Capriones 8/1/2006

Disclaimer: We shall make use of several of the characters from The Slayers, none of whom belongs to us.

Chapter Ten -- Schemers and Traitors

Val knocked on the wooden frame of the tent, calling out, "It's Valgaav; you wanted to talk?"

"Oh! Come in," Filia said, straightening the folds of her long dress.

He parted the flaps and stepped in, looking side to side.

"Alone?"

"Yes, Lina, Sylphiel, and Amelia left shopping for clothes for the country mixer tonight. Kind of a party, Lina said. I see nothing to celebrate, but that's not what I wanted to talk to you about."

He fell onto a pile of pillows, tucking his arms behind his head and spreading his legs comfortably.

"Go ahead."

"Well, I would like you to tell me what you think happened to your people after you were taken away by Queen Zelas," Filia said, summoning all her poise in front of the intense young man.

Valgaav removed a tooth pick from his pants pocket and started to chew on it.

"Why?" he asked, not budging from his reclining position in her tent.

"Well," she began.

She stopped her hands before they pressed her dress smooth for the tenth time and folded them primly in her lap. Filia felt Valgaav's eyes on her, watching her fidget. She most certainly didn't want him to think he was making her nervous; she was an accomplished mercenary, a grown woman! With a deep breath, she centered herself, concentrating on what she wanted to learn and how to express herself effectively. Doubtlessly, she would need to appeal to his ego to get any information out of him.

"What little Lina reported didn't match with what I knew to be the truth. I'd like to hear your side from you."

"Oh yeah? Beginning with what?"

"You were a prince, I understand. That's remarkable, actually. There are so few tribes remaining, and none I know of with any royalty alive today."

His face registered interest and he sat up. "You don't say?"

"That I know of, as I said."

"Well, I was a prince of my own tribe, until Zelas killed my mother and claimed me like a piece of property. In theory, Xelloss and I share a father, although I've never believed that."

"You two are no more alike than Lina and me– less so. Sounds like a lie to me. What did your father have to say about that?"

"The man's dead, been dead awhile. I was told he died in a battle a long ways away."

"I'm sorry, Valgaav, about your father."

He shrugged and looked away dismissing her pity.

"So, why do you think Queen Zelas would lie that way?" Filia asked, determined not to be shut out.

"Xelloss, who doesn't believe we are related either, says Zelas claimed I was family in order to save my life. Our home, a castle on the cliffs was attacked in the night. A bomb blast woke us out of bed and it was dark. I was bound, blindfolded, and dragged out. I could hear the screams of my family, by sisters, the servants, and the roar of fire. I could smell smoke and feel the heat. Someone knocked me out, and next I knew I was here. I was told my father had this other family and now that was where I was going to live."

"How terrible! What happened to everyone else? Have you seen or heard from anybody, your family, anyone from your tribe?"

"No. I assumed they were all taken into different Caprione settlements. Why are you asking me all these questions? Do you know something about any of this?"

Instead of answering, Filia leaned forward and asked more questions. "Yours was the tribe of Ancients, right? That's what you called it?"

"Yeah, what of it? I've told you enough. It's your turn to do some talking."

"I think some Cephied men from the neighboring village who were actually part of our Golden tribe, although not a . . . "

"Get on with it! What about them? What did they do?"

"I am! This is difficult. Don't interrupt! They were forced to attack and destroy the Ancients," she said quickly.

"What did you say? Forced by who? Why?"

"I have learned that Cardinal Rezo was behind the plot to rub out the Ancient tribe. Rumor has it that was because your people held a secret powerful weapon and planned to use it against him."

"A what? You say my family and maybe all my people were murdered over some stupid sword or something? You must think I'm pretty gullible to swallow that."

"I know it must sound like so much malarkey, but it's not, I promise you. And I said 'weapon', which might be anything, but you must see Milgasia for the details. He is an elected official and the leader of my tribe. Our royalty was rounded up and shot for using magic in a religious ceremony. Anyway, Milgasia knows the truth about the attack. That is partially why I am with Lina now– to fight Rezo and the Red Guard. You should, too. Forget all this nonsense with the Capriones and come with me. Meet Milgasia. Join our fight."

"Milgasia? I remember hearing about him. Must be a really old guy now."

Valgaav looked thoughtful, recalling all that he could about the man. It wasn't much. None of his past memories were clear anymore. His past was threatening to fade away forever, where it belonged! He wasn't a prince, he was a player.

"You must have younger men to lead your tribes," Valgaav said somewhat irritably. "Why do you continue to follow Milgasia?"

