March 16, 708 CR
The trio did not return to the Mage's Guild until nearly midday at the insistence of Father Akaleth. It being Friday during the season of Penance, the priest spent an extra hour in prayer in the Cathedral, both Kashin and Czestadt with him. The representatives from the Guild who'd come to collect them were forced to wait outside. It was a cool but pleasant day with overcast skies that gave the air a crisp quality.
It started raining shortly before the Questioner had completed his prayers which meant the price for keeping their hosts waiting was that they were taken a slightly longer way through the streets to the guild. All of their clothes were sopping wet when they arrived. Akaleth's thick robes dragged along the ground, clinging to him like a hauberk for a man two feet taller. These fetters slowed him even further, and a trail of water followed him through the side halls of the Guild like a snail's slime.
Through it all Akaleth maintained a detached air that only made the quintet of guards and young mage accompanying them all the more irritated. When they reached the antechamber the young mage who'd never given them his name stormed through the double doors muttering curses. Akaleth made the sign of the yew in his wake. The guards scowled and one of them almost instinctively reached for his sword.
The sword flew from the scabbard across the room and then paused. Czestadt took a step forward, clasped the sword around the middle, and held the hilt out to the stunned soldier. "That not do again."
The soldier snatched back his blade and slammed it into the scabbard. His eyes, furrowed and dark, scowled at them even as he stepped back against the far wall. The sergeant stepped in front of him and pointed a finger at the man. His were reproving but not hateful. "You're a Caial. Act like it."
The other solider scowled but nodded. "Yes Sergeant."
The sergeant an old veteran with graying hair then glanced at Czestadt with the cold hard gaze of a combat veteran. "Behave yourself little boy."
Kashin's eyes went wide at that and he stepped closer to keep the Yesbearn from crushing the impertinent sergeant's windpipe. But Czestadt only returned the sergeant's gaze with the dead gaze of his knightly order. "In Stuthgansk, a knight is fully within his rights to any man kill who to him would so speak."
"You aren't in Stugan or whatever you call it," the sergeant replied, attempting to stare down the Yesbearn.
"No," Czestadt agreed, smiling ever so faintly. "And that is why your wife, this evening, will not weep." The sergeant and the soldiers bristled but the Yesbearn turned his back on them and walked to the far wall leaving a trail of puddles in his wake.
Akaleth, apart from a brief glance, paid them no more heed as he wrung out his robes as near to the outer door as possible. Kashin, keeping a wary eye on the soldiers, gestured toward the hearth at the far end of the room. "Perhaps we can start a fire to dry off our clothes?"
"See to it yourselves," the Caial sergeant said with only the jerk of his chin to accent his words.
Kashin did so with the patient care his memories of days amongst the Magyars had taught him. Czestadt, his point made, was torn between moving to aid him and staying at Akaleth's side. He opted to guard the Questioner who was leaving a large puddle at his feet.
By the time Kashin had a flame dancing on the kindling, Elizabeth emerged between the mass of guards and looked to the drenched priest. "Do you need a change of clothes?"
Akaleth shook his head. "A few minutes more to dry off and I should be comfortable enough with little fear of catching bad airs. But will the dampness of my cloak cause you any discomfort?"
Elizabeth pursed her lips for a moment then shook her head. "No, that will be fine." As Akaleth glided toward the hearth where the fire grew in brightness and warmth, the mage's eyes appeared to ruminate on some deep question. She spoke again only after the flame crackled in merry conflagration. "A quick spell would dry you off; if you'll permit me."
"I fear I must decline, though I am grateful for your offer." Akaleth offered her an apologetic nod of the head. "I do not know where your powers come from, Mistress Lumas. I can hardly ask you to use them for my benefit when I do not know their origin."
"It's magic," Elizabeth replied with a faint hiss. "There is nothing to wonder at its origin." She lifted one hand to forestall the explanation leaping to his tongue. "I know the Ecclesia teaches differently. You do not need to lecture me. Merely dry your attire and then follow me." She glanced at the five Caial and then to their captain. "Thank you for bringing them. You may return to your duties."
Their alacrity in leaving the trio of foreigners appeared to stun even the mage. No sooner had the words left her mouth than the quintet were all down the passage back to the outer door and the rain. She blinked twice and they were gone.
A long sigh escaped her throat. Akaleth squeezed a corner of his robe but no more water poured forth. He shrugged and with a quick twitch of his eyes toward Czestadt, offered, "They do not wish to be in our presence. I am not surprised. My order does not have a good reputation."
"That is putting it very lightly. I have faced a great deal of unpleasantness in the last two days because I let you into Marigund." She sealed her lips and said no more, preferring to look at the passage down which the Caial had fled instead. Akaleth resumed drying his robe. Kashin and Czestadt eyed each other warily but said nothing either.
It was only a few minutes later that Akaleth had dried his robes sufficient for his comfort. He followed Elizabeth along the inner passageways until he came to the high-ceilinged room with eight chairs about a small table. Six other mages were assembled, none of their faces welcoming. They did not stand for him either. Their attire was as different as their personalities. One, well-dressed, though almost sedately so, man with graying hair and steely gaze gestured with a nod of his steepled brow toward the empty seat opposite him. Akaleth sat without a word.
The same man introduced himself as Demarest, and then the other six sitting in the circle. Only Elizabeth, Demarest, and the man on his left, Massenet, were willing to look at him; though at least in the eccentric Bartholomew's case it appeared that the mage was lost in thought and not even paying attention to him. The rest loathed him.
