Heirs of Empire

“Very well, Ortak,” he growled, unable to make himself give the failure the honor of his rank. “Tell us of these demon-lovers and their terms.”

Ortak winced, though it was hard to tell—his face was as heavily bandaged as the stump of his right arm—and reached for very careful words.

“Holiness, their leaders bade me say they ask only for you to speak with them. And—” he drew a deep breath “—Lord Sean said to tell you you may speak to him now, or amid the ruins of this city, but that you will speak to him at last.”

“Blasphemy!” old Bishop Corada cried. “This is God’s city! No one who traffics with the powers of Hell will ever take it!”

“Your Grace, I tell you only what Lord Sean said, not what he can accomplish,” Ortak replied, but his tone said he did think the heretics could take even the Temple, and Vroxhan’s hand ached to strike him.

“Peace, Corada,” he grated instead, and smoothed the written message Ortak had brought across his lap as the bishop retreated into sullen silence. His eyes burned down at it for a moment, then rose to Ortak once more. “Tell me more of this Lord Sean and the other heretic leaders.”

“Holiness, I’ve never seen their like,” Ortak said frankly, and the other returned prisoners nodded agreement. “The man they call Lord Sean is a giant, head and shoulders taller than any man I’ve ever seen, with eyes and hair blacker than night. The one they call Lord Tamman is shorter and looks less strange, but for the darkness of his skin, yet all of us have heard stories—from our own men who have seen them in battle, not just the heretics—of the miraculous strength both share.”

“ ‘Sean,’ ‘Tamman,’ ” Vroxhan snorted. “What names are these?”

“I don’t know, Holiness. Their men say—” Ortak bit his lip.

“What do ‘their men say’?” Bishop Surmal purred, and Ortak swallowed at the look in the High Inquisitor’s eyes.

“Your Grace, I repeat only what the heretics claim,” he said, and paused. Pregnant silence shivered until High Priest Vroxhan broke it.

“We understand,” he said coldly. “We will not hold you responsible for lies others may tell.” He didn’t, Ortak noted sinkingly, say what else the Circle would hold him responsible for, but at this point he was willing to settle for whatever mercy he could get.

“Thank you, Holiness,” he said, and drew a deep breath. “The heretics say these men are warriors from a land beyond our knowledge, chosen by … by the so-called ‘angels’ as their champions. They say all of their new weapons and tactics were given to them by Lord Sean and Lord Tamman. That the two of them are God-touched and can never be defeated.”

A savage hiss ran through the assembled prelates, and Ortak felt sweat slick his face under its bandages. He made himself stand as straight as his wounds allowed, meeting High Priest Vroxhan’s burning eyes, and prayed Vroxhan had meant his promise not to hold him responsible.

“So,” the high priest said at last, his voice an icicle. “I note, Ortak, that you have not yet mentioned these so-called ‘angels.’ ” Ortak dared not reply, and Vroxhan smiled a thin, dangerous smile. “I know you’ve seen them. Tell us of them.”

“Holiness, I have seen them,” Ortak admitted, “but what they actually are, I ca

“What do they appear to be, then?” Surmal snapped.

“Your Grace, they wear the seeming of women. There are two of them, the ‘Angel Harry’ and the ‘Angel Sandy.’ ” A fresh stir at the outlandish names swept the Circle, and the high-captain went on doggedly now that he’d begun. “The one they call Sandy is smaller, with short hair. From all I could learn, it was she who routed the Guard units initially sent to crush the heresy, and she and Lord Sean appear to be the heretics’ true war leaders. The one they call Harry is taller than most men, and—forgive me, Your Grace, but you asked—of surpassing beauty, yet wears an eye patch. From what the heretics told us, it was she who was wounded and captured by the villagers of Cragsend and the one they call Sandy who led the demons to her rescue.”

“And did they tell you they were God’s messengers?” Surmal demanded.

“No, Your Grace,” Ortak said cautiously.

“What?” Vroxhan snapped to his feet and glared at the high-captain. “I warn you, Ortak! We have the written messages of the traitor Stomald himself to claim they are!”

“I realize that, Holiness,” Ortak’s mouth was dust dry, yet he made his voice come out level, “but Bishop Surmal asked what they say. I did not myself speak with them, yet their own followers seem perplexed by their insistence that they not be called ‘angel.’ The heretics do so anyway, but only among themselves, never to the ang— To the so-called angels themselves.”

“But—” Corada started, then shook his head and went on almost plaintively. “But we have reports they wear holy vestments at all times! Why would they do that if they don’t claim to be angels? And why would even heretics follow those who claim to be mere mortal women yet profane the cloth? What do these madmen want of us?”

“Your Grace,” Ortak said, frightened and yet secretly grateful for the opening, “I can’t tell you why they wear the garb they choose or why the heretics follow them, but Lord Sean himself has told me they seek only to defend themselves. That he and his companions came to the aid of the heretics only because Mother Church had proclaimed Holy War against them.”

“Lies!” Surmal thundered. “We are Mother Church, God’s chosen shepherds for His people! When heresy stirs, it must be crushed, root and branch, lest the whole body of God’s people be poisoned and their souls lost to damnation forever! He who defies us in this defies God Himself, and whatever this ‘Lord Sean’ claims, he and his fellows are—must be!—demons sent to destroy us all!”

“Your Grace,” Ortak said quietly, “I wasn’t called to the priesthood, but to serve God as a soldier, in accordance with the commands of the Temple. It may be that I’ve failed in that service, despite all I could do, yet a soldier is all I know how to be. I tell you not what I believe, but what I was told by Lord Sean. Whether or not and how he may have lied is for you to judge, Your Grace; I only answer your questions as best I may.”

Vroxhan raised his hand, cutting off Surmal’s fresh, angry retort, and his hooded eyes were thoughtful. Fresh silence lingered for over a minute before he cleared his throat.

“Very well, Ortak—speak as a ‘soldier’ then. What is your estimate of this Lord Sean as a soldier?”

Ortak gazed back up at the high priest, and then Vroxhan frowned in surprise as he slowly and painfully lowered himself to his knees. High-Captain Marhn dared the assembled prelates’ wrath by assisting his wounded commander, but Ortak never took his eyes from Vroxhan’s.

“Holiness, heretic or no, demon-worshiper or demon-spawn as he may be, I tell you that not once in a hundred generations has Pardal seen this man’s equal as a war captain. Wherever he may spring from, whatever the source of his knowledge, he is a master of his trade, and the men he commands will follow where he leads against any foe.”

“Even against God Himself?” Vroxhan asked very softly.

“Against any foe, Holiness,” Ortak repeated, and closed his eyes at last. “Holiness, my life is forfeit, if you choose to claim it. I gave of my very best for God and the Temple, yet I speak not in any effort to excuse my failure or save myself when I tell you no Guard captain is this man’s equal. His army is far smaller than any of us believed possible, yet no captain has held a single field against him. As a soldier I know only the art of battle, Holiness, but that I do know. Do with me as you will, yet for the sake of Mother Church and the Faith, I beg you to heed me in this. Do not take this man lightly. Were every Guardsman in both Hylars, Herdaana, and Ishar gathered in one place, still I fear he would defeat them. Demon or devil he may be, but as a war captain he is without peer on all Pardal.”