"Well, besides the fact that he is very wise and trusted, we follow him because he cares about us all and has the most marvelous sense of humor. It is difficult not to like someone who likes you and who can see the absurd in life and laugh at it."

Valgaav was obliged to agree with her, although he would rather not have. He hardly knew this woman and yet she was turning his world inside out as she spoke both by her bluntness and the substance of her thoughts. It was a disturbing feeling; it threw him off balance.

"Why me?" he ventured. "Why do you want me to join your cause?"

"You mean you don't want to avenge your family and your people? You're notworthless Caprione rubbish. You have credentials! You are a prince of the Cepheid tribe, the only one, which makes you our king, you nincompoop! People would follow you, listen to you."

"Yeah, sure they would."

"Well, they would, I assure you. You have a certain aplomb, an icy-cool reserve about you which is most attractive. It's referred to as 'royal icing' by some."

She smiled suddenly and radiantly.

He swore under his breath. He hated such open flattery, and hated more the acute state of pleasure it gave him.

Valgaav looked into Filia's clean cool eyes and was startled, even chilled, by the intelligence in them, and by a glimpse of something which might have been emotion, or simply force of will. Suddenly he wondered how old she was. What had happened in her life? Whom she had loved and hated; what extravagant dreams she had pursued and won, or lost? She moved with the ease and pride of a young woman, but her eyes held the knowledge, wit, and assurance of a man-- a very independent young lady unlike any he had ever met before, except that Lina Inverse witch.

"You would become our rallying point now," she said, earnestly. "Our people need a person with the popularity, the image people could follow, would sacrifice their money, their houses, even their lives for. That kind of loyalty attaches only to someone with either a royal birthright or a character of extraordinary valor and passion- or to someone who can be seen as a symbol of what the people most desire. It does not matter whether that loyalty is born of truth or fiction, but it must ignite a belief in victory that overrides the defeats and disappointments, the weariness and the loss. And, sadly, try as he likes, Milgasia does not possess that illusory appeal, but you, a symbol of the great Ancient race of our people, young, strong, and handsome, would--"

"Just knock off the shit and let me think about all this," Valgaav growled, stumbling to his feet. "No, you come with me. I gotta know if what you're saying's the truth." He grasped her arm firmly and stormed out of the tent.

(O)

"Prince Randolph will see you now in the chart room, Lord Cardinal, sir," announced the servant.

"It's about time," Rezo said tartly, closing the book he was reading.

As he entered the room, he took in the walls of maps carefully rolled and stored in labeled slots, the partially drawn shade shielding a small table, a cut-glass decanter, and one empty glass from the direct rays of the late autumn sun. Two leather chairs of mammoth proportions were arranged on either side of the table, and in one rested the youngest son of the king, Randy, fingering another glass.

"Port?" he offered.

"No, thank you," Rezo said, taking the other chair when the prince indicated that he should.

The cardinal was perfectly composed, but thought the prince was tense and possibly fearful. Randy ran a finger over his large hooked nose, the bridge of his nose broken in the middle. As he told it, he was injured in a hunting accident when his rifle had backfired unexpectedly, but Rezo had heard the story another way: that he had it smashed in a bar room brawl, an unacceptable situation and excuse for a prince. Randy shook his shoulder-length, stringy blond hair away from his face, another sign to Rezo that the man was nervous. And he should be. Randy physically resembled the King's favorite mistress more than any of his noble relations, and he probably was their love-child. It would explain the man's insecurities, which Rezo wished to use to his best advantage.

"We need to turn the minds of the people," Rezo began the conversation, which had been at his request, not the prince's. "They listen to and respect the word of the king too much, and here in Seyruun, your brother, Prince Phil. The king is old. His ideas belong to the past ages, good ones, but ineffectual for the New Age. Philionel is just his mouth piece and your brother Christopher . . . "

Rezo sighed and held out a hand to wave away that man as a possible leader for this people. "He shows his rural roots every time he opens his mouth. He would have made a fine country squire."

"Nomad," Randy interceded. "He'd make a good nomad. He lives most the time in the villages in the rain shadow of the mountains, going from place to place."

"I see," Rezo smiled fractionally. "The people here in Seyruun need a new face, a man to lead them into the forefront of the coming age, a man they can trust, familiar, but not over used. And one that knows the inner working of the cities, not a country bumpkin."

Rezo's smile widened and held, hoping the man seated across from him was following his logic, not that it mattered; he would lead him to the conclusion he wanted. Randy downed his port and poured another glass. His hands didn't tremble, but he spilled a few drops on the table, leaving them for a servant to clean up.

"Someone to replace the king, you mean?" Randy asked.

"Yes, you see it too. Very insightful of you," Rezo said, praising the man.

