March 15, 708 CR
The uproar over their arrival was not diminished come the morning Liturgy. Though it was not the Sunday High Liturgy, nevertheless, a large number of Followers gathered in the Cathedral to discover if the rumours were true. Father Akaleth was asked to assist and he was the first priest in the processional, humble with head bowed low, carrying nothing. When he reached the high altar he waited until the Cardinal arrived. The dark-skinned Akaleth was a mere shadow next to the towering figure of Cardinal Bertu. And the resplendent purple of Bertu's attire made him vanish even further into the background if it were possible.
Despite this, all eyes were upon him as he sat and held the book of prayer for Bertu, attending to his crozier and mitre with the studied obedience of a long-time altar boy. He never missed a cue and never looked at the congregation who could not wrest their attention from him.
When the time of the Homily came, Cardinal Bertu spoke a brief message on the readings, then made mention of their guests. Of Akaleth and Czestadt he said few words except to reassure those here that their mission was to aid the guild and not to bring discord. But for Kashin he spared no praise. The very man who had sought justice for the Patriarch's murder; indeed the very man who had been there and the first to cradle the Patriarch's body on that rain slick night in the cold. Many openly wept. And afterwards, many approached desirous of only touching Kashin's cloak. He endured their adulation with only the slightest of discomfort.
Father Akaleth, after the Liturgy, quietly complimented the Cardinal on his gambit but otherwise said nothing. Sir Czestadt said nothing except the required prayers during the Liturgy. Kashin was asked for stories of the Patriarch and Yesulam and all the other strange places he'd seen but could only apologize to the many who yearned to get close to him.
No more than ten minutes after the Liturgy concluded, they were met just outside the cathedral by a compliment of Caial, Elizabeth Lumas, and several others she identified as mages. Together they were marched along side streets to the Mage's Guild. The guild towers were a complex on the northern end of the Grand Plaza, a wide open terrazzo filled with statues and fountains, with many wandering vendors but no merchant stalls. People came to commiserate, all in the shadow of the Ecclesia Cathedral, the Rebuilder Cathedral, the Lightbringer Temple, and the Mage's Guild. Not a one of the religious structures had open doors, each sealed shut like children who refused to talk.
To none of their surprise, they were led into the guild towers through a side door and brought into well-apportioned antechamber lit brightly by lamps and witchlights hidden within stained glass receptacles. The diffuse light cast a comfortable glow about the room that seemed to sooth their senses.
Elizabeth waited with them, but the other mages were only gone a moment before a well-dressed man with greying hair and a stern demeanour entered through a pair of mahogany double doors. "I am Master Demarest," he said nodding to the three of them, his voice cordial despite his fixed countenance. "For today we would like to interview you separately and one at a time."
"Parted from Father Akaleth I will not be," Sir Czestadt declared with the stubborn tenacity of a mule.
Akaleth put one hand on the Yesbearn's elbow and shook his head. "There is nothing to fear here. We are in the house of our hosts. They will see to our safety. I insist you allow them to conduct their investigation as they see fit."
Demarest's eyes lifted in surprise, but said nothing. Czestadt scowled but finally nodded to the Questioner. Akaleth turned to the head mage and bowed his head once. "Forgive his zealousness. You were saying?"
"Well, yes. We will interview you one at a time today. The others will wait here where they will be provided food and rest, but you will have to remain here. Kashin, we would like to speak with you first. If you'll come with us we can begin."
Demarest and Elizabeth led the Yeshuel through the double doors down a hallway with several doors each marked with arcane symbols. They ascended a set of tower stairs before reaching another door. The Guild Master drew a sigil across the front and the doors opened inward like the spine of a book falling open.
Beyond lay a circular room with windows on every side. Through each he could see more of the city, towers, homes, cathedrals, and far to the north a large castle. A modestly sized circular table occupied the centre of the room, and eight comfortable chairs were arranged around it in a circle so that no chair had more prominence than any other. Kashin also noted that all eight chairs lay on compass directions. Five Guild members were already there, and they stood as the trio entered. Four men of varying ages and a woman with blonde hair so bright that Kashin was sure it could not be natural.
Demarest nodded to them in turn and gestured for Kashin to take the southeastern seat. "Bread, cheese, and some wine will be brought in shortly. Please make yourself comfortable and we can begin."
Kashin scanned them all once before taking his seat. Comfortable with a patchwork design featuring a dragon of some variety. He flicked the white lock of hair from his face and then studied the mages. Elizabeth and Demarest sat in the western and northwestern seats respectively. In the northern seat was an older man with white beard and a stern almost sarcastic glint in his eyes. He dressed in a long blue robe inscribed with stars and other celestial figures. He reminded Kashin of some of the mystics who lived along the eastern banks of the Yurdon.
