Triah
CODE FEHRWAY WAITED IMPATIENTLY at the main gate in the Second Wall of Triah, green eyes scanning the crowds. The Odenites were making passage into and out of the city difficult. The fanatics had been banned from the city proper, but they still had access to the third major circle of the city, outside the Second Wall.
The Nazaniin didn’t like the Odenite presence. Just seeing their vast camp of tents in the fields beyond the city filled him with nerves. And the whole city buzzed with that same apprehension. Everything seemed different.
He finally found who he sought. Triah had become a melting pot of different cultures over the past few decades, and those with the darker skin of people from Maven Kol, Andrinar, or the Island Coalition were commonplace, but Code recognized these two the moment his eyes locked on them. Dressed in dark brown cloaks, the man and woman were pushed right up against the city gates, trying to make their way through. They wouldn’t be allowed in—thanks to the Odenites, the guards were turning away almost everyone, unless they had some form of documentation that demonstrated their business or residence in the city.
It wasn’t every day you saw the former crown prince of Maven Kol being turned away from the gates of Triah. The kid’s decision to give up his crown had been a foolish one, but there was no helping it. Alain and Morayne had never been quite right in their heads, either of them.
That was part of why Code liked them so much.
Code made his way through the crowds and met them a dozen paces in front of the gate. He relaxed a little when Morayne smiled at him. She was in one of her better moods today. That was good.
“Code!” Alain exclaimed. “I did not expect you to meet us at the gate.”
Code wrapped his arms around Alain in a bear hug. “Last time we talked, there wasn’t a brand-new religion knocking on the gates of the city, mate.”
The lad looked behind him at the fields occupied by Odenite tents.
“A new religion?” he asked. “Like the communities?”
“No, no, that’s all different, lad. The communities are an offshoot of the Denomination. The folk out there, they’re not part of the Denomination at all.”
“So they don’t worship Canta?” Morayne asked. The chirp in her voice gave away her excitement.
“Erm… no, actually they do worship Canta,” Code muttered. “Just a different type of Canta, I think.”
“If they worship Canta, how are they a new religion?”
Code shrugged. “Oblivion, I know no more about them than the next person.” That wasn’t exactly true; as a Nazaniin, he’d been briefed in detail about the Odenites, their beliefs, who led them, and more. But the existing religion was bad enough; he wasn’t about to waste his breath describing a brand-new one. “Best to forget about them. Much more important to get you two out of this press and into the city, right?”
“That’s the idea,” Alain said.
It wasn’t exactly an orderly queue. Traders pushed brusquely past worried-looking villagers and youthful novices in Cantic gowns, trying to return to the seminary, no doubt; chickens squawked indignantly from wicker baskets; and at one point everybody had to jump out of the way of a herd of excitable heifers being brought to market. Code had slipped out easily enough, but getting back in was obviously the more difficult task. Four grim-faced guards stood abreast at the open gate, weapons ready. A dozen others would be stationed in close proximity to the gate, with a half-dozen more monitoring the crowd from the wall, crossbows ready. In front of the gate, two further guards were checking papers, asking questions of those trying to get into the city.
But the gates were open, at least. Triah would not close itself off unless the situation was truly dire.
“How’s Maven Kol?” Code asked.
“The transition has been difficult,” Morayne said, her eyes locked on Alain, “but it is what Maven Kol needed.”
“The Denizens are still in power?” Code knew the answer. The Nazaniin had kept close tabs on the situation in Maven Kol; a monarch choosing to give up his crown and tip the scale of power in the people’s favor had happened only twice in history. A hundred and seventy-three years ago, a king had abdicated; and a few months ago, Alain had refused coronation and given up all claim in favor of a people’s movement called the Denizens.
“A group of nobles are contesting their rule, but the Denizens will prevail.”
Of course Morayne would say that. She’d been a Denizen herself. At that moment, the family in front of them were hustled through the gate, and it was their turn.
“The three of you together?” the nearest gate guard asked. “We’re not letting in any Odenites.”
“We’re not Odenites,” Alain said. “We’re—”
“Who are you, then, and what’s your business in Triah?”
Code stepped forward. He hadn’t realized the guard would be so bloody aggressive, or he’d have done it earlier.
The Nazaniin did not officially have a symbol or an identifying mark; as an organization of assassins and spies, they worked in the shadows. But, by now, they were well known enough that they’d needed to come up with something. So Code reached into his pocket and withdrew a gilded warsquares piece—his was the dragon, a particularly fearsome depiction, with gaping maw and claws extended—with a simple, blocky N etched into the base. The figure was smaller than the average warsquares piece, despite the fact that the dragon was traditionally the largest of any set. Kosarin had commissioned a set especially for the Nazaniin, with each piece of equal size, smaller in height than Code’s palm. The pieces were nothing more than a novelty outside of Triah, but within the city, the dragon piece could get him just about anywhere, without question.
