The Omen Machine Page 33

  The whispering started in again. There were also nods of approval.

  Ludwig bowed his head. “Of course, Queen Orneta. I know that Bishop Arc will be humbled by your words. I can assure you, on his behalf, that wherever the future may lead our people, Bishop Arc and I will continue to use prophecy to guide us so that we all may know the dangers along the path to our common good.”

  “I wish that Lord Rahl would do as much,” Ambassador Grandon said. He tugged on the end of his pointed beard as he shook his head in sincere regret. “We’re not picking sides in a conflict— we’re all on the same side, after all— so I sincerely hope that Lord Rahl won’t see our desire to align ourselves with Bishop Arc as any kind of betrayal.”

  Urgent murmurs of agreement passed among those gathered. They wanted to side with prophecy, but they trod lightly where treason was concerned. These people were loyal to the D’Haran Empire, but they also wanted prophecy to guide D’Hara.

  Orneta leaned both hands on the broad marble railing and gazed out over the vast corridors of the People’s Palace below. Sunlight streamed in from glassed sections overhead. Below, the crowds, lit by streamers of sunlight, moved through the halls, or gathered in groups, as did the intimate group up in the small but comfortable sitting area of the balcony.

  “Treason, you mean,” Orneta said without turning back. “That’s what you really mean. You mean that you hope that Lord Rahl won’t see this choice as treason.”

  “Well yes,” Grandon said. “That’s not the way I see it, or even remotely my intent. We are still loyal to the D’Haran Empire, still value Lord Rahl, it’s just that…”

  Ludwig, sipping on wine as he listened, arched an eyebrow. “Just that if Bishop Arc were to be Lord Arc, he would be better suited to managing the peace, than a Lord Rahl, who was better at managing the war.”

  The ambassador lifted a finger. “That’s a good way of putting it. We are loyal to the D’Haran Empire, and, as I said, we value Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor and all they’ve done for us, but we believe that Bishop Arc— Lord Arc as you suggest— with his broad knowledge and familiarity with prophecy, would be better suited in a leadership role. Since he would be guided by prophecy, he would be better able to maintain the peace and help us all take the safest path into the future.”

  Among the dozen and a half people gathered, there were nods and whispers of agreement to Ambassador Grandon’s wisdom.

  “I would hope as much myself,” Orneta said. “Lord Rahl and the Mother Confessor have fought hard to bring us to victory. I— we—are all greatly indebted to them. I fear, though, that somewhere along the line they have succumbed to the influence of dark whispers, so now we must do what is in the best interest of our people. It is our responsibility to now embrace the guidance of Lord Arc. That is my choice, and it is final.”

  Ambassador Grandon dipped his head in a single but firm nod. “It must be.”

  The duchess took refuge in sipping her tea rather than voice such a profound and final choice. Others in the group, though, did voice their solemn agreement.

  Orneta was gratified that Ludwig had such a responsible position in culling prophecy from every source possible and delivering it to Bishop Arc so that he might use it in guiding his rule of Fajin Province. It now seemed that Bishop Arc would be better suited to a position as Lord Arc in guiding all the lands, rather than just Fajin Province.

  When Orneta looked up from taking a drink of wine, she saw a Mord-Sith in red leather coming around a corner in the distance. As she marched their way, the Mord-Sith’s gaze was fixed on Orneta.

  CHAPTER 62

  The group with Queen Orneta fell silent as the Mord-Sith approached. All eyes were on the tall woman in red as she marched steadily toward them. In light of the gravity of their conversation, worry overcame the small group and none of them could even manage small talk.

  They were, after all, standing in Lord Rahl’s palace, in the ancestral home of the House of Rahl, the seat of power in D’Hara for thousands of years. It seemed somewhat distasteful, if not disrespectful, if not treasonous, to be discussing such matters while in the People’s Palace.

  Yet even though this was Lord Rahl’s home, the home of the House of Rahl, it was also the people’s house. In that sense, it was a palace belonging to the people, and so the people had every right to discuss and decide matters of relevance to their common future.