To Akaleth's surprise, he felt sorry for them. He'd spent so much of his life hating others that to see it again and to see what his own face must have looked like for so long he felt a tremendous sorrow. He lowered his eyes and clasped his hands together. His robe was still moderately damp in his lap and he absently squeezed it tight.
"How did you come to learn of Marzac?" Demarest asked in steady tones.
Akaleth nodded to himself and began in a neutral voice. "I was one of three Questioners sent to Metamor to investigate the assassination of Patriarch Akabaieth. While there we learned that one of the three artifacts of Yajakali, the Censer, had been seen at Metamor earlier in the year. I had never heard of it before but my superior had; as he gave credence to it, so too did I.
"We returned to Yesulam knowing that Metamor had not been at fault for Patriarch Akabaieth's murder. We knew only the name of the man who was responsible, Krenek Zagrosek, and his association with the ancient artifacts of Marzac that corrupted all who possessed them. Armed with this knowledge, we reported it as bidden to the Bishop's Council. However, our testimony was altered and we were ordered not to pursue the matter any further.
"We continued our investigation anyway; my superior suspected that there was someone inside the Ecclesia who was collaborating with Zagrosek. He turned to Bishop Morean of Sondeshara to learn more of Marzac. I turned to Bishop Jothay of Eavey and confided in him as he seemed to me to be a man of reason and influence. I was still angry at Metamor and the way they had treated us. In that, I was a fool."
"Only in that?" The one named Chalcus at his right quipped.
"No, not only in that," Akaleth admitted, unwilling to let the barb snare him. "More would come later. Bishop Jothay was the ally of Zagrosek. When he revealed this I knew that I was facing the greatest evil I have ever beheld. This was no mere squabble amongst men of different opinions, no matter who the author of those opinions are. This was a contest of supernatural entities, forces so dark and evil, so rich in hatred, so barren of compassion, that the foulest thing of man cannot compare. I would not give them any more information, no matter how much they tortured me."
"Did they torture you?" Sir Rivers asked in laconic disinterest.
"Oh yes. Krenek Zagrosek beat me for over a week. But physical pain is unimportant to me. I have felt it before. What truly horrified me was what Bishop Jothay did with the Sword of Yajakali." He paused for a moment, but none of the others seemed interested in interrupting him. He was not yet certain whether this was an omen for good or ill. "I had betrayed the name of Bishop Morean to him before I knew his evil. Morean was captured and taken down to a vast pagan altar beneath the city of Yesulam, deep in her substructure and beneath even the aqueducts. None knew of this place or even suspected it. Once there, he made me watch as the Sword of Yajakali drained Bishop Morean of his life, leaving him a desiccated husk that in Jothay's corrupted and perfidious humour he dubbed a Blood Bound. He also made me watch as various children were brought crying and screaming. They were laid on the altar, and the Sword was plunged into their chests."
Akaleth had to pause here as his breath caught in his chest. He put his fist to his teeth to hold back a stream of tears he hadn't known were there. The memory filled him with an anguish he'd not felt even in the blackest days of his youth when his father had taken the whip to his back every time he'd made the sign of the yew like he'd seen the foul and profane Ecclesiasts use — the very Ecclesiasts he so wished to join as he fled from his Rebuilder upbringing. Fathers should love their sons and teach them to be men, not monsters.
He glanced up and to his surprise some of the mages shared his horror. Elizabeth paled, Chalcus fumed, and even Sir Rivers looked purple with indignation. Of the others, Bartholomew still woolgathered, Diomedra appeared speculative, Massenet clutched a pipe between his teeth and spewed tendrils of smoke from the corners of his lips, and Demarest tried to keep his expression as level as a master Questioner.
Akaleth could see that no question was forthcoming so continued his gruesome tale. "The children were completely consumed by the Sword. Their substance was entirely drawn into the blade which drank their blood with relish and abandon. Yes, the Sword drank their blood. It was... somehow more than just hammered gold. It was... unspeakably evil. It quivered with hunger and I heard Jothay singing to it like a mother to a babe. He cradled it to his chest giggling like a madman. He even licked the blood that spilled onto his alb as eagerly as a dog with water."
He turned away and took a deep breath. His stomach churned and his flesh went cold. "Forgive me," he said as he fought to still his trembling. "May I speak of something else?"
"Please," Elizabeth said, almost as if she gasped for air after being trapped beneath the water until her life had nearly snuffed. "How did you escape?"
"I used to carry various devices beneath my robe. Most of them were to help encourage those I questioned to provide answers. One of them was a small mirror. Zagrosek was arrogant and kept me unshackled while he beat me. He wanted me to know just how helpless I was. I crawled to my things which he kept in a pile nearby and picked up the mirror. When Zagrosek came to strike me again I blinded him with light. I had just enough strength left to make good my escape."
"You blinded him with light?" Diomedra asked curiously, one finger twirling a lock of hair. "What light did you blind him with?"
"My own," Akaleth admitted. "I have always been able to create light. I needed the mirror to see his eyes so I could direct the light."
"You, a Questioner using magic?" Sir Rivers scoffed. "Your order has brutally slain many innocents for nothing more innocuous that a simple light spell."
