth, drenching the world in white and black. The Serpentlord threw up his hand to shield his eyes, but his motion was slow, and slowing by the second. Then there was nothing but white and black, and then there was nothing but white. And then there was a great sense of movement.
When I regained my sight, I was outside, in the rain, the same rain that had fallen ever since the night of the assassinations. The mansion of Count Xenius was before me: five ruined walls, several shattered fireplaces, and great mounds of rubble. Debris had been flung in all directions. The air was alive with dust, slowly settling in the driving rain. The dust itself glowed like the clouds of heaven, lit from within by some impossible radiance, swirling with a powerful vibration. Like a foul omen, a panicked raven flew out from the settling dust, trailing black feathers. But when I blinked, I saw that the raven was actually a white-skinned woman in a tattered black dress, and the black feathers were shreds of some dark residue, that melted away to nothing before they touched the ground. Castomira Brangwin had fled. And Catarin deSangre slowly approached me from the wreckage of the mansion, Staff held aloft, shining, hair plastered against the sides of her face, and her shoulders, by the downpour. She appeared to me as a vision; she appeared to me as she must have appeared to Lucaine Pyramides, when he, too, lay half-dead, outside the King's Tomb. But whereas then Catarin had been the picture of triumph, now she was at the lowest level of defeat, for the Staff of Nicator was her only crutch, and I her only retainer.
"My Queen," I said. I did not need to kneel, for I was still on hands and knees, where I'd been thrown by the silent destruction of the manor house. I swore my oath of fealty to her there, and then I could speak no more, for the Staff had, once more, gone dead and dark, and the rain was cold, and Catarin's face held nothing but empty sorrow, and I could not meet her eyes.
I touched my forehead to the ground, and then she crouched over me, and put her hand upon my head, and said, "The Seleucarian Empire begins again, here."
My love, I cannot tell you where we are going, and I cannot tell you when we will be back. Know that even if I die in the service of my queen, I will always love you. Know that even though my vows of service, and my life as a Knight, require me to fight against all the odds, nonetheless it is my wife and children that will keep me alive. The desperation I face only makes me love you the more.
I have but one wish before I go incommunicado: quickly sell what possessions you can, and then move with the family to Delos. Stay with cousin Kale. Surely no danger will reach there, and if it does, the impenetrable sanctuary of the Chrysalis Basilica is nearby.
Your loving husband,
Lord Damen Kephry
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