  But the approaching woman in red made all that seem rather academic. The Lord Rahl was the undisputed supreme authority in this place, and in all of D’Hara. The war would have seemed to have settled that issue and only strengthened the Lord Rahl’s hold on power. Unless of course Orneta and those of like mind were able, with the help of Abbot Dreier and Bishop Arc, to do something about it.

  She was adamant, as were a number of other representatives, that prophecy was the rightful guiding authority handed down by the Creator Himself and it had to be obeyed. To obey it, they had to be made aware of it. To allow the Keeper of the dead to subvert the use of prophecy was treason to life. They needed a guiding leader, like Bishop Arc, who would rule as Lord Arc in conjunction with the words of prophecy.

  In the silence up on the balcony, with all the representatives watching, the Mord-Sith was the center of attention as she went to the railing and glanced down at the people strolling the halls. Soldiers looking up saw her and without pause continued on their way. Other people moving through the halls noticed her as well, but their gazes didn’t linger long.

  Even in the People’s Palace, most people had always avoided looking a Mord-Sith in the eye. Of course, since Cara, Lord Rahl’s closest bodyguard, had gotten married, that caution had softened somewhat. Somewhat.

  This particular Mord-Sith’s hard edge, however, gave none of them any reason to abandon long-held fears.

  The Mord-Sith’s blond hair was done in the traditional single braid hanging straight down between her broad shoulders to the small of her back. It was impeccably plaited. Not a single hair seemed to be out of place. The sensual mix of muscles and feminine curves filled out her red leather outfit perfectly.

  A small red rod, her Agiel, hung from a fine gold chain around her right wrist, dangling just beyond the ends of her fingers so that it was always at the ready.

  As she turned back from surveying the halls below and then the balcony area where the small group of people were gathered, her penetrating blue-eyed gaze finally fixed on Orneta.

  “Queen Orneta, I have come to speak with you. Alone.”

  Orneta frowned. “About what?”

  “We will discuss it in private.”

  Orneta wasn’t at all sure she wanted to speak with one of Lord Rahl’s Mord-Sith. In light of her recent decision to throw her loyalty to Hannis Arc, Orneta especially didn’t want to speak with her alone.

  “Well, I don’t know that I wish—”

  “That’s odd. I wasn’t aware that I had given the impression that I was offering you a choice.”

  Orneta could feel the fine hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She didn’t think she had ever heard such a silvery voice sound so menacing.

  Unable to think of a way out of it, she lifted an arm in invitation. “My quarters are down this way. They’re not far. Perhaps you would—”

  “That will do. Get going.”

  Orneta glanced to Ludwig, hoping for intervention, or salvation of some sort.

  By his heated expression, he didn’t look to need much encouragement. “What’s this about?”

  At the anger in his tone, the Mord-Sith flicked her Agiel up into her fist. “It’s about the most recent prophecy.”

  Everyone looked surprised.

  “What prophecy?” Ludwig asked.

  “A number of people, including that blind fortune-teller woman, were visited by a prophecy.”

  “What does this prophecy say?” Ludwig demanded.

  The Mord-Sith arched an eyebrow at him before taking in the rest of the people watching. “I wouldn’t have any
idea what it said. Prophecy is not meant for the ungifted. That includes all of you.”

  Anger was now clearly evident in Ludwig’s eyes. He had become more than fond of Orneta, and she of him. The two of them, in fact, had been together quite a bit. She was gratified that he couldn’t seem to get enough of her.

  “If you don’t even know what it says, then what do you mean when you say that this is about the prophecy?” he asked.

  “I was given orders. It was mentioned in passing that they were based on the most recent prophecy.” She leaned toward him and lifted her Agiel in a threatening manner. “Now, I’ve wasted enough time. We have to go.”