Akaleth knew this would come sooner or later. It was almost a relief after having to recall those vile days beneath Jothay and Zagrosek's unremitting and pitiless assault. "I was born with this gift of light. It is innate and does not require me to draw any power from the life around me to use. Therefore it is permissible for me to do so unless constrained by my Ecclesial superiors."
"I think it just hypocrisy," Sir Rivers replied with narrowed gaze. "You persecute others for employing their gifts but revel in them yourselves."
"I merely uphold the teachings of the Ecclesia in regard to magic; if this has not been rigorously followed by other Followers, and I myself have not always been so scrupulous in its application, it is no fault of the Ecclesia herself, merely that of her members. That the teachings are not better understood is something that I and others are working to change."
"We have only your word on that," Chalcus pointed out with a glare. "And no reason to trust you."
"And what position does his eminence Cardinal Bertu take on the issue of magic?" Akaleth asked in a quiet voice.
"The Cardinal is not at issue here!" Chalcus replied with some indignation. "And so that you know, he says nothing at all. He is wise to not interfere with our work."
Akaleth turned to the young mage and lifting one eye brow asked, "Have I?"
Chalcus fumed. "I cannot think of a specific instance yet, but I'm sure you have."
"This is ridiculous," Elizabeth said in exasperation. "Father Akaleth, let us return to your ability with magic."
"Light only." The Questioner spread his hands wide and then lowered them to his legs. "I have always been able to create light. I was taught that it was evil and so had not used it for many years. But I did then to save my life and to aid Father Kehthaek and Felsah in their quest to root out the evil of Marzac in Yesulam. I had found what I believed to be its head in Bishop Jothay; that had to be revealed. And so, I summoned enough light to blind Zagrosek and make good my escape."
"Have you never tried to do anything else magical?" Elizabeth asked.
"No," Akaleth admitted after a moment's pause. "I have never tried."
"Why not?" Diomedra asked with a faint laugh.
"That I could create light I have known since I was a child. Perhaps it never occurred to me then to try anything more. Once I was grown I'd been drilled in the belief that my ability was evil and so never sought to use it for anything else. Now, I have accepted that it is not, but know that it is something I can use for good or for ill. I do not use it flippantly but only when I must."
The blonde, buxom woman continued her derisive chuckling. "Why have you not used it since coming here?"
"I was ordered by the Patriarch not to use my ability except to save my life from immanent death, or when asked for a demonstration by the Mage's Guild."
"Ordered?" Sir Rivers scoffed.
Akaleth nodded, his composure once more fully regained. Even though their words were antagonistic again, it was a comfort to hear their mockery after the memories of his far too many days in that pagan temple. With his disinterested aplomb he said, "It is his right to decide the good or evil in my gift, as it would be for any who possess powers beyond the normal ken of men."
Rivers rolled his eyes. "You ought to know your abilities better than that man. Patriarch Geshter is well known for his distrust of magic from his years as Cardinal of Pyralis."
"Yet he knows far better about souls than I do," Akaleth replied. "And his office is from Yahshua Himself. To that will I cleave and in that will I trust and rest secure."
"A corrupt office of narrow-minded, power-hungry schemers!" Chalcus declared with a hooting laugh. "It's no wonder you Questioners are not well liked. You never think for yourself and make yourself beasts for your distant master!"
"Chalcus," Elizabeth snapped with a fierce scowl.
But Akaleth turned on the scarred red-head and smiled. "You believe that we each should use our own reason to discern the will of Eli in our lives?"
Chalcus nodded in a rather smug manner. "And turn to the Canticles. We can read and learn for ourselves."
"Ah, yes, the cry of the Rebuilder. We can find Eli on our own. You would rather build Eli's house anew for each one of you than follow the path trod by your ancestors who passed down the faith to you."
Bartholomew actually looked at Akaleth for the first time as this discussion commenced. The wizened old face crinkled in amusement, though at whose expense it was not clear. Chalcus did not yet realize the trap Akaleth had laid for him and walked right into it. "I know from reading the Canticles what Eli intends, as much as He has revealed to me."
"So all we need is the Canticles to learn right from wrong?"
"One's not corrupted by the Ecclesia at least!"
"And all who would love Yahshua should seek Him in this way by using their reason as they read the Canticles?"
Chalcus slammed a fist on his armrest. "Of course!"
"And yet, the very first temptation recorded in those Canticles was to gain knowledge of good and evil that we might elevate ourselves above the counsels of Eli!" Akaleth did not smile, but spoke as calmly as any Questioner would. "Therefore, we are to conclude that valuing our reason above the revelation of Eli is the same sin that the Adversary first tempted man with."
Demarest sucked in his breath, Massenet coughed on his pipe, Elizabeth lifted one hand and opened her mouth to object, while Sir Rivers and Chalcus purpled with rage. The scarred man balled one hand into a fist, spikes of iron growing from the flesh. "If you are suggesting what I think you're suggesting, I will make sure you leave this city in as many directions as possible!"
"Chalcus!" Elizabeth snapped and flung her slender arm out. A vise of blue energy coalesced around Chalcus's fist and his attention turned to his fellow mage as he struggled against her.
Akaleth paid it little mind. "I merely suggest that if one carefully examines the facts one can conclude that Yahshua gave us the Ecclesia in order to guide us back to Him. We who are Followers follow Him by our humble obedience. Rebuilders in arrogance try to build their own way to Him, try to remake Him into images of themselves, instead of making themselves into images of the Son who was obedient in all things to the Father."
