EMPEROR MADRID PARTED from his wife-host and solidified into his normal form, separating back into his own body. It had been an interesting day, strolling around the castle as a servant, observing without being observed, overhearing the conversations denied to his mortal shell’s ear. He’d heard the regular chatter about sick babies and husbands coming home in the wee hours of the night and the best herbal cure for a pox that was running through the lower town, resulting in boil-like lesions that burst painfully after a few days. Almost every maid had a cousin whose best friend’s sister had witnessed a child snatching. No one could positively identify the witness, however, despite how carefully Carissa questioned the maids. None of this useless information interested him, as rumours always circulated where servants congregated, but what it did do was reinforce that the Citadel was unaware of his activities within the upper levels. There was no reason for any to know what happened at that level for they were not allowed into the sacred reaches, being that it was his private domain, but he never knew with servants. And many a loyal servant would turn spy for a bit of coin or a favour when needed.
Madrid’s thoughts flitted back to his old friend Gaitain, and he grimaced before turning away from Carissa. She swayed on her feet, dark circles under her eyes. He took her by the hand and led her to a bed tucked in the corner. He pulled back the covers and eased her gently down onto the down-filled mattress. Then, he plucked the shoes off her feet. She lay back with an exhausted smile, and he pulled the covers over her.
“Sleep, my love,” he whispered. “Sleep.” Her eyes drifted closed under the soft, soothing words and was asleep in seconds.
Madrid stretched, reacquainting himself with the use of his muscles, his body feeling foreign once again. He examined his hands and saw the aging skin and reddened knuckles and grimaced. It was a means to an end. But it would not be his end.
He left the tower suite through the main wooden door, pulling it closed behind him with a soft click. The corridors were empty at this level, and he walked away, unimpeded by human presence. The hallway ended in a wall of solid stone. Madrid stopped in front of the facade, pulled a knife from his pocket and sliced a shallow cut across his palm. He lifted it to the rough wall, pressing his bloodied palm to a matching impression in the stone. It rumbled in acceptance of the bloody proof and slid aside to reveal a wooden elevator waiting for his arrival. He stepped into the device and reached out for the rope twisted around a hold in the shape of a wooden boat cleat, unwinding it from the two points and pulling on the rope that began its descent. This elevator was for him alone. It was his secret conveyance that allowed him to bypass the populated sections at ground level and go deep into the bedrock. He set the rope humming through its pulleys and the carriage swiftly descended down the shaft of stone. The silence mocked the speed of his descent until with a swallow his ears popped. He pulled back on the brake as the warning marker flashed past and slowed the carriage till it eased to a stop at level five, identified by the keystone above the passageway. The sound of dripping water reached his ears, echoing up the shaft and bouncing around the walls. Madrid stepped out of the elevator and onto the mist-slicked surface, his boots clicking on the flagstone floor as he walked toward the sound of the waterfall.
Lights sprang to life with his passing, his presence triggering their decaying energy to spark into flame, feeding off of his presence. There were no signs of the passage of any other being. His own footprints led the way down the twisting passage. No one else knew of this cavern’s existence, for it was a Citadel secret so deep and so sacred as to be isolated and locked away in the mind of each emperor throughout history. Indeed, the last emperor had not wanted to part with this information, but Madrid had convinced him of the necessity before he had died.
The secrets secluded in this deepest of levels were the source of the Citadel’s power. Not a soul alive knew of their existence. Through the thick-walled chambers flowed the magical energies that fueled the vertical shield that walled away the provinces and kept the populace apart. The shield had prevented age old feuds from sparking into confrontations and outright war. Or so the legends said.
But that was not all to be found this deep, not by a long shot.
The sound of running water increased in volume until it became a roar, just as the tunnel ended in a wide cavern. A crescent phosphorescent light bathed the waterfall in a haunting greenish glow. The twisting stream suggested the presence of spirits. Madrid grimaced, dragging his eyes away from the eerie specter. He was not a superstitious man yet he often thought he was being watched by the spirits and the waterfall did nothing to ease the crawling sensation along his shoulders.
