Resurrection, p.1
Resurrection, page 1
part #4 of Dark Servant Series
Behold the power of the Lord of Night.
At last the stasis potion is set to wear off, and the prince wil return to the land of the living. But Rak discovers that his brother’s resurrection is the least of his problems. His past is being used against him, and so is his tryst with the handsome captain of the palace guard.
His options are few and his alies fewer, and the King has somehow declared him heir to the throne, an honor he absolutely does not want.
Can Rak steer his way out of the political mess caused by his brother’s near death?
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Resurrection
Copyright © 2012 AC Elas
ISBN: 978-1-77111-394-6
Cover art by Angela Waters
Al rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
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Resurrection
The Dark Servant Book 4
By
AC Elas
To the three handsome men in my life who keep me going. You know who you are.
Chapter One: The Sword Dance
Rivday, the 30th of Evphormon
It was dawn. Soon the palace would begin the morning routine, and the courtiers would start their daily grind of gossip, backstabbing, and harassing of the royal family. But none of that would find its way into the guest suite of the dark servants. Or so Rak told himself as he said farewel to the night and greeted the return of the light.
Before long, the palace would be bustling with activity, but to Rak, it was nearly time to sleep. Except that today, he could not go to bed as usual. In the spare bedroom, the exhausted captain slept beside the prince’s body, and Rak would not disturb Jisten’s rest. There was not a soul in the palace brave enough to barge into this suite except the king himself.
Rak padded into the front hal, a room that a proper envoy would use for receptions and other political functions. Rak shrugged out of his tunic and tossed it on the bench. He also disarmed, laying out his weapons with more care than he’d shown the cloth. He drew his short swords, walked into the middle of the room, and began to dance, but this dance was nothing like the one of last night.
The Sword Masters had taught him the forms of the four paths in his youth, and he had mastered their lessons. Their style was formal, almost stilted, nothing more than a series of cuts and parries that the student repeated over and over until muscle memory had formed. It had taken the genius of the senior dance master of the Aroz Palace in Zoth to turn the forms into a dance.
The dance master, a Valer named Varkaris, had gone over each step, each motion, and refined it, balanced it, and turned it into art. In the sale, before an audience, Rak had presented the pure forms in the manner of the Sword Masters. Now he danced the forms in the way that Varkaris had taught him. It was both workout and meditation. As he exercised his muscles, his mind was free to drift in esoteric realms of thought.
Jisten stirred, stretching to rol the crick out of his neck. He had slept sitting up, which didn’t seem right to him. He opened gritty eyes, looked around at his surroundings, and realized that he’d falen asleep on watch.
But the prince looked wel, for a corpse. Tonight, he would awaken. On the bed with Jethain was large, charcoal grey hound sprawled bely up in a ridiculous pose.
Jisten stood, stretched again, and walked into the parlor. Scorth was sleeping on a couch, an open book over his face. The captain wondered where Rak was. He checked the closet that had been converted into a chapel, but it was empty. Jisten went into the front hal next, and was struck stil by the sight.
Rak was practicing the forms, but they looked completely different than they had in the sale. Jisten thought that this dance was far more sexual than the elegant duet of the sacred dance. He told himself that it was the forms that interested him, and not the bare, muscular torso and briliant wings that danced with the graceful motions of the priest.
Jisten flushed when his interest made itself known, and the flush deepened when Rak stopped dancing and turned towards him. The door from the parlor had creaked closed. Jisten could see the tension in the wings as Rak turned, and the sudden relaxation as the priest saw it was him.
“Dawn has come, Captain,” said Rak. It had the sound of ritual greeting.
“A time to greet Si’Yeni, and I slept.” Jisten made a face.
“I stood watch,” replied Rak with a hint of a smile as he walked over.
“And I greeted the Lady of the Sunrise. Did you realy expect that you could do without sleep entirely?”
“You seem to, but thank you for that,” Jisten said. He hadn’t stopped watching Rak for a second, and his gaze was appreciative. Sweat delineated the priest’s muscles and made the lack of fat obvious. The colorful, geometric tattoo on Rak’s abdomen vanished into his pants.
Jisten was surprised at his sudden desire to see where the tattoo went and more surprised when he saw it in his mind’s eye.
“We are alies,” Rak reminded him. “It is our job, and I wil do my share.”
Jisten once again held out his hand, palm up. “Alies.”
Rak slid the short swords into the sash around his waist, set his hand in Jisten’s and smiled warmly. “Friends?”
“That would be a privilege for me,” Jisten said with a sincerity that gave Rak pause.
“And for me also,” said Rak. He wondered if the man was remembering, for he kept gazing at him in a thoughtful way. Would he remember? And more importantly, how would he react once he did remember? To provoke his memory, Rak asked, gently, “About last night… what do you remember?”
Instead of answering, Jisten handed Rak a goblet of cool cider and a towel. Rak’s tattoos were exactly how he had dreamed them. How could he have accurately dreamed what he hadn’t seen? Jisten was horrified as his imagination supplied images of the rest of Rak’s tattoos, the ones hidden by the loose silk pants. He wanted this man with an intensity that scared him. At length, he answered, “You were dancing, but more than dancing.”