Randy smiled and sat back deep into his chair, arms at rest, pleased at having earned Cardinal Rezo's esteem. Everyone acknowledged Rezo to be the greatest mind of the century, possibly in all history!

"I put a great deal of thought into whom that man should be. Who had the strength of heart, the determination, and the reputation? I sought out the wisest counsel, seeking the opinions of, to begin with, those who had the most influence."

"The shrine?"

"Nonsense! Everyone expects the shrine to make noises about traditional hierarchy and how the crown is passed according to the laws of the land. That is their job! Therefore no one really listens– it has no novelty whatsoever! No, I sought advisement outside of the shrine and found my man."

"Oh? And who was that?"

Rezo closed his eyes and pressed his thin lips together in order not to scream at the dense man. With great restraint, Rezo said in a clipped manner, "Who would be better than the king's closest adviser, and priest?"

"Me? You mean for me to be the next king then?"

"Wouldn't you like that? All of Seyruun, yours?"

Randy's eyes gleamed. A narrow line of sunlight shone through a crack in the drapery, sending myriads of tiny prisms bouncing off the decanter, one of them hitting Randy right between the eyes and giving him a momentary "touched by the Gods" look.

"Well, yes. I've always thought I shouldn't have to be last in line, and then when both my brothers sired offspring, it put the position way out of my reach."

"Not any longer. The throne is yours for the taking, nearly. We need only carry out a few strategic steps successfully."

"You want me to kill my father, I take it. He trusts me. I can get close to him and I know his weaknesses."

"That is correct. We must devise and execute an infallible plan. Actually, I have the plan; I just require your services. I have some potions, sure to heal, or kill if misapplied. Do you think you can summon up a few men, who will answer to you and not Philionel, and begin preparing tonight?"

"I can, but what of my brothers? How will you eliminate them from inheriting the crown instead of me?"

"I shall set them against each other and they shall eliminate one another and their children as well," Rezo told him.

Randy moved in his chair, leaning on the table closer to Rezo. He was drunk enough to become incautious with his words. "You are the Cardinal, but I wonder if you are a religious man? You speak of murder and breaking the law as I might describe a hunting trip."

A sneer twisted Rezo's handsome face. "The shrine has got the biggest hypocrites of the lot! They condemn people whose lives they don't begin to understand. Our purpose takes us beyond the laws, answerable only to Shabranigdo."

"You mean Cepheid, surely!"

"Him too, possibly," Rezo said, closing his eyes. "I'll have that port now, if you don't mind."

"I'll take a bit more too," Randy said, filling both glasses. "It'll be a dark night's duty, to be sure. Ah, Shabranigdo . . . tell me about that one."

"Where should I begin?" Rezo said, warming the glass in his hands. He sipped his drink while considering what to tell the man.

"Once there was the Lord of Nightmares and she created the world and in it she set two gods. They were like brothers, sharing everything until one day, the Lord of Nightmares took away all their toys, but one. They demanded the return of their toys, but she said 'no,' and left, instructing them to 'play nicely.'

"Well, as brothers do when forced to share that which cannot be divided, they battled furiously over the single toy. Cepheid slaughtered Shabranigdo, cutting him into pieces and sealing his powers, but at the cost of his own life. Their forms were lost to us from that time on, but, as you know as a priest of the Cepheid shrine, the priesthood may still contact the gods, interpret the prophesies of the gods, and provide spiritual insight to the common people, who are unable to contact gods."

"So, Shabranigdo is a brother to Cepheid, our god...making... him like our god too, and not the lord of demon kind?" Randy asked.

"Oh, he is the Demon Lord that makes black magic operate, but that doesn't put us at odds with him. It's a give and take game with these petulant gods. We give them adulation and they give us power. Easy to control, as long as you do things properly."

"And you can communicate with both gods?" Randy asked, appalled one instant and full of admiration for the man the next.

"Naturally. What kind of Cardinal would I be if I wasn't able to talk to both gods? Power evolves out of knowledge. Controlling that power is an art, and the gods are very clever artists. It is I, however, who must be the most skillful to become their master."

Prince Randolph listened closely to the rest of Rezo's advice. He was in awe of the man and knew that when he was crowned King of Seyruun that he would be indebted to him as well. That thought was fleeting, which was unfortunate.

"So, you mentioned a potion I might use? It will kill him sure and appear natural?"

"Success will be indisputable. It is a gift from the gods."

"That's good," Randy said. He rubbed a hand over his face attempting to clear his thinking processes. "I just wonder which god?"

"Does it matter?"

"No, I guess not."

"Most certainly it does not. Here, take this vial and follow these directions explicitly."

End Capriones, Chapter Ten