The Cursewright's Vow

Chapter 20: The Unworthy, Part 1

The Hethraeum of Vilais was an awe-inspiring sight, but above ground the only evidence of its existence was a series of pillars arranged in a rectangle. "The sky is being the First Knight's ceiling, Cass, do you see?" Barthim was in even better spirits than usual, having fallen in love with Vilais at first sight. Casimir had caught some of the Beast's enthusiasm, grinning at him as he drank in the sights, but Denisius sometimes caught the boy looking somber and withdrawn. 

Around the sunken stairway that led to the Hethraeum itself was a wide circle of sand. Knots of men were engaged in wrestling contests and duels with blunted weapons, priests milling about to referee the matches. A few women were present as well, but mostly as bystanders, a number of them looking on rapturously, cheering their favored combatants. The ones who were actually sparring looked fiercer than some of the men. Denisius imagined they might give even Barthim a challenge, though based on the way most of them were eying the bouncer he doubted "challenge" was what they had in mind.

Barthim, who had far more important matters to attend, was giving Casimir a tour of the above-ground plaza. "And here," he pointed to the broad white stair that descended into the Hethraeum proper, "is where we Blades go to pay our devotions to the First Knight. Ammas is not saying you are not to be honoring the gods, is he?"

"No," Casimir said. "He doesn't really talk about the gods much."

"Then he is neglecting a vital part of your learning! Good Denisius, you and Vos stay up here while I am showing Cass the prizes and shrines below. Compete, if you are feeling valorous. But be careful if Vos Goldentongue decides to climb into the circle." He leaned forward, grinning, a conspiratorial gleam in his eye. "I am hearing rumors Nythelians like to bite." Laughing, he descended into the Hethraeum, one arm curled about Casimir's shoulders.

"What do you think?" said Denisius once Barthim and Casimir were out of sight. "Feel like signing up for a match?"

Vos shook his head. "I'm not in the mood for sprained limbs or broken teeth today, milord." His keen eyes met Lord Marhollow's. "Besides, I think you and I ought to speak a little frankly. You had questions the other night. And I'd like to know why you've spent the last few days looking like you'd bitten into a hunk of rotten fish."

Denisius wandered over to one of the spectator's benches, slumping into it with a frown. Vos remained standing, looking down at him with some concern. "Vos, you don't care much for the nobility, do you?" 

Vos glanced from side to side, saw no one at all interested in the two of them, and shrugged noncommittally. 

"And you left the Imperial army after -- "

"I think you should curb that, milord."

Denisius glared. "Well, let's say you had a difference of opinion with Imperial policy and leave it at that."

"All right," Vos said uneasily.

"So why would you serve my father, who's as bad as any of them?"

Vos stared at him. "Milord, I don't know -- "

"I overhead Othma Sulivar and Ammas. They were talking about Briarcliff. What my father did to it. How he helped kill them. You're all right with that?"

Vos said nothing for a long moment, looking away from Denisius to the sparring matches. When he spoke it was with the slowness of a man weighing every word before it left his lips. "Whether I'm all right with it or not, milord, I was in no place to say otherwise."

"I look at the way Ammas is trying to help Carala, I look at the way he teaches Casimir, I hear stories like the ones Othma told, and I find myself wondering how in the name of the pit my father and the other nobles let all that happen. You were there. You saw it all. Did they have it coming?" A rage was burning in Denisius's eyes Vos had never witnessed, not even when he complained bitterly of Lorith's abuses.