The Eye Of God Part 14

Genera Horthoe shook his head, but Blaise suspected it wasn't in denial. "Twenty-three, and not even a full year as a General. You're right. I was there," the man replied. Anguish darkened Horthoe's blue eyes. "I led the invading force against the Zorsan royals. You're well-learned, Bishop."

"We keep extensive records in the libraries here, Leviticus. We don't just keep all of the scriptures in these hallowed halls, but a faithful record of the history of the Erelith Empire. Zorsan was a b.l.o.o.d.y affair. A complete opposite of the bloodless annexing that secured your Generalship." Blaise wasn't sure how to comfort the distressed human, or if he wanted to, but he offered the man a small smile.

"If all of the Emperor's desires could be as peaceful as the Forseth annexing," the man muttered. Then, in a louder voice, General Horthoe said, "Yes, yes, you're right. Zorsan fell because His Imperial Majesty desired the Eye, and he didn't find it."

"It would be better if it was never found," Blaise said.

"The Eye?"

"It would not bother me if the Hand of G.o.d fell into obscurity and myth as well," Blaise admitted. "Some powers shouldn't be used. Not by anyone."

"Not even by G.o.d?" General Horthoe asked with a smirk.

"Especially not by G.o.d."

"Are you certain you're a bishop?"

"As certain as you're a general," Blaise replied. He shook his head. "G.o.d created this world with His right hand. What do you think His left is for?"

"If you believe in that sort of thing. So, it's killed a few failed vessels. It's driven a few others mad. That doesn't give it the power to destroy all things."

Blaise lifted his hand to rub at his brow and scowled when his gloved fingers brushed against the linens wrapped around his head. The pressure didn't ease the growing threat of a headache. "Think, General. If you believe the teachings, it's a mere echo of G.o.d's true power. With it, the Emperor has the power to destroy empires. Imagine what it could do when used for its true purpose. And, never forget, G.o.d is a being of balance. The right hand is for creation. The left is for destruction. In equal measure. Unfortunately, some believea"and rightly so, in my opiniona"that G.o.d doesn't necessarily care which hand he uses when building things and returning them to dust."

General Horthoe frowned. "I see your point. But, still, that doesn't change the fact that the Eye of G.o.d is a myth. It's been over a thousand years since anyone has even claimed to possess it."

Blaise lied, and he couldn't bring himself to feel any guilt over it. "And that's for the better, don't you think? Some things are better left lost."

Mikael's loss was better for the humans, even if reuniting with the other divine was one of Blaise's strongest desires.

"Shouldn't you be saying the Church should have it?" General Horthoe asked.

"Oh, yes, yes. Because stirring the ire of a mad Emperor is such a wise idea. He'd destroy the Church to get the Eye like he destroyed Zorsan. Need I remind you that he did it on the false belief that they might havea"at some pointa"possessed the Eye?"

Horthoe sighed. "However much it pains me to say this, I'm afraid you're right.

Blaise watched and waited for General Horthoe's attention to wander. When exhaustion clouded the man's eyes, Blaise feigned disinterest, staring at the candle burning down to a spluttering stub. With luck, Horthoe wouldn't recognize the difference between the natural desire for sleep and the Speech Blaise whispered.

The general slumped across the cot, chest rising and falling in a slow, steady rhythm. A grim smile curved Blaise's lips and he reached out to touch the man's temple.

"There are no secrets in a world watched by G.o.d," Blaise Spoke, focusing on his desire to learn of the golden collar and the boy who wore it. Images flashed through his head; a haphazard collection of memories hammered at Blaise, in sharp contrast with General Horthoe's stoic exterior.

Emotions laced through each image in a confusing tangle so human in its contradictions Blaise couldn't understand what the general felt about the boy. It wasn't hate; Blaise understood that emotion well enough. Whatever it was, it was strong enough he couldn't sift through the memories without being aware of its presence.

Within him, Aurora stirred. The chill of her presence warmed to something almost tolerable within him.

Through the chaos came a name: Terin. When the Hand of G.o.d was near, fear and grief tainted the general's thoughts. The man groaned in his slumber, and Blaise murmured soothing sounds.

