The Supplicant
463 Words
The Supplicant~
Amadeo Constans
Larad
A half-hour early this time. Amadeo cataloged the observation as the schooner set anchor.
News of John Deighton’s theatrics reached him weeks ago. It was an annoying setback and damnable timing. Walter’s support was in flux, but had it shifted enough to lure Rhynns away from their archaic oath?
Amadeo disliked changing tactics, especially when someone else’s lack of discipline necessitated the change.
Eleven minutes brought Deighton to the parapet, his guard now numbering two and a single gold ring adorning his hand. Deighton approached him, confidence battered but arrogance intact.
“Your Holiness.” Deighton swallowed a bitter gulp of pride and bowed.
“M’ser Deighton,” Amadeo replied. “I understand you are in need of absolution.”
Deighton’s jaw clenched. “I am in need of an army.”
Deference came hard to vanity such as his, but attempts to woo King Philip’s cooperation on his own had failed to yield the desired results.
“Then you chose the wrong confessor, my son. The Orthodoxy is dedicated to spreading God’s peace.”
Deighton’s glance shifted past Amadeo’s shoulder, to the garnet-and-gold soldiers of La Gracia’s elite Holy Guard, his own silent and ever-present protectors.
“Defenders of God’s peace,” said Amadeo. “They do not leave La Gracia unless I do.”
“Philip’s army will suffice,” said Deighton. “Larad must move now to take Innis. The Awakening is a disease. It must be stopped before it spreads.”
“Contained, perhaps. Studied, most certainly. But stopped?” Amadeo shook his head. “Your obsession with exterminating Aurels is perplexing. What makes you fear them so?”
“They are stealing what should be ours!” Deighton’s control slipped. “The Awakening had barely begun, and somehow they’re siphoning it away.”
“Ours?”
“The faithful.” Deighton faltered. “God’s gifts belong to the faithful.”
Amadeo studied the man anew. Interesting. It would explain much. He came to a decision.
“One man’s faith is another’s heresy,” he said. “Return to Philip. He will listen. He will send you to Cadron as his envoy. Go and insinuate yourself into Anne’s confidence.”
“Anne? To what possible end? She has no supporters in Innis. Walter and his handlers saw to that. And Franz is a prince with no army.”
“A prophet needs no army.”
“Prophet? I’m no—”
“The water is rising.”
Amadeo paused to allow slower wheels to turn. Twelve seconds later, comprehension began to dawn, and Deighton’s scowl eased.
“Raise Anne as your banner,” said Amadeo. “Spread your message across the Ten Kingdoms. Sown with sufficient fervor on your part, the seeds will grow.”
“Let Anne’s piety carry her to the throne.”
Amadeo hesitated. He knew what he risked, unleashing Deighton’s fiery campaign on Erusa. The charismatic prophet might inspire a groundswell of ignorance and bigotry. He found it no cause for concern. Any cauldron should do as well as the next.
Let him light his fires. I shall see which one burns the brightest.
“When I acknowledge your message as prophecy, Anne and her piety will have the might of the Orthodoxy behind her,” he said. “And you will have its funding. The rest I leave to you. Do not disappoint me.”
“I accept your bargain,” said Deighton. “I’ll build Anne an army and see she takes Innis.”
“When she does, you will owe me a debt.”
Deighton’s eyes narrowed. “What’s your price?”
“The Aurels.”
Chapter 54
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