Next to him in the northeastern seat was the woman with blonde hair. Her face was timeless, no wrinkles, but she did not appear to be young either. She was slender and posed with sharp features like an eagle's. Her eyes were almost a bright a blue as her hair was blonde. Her lavender gown did not even attempt in disguising her chest's ample qualities.
To Kashin's immediate right was a younger man with red hair and a bright smile that belied the trio of long scars on his cheek. He for one seemed to dress like a normal person with plain tunic and breeches and a woolen cloak that he'd drawn over his legs and shoulders. And to Kashin's left was a middle-aged man with an unlit pipe firmly clenched between his wide, puffy lips. Bushy eyebrows that looked likely to get up and crawl away arched as he looked at the Yeshuel.
Another older man sat in the southwestern seat. He had a beard, still peppered with grey and black, and hair that was devoutly coiffured. He bore a doublet and hose bearing some noble insignia, as well as a torque of gold and silver. He did not even deign to look at Kashin, the only one of the entire cast who didn't.
Demarest smiled faintly and rested his hands on his knees. "Allow me to extend our welcome to Marigund, Kashin of the Yeshuel. I am Demarest, the Guild Master. With me today are Master's Bartholomew," he gestured to the old man in the starry blue robe and continued to the left, "Diomedra, Chalcus, Massenet, and Sir Alexander Rivers. And you already know Elizabeth Lumas. We represent those most familiar with the affairs of Marzac or those who may need what information you can tell us. We are of diverse disciplines and so do not worry that you may not understand the import of all the questions you are asked. They may not have meaning to you but we ask you to remember as best you can what you saw and experienced."
He leaned back and attempted another smile to set Kashin at ease. But the Yeshuel was already at ease having identified for himself those amongst the mages who were most likely to be friendly and those who would never find a kind word for him. He did smile and asked as warmly as he could, "Where would you like me to begin?"
"At the beginning," Demarest replied. "When did you first become involved with the affairs of Marzac?"
Kashin rubbed his hand over the stump of his left arm and grimaced. "That I know all too well. It was the night that Patriarch Akabaieth was assassinated and his retinue slaughtered almost to a man. I was one of only three survivors, and I do not know what has happened to the other two. But of that night I remember much. We left Metamor earlier that day, and were delayed by foul weather. It was October. The year 706. It had begun raining late in the afternoon and so we found a sheltered area off the road and settled in for the night as best we could. I was on patrol with my fellow Yeshuel Iosef. Knights were patrolling as well. Akabaieth was safe in his carriage, or so we thought."
He paused as the vividness of the memory filled him. With a heavy sigh he continued. "Iosef and I saw something in the woods nearby and went to investigate. There was a man dressed as a Sondecki of the black waiting for us. We accosted him, and then he flung his hands in what the Sondecki refer to as the Longfugos technique. Are you familiar with it?"
Massenet nodded slowly, lips moving around the pipe, "I know of it from my studies. Go on."
"I jumped to the side while Iosef tried to diffuse the energy. Only it wasn't what we expected. A wall of black fire engulfed us. I lost my arm. Iosef was seared in half. I passed out from the pain and when I awoke it was all over. The Sondecki had murdered everyone, or at least tried. I found the Patriarch a short distance away with a Sathmoran blade buried in his chest. This blade." He drew the golden blade from its scabbard and laid it on the table before them. All eyes were pulled to it, gathered by curiosity and by enigma.
"It does appear to be Sathmoran in construction," Chalcus opined with a nod of his head. "I can see some sort of strange magic about it. I'm not quite sure what it is."
"I believe I can explain that too," Kashin said. He laughed and shook his head. "No, I don't believe I can explain it, but I can tell you what happened even if it still makes little sense to me."
"Continue to tell us what happened," Demarest prodded after lifting his eyes from the blade. Bartholomew stroked his long beard and gazed intently at the blade. The rest looked at Kashin.
"I took the sword, discovered that Bishop Vinsah and Sir Yacoub Egland were still alive. The Metamorians arrived then and we had them bring Vinsah and Egland to Metamor where they stayed and suffered the touch of the Curse. I took the sword and left, intent on finding the Sondecki who killed the Patriarch. I was met in the Follower Cathedral of Ellcaran by a very strange man who told me his master could provide answers and a direction. This man was Andares-es-sebashou of the Åelf."
"The Åelf!" Alexander Rivers barked incredulously. "They haven't been seen for hundreds of years. And yet one just walked up to you in a church?"
"That is what happened. He guided me through the various lands of the Midlands and brought me to the Åelfwood and an ancient city therein called Ava-shavåis."
Rivers snorted again, his face red. "Outrageous! That city is legend. No human has been there in millennia."