A few years ago, after Kosarin had first distributed the pieces, counterfeits began popping up here and there; a few began using the symbol to get into restricted areas or coerce others to do their bidding.
Kosarin had systematically killed anyone even rumored to have done such a thing. He then killed any goldsmith even rumored to have contemplated making such a set, or even a single figurine.
Quickly, the counterfeits had stopped circulation.
Code pressed the dragon piece into the guard’s palm, keeping it hidden from other eyes around them.
“Ah,” the guard said, his voice a dry rasp. His eyes drifted slowly from the warsquares piece to Code’s face.
Code cleared his throat.
Immediately the guard handed the piece back to Code. “Very well, very well. You may all go through, of course. Please.” The guard stepped aside, allowing Code, Alain, and Morayne to walk past him. He signaled the four guards standing at the gate. Code recognized the signal to mean something along the lines of “These people are important, don’t question them.”
Bloody right.
Morayne glanced back at the gate once they were clear of it. “That was easy enough.”
“Almost too easy, if you ask me,” Alain muttered.
Code laughed. “Take it from me, mate. You learn one thing in life, it’s to take the easy things as they come. Life is full enough of the shit.” He flashed them both a smile. “Not to mention you’ve got me with you. Things in Triah will always be smooth as silk if you stick with me.”
* * *
Later, after Code had settled them into the Blessed Storm— one of the nicest inns in all of Triah; Code had set them up there with little expense, given his connections—he gave them a tour of the city. Or the Trinacrya at the center of the city, at least. Touring the entire city, even the entire Goddess-damned Center Circle, would take days.
But the Trinacrya and the surrounding locales they could manage in a few hours.
He took them to the Citadel first, of course. It was a second home to him by now, and though it didn’t have the majesty of Canta’s Fane or the significance of the House of Aldermen, it had history.
“This used to be a palace for your king?” Morayne asked as they approached the Citadel.
“Aye,” Code said. “Almost two hundred years ago. You’ll see when we get inside, but many of the decorations are originals from the Age of Revival. Some of Khale’s kings and queens were on the creative side, and their work still remains.”
“That is all very interesting,” Morayne said, clearly not interested, “but what can you tell me about that?” She pointed to the northwest.
Code followed her gaze, to the tower that jutted so far up into the sky above Triah that it was practically on a level with the Cliffs of Litori themselves.
“That’s God’s Eye,” Code said. “You want to go there?”
“We want to go there,” Morayne said.
It wasn’t a terribly long walk to the Eye from the Trinacrya, just under half an hour. In Triah, one got used to walking.
“God’s Eye is much more than a single tower,” Code explained when they arrived. “It is actually a network of them, and God’s Eye is simply the tallest. This,” Code said, indicating the tower and the surrounding area, “is Sky Plaza. You see God’s Eye at the center there, of course, and then we have the Four Pillars.” While God’s Eye was easily the tallest tower in the city, the Four Pillars stood directly adjacent to the monolith on four sides, each one rising between ten and twenty stories, with bridges that connected it to the central tower. A large plaza opened at the base of the towers, with manicured grass and trees weaving in and out of the base of the five buildings, like children playing at the feet of giants.
“How tall is God’s Eye?” Alain asked, shielding his eyes as he looked up at the massive building.
“Fifty stories, give or take a few,” Code said with a hint of pride. There was nothing else like God’s Eye in the Sfaera.
“Give or take? What is that supposed to mean?”
“Well,” Code said, looking over his shoulder for dramatic effect, “This is some inside information, but I’ll tell it to just the two of you.” It wasn’t insider information; anyone who cared enough to ask one of the Eye’s operators would get this answer from them, but still. Never hurt to add a little drama. “They say it’s only fifty floors, but that isn’t exactly true. It’s more like seventy. There are secret floors; levels they don’t want the public to know about.”
The truth was, he had no idea how many floors there were exactly; various rumors floated around the Nazaniin, but Code had never really cared to ask after specifics. Growing up near the Eye, he’d more or less taken it for granted.
Morayne rolled her eyes, and Code knew he wasn’t going to get far with this audience. “Secret floors? Really? Who in Oblivion would even care about such a thing?”
“You’d be surprised,” Code said, half-defensively. “Some people find that sort of thing quite interesting.”
“And the apparatus… harnesses the power of the sun or something?” Alain asked.
Code shrugged. “Rumor has it, yes, but Triah hasn’t had a need to use God’s Eye in decades. No one has dared attack us in a very long time.”
