Chapter 12: The Kahlist Conspiracy

  The Kahlists of Stet-Lek were once the jewel in the former Lekkian monarchy’s Crown. House Erlatani used the Kahlists for control over the people, but when the nobility became more powerful than the Kahlist High Father and Mother, the royals were exposed. It took a single succession crisis to bring down a dynasty that had lasted for 700 years. They built Stet-Lek from a small center for agrarian commerce to one of the greatest city-states on the continent, and in return received persecution. The lords didn’t care about that legacy; they cared about their money and their power. They were all too happy to sacrifice what the Erlatanis built for that, which proved to be a weak-minded way to govern a strong nation. The result was Rontisil—the most brutal and ruthless of them all—destroying his rivals and claiming the throne.

  He took consolidation of power so seriously that the High Mother never had a moment where she wasn’t being watched. Tenla, the strong and enduring Kahlist icon, felt it best for her order to flee underground, where Rontisil could not find her for some time. She was lucky, for if Bardom had not come, she would never have been freed from her persecution. Despite her many sufferings, Tenla’s belief in a unified world under Kahlist teaching never wavered. After all, the Kahlists teach devotion to a higher power, charity to the poor and helpless, and respect for a civil society. This directly contradicted Rontisil’s cruel world of slavery, extortion, and war.

  With a sweep of her robe, the High Mother summoned Laila into her chambers deep in the caverns among the western cliffs of Stet-Lek, where the city was more spread out, and the sheep frolicked. They were deep in the hillside, far away from prying eyes. Around the gray stone walls were torchfires, illuminating the etched artwork of the Kahlist monks. The religion had been destroyed since Rontisil took control of Stet-Lek, but the Unity of the Kahl had been maintained—hidden under the rock. There was nothing popular about what remained. At best, they were viewed as extremists. At worst, they were witches seeking to bring dark forces back to Stet-Lek, the same forces that had brought down their old monarchy.

  “My dear,” the priestess sat, shrouded in mahogany, black and white paint carefully brushed on her face in the traditional designs. “We are nearing an inflection point. The warlords aim to leave Stet-Lek once again, this time not to return for many moons.”

  “It is an opportunity for our missionaries,” Laila noted, a caution against extreme action. “However, we have other matters to discuss, other men.”

  “Ah, yes,” the priestess said, her hands folding beneath her robes. “The mysterious Na’Vanad. Your letters are not the only ones I receive.”

  “He’s making deals with Ralu,” Laila told the priestess.

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  “So he’s confiding in you,” High Mother Tenla noted. “This is good. A slave has lapses in judgment, such as underestimating a woman like yourself. It is easy for men to be smitten by a princess they do not know.”

  “He knows more than you think,” Laila warned. “He has wisdom far beyond his years that I cannot explain.”

  “Hm. Do you think he is a gift from the heavens?” the priestess asked.

  Laila shook her head. “It is not my place to say, only to note that he is no fool. He is playing the generals against each other for his benefit, I can already tell.”

  “You wish to bring him into our fold…”

  “It couldn’t hurt,” Laila responded.

  “On the contrary,” the priestess said. “He could destroy everything.”

  “Or perhaps just my father,” she replied sharply.

  “Yes, your father,” Tenla muttered. She always spoke strangely about Rontisil when Laila was present. Almost as if she was telling Laila that she was not her father’s daughter. After all, they were vastly different, but they were still kin. It was odd that a woman as refined as Tenla would consistently make such comments.

  “He’s decided to follow behind Ralu and Kagarani.”

  The priestess narrowed her eyebrows. “You’ve persuaded him to leave the country with the other warlords?”

  Laila nodded. “He came to the conclusion with minimal coaxing.”

  “There will be a great war fought over the succession,” the woman smiled in awe. “How can you end it on the throne?”

  “I have the beginnings of a plan,” Laila answered, “but you mistake my meaning. I will not be assassinating my father. I need Na’Vanad to win the throne, instead.”

  “And who is this man, really?” the priestess asked. “Could he truly be the son of Vakin, as some have said?

  “I’m not sure.”

  “Then what makes him different from any other slave?”

  Laila snickered as she shook her head. “You’d only believe it by seeing him, but he is something elegant and dutiful that I’ve hardly seen from knights, let alone Shavuim. Whoever he was before, he is ours now. I won’t miss my chance to profit from his usefulness.”

  The High Mother paused for a moment, appraising her student’s face. “You are positively smitten.”

  Laila put on the defense of her emotions that her father taught her. “It will be some time before I return here. I can only recommend that the Unity remain underground until I’ve returned.”

  “We should wait for a day that might never come?” she said skeptically. “I don’t think so—“

  “You’ve done it for a long while already,” Laila said. “Trust in me as you always have, High Mother.”

  Reluctantly, High Mother Tenla nodded. “Among the caverns and stones we shall hide from the world, posing as peasants and slaves until our time may arise.”

  “Thank you,” Laila bowed her forehead to the ground, ignoring the guilt-trip. “Pray for my success.”

  “I always do.”