“I must ask for your silence. That dance was not meant to be observed.”
“I’m sorry to intrude.” Jisten concentrated on Rak’s wings to avoid looking elsewhere. He knew that he had seen something sacred, something he shouldn’t. He stammered, “I’m a commoner, not a priest, I’m sorry.”
Rak placed his hand on top of Jisten’s again. “Fear not, Captain. No offense was taken, or damage done, by your presence. I ask for your silence because of the Enemy. When she defected from the pattern of creation, mortal dancers were required to take her place. She hunts the dancers, for if they are eliminated, the pattern is weakened.”
“I wil hold my tongue, I promise. Your secrets are safe with me.”
Rak said, hesitantly, almost an offer, “I am finding this mission a chalenge. I am supposed to be a prince of this land, and the king and Jethain both expect me to behave as such. But my earliest memory, the very first thing I can recal of my life, was inside a slaver’s house, learning how to walk again.”
Jisten looked somber and his hand tightened under Rak’s. “Learning to walk?”
“A wal fel on me. On my head. I am told it was a miracle that I was not instantly kiled, and another miracle that I recovered at al, even with healing.” Rak didn’t mention the lasting effects of that old injury. The captain might be an aly, and he was certainly good in bed, but Rak wasn’t the type to speak of private matters to someone he hardly knew.
Fortunately, Jisten didn’t press for details about the injury.
“Odd of a wal to just fal on you.”
“A carter backed a wagon into it. I do think it odd that the mortar did not hold.”
Jisten nodded, ful of suspicion. “No one kidnaps the crown prince without inside help.”
“I do not recal it.” Rak sighed. He stretched his back, alowing his wings to unfurl to their ful spread, drawing the captain’s gaze to them.
The man’s expression was such that Rak wondered if the man had a fetish.
“Does the pattern mean anything? Is it familial?”
“The exact pattern is unique, but both the type of pattern and the number of colors are familial.” They walked into the now empty parlor, and Rak indicated that they should sit down.
“How many colors can there be?” Jisten asked. He sat down on the largest couch, more than enough room for two men. “And what patterns are usual?”
Rak wanted to sit on the handsome captain’s lap, but he refrained and sat beside him instead. “Four-colored is the most I have ever heard of.
That is the mark of the Loftoni royal line, along with the diamond-in-diamond pattern.”
“Of course Owain would marry royalty.” Jisten had almost memorized Rak’s wings, not that he would admit it.
Rak flashed him a grin. “Three-colored wings are the norm, and I have seen diamonds, spots, triangles, stripes, and even combinations. Two colors appears to be the absolute minimum, I have never seen or heard of a Loftoni with a solid colored wing.”
“I’m grateful to have seen yours,” Jisten blurted then rushed ahead, “I cannot thank you enough for healing Jethain. It’s strange to have an aly.”
He shifted imperceptibly closer to Rak on the couch.
“That is my duty. I have sacrificed much to come here, and if I am not successful in keeping Jethain alive, it wil al have been for naught.”
Jisten looked up. “Tel me what I can do. What can I expect?”
“I’ve told you the attempts on his life that I’ve dreamt. I don’t know if there are more that I haven’t seen,” Rak said. “Jethain is a minor figure in the prophecy, but if you void any part of it, you void al of it.”
“Then what is the major portion of the prophecy?”
“The defeat of the Enemy. She wil seek to void that prophecy until the night it comes to pass. And right now, the easiest route to that is to eliminate Jethain. Do you understand?”
“Perfectly. I plan to dog his steps, and there are a trusted handful that wil always be lurking about.”
“If anything seems amiss, you come to me. Even if you have to wake me up. Even if I am dancing.”
Apprehension was writ large on Jisten’s face. “I’m not the type to interrupt a God.” He left unsaid what else was done other than dancing.
“The God has tasked me with keeping Jethain alive. He would understand.”
“The Storm Lord wouldn’t fry you with a lightning bolt!”
“Zotien wants the prophecy to be fulfiled. He has worked to that end since it was given. Over a thousand years of work has gone into this already.”
Jisten’s apprehension wasn’t eased. “Stil, to interrupt a God doing that…” He turned scarlet that he had admitted that he saw more than the dance.
Rak heaved a sigh but seemed neither bothered nor embarrassed. “He would simply finish it later. I am not sure that time has the same meaning to Him as it does to us.” He considered Jisten. “So you saw that. What else did you see?” …or remember, Rak finished silently. Please remember.
The bright scarlet returned and Jisten picked at the cushion. “Stars. A pattern—realy, I am sorry to have intruded. It was beautiful, filed me with awe. I never thought of the Gods like that, of creation like that. I’m too mundane, I suppose.”
“Nor had I, the first time.”
Jisten smiled. “A high priest has to start somewhere?”
“Ai. And in my case, I was a new novice the first time I danced for the God.”
“Lord Zotien picked a novice?”