Akaleth got no further as his tongue suddenly froze inside his mouth. Demarest rose from his seat, arms stock still at his sides, pupils vanished into dark orbs that chilled the blood. His voice dropped several octaves and made Akaleth's flesh tremble as if it were going to shake apart. "ENOUGH!" The darkness bled from his eyes and some of the blue returned, but still they were a milky concoction swirling and eddying like a festering geyser pool. His voice no longer rattled the room but still arrested everyone. "I warn you, Father Akaleth of the Questioners. Speak one more word of this and you will suffer the penalty for which your progenitors suffered."
Akaleth felt his tongue loosened and he gazed at the towering man with as placid an expression as he could manage. He admitted to himself that he was a little frightened by this mage, but his long years of training, and the brutality he'd suffered from Zagrosek and Jothay, gave him reserves beyond the grasp of most men. His words were a quiet counterpoint. "I will not allow you to mock the Ecclesia or those who follow her faithfully. You may do with me as you wish. But that alone I will not countenance. And you will find that command in the Canticles readily enough. Shall I supply you chapter and verse?"
Demarest stood a few inches taller, the darkness filling his eyes again. Both Chalcus and Massenet had slid as far from the Questioner as they could. Diomedra watched with an amused lilt to her eyes. Sir Rivers appeared almost jealous of the Guild Master. Elizabeth's scowl encompassed everyone. But Bartholomew did something none of them could have expected; he applauded.
"Oh well done! Well done! I must say they do teach you very well down in Yesulam. You've not even lifted a finger, you've earned a death sentence at least five times over by my count, and we cannot do it! You are a most impressive man."
Akaleth's firm countenance failed him. He gaped in astonishment at the aged wizard dressed in robes decorated by astronomical symbols. His clapping turned all eyes to him, even Demarest who blinked in stupefied wonder. Bartholomew reached up and grasped Demarest by the arm and gently pulled him back down. "You cannot hurt him, Guild Master. Like it or not he is correct. It was we who insulted his faith first. His defence was most interesting. Far more damning as well. In truth he should die for it, but, he is a guest and we in Marigund are gracious hosts."
The colour returned to Demarest's eyes and he turned on the old wizard with an apoplectic rage barely constrained within his mortal flesh. "Barty, I will speak with you privately when we're finished here." His eyes swerved to the Questioner and they were daggers both. "We will continue with our investigation and there will be no more mention of sectarian religious differences from anyone present. From anyone!"
Demarest sat back down and several let go breaths, Akaleth amongst them. The Guild Master straightened his attire, closed his eyes, and put his fingers to his cheek bones in intense concentration. "Now... you say you can create light. I would like a demonstration of your power. You said you were permitted to do this. Will we be allowed to test your strength in this matter?"
"I believe to some extent that is allowable." Akaleth nodded, his words slow and carefully chosen. "So long as it is merely test and not contest."
"It will not be, as you say, contest." Demarest grunted, his anger still simmering but contained for now. "Massenet, if you would."
The man with the pipe nodded and turned back to the priest. "I am going to create some darkness. Merely pierce it with your light. That is all."
Akaleth nodded and sat still in his chair. Massenet blew on his pipe a few more times, the smoke rising from the bowl collecting tighter and tighter in a deep mist like a shimmering veil. A few short seconds later that veil had become a solid sail of black hovering in the sky. Akaleth willed a beam of light into being and it easily pierced the veil, splintering it right through the middle. Massenet nodded in approval and waved the blackness away with one hand.
"I thought you'd be able to do that. Let's try something a little harder then." He puffed a few more times on his pipe, and this time the sail become an entire block stretching across the ceiling above their heads. Thick and wide, it appeared a solid mass of pure black.
Akaleth could feel its contours like a wedge in his mind. This was not like shadow which was merely an absence of light, this was a pure negation of it. Not evil as such, that he could feel, but a bitter neutrality that neither posed nor answered moral questions. But this again parted ways for him when he willed his light into being. The brilliant white was clearly visible from any direction as it pierced the solid block through the middle. A cobweb high up in the ceiling shone with brilliant array and consummate arachnid artistry.
Massenet looked troubled that his spell had been so easily shattered. He glanced between Akaleth and the rays of light cascading from the ceiling like splinters of glass. He rubbed his chin in thought and asked the other mages, "Should I test him again?"
"You need to blind him," Diomedra suggested. "He could see the shadow before. What if he can't see it at all?"
The other mages who were not still scowling in apoplectic fury nodded their heads. Akaleth folded his hands in his lap and waited patiently for whatever spell they would concoct. Massenet puffed only one this time on his pipe to produce a wisp of smoke. He then turned his hands in the air as if he were churning butter and the smoke began to stretch and thin like a bit of twine being spun. It circled Akaleth, turning into a band, then two, then three, then four around him. Akaleth paid as little attention to it as he could.
The strands continued to stretch and spread until they were so numerous and dense as to form a tube of darkness spreading from his navel to his neck. Massenet lifted his arms upwards and the sepulchral cylinder rose to encircle Akaleth's head. And then, like a ebony mask, it collapsed inward, shrouding the priest in complete darkness. He could neither see, nor hear, nor smell anything. He could feel the chair beneath him, but not even the barest breath of air brushed past his cheeks. He could open his eyes, but there was nothing to see.