Kashin shrugged his one shoulder. "I was told that I was the second human to go there in the last ten years. I do not know who the first was. Andares brought me to the tower and chamber of Qan-af-årael who is the Lord of Colours for his people. He instructed me in the history of Jagoduun and how its power was responsible for Patriarch Akabaieth's death."
Rivers shook his head, but the rest, apart from Bartholomew who was transfixed by the sword, stared at each other dumbfounded. Elizabeth finally loosened her tongue to ask in an awed voice. "You went to the Åelfwood and Ava-shavåis and met an Åelf whose name is spoken of over two-thousand years ago?"
Diomedra gasped in her eagerness. "You must tell us more! What was the Åelfwood and city like?"
Kashin described it as best he was able. They pestered him with questions of flora and fauna, Diomedra especially, and then proceeded onto inquiries after the Åelf, their customs, their appearance, their language, every little detail he could possibly remember. He had to admit ignorance to many of their questions, but those he did answer only fuelled their curiosity. An insatiable hunger for knowledge of a land closed to them gripped them and would not let go.
The promised bread, cheese, and wine was brought during this portion of his interview, but he was reduced to shoving morsels into his mouth as soon as he answered a question as the next would come too quickly. When questions turned to Qan-af-årael, he did his best to relate the tale of Jagoduun he was told and how that ancient evil had conspired to kill Akabaieth. What surprised him was that they didn't seem as interested in the first actual part of his journey that dealt directly with Marzac.
Kashin, unable to stand it anymore, set the half a loaf of bread he'd been eating aside and shook his head. "You sought information about the activities of Marzac. Yet now that I am here and I have mentioned some of the history I learned from Qan-af-årael, you are more interested in asking about what the Åelf wear. I will not be used as a conduit of your curiosity into that ancient people. I will speak no more of them except what they have told me of Marzac."
"But it is important for us to learn of them," Diomedra said, blue eyes bright and eager. "We mean them no harm, but we must learn more of them."
"Then do it another way," Kashin replied. "Do you not care of Marzac?"
"The threat from Marzac is gone," Chalcus said with a half-apologetic shrug. "Or so we think. But the Åelf are still here."
"If you care not about Marzac," Kashin said as he stood, "then I and my companions have no reason to be here or to talk with you."
Elizabeth lifted one hand and smiled. "Forgive our curiosity. You are right. We wanted to learn more about what Marzac did at Yesulam. But also in how you came to fight it there. We have so little information about Ava-shavåis, our curiosity got the better of us. Please, continue with your tale. We shall ask of that city or its people no more."
Some of the others, Diomedra in particular, appeared to think Elizabeth mad, but they complied. Kashin related the tale of Prince Yajakali's descent into madness and the forging of the three artifacts, the Dais, the Censer, and the Sword. He spoke of the nine human mages whose lives these artifacts were meant to destroy, and of the actual destruction they wrought. Others would be tasked with destroying Marzac, but their allies in Yesulam were for Kashin and it was to them that Qan-af-årael sent him.
They still did not ask for many additional details, but at least they allowed him to finish. He sighed as he glanced at the sword which the white-bearded mage had not stopped staring at. He finished off the loaf of bread and continued. "I began to cross the Flatlands, but I succumbed to the winter and was rescued by a band of Magyars. I was inducted into their ranks and travelled with them toward the east. And I will explain why I am no longer a Magyar if you will kindly wait."
"Forgive me," Massenet said with a chuckle and a look of admiration. "It is just that we have never met a man who has once been a Magyar but is no longer. What we know of them assures us that those who join them in their wagons never leave."
"Normally that is true," Kashin admitted, "and it still is. The Magyar half of myself is still a Magyar." He knew he shouldn't enjoy their look of confusion, but he did. "For after on month in their company, we came to a place that frightened them greatly. I still do not understand it, but I had to climb it. And when I did, I was... I... I climbed Cenziga."
"Cenziga?" Chalcus asked. "What is that?"
Massenet and Sir Rivers glanced at each other and shrugged. Elizabeth pursed her lips and Demarest scowled so fiercely that the wine he'd drunk wished it could curdle. Chalcus gaped and began to stammer incoherently. Diomedra cocked her head to one side, blonde hair curling over her shoulders in a dumbstruck pose. But the blue-robed Bartholomew finally looked up, smiling wide. "I knew it! This blade has a twin! A Cenziga made twin!"
Kashin blinked and turned on the mage. "You know of Cenziga?"
"I read about it in an ancient manuscript obtained from lost Carethedor many, many years ago. And in those days of my youth, I risked a journey to where Cenziga was rumoured to be. I did not find it. But you have! How delightful! So your twin is now a Magyar?"
Kashin nodded. "Nemgas. Or so he was called. Cenziga did not twin us, nor did it twin this blade. It was, very strange for the next eight months." He explained how he had been hidden deep within Nemgas and how his memories of that time were Nemgas's and not his own. Most of the mages could only stumble over their questions, but Bartholomew's were always clear and helped Kashin understand better what it was that he recalled of that terrible mount. The old mage even became wistful at several points.