  Instead of withdrawing, Ludwig tried to step between Orneta and the Mord-Sith. “I think that we should—”

  The woman rammed her Agiel into his shoulder. Ludwig cried out in pain as he was driven back by the shock of the weapon. He dropped heavily to his knees. He pressed a hand to his shoulder as he groaned in agony.

  He looked up, enraged. “You bitch! How dare—”

  The Mord-Sith pointed her Agiel right at his face. “I suggest that you stay down and stay quiet, or I will put you down and make you go quiet— for good. Do you understand me?”

  Ludwig glared at her, but he didn’t move. Orneta reached out to him, appalled at seeing him hurt. She wanted to comfort him, to know that he was all right.

  The Mord-Sith stepped in Orneta’s way and gestured with the Agiel. “Enough of this nonsense. Get going.”

  CHAPTER 63

  Before the woman could prod her with the weapon, Orneta took one last, quick look at Ludwig, then turned and stalked off in the direction of her quarters. She was indignant, and she was angry at the woman for hurting Ludwig, but she thought better of showing her emotion for the moment. She would make her grievance clear enough at the proper time and to the proper people, and then this woman would pay the price for her insolence, to say nothing of her needless cruelty.

  At least Orneta could get the Mord-Sith away from Ludwig before he did something foolish and got himself hurt even worse.

  As she made her way down the elegant corridor, Orneta tried not to move too swiftly. Rather, she moved at a stately pace, just to remind the Mord-Sith of who she was dealing with. Orneta was also in no hurry to reach her room and be alone with the woman.

  A servant going in the opposite direction, carrying an armful of fresh bed linens, moved hard against the side of the hallway when she saw the Mord-Sith coming, and stayed well out of her way. The woman kept her eyes turned toward the ground as she passed, avoiding meeting the steady gaze of the tall woman in red leather.

  Orneta felt like a prisoner being led to an execution. She couldn’t believe that she was being treated with such disrespect. Considering her decision, it occurred to her that it wasn’t entirely undeserved. For years, she had been nothing but loyal to the cause of the D’Haran Empire. She reminded herself that what she was doing was out of loyalty to the D’Haran Empire— to the people, anyway, if not the leader.

  She didn’t know what the Mord-Sith could possibly want, but Orneta was becoming more worried by the moment that it had something to do with her throwing her loyalty to Hannis Arc over Richard Rahl. She told herself that it was a silly worry. No one knew of her decision but her and Ludwig. And of course the group, but she had only just told them.

  It occurred to her then that there might have been a prophecy that foretold of her new-sworn allegiance. Lord Rahl wouldn’t tell them what prophecy said, wouldn’t help them against threats those omens revealed, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t use them for his own dark ends. There was no telling what a person being used by the Keeper of the underworld might know, or what they might do.

  Lord Rahl was a good man, a decent man, but even such a person could become possessed so that they were not acting of their own free will; they were instead being guided by death itself. As Ludwig had pointed out, who better for the Keeper to possess in order to carry out his dark deeds than the most trusted among them?

  When Orneta glanced back over her shoulder, she saw that the Mord-Sith was right behind her, wearing a grim expression.

  But past the Mord-Sith, Orneta could see that the entire group she’d been meeting with was following them up the hall. They were keeping their distance, but they were clearly intent on seeing what this was about, seeing why one of their group was being singled out. Ludwig, holding his shoulder, looking to still be in pain from the touch of the Agiel, led a concerned Ambassador Grandon, then the duchess, then the rest of the representatives. Anger darkened Ludwig’s face.

  Orneta was glad, at least, to have them following along. She thought that it might temper what ever the Mord-Sith wanted to see her about. Witnesses tended to cool aggression. She also was heartened to have Ludwig stand up for her.

  Orneta paused and flicked her hand at the ornate doors before her, trying to gain a moment for those following to catch up. “These are my quarters.”

  When the Mord-Sith glared with the kind of look that sapped the strength of even the strong, Orneta opened the door and led them both inside. She nudged the door closed, but deliberately left it ajar enough that the people, once they caught up, could easily hear everything, and even peek in.