If he were invited to break this barrier, he never heard it. And then his heart began to race; not only couldn't he smell anything, but he couldn't breathe either! Questioner training to still the body kept him from panicking. He focussed first on steadying himself, and then on the problem of the mask. In the past he'd always seen where the light would appear. Now...
Akaleth envisioned his face wreathed in darkness. He could remember what the room looked like and so he imagined that too. The black mass on his face was a writhing thing, like a living bag nourish itself from his flesh. He had a momentary temptation to add smug or murderous expressions to the mages but resisted it.
He willed light into being, imagining it to pierce the mask, rising up from his very face. This time he felt some resistance, his skin warmed by the light, but unable to break through the mask. The interleaving strands of darkness were stronger than a solid mass. Akaleth narrowed the light, as he'd once done against the Shrieker, driving its intensity away from his cheeks and through his eyes and mouth. The mask shuddered as it swam about him, undulating in its courses around the light.
But the mask held its place. Akaleth drew back in himself, feeling the panic he'd denied begin to return as his chest ached from lack of air. A sudden memory flashed through him; that of Patriarch Geshter counselling him in the weeks after he'd been freed from the shadow of Marzac. What had he told him? The man who'd been a plaything of evil assured him with all earnestness that his gift of light was not his own, but belonged to Eli and unto Him was it to be rendered.
Oh Eli, let thy light shine. Not my own.
Akaleth folded his hands before him in prayer, slipped from the seat and knelt, head tilted back in adoration for his true Lord. He heard nothing about him. He opened eye and mouth again, pouring forth his light in confidence renewed. With an almost audible shriek the mask gave way, tearing to shreds as the light seared in white hot beams from eyes and mouth.
When Akaleth made the sign of the yew over his chest and stood, his light gone, he saw three scorch marks on the opposite wall; Both Demarest and Bartholomew were cowering out of the way, the latter clutching his pointy hat which had a little hole scored through it.
"I think you've sufficiently demonstrated your power, priest," Demarest said as he settled back in his seat.
The others mages looked rather disturbed, but Akaleth felt a warm delight at seeing those burn marks. One for Eli, one for Yahshua, and one for the Spirit Most Holy. He offered another quick prayer that his pride would accept none of this for himself.
He acknowledged Demarest with a slight nod. "I believe then you wish me to continue speaking of what I know of Marzac after my escape from Zagrosek?"
"Aye, continue your recitation."
"I escaped from Zagrosek more by Eli's grace than any skill on my part. He knew far better the maze of passages beneath Yesulam than I did; nevertheless he could not follow me and I finally collapsed into the arms of the first person I met. This happened to be one of the Magyars that Kashin's twin Nemgas led. I am sure he has spoken of that."
"And how did a Questioner take being cared for by thieving, pagan Magyars?" Sir Rivers asked with an arch amusement.
Akaleth turned to the well-manicured
mage and offered a half-crooked smile. "It was one of the best lessons
I have ever received." And he spared no language to describe
it. Talk of his own humiliation seemed to make the mages happier
than anything else he could ever say.
By the time that Akaleth reached the battle against Jothay, Zagrosek, and the Blood Bound, it was past noon and a light repast of bread and cheese was supplemented with various sausages which Akaleth did not eat, nor did Massenet or Bartholomew but he doubted the white bearded mage was a Follower.
It was while he was describing the underground chamber that Elizabeth finally began asking him questions. "You said there were symbols on the wall, is that not so?"
He nodded. "Nine of them. They were not easy to follow but they were clear. Veins of fulgurite were imbedded in the floor and they rose up through columns along the walls. It was on those columns that the symbols were etched."
Elizabeth nodded, lips pursed tightly. "I have some drawings. I would like you to tell me if they are the symbols you saw." Akaleth nodded and Elizabeth produced a parchment from beneath the table on which a single symbol was drawn. A curvy line with two slashes through it. Akaleth's chest tightened and his nostrils flared; a chill like a million snowflakes brushing his skin gripped him.
"Oh aye, I've seen that. It was one of them." His voice was tight and crisp as it fought to control a tremble.
Elizabeth set it aside and drew another parchment. The symbol was decidedly more complicated but Akaleth could only nod. She then produced a third and his nod came quicker. He did not see the mages anymore, but the earthen walls, vaulted dome, orange and black fulgurite, and the laughing, insane face of Bishop Jothay crowing and preening like an imbecile as the blood of children were swallowed into the golden blade. He'd remembered them all before but then they'd been wisps of thought. Now they were tangible reality come back to plunge him into the terrible past. She produced a fourth chevron and Akaleth put his arms over his head, one hand reaching into his sleeve and grasping for that which was not there, all the while whimpering, "No more! No more! Please, they were there, aye! No more!"
Elizabeth looked mortified as she set the parchment aside. "I..." She folded her hands in her lap as all the mages stared dumbfounded at the sudden transformation that had taken place. The Questioner had been reduced into a craven figure by mere symbols. "I have no more with me. It is not safe to have all nine present in the same room. Even now with Marzac destroyed I will not risk it. I'm sorry. I did not know they would cause you such distress."
Akaleth breathed heavily and blinked his eyes several times. His arms fell back down and he hastened to remove his hand from his sleeve. "I... I did not know they would either."
The other woman, Diomedra, crossed her arms and tilted her head to one side. "You do frighten by the oddest of things, Questioner."