"I do wish I could have at least visited Carethedor. What a wondrous city that must have been, and even still is, to see!"
"Nemgas saw it. We even found the grave of Pelain who died there and who brought many of its artifacts to traders from Cheskych."
"And that is how we learned of the World Bell," Bartholomew finished. He sighed with delight and lowered his eyes. "Ah, Kashin. Tell me more. Tell me more!"
And he did.
Father Akaleth spent his time waiting in prayer with Sir Czestadt and once completed, he took it upon himself to further the knight's instruction in the common tongue of Galendor. He understood what was said to him without difficulty, but his sentence structure was atrocious and confusing to northern ears. But the position of his words made sense to the southern tongue which is why he insisted on speaking as he did.
"You see," Father Akaleth said in Galendish, "the southern tongues were all the invention of man. But the northern tongues all have some kinship with the ancient elves and their ilk who long ago dominated this continent. It is in the wisdom of Eli that the ancient Suielish allows for the verb to be mobile. In that, the Ecclesia bridges the divide between both man and elf and all other creature, for the word of the Spirit Most Holy is understood by all in their native tongue."
Sir Czestadt frowned and with great concentration managed to ask, "So why aren't there any elves in the Ecclesia?"
But Akaleth only waved one finger to chide him gently. "There aren't any yet. But, you spoke well and ordered your words properly. Now..." His voice trailed off as a woman of middle age who appeared to have had numerous children stepped into the room rather nervously. "Greetings child," Father Akaleth said. "Is there aught we can do for you?"
She did not tremble at the sight of his attire, but she did seem to have trouble looking at either of them. "It is midday, masters, and time to eat. Are you eating special foods?"
Father Akaleth wondered for a moment at the oddity of the question, then recalled the laws this city had. He smiled and with complete sincerity replied, "Thank you for your consideration. We are both observing the Season of Penance and cannot partake of meat."
At the liturgical words her eyes shot up in alarm. But she quickly nodded and said, "I will bring you some bread and cheese then, masters." She hastily left.
Sir Czestadt poked the still smiling Akaleth in the side. "And don't pretend you didn't enjoy that."
Akaleth winced and then lowered his head. "I fear that I did. Dear me. And your Galendish is certainly improving. Let us continue. There's no knowing how much longer poor Kashin will be in there with the mages."
The Yesbearn grunted as the
lesson resumed.
It was well into the afternoon before Kashin reached the confrontation in the ancient sacrilegious temple beneath Yesulam. He described the behaviour of the Sword of Yajakali with distinct distaste, and utter horror at the Blood Bound who had been drained by it. Several of the mages cringed at the utter depravity of Jothay drenched in his own blood like a gorged leech. But the crowning moment of confusion for the Marigund mages came not when Kashin described how he and Nemgas were split by the touch of Yajakali's blade — his previous discourse with Bartholomew on the subject of Cenziga had prepared them for that miracle — but when he spoke of the man who slew the Shrieker.
"You have to be lying," Sir Rivers said with an affected air of detached nonchalance. "We all know the Ecclesia hates magic and the Questioners moreso than most. It could not have been this Questioner Akaleth who slew the Shrieker."
"But it was," Kashin replied. "I witnessed this with my own eyes. As did Sir Czestadt. And the very man who did this is now waiting in your antechamber."
"How could he possibly have done that?" Chalcus asked in alarm. "He has no training and Ainador is dead to all magic."
"Not true," Kashin shook his head. "The power of the Sondeck works anywhere in the Holy Land. It is one of the reasons the Ecclesia has long recognized and encouraged their order in Sonngefilde. However their power works, it must be much the same way for Father Akaleth."
"But to kill a Shrieker with light?" Massenet asked, dubious, but not as angered as the other two. "That seems rather unlikely."
Kashin glanced at the man with incredulous eyebrows on his left. "And how many Shriekers have the mages of Marigund killed?"
Massenet's eyebrows climbed down to nearly obscure his eyes. "We have never been set upon by such evils, at least, not since the days of the Guild's founding. Ancient records suggest that at least one may have been seen in the distant past when the elves still ruled this land. But no, we've not killed any. But we do have several accounts of them and how they were killed. Including some recent ones from Metamor Keep in the last year."
This took Kashin by surprise. The Yeshuel shifted his left stump so that it was covering his chest. "Truly? That I didn't know. But that's beside the point. I am telling you what I saw. And I saw Father Akaleth kill a Shrieker by striking it with light, light that he created. I do not know how he did this, or why it worked. I only know that it did."