* * *
Like many apartments near the city center, Code’s was a three-story structure with steps leading up to the entrance. It was roomy, and bloody expensive, but the Nazaniin paid their operatives handsomely. And Code had done well as a Nazaniin since he’d joined almost a decade ago; he had one of the most successful operation records in the organization.
He was valued, even if he wasn’t particularly liked.
Alain and Morayne marveled at his place, but Code couldn’t help but wonder if they really thought it was that impressive. Alain had grown up in a palace, after all, and even Morayne, as the daughter of a lesser noble house, would have had a mansion significantly larger than Code’s apartment. But he showed them into the first-floor parlor, and Alain and Morayne settled happily enough on a large stuffed couch, with Code sitting across from them in a matching armchair.
Code had no sooner sat down than he bolted upright once more, and headed to the liquor table at one end of the room. “Almost forgot the most important thing,” he said with a grin. “Drinks. What can I get for both of you?”
“Wine for both of us,” Morayne said.
Code grunted. “Not into the stronger stuff, I take it?” He poured himself a glass of brandy and brought the drinks to them.
“You don’t have a servant to do this for you?” Morayne asked, watching Code curiously.
Code laughed. “That’s one difference between Maven Kol and Triah you’ll note. Servants aren’t as common. I do have a butler, Darion, but he only works specific hours for me. He usually is present when I have company, but I wanted to speak to the two of you alone, first. Besides, there’s something to be said about doing work for yourself, you know?”
Alain and Morayne exchanged a look that Code could not decipher.
“Would’ve thought you two would be used to that, anyway, now that you’re both free folk, as it were. Not nobles, not peasants, just… folk. Am I correct?”
“It will take some time for Maven Kol to catch up with Khale when it comes to that way of thinking, I’m afraid,” Alain said, taking a sip of his wine.
Code decided it was long past time to change the subject. “And how goes the business of… er… what is it you do again?”
Alain hesitated, but Morayne spoke quickly.
“We help people,” she said.
“You mean people like you?” Code asked. Alain had told him something of his plans before Code had left Mavenil, the capital city of Maven Kol, but that was some months ago, and Code had had a bit to drink since then.
“People like us?” Morayne asked, cocking her head to one side.
Code rolled his eyes. She couldn’t possibly not know what he was referring to. “People that got caught in the Madness,” he said. “Triggers.”
The reason Code had been summoned to Mavenil in the first place had been to investigate and stop the madness epidemic that had plagued Khale’s sister-nation over recent months. Based on Code’s other experiences on Arro Isle in Alizia, and the information the Triad had shared with him, he’d suspected one of the Nine Daemons had been behind it.
He’d been right.
With Alain and Morayne’s help, he’d defeated the Daemon Nadir (very well, it was more like he’d helped them defeat the Daemon), and the Madness had stopped, but those affected by it had not been saved. There were still hundreds of people in Maven Kol suffering from madness of various sorts.
Such a thing wouldn’t be so out of the ordinary, of course, if these particular forms of madness didn’t come with the ability to manipulate air, earth, water, or fire, often uncontrollably. Alain and Morayne were both affected by this madness, but had found ways to harness it. Part of the reason Alain had rejected the crown had been to help others recover from this madness, and live as normal a life as possible.
“I’ve heard good things about the movement you’ve established down there,” Code said.
“We didn’t establish anything,” Alain said quietly. “The communities were already around before we began to help others. We’ve only changed the dynamic somewhat.”
“We’ve changed it into something that works,” Morayne added.
“So you’re helping people, then?” Code asked. “With the madness?”
“We’re sharing our experience,” Alain said, “and what we know. Sometimes it helps, sometimes it doesn’t.”
Code knew that was a modest response; the Nazaniin intelligence sources had been astounded at the reports of recovery among those suffering from the Madness in Maven Kol.
“And how goes that fight for both of you?”
Alain and Morayne smiled at one another.
“It was never a fight to begin with.”
Code didn’t much care for their philosophy. Something about surrender being the only path to true victory. Whatever it was, Code was glad it worked for them. But he’d be damned if he’d ever give up a fight.
“The two of you seem to be getting on well enough, at least,” Code said.
“Aye,” Alain said quietly, his smile lingering. “At least we have that.”
Code nodded, sitting back in his chair. At least one thing on the Sfaera was going right.
“Well, mates, we’ve had enough small talk to last us a while. I think it’s time we get down to business.”
“Indeed, Code. It is high time you told us why you summoned us to your great city.”
Code nearly choked on his drink.
“Code, are you all right?” Morayne asked.
Once he got his coughing under control, Code nodded. “My apologies. I thought I heard you ask why I had summoned you to Triah.”
Morayne and Alain both stared at him, and they did not have to speak for Code to understand. Oblivion. His heart began to race. “I hate to break it to you both, but I’ve done no such thing.”