The black-robed priest managed to straighten himself out and after a deep breath regained his Questioner mask. "Having seen what the Sword of Yajakali could do, I could be no less. But what frightens me more is the notion that these symbols may yet have power. You say Marzac is destroyed, then why is it that these symbols still have power?"
The question left all seven mages uncomfortable. They glanced at each other, the overturned pieces of parchment, and then inward to their own thoughts. But though their minds searched for some answer to the dilemma, none of them found any answers to share. Akaleth drank in the silence which was broken only by the creaking of chairs for many seconds. It was a good sign. They would be even more vigilant now than they had ever thought to be before.
Somehow, Akaleth knew that
they would have no more stomach for baiting him. Their attempts
to goad him had only made him wish that he'd never done it himself
in years past. Still, they were really bad at it. He so
wished to turn the tables on them and start asking them questions, but
he kept silence. He would enjoy this reprieve as long as it lasted.
None of the other mages had the stomach to ask any hard questions after that Questioner had pointed out something that should have been obvious to them. It unsettled each of them to their core. The thought that there might still be evil from Marzac left to stain the world was frightening. But at least one of them was certain it was merely a Questioner trick to keep them from doing what they must.
This mage had kept silent for the remainder of the inquiry until they'd finished hearing the Questioner's testimony. They'd dismissed him for a short recess after which they promised to bring all three of them in for corroborative discussion. It was formality in many ways for there were no obvious gaps in any of their testimonies. The sooner they completed these interviews the sooner the trio from Yesulam could return to their thrice-damned city.
Would they have enough information to see that justice was done?
"Ah," the other mage said once the two were together in an alcove off a side hallway. His pet rat perched on his shoulder this time, sleek black face sniffing at the other. "And what did you learn?"
"The Questioner's ability with light is stronger than we expected. It cannot be defeated by any magic we possess. It ripped right through anything Massenet erected."
"Massenet is overconfident," the man replied as he gently stroked the rat's back with one finger. "But, I trust your assessment. And he is too well protected inside the Cardinal's palace."
"We need to get him out somehow." The other mage paused in thought and then began to nod. "Sleepwalking. If we can put an anchor in him, I can force him to sleepwalk. We can then take him anywhere we want in the city."
The man smiled as the idea took shape. "Aye, that is the best way. An anchor that he will digest soon enough to hide the spell, but not so soon that we cannot get to him. Boots can deliver it tonight. But how to kill him."
"Leave him in a Rebuilder district. They will kill him soon enough."
The man shook his head and gently kissed the rat who leaned against his face. "No, the Yeshuel and Yesbearn might be warned in time to save him. Rumour has it that the Yeshuel's heroism in striking down the evil that murdered Patriarch Akabaieth has impressed many Rebuilders as well. We cannot count on that. We need something more..."
"But what?"
The man gently kissed the rat's cheek and then smiled. "There is a blind man who sometimes does work for Master Demarest. I know who he is and how to get a message to him that will ensure he is discreet and efficient."
"But still it will look like a Rebuilder killed him. All without the Caial knowing?" The other frowned. "And how do we know we can trust one of Demarest's dogs?"
The man laughed faintly, a smile that seemed to delight in the approbation. "I am one of Demarest's dogs as well. I assure you, it is a risk, but we will avoid the Caial."
The first mage smiled as well. "Then we are agreed. Find something for the Questioner to eat unawares and I shall place the anchor on it. And contact this blind man. Tonight we act."
"I will do as you say. Tonight."
The two went their separate
ways. Justice was coming!
Elizabeth came down to the antechamber only a few minutes after with a scowl that creased her face into a death mask. The serving woman who'd finished serving them tea almost dropped her tray in her haste to escape. Czestadt crouched lower in his seat, both hands holding the delicate porcelain. Kashin turned from putting another log in the hearth, while Akaleth looked up with empty expression. None of them were quite prepared for the verbal tirade that erupted from her lungs.
"Just how arrogant and stupid are you?" Elizabeth snapped. Her face was bright red and her whole body shook. Her arms gesticulated wildly with each word. Her scream was directed mostly at Akaleth, but the Yesbearn was not excepted, nor the Yeshuel. "Is it impossible for you to remain polite for a single moment? Why must you antagonize EVERYONE! My brother Misha is more polite and he uses a battleaxe! We cannot kill you but the King can! Keep your arrogant, obnoxious tongue still!" She pointed a finger at him but her fury was so rich it could not keep still. "That was your only warning."
Akaleth pursed his lips and said nothing. Czestadt grunted and turned the cup of tea around in his hands. Kashin stood and his scowl, though not as fierce, remained firm. "No doubt you know the old adage, ‘physician, heal thyself.'"
Elizabeth turned and pointed her finger at him. "Don't even start with me. I've had enough of your arrogant preening."
Kashin took a few steps closer to her, his sole hand clenched into a fist kept clear of his sword. "Since we've arrived we have been belittled, sneered at, called liars, and treated like human offal. And this by your vaunted Mage Guild. You, Mistress Lumas, are one of the few who have not and for that I thank you. But if this is how we are to be treated, why would you expect anything else from us?"
Elizabeth's shout was loud and it made the tea set rattle. "Do not play games with me! Your actions have nearly cost lives! Just shut up and answer the questions and keep your preening arrogance to yourselves!"
"Our actions?" Kashin replied and spread his fingers over his chest. "No, Mistress Lumas. It is the actions of your own mage guild. It is our restraint that has saved lives. Do not lie to me or to yourself. You know the truth."