The others wrangled over the question for some time, with Elizabeth reporting on what they knew of the Shriekers and how those at Metamor were killed. Comparisons were made, and all noted the way Shriekers seemed to deaden light. By the time they had finished debating all of them seemed satisfied that what Kashin was describing was at least plausible. Kashin took advantage of the pause to eat some of the cheese and cakes.
An hour later, after he'd described freeing the Patriarch from Marzac's taint and the strange ghostly visit from Qan-af-årael after the Winter Solstice he admitted to having no further knowledge of events of Marzac. The mages thanked him and Elizabeth offered to escort him back to the antechamber. Kashin was delighted to accept. He did not mind their presence or telling his story. He just did not like the sorts of questions that they often asked and the ever present but never explicitly voiced suggestion that those from Yesulam were ignorant children in need of instruction from their betters at the Marigund Mage Guild.
He was so quick to leave that
he did not in fact notice the look of pure poison he received from one
of the other six mages as they dispersed.
This mage continued alone into another part of the tower where they were met by a friend. This friend, short of stature but keen of appearance, fox-like and angular, cast a pair of simple runes that stilled the air around them. His eyes narrowed. "What did you learn?"
"It seems it will be more difficult that we thought in getting to the Questioner. Apparently he has magical powers as do both the Yeshuel and Yesbearn with him."
The short fellow frowned. "We are still going to kill him though."
"Of course! That hasn't changed. If the Caial won't uphold their own laws then we must. But we must be cautious. If we're caught..."
The second mage blanched and shook his head. "We must be careful. There are going to be many who will want him dead. But his magical abilities frighten me." He pursed his lips and after a moment's consideration added. "I'll slip into the Cardinal's palace tonight and take a closer look at them while they sleep." He held up one hand to forestall his companion's objection. "I have done this before. I won't be seen and I won't leave any magical traces either. Will you have a chance to question him today?"
"Not likely. The Yeshuel knew quite a bit more than we anticipated. None of the others want to speak with the Questioner either. That bladeslinging Yesbearn is next."
"He may be a problem," the second mage admitted. He rubbed his chin with his fingers for a few moments then reached a decision. "Return to the tower and find out whatever you can about their abilities. Under the pretext of how they used them against Marzac."
"I expect others will want to know that as well."
"True. Return then
and once we know more we can decide how this Questioner will die."
The first mage nodded and turned back down the corridor. The second
mage snapped his fingers and the shimmer of air dissipated. He
turned the other direction, glanced out a window at the sombre early
evening sky, and stopped to admire the many birds nesting on the rooftops.
Sir Czestadt sat stiffly in the chair, his eyes and demeanor sullen. The mages clustered around and after Demarest introduced each, he added, "I have been told that you do not natively speak our tongue and that you have some difficulty with it. I have cast a spell so that your words will be comprehensible to our ears; we are not familiar with your native tongue and this is the only prudent way to ensure we can speak to whatever length and breadth we desire."
This only irritated the Yesbearn. "How am I to learn your tongue properly if you do not give me occasion to practice it?"
"You may practice it all you wish. But to expedite our conversation, we have chosen to employ the magic at our disposal."
"It is an insult."
"It is expedient and already accomplished. No magic has been cast on you, only on ourselves. You will hear your words exactly as you speak them."
Elizabeth offered a sympathetic smile. "We understand it makes you uncomfortable, Sir Czestadt, but this is really for our benefit, not yours. Please, allow us this privilege. Speak as you would, consider your words as you would, and do not concern yourself for how we hear them."
The knight said nothing for several long seconds. But at last, with a heavy sigh he nodded. "Very well. Employ your parlour trick. What do you wish to know of me?"
Massenet began the questioning, the pipe between his lips bobbing up and down as he spoke. "We understand that you were once of the Kankoran order and that whilst among them you learned how to manipulate swords. Tell us of this."
Czestadt snorted. "I am a blademaster. No sword can kill me. I can touch them with my will and bend them to it. As you can see," he gestured at the pink scar running down the side of his face, "I have been sliced and skewered by swords before. The wounds always heal. And that is all I shall say of my abilities and of the Kankoran who taught me these abilities."
"Surely there is more you can tell us, such as how you studied and learned to reach for them," Chalcus asked. His own scars, not as deep, glimmered in the brightly dancing witchlight.
"I will not reveal any secrets of my former order," Czestadt declared. "Would you wish a former member of your guild to speak freely of your secrets?" Chalcus grimaced and shook his head. The others said nothing. "So neither shall I."
"But you left the Kankoran," Massenet said, "And from what we understand they are not forgiving of those who leave them." Czestadt said nothing. The pipe lowered slowly with the fading of his friendly smile. "You joined the Driheli. We know they are a knightly order based from Stuthgansk, one of the principle cities in eastern Sonngefilde. We do not know much."
"And you shall remain ignorant. I am here to tell you of Marzac."