The Hand of G.o.d hadn't changed much since the last time he'd seen it. The wrappings were a little more worn, a little more frayed and tattered at the edges, but the outstretched pose of the hand with its beseeching fingers remained the same. General Horthoe's unease matched the man's fear.

Blaise searched deeper until he found the memory of the boy falling and the Hand of G.o.d landing on top of him. It was just as Leopold had said. Blaise couldn't deny the truth of the human's memories.

General Horthoe's reaction, strong despite the pa.s.sage of timea"several years, from what he could tell from the blurred nature of the memorya"was of great sadness, which drowned out the fear of the artifact fashioned from G.o.d's severed hand.

Blaise focused his attention and desire on the collar and committed its commands and how to unlock it to his memory. When finished, he breathed out the words to break the Speech keeping General Horthoe asleep. Blaise roused the man with a firm shake. "Leviticus?"

General Horthoe jerked upright, a yawn escaping from the man's lips. "What?"

"You fell asleep," Blaise murmured, careful to hide his smile.

"d.a.m.nations! Curse it all to the bloodied h.e.l.ls."

"Temper," Blaise replied, letting himself yawn. "This is a trying time for all of us. We should both sleep or try to do something of use, if you insist that we shouldn't leave my chambers."

"You should rest, Bishop. It would not please His Imperial Majesty if any more harm came to you. It seems you've a knack for trouble and injury." General Horthoe frowned, glancing at the door, the man's blue eyes darkened, though Blaise wasn't certain if it was due to the man's thoughts or the shadows in the room.

The candle guttered and Blaise knelt next to the chest at the foot of his bed and pulled out a replacement. After lighting the new one, he blew out the old one and tossed it on the floor next to the door.

"I wonder about that," he said, turning to face the general.

General Horthoe chuckled. "You seem to understand him well, Bishop Blaise. Very well. I have a request for you."

Blaise leaned against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest. Aurora's presence shifted within him until she was positioned beneath his right hand. "I'm listening. Actually, wait. Before you speak any more," he said, lifting his left hand to stop the man from talking. Then, he Spoke, "Listen not to the words of the wicked; they lead to the dark places where no rose can bloom."

Aurora's chill intensified, and Blaise felt her latch onto his Speech, her wordless song loud in his head. With her clinging, with her selfless intent to help him, he almost fell prey to her once again, the prayer for her rebirth on the tip of his tongue. The pain of her loss stung his eyes.

In that moment, he would've given anything to have her back again in the flesh. Blaise swallowed and shook his head at his folly. A devoured soul couldn't be restored to its full glory, not even her pure and beautiful soul. The candle's glow dimmed, smothered by the Words he used to enclose them in his chambers, sheltering the room from unwanted listeners.

"There, that should let us speak in private. Go on," Blaise invited, lowering his hand. "What is it you want from me?"

"If you find my slave, kill him. Make him vanish from this world. Give him to your G.o.d, or whatever it is you can do to erase his existence." General Horthoe paused, swallowing before letting out a long sigh. "Please."

Blaise's mouth dropped open. "You're asking me to kill a child."

"Your G.o.d knows I've tried enough times, and failed to do it myself."

"Why would you want to kill your own slave?" Blaise asked in a whisper, and the man's complicated, tangled, emotion-filled memories were too fresh for him to ignore. General Horthoe's eyes darkened with despair, souring his scent.

"He's too gentle for this world, Bishop Blaise. All I've ever done is torture him. Now, all he'll ever become is the Emperor's most-feared weapon. How long will it be until he is no more than every other fool the Emperor has thrown at the Hand of G.o.d? I can't do anything for him, not now. But you can, can't you?" Horthoe bowed his head.

"I'm not usually someone who listens to confessions," Blaise admitted. It'd been a problem in the past. While he didn't laugh outright at the petty concerns of mortals, Blaise struggled to keep his disdain for their problems hidden. Coupled with the fact he just didn't understand half of what bothered the humans, it was better for everyone involved if he avoided the worshipers wanting their sins absolved.