Elizabeth drew herself up and curled her fingers into her palms. "The truth is that you are by your behaviour convincing everyone of the wisdom of keeping your kind out of Marigund!"
"We have no reason to be here," Kashin told her as he took another step closer. "If we are not welcome, then we will leave. What have you done to make us feel welcome? You wanted our knowledge. Have you and your ilk no decency?"
Elizabeth lips quivered and her eyes almost grew as red as her cheeks. "Have you no sense!"
Kashin nodded his head. "Then tell me, Mistress Lumas, are you pleased with the way your fellow mages have treated us? Can you honestly say that you find their behaviour exemplary?"
She stood for several seconds
breathing heavily, eyes boring into the Yeshuel's unperturbed countenance.
Her voice, when it did emerge, was crisp with the crackle of autumn
leaves under boot and wagon wheel. "Just because my people are acting
like ignorant fools does not give you the right to do the same.
If you keep your friends under control, I will keep mine." She swept
around, robes billowing and slapping the air, and departed out the door
which banged behind her.
The room was altered by the addition of two new chairs. This skewed the arrangement and no longer were any sitting in the cardinal directions; still, the atmosphere suggested a casual, friendly conversation between equals. The expressions of the various mages and their guests indicated that it was anything but.
"Now that we've concluded our solo interviews," Demarest said in a dry voice that crackled beneath his breath, "we would like to discuss all of these matters in brief one last time to make sure that we have all of the details correct. As you know, we wish to speed you on your way. Your presence in Marigund is unwise but necessary. Let us keep it brief."
"Then make your interrogations brief," Czestadt replied tersely. His scowl had deepened from the first moment he returned and knew that their magical translation spell was active again. It did not waver in its disapproval.
"Do not speak to Master Demarest in such tones," Sir Rivers reproved with a sneer.
"I will speak to whomever I wish however I wish. Do not make me lick his boots like you." Kashin glowered at the comment and reached his hand over to restrain the Yesbearn.
Sir Rivers drew himself back up with purpling cheeks. "You bastard!"
Czestadt snorted. "For me, an accident of my birth. You?" A faint smirk teased the edge of his lips. "You're a self-made man."
The offended mage lunged from his seat and struck Czestadt across the cheek with the back of his hand. "Loathsome creature! I will not stand for such humiliation!"
"No. You will crawl."
"Czestadt!" Kashin snapped.
"Alexander!" Demarest shouted in a nearly apoplectic rage. "Sit down!"
Sir Rivers stepped back, but kept his gaze focussed on the Stuthgansk knight. "There is a practice chamber beneath this room. When we are finished here, I would greatly like to feed you those contemptuous words. You may even bring your swords."
"Oh for the love of Eli!" Elizabeth swore and rolled her eyes. "Are you mad, Alex? And you, Sir Czestadt? Are all of you completely mad?"
Akaleth put one hand on Czestadt's arm and shook his head. "We do not have time for such games. Let them sully your honour, your name, anything, as much as they want. Their opinions should matter nothing to us."
Czestadt lowered his eyes and then nodded to Elizabeth and Demarest. "Forgive my outburst. As Knight Templar of the Driheli, I would suffer none to besmirch the honour of my knights. None. Since my charge is not concerned with his honour and bid me also not to be concerned with mine, I shall not be. I apologize."
Elizabeth took a deep breath and glanced to Demarest who had sat imperturbably still through the exchange. He gave a slight nod and the Elizabeth turned to Sir Rivers. The noble sat back down again, but there was a twitch in his eye still. None of the others had moved.
"Good," Demarest said at last. "Now, we will quickly review your testimony and attempt to put it in chronological order. Correct us if we err."
There was little need for correction. The mages replayed the events of the last year without rancour and neither Akaleth or Sir Czestadt spoke except to corroborate what had been reported. Kashin and Demarest did almost all of the talking.
When it was over three hours later, things had changed not at all. The mages did not look favourably upon the trio from Yesulam, and the trio from Yesulam did their best not to respond to anything said by the mages. And when Demarest gave them a dismissal they were very eager to accept it.
"Thank you for sharing us what you know," Demarest said with an obvious expression of relief. "I believe that we have learned all that we can and so you may return to your home. Please do not linger here in our city longer. I want you to leave tomorrow morning without delay."
"It is our intent," Kashin replied with a nod of his head. "See that our carriage is ready and we shall be gone."
"It will be done," Demarest assured him.
The trio rose and each nodded
their heads. Sir Rivers and Chalcus scowled at them, Massenet
had a fierce moue, Diomedra's eyes were calculating, Bartholomew was
barely paying attention, and Elizabeth seemed relieved. A moment
later, Akaleth, Czestadt, and Kashin were on their way out of the Mage
Guild. They all hoped desperately never to return.
Cardinal Bertu was relieved as well to hear that they would be departing in the morning. "Is the Guild pleased to hear the news you brought?"
"More pleased I think that we'll be leaving," Father Akaleth replied with a faint grimace. They were seated in the Cardinal's study again sharing tea and biscuits. Father Marchel was officiating an evening Liturgy so it was only the four of them. "I fear the thought that there may still be evil from Marzac in the world left them rather distressed. It has me concerned as well, but I neither know where it might be nor under what form it could take apart from those chevrons I mentioned the other night."
The red-haired cleric frowned, his wide cheeks firm with concern. "Indeed, that is unsettling news. Still, I trust that there were no more histrionics this day?"