"And we are coming to it," Massenet assured him. "We merely wish to make sure that we have the chain of events leading to your involvement correct."
Czestadt nodded after a moment's pause. "Then I will tell you this. I left the Kankoran a dozen years ago and joined the Driheli because I came to believe in the truth of Eli, Yahshua, and the Ecclesia. I advanced amongst the knights and became Knight Templar. When Bishop Jothay of Eavey summoned us to Galendor to hunt Kashin, I took a dozen knights and commanders with me and sailed north. I sent the knights to scour the Flatlands for clues while I remained near Marilyth. I learned that Kashin had gone to the distant east and intercepted him southwest of the Vysehrad. We fought, he gave me this scar with a blade that could not be seen, and then after rising from my seeming death, I returned to Yesulam and came face to face with Jothay for the first time. And it. That sword that was not a sword."
"The blade of Yajakali," Diomedra finished for him.
"Aye."
"Tell us more of what you felt in that blade."
Czestadt described at length his impression of the sword, from its appearance with the eyes to the way it deadened everything around it. The mages listened attentively and asked probing questions. Every time Czestadt suspected they were asking more about his abilities than bout the sword he refused to answer. But after a while their focus settled on Yajakali's blade and Jothay's uses of it rather than on how Czestadt could feel what he felt.
They were particularly interested in the Blood Bound, but Czestadt could only describe what they looked like, smelled like, and acted like; he'd never seen how they were made, but Akaleth had. Merely mentioning his charge made several of them, notably Sir Rivers, scowl fiercely. The nobleman was especially hostile in his questions and Czestadt kept a close eye on him. No matter how much Elizabeth and the Cardinal vouchsafed their hospitality, he knew this man was a threat. Nor was he the only one that put him on edge; he was only the most obvious about his contempt.
He then described Zagrosek who he later learned was the man who killed Patriarch Akabaieth. Massenet was particularly interested in what the rogue Sondecki's role was in the events, but not a one of them didn't appear at least a little curious. Even Sir Rivers couldn't deny that he wanted to know who this assassin was and what he was doing in Yesulam. Czestadt felt no compunction in revealing all he knew.
They did not evince surprise at anything else he mentioned until he came to the moment when Father Akaleth defeated the Shrieker. This they treated very skeptically. Finally, after a rather sneering question from the blonde Diomedra, he slammed his fist into the arm of his chair. "Enough! You insult me and Father Akaleth with your refusal to believe. I have told you what happened. He destroyed the Shrieker with light, a light he used to guide us out of that infernal pit. I will not hear him gainsaid by effete cowards like you!"
"How dare you!" Sir Rivers leapt to his feet enraged. Chalcus also snarled, and Massenet fumed, while Elizabeth shook her head and Diomedra smirked in amusement. Bartholomew glowered and Demarest's face purpled in apoplexy. But it was the noble who acted fastest. He strode before Czestadt and slapped him full across the face with the back of his hand. "How dare you speak such things!"
Czestadt grabbed him by the wrist, twisted it behind his back, and slammed the man to his knees without ever shifting in his seat. He then pushed him forward so that he fell against the table. Chalcus put a beam of light that shimmered but held steady against his neck. "I would not do such things if I were you," he said with a smile that begged Czestadt to continue.
Sir Rivers got back up, dusted himself off, and lifted his hands to strike magically, when Elizabeth took him by the shoulder and drew him back. "Do not think it, Alexander. He is a guest. He needs to learn better manners, but he is a guest."
"You insult my charge and expect manners?" Czestadt asked, neck perfectly still against Chalcus's evanescent rod. "I do not suffer such things lightly."
"I think," Diomedra said in a sultry voice, "that you are used to command and not used to others contradicting you or casting doubt on your words. You don't like it. And you think us cowards because of it."
"You are cowards because you have never faced what I have. My words are a toy to you, a plaything that you are interested in for now but will soon lose interest in." Czestadt let his eyes, dark and intent, turn on Chalcus. The scarred mage glared back at him unflinching.
"You'd be surprised what we have faced," Sir Rivers said in a hoarse whisper. "Very, very surprised."
Czestadt lifted one hand and touched the scar on his face, all the while avoiding Chalcus's spell. "I have been mortally wounded several times in my life. How many can say that?"
Elizabeth gave Rivers a warning glance, and then scowled at Chalcus. "Put that away. He is not going to harm us."
"I'm not sure about that," Chalcus replied, eyes narrowing. "I think he's begging for a fight."
Czestadt smirked. "I have never begged for anything in my life."
"Not even your life?" Chalcus asked, his voice both hostile and curious.
"Never."
Demarest growled. "Chalcus!"
The scarred mage grimaced but drew back his spell. The searing light vanished leaving behind air crisp to the nose. Czestadt wanted to rub his neck to feel the skin but kept his hands still. He was not going to show the slightest hint of weakness before these mages.
