Fool's Gold
Prologue
'Quoi, qu'on y croit ou pas, y aura bien un jour où on y croira plus.'
Someone beneath the open window was complaining of the heat.
Rain had not been seen in Tevinter for the past eight months, countless days merging into an endless desert of drought. All of Thedas seemed to swelter under the heat. Outside the stone walls, the grass lining the stately courtyard was browned. Blades of razor grass clumped in dark patches almost defiantly, their sharp waxy leaves impenetrable to the sun's blazing eye. These patches were carefully avoided by the many sandaled feet that crossed the atrium on their way to the Chambers of Deliberation. Every now and again, a slave swathed in dark cottons, would scamper from trough to trough of colourful plants, pouring amphora after amphora of cool water into the dusty soil. Even the insects seemed too lethargic and drained to move energetically through the air, instead they clunk to the dark cool corners, a dull toneless hum as if it was the most they could muster.
The room stank of incense, great dark curling plumes of purple smoke hanging in the air like a thick fog. It was unbearably hot too, the heat swirling in spirals of and dancing around the room like a spirit of mirth – how anyone would be able to work under such conditions was a mystery.
As if on cue Ignatios put down his quill, using the feather to tickle his chin thoughtful as he regarded the contents of the scroll. It would do, he thought and leaning forwards signed a scratchy spider-like signature into the bottom right of the parchment whilst simultaneously reaching for the wine cup. His fingers found it easily without his eyes lifting from the scrawls of almost illegible letters before him. He took a long draught of the dark red liquid, with all the need of a man who has just walked a thousand leagues under the unforgiving sun. Refreshed he took another piece of paper from the pile by his elbow and he prepared the wax seal, scrawling the words: 'To be sent to Vol Dorma – For Master Nilus.'
The family seal lay in the top-most draw of the ornate desk he was currently sat at. Brass dragons made for clawed feet, and dark highly polished wood made its handsome surface. He carefully withdrew the seal and stamped the insignia onto the letter. Admiring its elegance for the countless time. A double headed snake, its body entwined in a loop with one head at each end and diagonal slits for eyes. The brass head made a satisfying sound as it plunged into the hot wax and Ignatios smiled to himself, something's about his job were satisfying; like the pay, the wine, the food, the culture, the history. Whatever he wanted, he would find here. Whatever he could dream of, he would find here.
There were certain perks that Minrathous brought to one's attention that were not so easily accessible anywhere else. He did not enjoy the politics but he accepted the necessity of it. You needed a shrewd sharp mind to succeed here, and his position was something many of the lower casts envied. Nodding to himself he moved promptly from the desk, striding purposefully across the room which was littered with books and pieces of parchment, all strewn about on low wooden tables or the floor.
He stopped by a handle built into the dark panelling of the opposite wall, a few paces across a huge window revealed a breath-taking view of the Nocen Sea. It's waves rolling against the cliffs of the inland like sheets azurite glass, cascading into fountains of white foam as they crashed against the rocky shores.
Ignatios turned the crank, apparently oblivious to the sight before him, he might as well be standing in a piss stained alley for notice he took of it. He concentrated simply on a panel in the dark wood in front of him which, after a moment slid open, revealing a hidden compartment in the wall. He withdrew a crystal cylinder from his back pocket, slipped the parchment inside and then placed it in the hole in front of him. He then turned the crank again so that the slot he had just uncovered was tilted back on hinges and the paper slid quickly away into the darkness.
The bell rang clear throughout the stone corridors; he had been waiting for this since sunrise. The sharp notes of the bell beckoning him to the Chambers of Deliberation. He strode back to his desk, sweeping his ink and quill into a small leather satchel, and after a moments consideration a small flask followed the other objects into the bag. A name formed on his lips, but before he could call it his scribe appeared in the doorway as if from nowhere. He was smudged with ink, pieces of parchment poking out from his pockets and carrying Ignatios's hat. Waiflike and tall, a spindly figure with a clever face and intelligent eyes. Better yet, he was a half-elf. Meaning no high official would pay him any heed, allowing him to slip from one place to another unseen and unnoticed.
"They are gathering in the auditorium, Sir."
"So I hear Sergius, let us follow."
Following his lead Sergius fell into step behind Ignatios and listened to his master grumble without commentary.
"All of Tevinter stinks, I daresay all of Thedas stinks. This is the fetid smell of decay Sergius. There has been no rain for over eight months. The streets are thick with the filth of sweat and dust, and our wind is sickly with the threat of plague. Next men will lie down on the streets and die of heat, only to be consumed by the crows."
He turned, looking at the half-elf for a reply and he was duty bound to respond.
"It is not so bad, the aqueducts still bring water down from the mountains."
Ignatios let out a cold bark of laughter, nodding to the other Altus joining the cress as they entered the long hallway that joined the outside world to the Chambers of Deliberation.
"The aqueducts run dry Sergius, slowed to a dribble. Here we are surrounded by the Nocen Sea, almost drowned in water and yet none to quench our thirst." He stopped to light a candle before entering the revered chambers, kneeling before a mural of the Black Divine and quickly marking the sign of fealty across his chest. The murmuring of tens of dozens behind and beside him doing exactly the same flitted about the chamber like an imitation of the wind.