“But your message implored us to seek you out in Triah,” Morayne said. “It said you needed our help.”
Code took a deep breath. “I sent no such message. By the look on your faces, I can assume you did not send a message to me informing me of your imminent arrival in Triah, seeking my help?”
Alain and Morayne both shook their heads, mirroring their actions like an old couple that had been together for ages.
“No,” Alain said. “We sent no such message.”
Code swore. “Then we’ve got a problem, haven’t we?”
“But who would want us to come to Triah, if not you?” Morayne asked.
“Haven’t the slightest,” Code muttered. He drained his glass and stood to refill it. “But there are not many candidates. Do you have that first communication from me?”
“I do,” Alain said, with a glance at Morayne.
Morayne rolled her eyes. “You were right, I was wrong, there you have it. Show him the letter, would you?”
Alain reached into his satchel and pulled out a slim stack of letters with a ribbon tied around them.
Code scanned through the letters in the stack. “Most of those look familiar,” he said. “And I’m sure you’ll recognize the letters I have from you, save for one. Let’s have a look at the letter that brought you here, and get to the bottom of this.”
Alain slipped one letter free of the rest, still in its envelope.
Code inspected the broken seal: a single arrow, diagonal within an ornate square on black wax.
“That’s the seal of the Nazaniin,” he said. At least, it was one of the seals of the Nazaniin. The organization had a number of seals they used, for various purposes and some simply at random.
“Someone sent us a letter and counterfeited the seal of the Nazaniin?” Alain asked, eyes wide.
“It’s possible. But forging Nazaniin seals is punishable by death. I haven’t heard of a counterfeit in years. It’s more likely the letter truly did come from within the Nazaniin.” Code pursed his lips. “Just not from me.”
“Who would do that?” Alain asked. “And why?”
“In theory, it could be anyone in the Nazaniin,” Code said. “Or possibly a Citadel student.”
“And… how many people is that?” Morayne asked.
Code opened the envelope and pulled out the letter. “Almost a thousand.”
“That doesn’t sound good.”
“It isn’t.” Code unfolded the letter and scanned the contents. It was a simple note.
Alain,
Please excuse the abruptness of this note, but what we dealt with in Maven Kol has resurfaced in Triah. I need your help, and Morayne’s, too, if she can come with you. I hope to see you soon.
Code
“The handwriting is very close to my own,” Code said. “Almost an exact copy.”
“Then the writing gives you no clue as to who it could have been,” Alain said, slumping back into the couch.
“On the contrary,” Code said, eyes running over the words, “I write much of my correspondence in a false hand—different than what I use at the Citadel, for example. Or on any official Nazaniin documents. So whoever wrote this knows my true hand.” He glanced up at Alain. “And yours, as well. I did not notice anything different about the handwriting in that letter, either.
Morayne sat forward. “Does that narrow it down for us, or not?”
“Not by much.”
Alain shook his head. “Why are we even here, then? We travelled all this way, left the work we were doing behind, for nothing.”
Code cleared his throat. “Just because I didn’t ask for help doesn’t mean I don’t need it. I didn’t write that note, but the contents aren’t wrong. There’s a war brewing here, and I think it’ll converge on Triah. We could use all the help we can get.”
“We aren’t going to help you fight that religious group,” Morayne said, eyes narrowing. “Or in a war against Roden.” It was common knowledge that Roden, the disintegrating empire to the north of the Khalic republic, had finally declared war— hoping to increase its territories while Khale was distracted by the tiellan uprising. For now, Khalic–Rodenese aggression had been limited to skirmishes on the border and a few fishing crews exchanging blows in the Gulf of Nahl.
“You know that isn’t the war I’m talking about,” Code said.
“You’re referring to another being like the one we defeated in Maven Kol?” Alain asked.
Code nodded. “Daemons, mate. Best call a problem by its name. Doesn’t do any good to ignore them.”
Morayne placed her goblet back on the table. She had been holding it, frozen on its way to her lips, for moments now. “One of them is in Triah?”
“More than one,” Code said. He paused. What he was about to say was confidential Nazaniin intelligence.
But he trusted these two. And, hopefully, they could actually be of some help.
“Some of our sources are saying all of the Daemons are converging on Triah.”
Alain choked on the wine he’d just drunk.
Morayne’s eyes widened. “All of them?” she repeated. “Nadir alone killed so many in that last battle.”
“It’s a possibility,” Code said. “One we’d rather be prepared for than not. I’m glad the two of you are here.”
“But we still don’t know who summoned us here, or who sent you to meet us.”
Code took a deep draught of his brandy. “We’ve got to figure that out, haven’t we?”