Sir Rivers rubbed his arm where the knight had gripped him. His voice reeked with disgust. "I presume we will be able to continue this conversation without further imprecations?"
Czestadt did not look at him, but kept his gaze on their leader Demarest. "It would be my hope that you can restrain yourselves from calling into question the character of my companions and I."
Demarest was unmoved. "You would do well to return the favour. None here appreciate your words."
"I don't care." He leaned forward slightly. "You do not wish us to be here. I will be content to leave. Continue your questions and as long as you do not doubt my words we will end soon."
Both Rivers and Chalcus looked eager to determine whether Czestadt was telling the truth about being invulnerable to blades. Massenet and Diomedra were not much happier. Demarest attempted to hide his loathing, but did not succeed. Bartholomew had regained his composure which meant that of the seven mages only he and Elizabeth appeared calm. And it was she who spoke next. "Very well, Sir Czestadt. We will move along. After the Shrieker died, what next came to pass?"
He next described the leeches that had gorged on foul blood but only Elizabeth asked any questions. Then he related Kashin's confrontation with the evil inhabiting Patriarch Geshter. This too evinced little surprise. It wasn't until he described the horror he felt on the morning of the Winter's Solstice when he felt the evil of the Sword flare in his mind and revel in a triumph that never came to pass that the others asked any further questions. But these were all brief, and when he reached their conclusion, they thanked him and assured him they were done for the evening.
Czestadt walked back to the antechamber with Elizabeth rushing to keep up. Somebody had brought Akaleth an old book which he was reading while half-reclining on the floor. Kashin busied himself with stretching. Both looked up when they returned.
Elizabeth glanced down at Akaleth, her eyes lifting in surprise at the book, but she said nothing of it. "It is late, and we have much to discuss amongst ourselves. Father Akaleth, we shall begin with you in the morning. The Caial will escort you back to the Cardinal's palace. Do not go anywhere else." She said coldly then turned and swept back up the hall. The double doors shut behind her without the touch of any hand.
"Well I see both of you have made many new friends today," Akaleth said with a faint laugh.
Czestadt and Kashin looked
at each other, then at the priest, and then back at each other.
Both of them laughed. Akaleth rose and held the book under one
arm as the trio left the Mage Guild under the watchful eye of the Caial.
Evening closed over Marigund like a velvet fist. The sky was clear but dark, while the city streets were lit in bright profusion. Still, numerous alleys were wreathed in shadow, shielded from the light by the buildings on either side. Along one of these crept a solitary figure draped in a common black cloak. His eyes remained fixed on the Cardinal's palace across the street. He bent down and lowered one arm. A sleek rat scampered down, small claws holding firm to the richer cloth beneath.
Just before stepping onto the ground, the rat turned back his head and with beady black eyes stared at the man. A voice, small but loyal, chirped in the man's mind. I'm supposed to watch and listen to the three foreigners. Is there anything you want me to learn, master?
The man smiled and gently ran a finger down the rat's head and back. One paw lifted and held at the finger. The man's thoughts were equally gentle. Whatever they discuss. And watch the priest most especially. I want to learn of his intentions and his habits. Whatever you see or hear, tell me.
The rat's whiskers flicked
back and forth. I will, master. And then he scampered to
the pavement and ran along the alley, hugging the right wall, before
disappearing within a small sewer opening. The man straightened
and prayed for his familiar's safety.
The rat's name was Boots. He'd been a gift to a lonely child who had always thought his white paws on an otherwise solid black body had made it look like he was wearing boots. He'd liked the boy who gave him little tidbits of corn, seeds, cheese, and bread, and who let him crawl over him to get warm on those cold days. He did not understand the fullness of time, but his master had told him that after three years, that precocious boy, in an attempt to keep his precious Boots alive, had used a familiar spell that bound them together.
And Boots could now claim, these twenty years later, to be the oldest rat alive if he cared enough about such things. That it brought delight to his master was enough for him.
He did not understand why these foreigners upset his master so much, but they must be truly vile to do so. He did as he was asked, scurrying through the sewers in order to safely cross the street. The stench was not as bad in this district as it was on the outskirts of the city. Still, when he reached the other end and emerged next to the Cardinal's palace, he scrubbed his fur off as best he could just as his master had asked.
Boots climbed the chimney stones all the way onto the roof. From there he scoured the stones along the roof until he found one lose and scurried in underneath. He could feel his master's comforting presence with him always, knowing that he was just across the street and wouldn't let anything happen to him. That trust kept him pushing through the darkness with his nose, sniffing until he finally found a pathway through the attic that led back behind the internal woodwork. He followed this until at last he emerged into one of the upper rooms.