"I believe the Grand Cistern holds water enough for five years." Sergius responeded doggedly, following his master as they crossed into the magnificent and huge oval room carved from stone, all one seamless design. A central oval platform at the centre and around it rows and rows of sculpted stone seats, rising almost to what seemed the ceiling. Huge slits in the wall allowed the strong light to penetrate into the room, shards of golden light falling onto the floor and colouring it like the sun. The smell of herbs and fragranced smoke lay heavy in the air as thick smoggy haze; a somewhat soporific effect. Dulling the senses and blunting the mind as the world turned from day to early evening.
Ignatios willed himself awake and was for once thankful for the uncomfortable feel of the chair as they seated themselves in their usual seats.
"Is today's vote important?" Sergius asked in a discreet undertone as other Altus and members of the chamber sat nearby.
"It is of minor importance," Ignatious answered, trying to rearrange himself in his seat the best he could possibly manage so both of his buttcheeks were spared from going numb for the longest amount of time possible. "But the Magister wishes to cast his vote on the topic at hand, so we must be here to carry out his will."
Sergius pressed his lips together as another member of the chamber took a seat next to Ignatios – he would not be able to speak now. Despite being a free-man and an educated one at that, his birth and heritage meant he little beyond a slave in the eyes of most members of the Imperium. He cast his intelligent eyes instead upon the oval platform and waited for the grand doors to shut and the council to start.
The hours passed by in a hazy blur for Ignatious, there were many topics for discussion today. Hardly any were relevant and had little to do with him, many were to ploy of Magisters exerting their will on the stand to get their own way. He was not concerned with this, the droning of voices filled the great room, spiralling to the ceiling and down again as the debates went on and on and on. His eyelids grew heavy and despite his best efforts he felt the clawing need to sleep pull at his insides, dragging his head down into an uncomfortable slumber. Sergius would wake him…Sergius would know…
"Ouch!" Ignatious sat bolt upright in his seat. His arm throbbing from where the half-elf had pinched his skin. He was about to turn angrily in his seat but became acutely aware of the silence filling the great chamber. He looked around surreptitiously, conscious of the fact that he had been asleep and even possibly snoring; a gauche but not an inexcusable display within these walls of antiquity. Everyone was still seated, no one had set themselves on fire or fallen out of their seats from what he could tell so what in the Maker's name had...
That was when he noticed that the doors had been thrown open again, an unusual fact in itself. Once the doors to the chambers were closed they would not be reopened again for anyone less than the Imperial Archeon or her second in command. Then he noticed the two solitary figures walking slowly down the pathway between the seats towards the platform.
To his knowledge he had never seen them before, for he would surely have recognised the man. Dressed in expensive clothes, a formidable display of wealth, taste and style. He had a commanding air about him. Dark and handsome features, an aquiline nose and a promising mouth. He seemed completely unperturbed by the hundreds of eyes resting on him as he walked to the centre of the chamber, his lips portraying an expression of both amusement and pleasure. And yet – that was nothing to say of the figure next to him, arm intertwined with his. Her face was heavily veiled beneath black lace, a full figure in a floor length dark gown with the bodice of the dress pulled tight across her high proud breasts, glittering stones embroidered into the fabric so whenever the dress caught the light it glittered like starlight.
The stranger looked pleasantly at the speaker currently standing on the platform, and as the silence grew and became more pressing his look became harder until the speaker stood aside.
Without hesitation the stranger took the centre stage, a whisper filtered through the seated Altus and members of the chamber like a ripple.
This was unprecedented. Who was this man? Who was this woman? This was not done – he was an unknown, a man of undetermined reputation strolling into their stronghold. This was the cradle of civilization, not a stage for heathens to parade across. Where was his breeding? What right did he have to be there?
Members of the audience began to shift – the spell of silence it seemed had lifted at last and people were muttering complaints beneath their breath. It was only a matter of time before this swelled and …
"I have come," the stranger began. The female figure silent by his side, hands clasped across her chest, head bowed. "with a proposition for you."
"Who are you?" Someone from the back shouted, a murmur of agreement ran through the crowd.
Yes, who was this stranger.
"Forgive me," he replied his eyes glittering dangerously, a strange smile sweeping across his handsome features. "I am Lord Rufinius Coven."
Ignatious thought to shout something bold like: "Never heard of him!" but he was stilled by Sergius's heavy hand on his wrist. The half-elf's eyes were narrowed and his face was pale, so Ignatious stilled his tongue.
"And of course this is my sister, Lady Herron." His dark eyes sparkled and Ignatious felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stand straight.
"We have a proposition for you and all of the Tevinter Empire. We bring the promise of wealth, of power, and of magic that has been lost to Tevinter since Archeon Thalsian. We bring offerings from our Master, a God bound in mortal flesh. We only ask that you listen to our offer."
"Go," Ignatious whispered to Sergius. The cold feeling of dread climbing from his stomach and into his mouth. "Inform Magister Pavus."
Sergius silently slipped from his seat, moving swiftly and seamlessly through the rows of chairs to one of the small servants exits built discretely into the tall walls of stone. As his fingers felt for the latch he felt something bore into the back of his skull like a nail, and he turned slowly on the spot.
From all aspects of the room the platform was easily seen. A masterwork of construction, the light from the ceiling falling onto the speakers giving them an illuminating glow. The woman's position had changed slightly Sergius noted, his stomach twisting over on itself. Her veiled head raised and his heart leapt into his chest as he realised her pointed gaze was resting on him. It seemed to squeeze the breath from his chest and turn the blood in his veins to ice, he snatched at breath and fumbled for the latch, desperate to get away.
"I see you." She seemed to say, and for some unknown reason, he was filled with fear.