Blaise considered the man, who refused to look up from the floor. "I'm curious, General. What makes you believe I can do anything for your slave? I'm a child of G.o.d. Nothing more, nothing less. I don't see why you believe I'm qualified to help you."

"You've the eyes of someone who has seen death without looking away," General Horthoe replied. The man paused, frowning and rubbing at his clean-shaved jaw. "You'll likely believe me insane when I admit this."

Blaise felt his brows rise toward his hairline. "I suspected as much. After all, you are the Emperor's man. Doesn't seem like a position for a sane man. Go on, I'm listening."

General Horthoe drew a deep breath. "The Heart of G.o.d sang for you. That's why I believe there's more to you than the white coat you happen to wear."

"You heard the Heart of G.o.d?"

Still refusing to look Blaise in the eye, General Horthoe stared at the wall. "I'm not the strongest of Speakers, Bishop, but I can hear things sometimes. Every time I Spoke tonight, I swear I heard a song fighting against me, turning my words aside. I can still hear it, haunting me." The man fell silent, a puzzled expression on his face.

Blaise swallowed his laughter, coughing so he had an excuse for the tremble he doubted he could hide in his voice. "Did I not tell you that the Heart, the Eye, and the Hand belong to Him, General? G.o.d's Words won't work on things He created unless He allows it to."

"I almost believe you."

"You're not insane, but I admit, I'm surprised. That was the Heart you heard. Some can hear it. Ca.s.sius could, too. That's why I told you to verify with him," Blaise said, lifting a hand to rub at his chin. Down-soft stubble lined his jaw. He frowned. Had he been so worn out he'd forgotten to keep it rough? He shook his head. So long as no one touched his face, he doubted it'd make any difference at all. If someone did ask him about it, it'd be just another half-truth among the many he'd told over the years.

General Horthoe remained silent.

"I can't promise to kill him," Blaise admitted, and wondered at his reluctance to devour the boy destined to be devoured by Lucin. "But, I might be able to do something for you."

"What do you mean?"

Blaise considered the problem. "Perhaps I could make the boy disappear. So long as he and the Hand of G.o.d do not meet again, it should be fine, yes? The Hand of G.o.d won't accept a new vessel so readily. That's obvious from the string of corpses the Emperor has created looking for someone compatible with it, don't you think?"

"You weren't supposed to know about that," Horthoe muttered.

"Leviticus, you're a fool if you believe we aren't aware of it. Your failed vessels escape often enough. The first place they come is here, seeking the Heart of G.o.d. That's the nature of the Hand's obsession."

Lucin's l.u.s.t and desire for Aurora hadn't faded, not even after her soul had been devoured in the divine's greed.

"How did you know about my slave being the vessel?"

"Leopold reported it to the Archbishop," Blaise replied.

The man jumped to his feet, spewing curses. "They'll be the end of us all."

Blaise held out his hands in a placating gesture. "Please, be calm. Why do you say that?"

"Because that fool of an Archbishop intended to give the Heart of G.o.d to the Emperora"permanently."

Blaise's breath escaped him in a sigh. Pushing off of the wall, he crossed the room to his cot and sank down on it. "Sit."

General Horthoe sat on the other end. "He meant to take the Heart next month, exchanging the real one for a fake. The Archbishop agreed under several conditions.

"This is the first I've heard of it." Blaise didn't bother hiding his scowl.

"The only people who know of this are you, me, the Emperor, and the Archbishop, and I don't even know all of the truth, only what they needed me for. They intended to switch the Heart out for a fake, maintaining the position of the Erelith Church of G.o.d while putting the real control in the Emperor's grasp."

"That old fool. Did he really believe a fake would be enough to fool anyone?"

"He knew you would say that, you know. He knew, and that's why he insisted on a few conditions. Your name came up often, Bishop Blaise. You were accounted for. That's why the Heart of G.o.d was in your hands tonight. It was all planned, even before the Hand of G.o.d and my slave were stolen. You almost undid all of their scheming by being in the Arena. With you in hand, they could control the entire church. The Archbishop may be the face of the Church's power, but it seems like many of the faithful watch you as much as they watch him."