  The Mord-Sith firmly pushed the door shut.

  Orneta, trying to look casual, went to a low cabinet where bottles of wine, water, and sweet drinks sat on a silver tray with a half-dozen crystal glasses.

  “May I offer you something to drink?”

  “I’m not here to drink.”

  Orneta smiled cordially. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t even asked your name.”

  The Mord-Sith’s blue eyes were enough to make Orneta weak, but she tried not to show it.

  “My name is Vika.”

  “Vika.” Orneta smiled. “Well, Vika, what can I do for you?”

  The Mord-Sith began advancing. “You can scream.”

  Orneta blinked. “I beg your pardon?”

  Vika seized a fistful of Orneta’s dress at her shoulder. “I said, you can scream.”

  The Mord-Sith gritted her teeth as she pulled Orneta forward and rammed the Agiel into her middle.

  The shock of pain was beyond anything Orneta had ever experienced or imagined was possible.

  As the full shock of it hit her, it would have been impossible not to scream.

  Screaming ended, Orneta crumpled to the floor, trying to get back her breath as tears of hurt streamed down her face.

  “Why are you doing this?” she managed between gasps.

  Vika stood over her, watching. “To help you scream.”

  Orneta was dumbfounded. She could not begin to imagine why the woman had done such a thing, or what she meant about wanting to hear screams.

  “But why?”

  “Since you are so committed to having prophecy guide mankind, you have been granted the honor of being the instrument of prophecy’s fulfillment. Now, let’s hear a really good scream.”

  As Orneta stared up in frozen, panicked confusion, Vika jammed the tip of her Agiel into the hollow at the base of Orneta’s throat.

  Orneta screamed so hard she thought it might rip her throat. She wouldn’t have been able to stop herself if she had wanted to. The pain overwhelmed her, making the muscles of her arms and neck convulse in uncontrolled spasms.

  The screams were drowned out as blood frothed up from her throat and out her mouth. It ran down her chin, hanging in long, thick strings, and soaked the front of her dress.

  The room darkened in her dwindling spot of vision, but then slowly widened back into view. She was hardly aware of where the Mord-Sith was or what she was doing until Orneta saw her walk around behind her.

  Without a word, Vika jammed her Agiel into the base of Orneta’s skull.

  Light flashed in her vision. Sparkling colors exploded in every direction. There was a most terrible shrieking sound inside her head that made the pain beyond anything that had come before. Sharp shards of suffering drove inward through her ear
s.

  Orneta sat on the floor, limp and helpless, as the shrieking, crashing, roaring sound and the blaze of light swirled through her head.

  She heard Vika’s boots on the white marble floor as the woman came around in front of her. The Mord-Sith stood over Orneta, towered over her, looking down without the slightest hint of compassion, much less remorse.

  Orneta had never seen such a cold and heartless look in all her life.

  “That was quite good,” Vika said in a calm voice. “I’m sure everyone could hear it.”

  Orneta couldn’t hold her head up. She couldn’t make her neck muscles respond. By the terrible pain, she thought that they must be torn. Her chin rested on her blood-soaked chest.

  She saw blood spreading across the white marble floor. Her blood. A lot of her blood.

  The Mord-Sith’s boots were the same color as the pool of blood she was standing in.

  With supreme effort, through the burning pain in her throat, past the blood filling her mouth, she used all her might to lift her head to look up and speak.

  “What do you want of me?”

  Vika arched a brow over a cold blue eye. “Well, now that you have screamed very nicely for me, I want you to die.”

  Orneta blinked up at the woman. She could offer no resistance, could not fight such a savage creature.

  She was not surprised, though. She had known the answer before Vika had spoken it.

  Orneta saw the Agiel coming again.

  She felt only the first instant of exquisite pain as her heart exploded in her chest.

  And then, even that breathless, crushing agony diminished into the last conscious, dimming spark of awareness.