“I was a novice to the priesthood, but not to dancing,” Rak admitted. “I was a royal dancer before I went to Okyro.”
“Impressive,” Jisten said, causing Rak to stare at him. “That was an unusual practice routine,” Jisten continued, rattled by the dark priest’s stare. “Wil you teach it to me? You said you’d spar with me, remember?”
“I can, and I do remember,” replied Rak, answering both questions.
“That routine is one I have used for many years. But it wil have to wait, perhaps until tomorrow. I am supposed to address the council today.”
“Tomorrow it is, then. As for the council,” Jisten said gravely, “your best chance is to appeal to Lords Peneron and Maziel. Do not rise to Lord Kezil’s taunts. Lord Breavey cares for money more than ethics or politics. If you can find a way to appeal to his greed, do so.”
“Thank you,” said Rak. “Every bit of insight I can gain on the situation here can only help.”
“I wish that I could help you more,” Jisten said earnestly.
Rak had a rueful smile on his face as he let go of Jisten’s hand and stood up. “As do I, Captain. Please excuse me, I must prepare for the council meeting now.”
Chapter Two: The Council and the Heir The council chamber was candle lit due to some trouble with the gas lights. Rak was grateful for the dimness of the room. He set a leather folder on the polished oak table and checked the tip of his pen. The king walked in and the councilors stood up. Busy perusing the contents of his folder, Rak hardly noticed when Owain entered, uncharacteristicaly dressed in ful court regalia.
“Priest, you are arrogant or foolish or both,” commented Lord Breavey. “As an envoy, you should have enough understanding of etiquette to stand up when a king enters a room.”
“As a head of state in my own right, I do not have to do any such thing,” Rak countered. “Nor do we recognize mortal sovereignty over us.”
“A head of state, are you? Forgive me, I must have missed seeing your crown,” replied Breavey.
“A’filozenoi is ruled by the Council of the Brotherhood of Dark Servants. That council is comprised of the twelve high priests and our God. The high priest of each sect is independent of the other sects, answering to only the Lord of Night.” The disbelief oozing from the councilors made Rak want to laugh.
“Then why have a council at al, son?” inquired the king as he sat down, alowing his councilors to folow suit. He approved of his heir showing his power to the council.
“To address those matters that affect al the sects and to govern the land. As envoy, I speak for both the council and my God.” Rak looked up at Owain and wondered at the attire. Was the king going to pronounce judgments directly after the meeting? Or did he always wear ful attire to a council meeting?
“Thank you for clarifying your position, Araken,” said the king, smiling at him. He fel silent and waited until every eye in the room turned towards him. Then he stood up, taking control of the meeting. “Thank you for your prompt attendance this morning,” he began, “I have an important announcement before we turn to more mundane matters.
“My eldest son has been returned to me by none other than the Lord of Night himself, one of the great four. Lord Zotien must have foreseen our blessed kingdom’s need. With Jethain dead, my eldest son Araken wil assume his proper place as the crown prince and heir to the throne.”
The councilors cast uneasy glances at Rak. Many of them weren’t sure that they wanted a dark servant on the throne and many were very sure that they didn’t. Virien’s mask slipped and his anger shone plainly for several seconds. Lord Kion scowled, and Breavey shook his head. But the councilors weren’t the only ones upset by the king’s announcement.
Rak glared at the king. “Your Majesty,” he began, but Owain cut him off.
“You are my firstborn, yes? Lord Zotien sent you specificaly here, yes? He sent a message declaring your lineage, yes?” Owain looked very regal as he stared at Rak, impatiently waiting for his son to acknowledge him and accept his duty.
“I cannot deny any of that,” Rak was forced to admit.
“Why else would He do that, but for you to assume your rightful place as crown prince?”
“My vows forbid me to inherit!” Rak stood and his wings rustled as they shifted against his back
“Ask your brotherhood for an exception,” said Lord Peneron. “I’m sure there’s something in your code that alows for that. There are in the other religious orders.”
“If your God wished for you to merely stay a high priest in His service, He would have kept you at home, fighting His war. Instead, He sent you here,” Owain declared.
“I wil be a high priest until the day I die,” snapped Rak. He ran a hand through his short hair. “Nothing can be alowed to interfere with my duty to my God. Nothing.”
“Why can’t you do as Peneron suggested?” wondered Lord Maziel.
“Ask for an exception. You can rule and stil be high priest. No one would force you to recant.”
Rak felt hunted, like a rabbit in a bowsite, but the stakes of this hunt was more than his life, it was his soul. “Exceptions to vows can only be granted before they are sworn.”
“Yet your God sent you here,” Owain pressed. “He wants you to know your heritage. Why else but to claim it?”
“Perhaps He thought that my heritage would enable us to reach a fair trade agreement,” said Rak. “Or perhaps He hoped that my presence here would help my brother.”
“Your brother is dead, despite your heroic efforts. As crown prince, your trade agreement wil be most fair. Your God knows this. He wishes to win the war, and with you on the throne, He may feed His army and your kingdom here wil be enriched with Okyran gold, silk and gems. “