The falls spilled into a deep pool that frothed and churned then flowed swiftly away toward a large wooden wheel, set with paddles that turned with the force of the underground river. The unique feature of the cavern was not the spooky water or the immense wheel or even the sparks of electricity that ran along a conduit of metal up the side of the wheel housing. No, by far the most amazing thing about this cavern was the massive stone head that sat at the end of it, surrounded by rippling waves as the river split and went around it. The ancient face was carved of a stone that was not found within the cavern. It was too large for any opening that existed in the rock and the smooth walls gave no hint of an opening. Indeed, the cavern was buried so deep, it was encased in solid bedrock at the footing of the Citadel. The eyes were hollow, as far as Madrid could discern and the stern face was decorated by a drooping mustache and a long beard swept to one side as though an invisible breeze blew. On its head was the only non-stone element. A helm of silver encircled the crown of the head with a broad band and an oval-shaped disc on its forehead. The disc was as empty as its eyes.
Madrid stared at the head. It was one mystery he had not learned before ascending to emperor. Try as he might, he could find no reference to it in the private libraries nor in any of the historical references for the Citadel wars. Futile was his search.
As he turned away, a spark of energy from the wheel flashed like lightning and instantaneously struck a sword embedded in the rock wall behind the head. The sword glowed for a moment then went dark. Madrid grimaced, grinding his teeth in annoyance. The striking of the sword was as predictable as the clock tower in the lower town. The energy that built up in the wheel discharged at regular intervals. At first, he had tried to change the wheel’s speed to affect its schedule, but he could not counter its spin by force alone. In fact, the wheel had a similar shield to the one between provinces around it. Whether by accident or as a result of design, he was unsure. He did not like what he could not control or manipulate. It set his teeth on edge.
He skirted the shoreline and made his way around the back of the giant head to where the water flowed through a cut in the rock. Beyond the guardian, as he had come to call the head, was a second chamber, but this one was more of a shaft, tall and narrowing into a rock chimney although still wide enough to fit twenty wagons side by side without touching. In the center of the shaft hung ten crystal containers filled with gemstones. They disappeared into ceiling above and below. A long narrow tube attached to their base fed into the wall. A slow trickle of gems dropped from the container with a tinkling sound and vanished as they slid away with a rattle.
The level of the gemstones within their crystal containers was alarmingly low, less than a third full and dropping daily. His heavy brows pinched together in anger. This was why he came to the lower reaches, to check the supply of jewels being sent by the provinces. For all the bowing and scraping of the councillors, it was their tithes that showed their true hearts.
With the cessation of hostilities when the Great Purge was declared at an end, a tithe was demanded by the emperor of the time. The tithe was set at a reasonable level for the province involved, and it was required that it be paid in jewels, either mined from their lands or paid in trade for goods produced. The tithe was due in full on the first full moon of the calendar year following the recorded date of the end of hostilities, but they could contribute on every full moon as they wished. As a general rule, the tithes had been submitted in this fashion for ages, but over the past year Madrid had noticed the beginning of a decline. In the early years, the tithe was more than sufficient to keep the containers filled but of recent date, the amounts offered to the Citadel had been dwindling significantly.
Madrid climbed up beside the crystal bottles and checked the gauge on the side. With a scowl, he saw that the depth of the shimmering mass of the container that was dedicated to Wydra was an inch lower than it had been just a week ago with no real consumption of jewels. He checked the other containers and saw similar results with every container except the one dedicated to the province of Tunise. That one remained robustly filled. The jewels maintained the shield that separated the provinces and fueled the magical bridges that stretched to the Citadel. No one knew how they had been built. At the end of the Great Purge, the Citadel had constructed them but never spoke of how it had been done. It still remained a mystery to all on the outside. But Madrid knew how it was built.
Madrid climbed down from the plinth and stood back, arms crossed and a hand stroking his beard, thinking. I cannot allow this slight to go unchallenged, but how should I address the issue without tipping my hand? They seek to undermine me from within, weakening the power of the Citadel. They do not know what their tithe is used for, but they do know it is essential. A blind sabotage is their game, but who are the players? He studied the containers for a few more minutes then left the chamber. He would return to the Citadel and watch the councillors closely. There were still enough reserves to do what was needed. Once he crushed the growing rebellion, he would never be denied again. For now, it was time to stay the course, for only he knew what form the real battle would take.
It had been just a short time since the young men of the crystal heart had arrived, but their training was going well. Soon they would be ready to join the ranks of his Citadel Guards but with a distinct advantage. These young men could wield magic. What better way to hunt the witches than with a wizard’s gift? He smiled once again. He would find the women first and make their power his own. Or they would die. Either way, he would control their magic until the end.
The smile that lifted his lips at the thought was not a kind one, for it pleased only himself.