Blaise pressed his lips together, the heat of his anger flushing his cheeks. Rising to his feet and pacing the room didn't ease his anxiety. "And?"

"Because of your dedication, because of the fixation of the church's most faithful, you'll be made Archbishop with the Heart of G.o.d held as a ransom for your good behavior. Even now, I suspect the Emperor and the Archbishop scheme, likely planning to reveal that the broken one was a ceremonial fake to appease the people. You'll be told that the broken one was a fake, and you'll be expected to believe ita"or, at least, lie very convincingly that you believe it," General Horthoe said before stretching out with a low groan. "Everyone will believe it a fake, althought we know it was not.

Drawing long and slow breaths so Blaise wouldn't let his rage escape, he let the silence stretch out between them. Not even the chill of Aurora's presence cooled his anger. He didn't speak until he was confident he could keep his tone low and even. "Why are you telling me this?"

"I believe he meant to use the Hand of G.o.d, and soon. I believe he'll use it as soon as he finds it and its vessel."

"For what purpose?" Blaise asked. The cold swept over him, and he wasn't certain if it was from his despair or Aurora's presence reacting to words he wasn't sure she even understood.

The stench of General Horthoe's fear choked off Blaise's breath.

"To find the Eye of G.o.d, of course. To find it, so he can use its power to crush any who might defy him."

Chapter 8.

Terin ran, uncertain of why he took the steps leading to Upper Erelith City two at a time, unaware of why he'd awoken with the need to hurry, or where he needed to go once he reached the plateau's top. With every breath burning in his throat and chest, he struggled upward.

The sun crested the horizon when he reached the top. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he staggered to a halt, gasping for breath. When he could see through the glare without his eyes watering, he watched the sun rise over the city. A bank of clouds marred the north-eastern sky, stained red and gold in the early morning light.

The promenade circling the city was empty, and the shops lining the cobbled way were shuttered and dark. A few birds warbled from their hiding place among the scrub, their songs accompanying the rumble of the falls below. Terin drew several deep breaths, uncertain of which way to go or what to do.

Doubt held him in place. If he wanted to be found, all he had to do was reveal himself to the first gray-clad soldier he saw. He'd be taken back to the Arena. From there, his master would claim him, one way or another.

An alternative existed, and he shook his head trying to dispel it from his thoughts, but the temptation gnawed at him. It wasn't impossible; he could wait and watch, listening to the Citizens, and learn the truth. If Zurach had lied, he'd learn of it. The Citizens would surely talk about something as unusual as an escaped slave wanted alive.

He'd know for certain whether or not he was poised to step into a trap.

Terin shivered. If he waited, he'd taste freedom, alone in the city without order from his mastera"without order from anyone. Terin flinched and waited for the collar's punishment.

Nothing happened. The metal remained cold and inert. He lifted his hand to touch the band where it rested against his neck, wincing at the tenderness of his raw skin. No matter how many times it'd burned him in the past, the pain lingered. Taking a deep breath, he looked himself over, cringing at the sluggishly bleeding cuts from his escape through the sewers.

If anyone saw him, they'd know he was an escapee based on his appearance alone. If he wanted to learn the truth, he needed time to rest, to heal, to plan, and to get a change of clothes.

Hiding was something he could do, something he'd done many times before, although at the bidding of his master. He could pilfer from one of the guard houses before the changing of shift. No one would learn of his theft. No one had before. Places to sleep littered the city for those willing to climb.

Terin glanced up at the elevated aqueducts far above. The shadowed nooks sprinkled among the arches weren't just for the birds, and it wouldn't be the first time he'd made use of them while waiting.

Everything he needed, he could acquire from within the city until he learned the truth. Hope sped up the beat of his heart, and it pounded in his throat and ears.

The collar didn't punish him for his thoughts.

Shaking from more than the chill of the morning wind whipping down from the neighboring peaks, he shuffled to the nearest alley, warily watching the nearby buildings for shopkeepers preparing to open their doors for the day. He let his hand fall, tugging at his shirt in the fruitless effort of hiding his slave collar.

Climbing the nearest building to the roof, he lay in wait for the day to begin in earnest, ignoring the unhappy rumbles of his empty stomach.