The room was empty but for a bed that had not been used in some time. Boots followed the wall to the edge of the hallway. He could smell no animals in the house, only humans. He heard voices coming down the hallway and followed after them.
The hallway opened up into a larger room. Boots stood on the balcony overlooking a warm gathering place where the Cardinal entertained guests. Boots had met the Cardinal before and felt a bit of delight and a half expectation of some tasty morsel as the man was wont to give friendly animals. But with him were the foreigners too. They didn't look at all like anybody in the city, and his master had made sure to describe them in pretty good detail. Two of them had darker skin while the lighter skinned one had a pink scar on one side of his face. And the priest was the smallest of the three. Boots wanted to hiss at him but his master had wanted him to keep quiet.
So Boots settled down to listen. I'm here, master.
His master's strong voice was there immediately. What are they doing? What are they saying?
They are eating and...
"You should control your tongue better," the Cardinal lectured the scarred one. "You are here as their guests. No one else wants you here."
"They may call me whatever they wish," the scarred one replied. "But I will not tolerate them impugning the honour of my companions."
"They drew weapons on you!" the Cardinal snapped. "Are you trying to goad them into a fight?"
"No."
"Then what are you trying to do?"
"To ensure the truth is what they hear."
"Then speak the truth! You do not have to make them believe you. The Guild will believe whatever it wants to believe."
Boots relayed this back to his master as quickly as he was able. His master listened but said nothing.
The priest began to nod. "There is truth in what his eminence suggests. We cannot make them see things from our point of view. We can only tell them the truth and trust that the truth will be all that is left after they have finished wrangling with our testimony." He shrugged his shoulders but his face remained placid. Boots had never seen a human who kept their face so still. "We aren't going to learn anything from them anyway, so we needn't bother trying."
The Cardinal had no trouble making his face do strange things. Boots recognized the look as one of discomfort. "Thank you, Father Akaleth. I did not expect you to agree with me."
"The truth can come from any mouth. This much I have learned in the last year." He shook his head, the faintest hint of chagrin coming over him. Boots passed that along too.
I wonder why that would embarrass him. His master's voice was confused, but he said nothing more.
The three guests, the Cardinal, and another priest whom Boots had seen with the Cardinal in times past continued to converse for another hour. Boots faithfully reported all he heard. His master asked a few questions about what the individuals were doing, but apart from eating some bread and cheese — which smelled very savoury and made all his whiskers twitch eagerly — they remained seated during the course of their conversation.
Eventually they did disperse, and Boots had to risk crawling along the banister at the edge of the balcony until he found a good grip on a wooden door frame and was able to scale down to the floor. This he only did after all five of them had departed and the lamps extinguished. He followed their scents out into the hallway below, and after turning down a side corridor, he found where each was sleeping.
Whose room is which?
I will learn, master.
Boots had no trouble squeezing underneath the doorjambs and peering into each room. All of the rooms were still lit so he was exceedingly cautious. The first room was that of the other priest who lived in the city. He squeezed back under the door and ran in zigzags until he reached the next one. Beneath this was the scarred foreigner. And he did see Boots! But the fellow didn't seem to care so much as glare at the rat. Boots froze for a single moment, fear clutching his little heart, but at the firm assurance of his master, he was able to turn and made his escape.
Boots waited a few minutes before trying the next door. This belonged to the one-armed man. He knelt in prayers like master did each night. Boots left him alone.
The last room he checked held the foreign priest. He too was saying prayers. But in his barely audible words, Boots heard many things that he dutifully passed back to his master. The part that most delighted his master was the very end.
"Eli, forgive my anger and my pride. Grant me the grace to be free from these terrible temptations. I cannot free myself from them and need your grace. Pour it upon me, O Eli. Through thy Son, Yahshua."
Haughty. His master's voice exuded delight. That is very good to know. Come back home, Boots. We've learned enough tonight.
Boots wasted no time darting back through the large and frightening hallways, up the door, up and over the banisters to the balcony, down another long hall, and then back up through the cobwebbed and cluttered attic space to the roof. A light patter of rain was falling. Boots shook off before climbing down the chimney. The road was empty so he ran straight across. Once back in the alley he shook again and followed his master's scent.
His master was at the very rear of the alley next to a door into the adjacent building. Boots ran up to him and leapt into his waiting arms. Those warm arms cradled him and Boots held on with his little claws. The cloak drew over him and he knew he was warm and safe again. Did I find everything you wanted, Master?
Everything you could, Boots. Thank you. I have some bread and cheese waiting back home for you.
Oh thank you, master! I love you.
And I love you, my little Boots!
The
dark figure took his rat back through the maze of buildings to the Mage
Guild and their home. The rat dreamt of the sweet bread and cheese
that awaited him. The man pondered how to use the Questioner's
weaknesses against him all the while stroking his beloved familiar and
friend.