"In that you would also be unsettled," Akaleth said with a definite grimace. "I fear I did lose control of my tongue at one point and offered some rather injudicious candour regarding the differences between Followers and Rebuilders."
Bertu scowled and shook his head. "Can you ever learn? Do you intend to make my role in this city as difficult as possible?"
"In his defence," Kashin interjected as he turned a biscuit about in his fingers, "the mages goaded him by slandering the Ecclesia in a rather foul way from what I'm told."
"Their ill behaviour, and I do not doubt that it was ill, is no excuse for your own!"
Akaleth bowed his head and sighed. "Hence my calling them injudicious."
Bertu's lips curled in a milk-curdling scowl. "If you have set back relations between the faiths here in Marigund..."
"If I have set them back?" Akaleth retorted incredulously. "We had this conversation once before, your eminence. There is nothing from which those relations can step back. So long as you insist on dodging around the central truth of your people there will never be advancement! You will always live one breath away from your Burning time."
"You have no notion of what that time was like, Father," Bertu replied with a long sigh and shake of his head. "We may be right that we are living on the edge of anarchy; but if so, it can only be avoided by a careful balance."
"And what does it say of your people if they are living on the edge?" Akaleth asked in softer tones. "You are a house divided against itself. Marigund could be a world power and force for good. Instead, you are a dog on the leash of Salinon hosting Galendor's greatest mage guild which is too busy jealously hoarding knowledge to be of any good to anyone else. How far from the truth am I?"
Bertu folded his hands together, eyes wavering from the Questioner to briefly glance at both Kashin and Czestadt. The two warriors sat unperturbed and quiet, their thoughts cloaked though it was clear both of them gazed inward. What they saw none could guess. Finally, the Cardinal nodded his head slowly, red hair brightening in the warm firelight. "We are not what we could be, it is true. Marigund is unchallenged by any of our neighbours, but, we cannot stretch forth our hand to object to anything Salinon does. At least not coherently. Sometimes I think Duke Otakar uses our internal squabbles to keep us at his heel. Last year he took the heir to the Kelewair duchy hostage and has been holding him since. Our reaction was mixed and loud, and so completely enfeebled. We should do better." He lifted his face, and his eyes filled with strength. "But we will not be united by starting holy wars!"
"No, you won't," Akaleth agreed. He sipped at his cup of tea and stared inward for several long seconds. How well he could remember his years thinking the only solution to the division in Yahshua's body was to kill all the heretics. Had not Yahshua said that there was more rejoicing in the one sinner repenting than in the ninety-nine just who did not need repentance? The mercy of Eli was vaster and more sublime and ultimately, more powerful than the justice of Eli which was itself perfect. To insist on justice and despise mercy was not to hold to virtue; it was to mask some sin those who sought justice possessed. The story of Yahshua and the Yehudim leaders who'd brought the adulterous woman for stoning showed that clearly enough.
And what had his own sin been? A never ending quest to dishonour his father, a man who had once used violence and hate to try to beat what he saw as sin out of his only child. Akaleth took another longer sip of the warm tea, the subtle hint of maple soothing his wounds.
"No," he repeated after setting the cup of tea aside. "You cannot start a holy war. It will only serve to drive more into the Adversary's arms. But you know the status quo cannot persist. Your holy office was not given to you to be your property, your eminence. Nor is it usufruct. Nor was my office given to me to use as I wish. We have a responsibility to be the light on a lampstand, the city on a hill that cannot be hid. We must be open and we must be honest about our faith, and it must alone guide our lives. Let Yahshua tend to the peace in this city. Man has always made a mess of things when he tries to usurp Eli's authority."
Bertu did not reply immediately and for several minutes the four of them ate and drank in silence punctuated by the sharp cracks of the fire, the creaking of the walls, and the rattling of the windows in their frames. His voice when it returned, and his expression, were resigned but calm. "There is much wisdom in what you say, Father. Allow me the chance to consider what this might mean in my city. But for now, you all ought to consider what recompense you can make for the unrest you brought to the Guild."
"Indeed," Kashin agreed with a light nod. "And that we shall. Our departure is entirely necessary; I was rather hoping to stay for Sunday Liturgy, but we shall do with what Father Akaleth can provide us on the road."
Bertu nodded. "I will not delay tomorrow morning that you might celebrate with us one last time."
"Thank you, your eminence," Father Akaleth said with a genuine smile. "If then we have your leave, I would like to retire for the night. I have much to pray over before I sleep." Bertu nodded his ascent and the Questioner priest silently departed. Neither Czestadt nor Kashin lingered much longer themselves.
But the little white-booted
rat who'd been watching and listening to them followed the Questioner
and paid no heed to the others.
"It is time," the mage said. The other standing at his side lifted hands that felt through the air to the little spell placed on the priest's nighttime food. All the city slept soundly but for the Caial patrols, the prostitutes, and their patrons. Here near the Ecclesia Cathedral there was none to observe them.
The waning moon would not rise for another few hours and even then its feeble light would not disclose them. The stars were bright in the sky, but they could barely bring silhouettes into relief let alone reveal their activity. The two mages smiled to each other as the great work of justice began.
They had a small wagon just long enough for a single person to be laid inside that could be drawn by any labourer. He would draw it himself, while his friend who'd been there to interrogate the trio from Yesulam would keep watch over the priest to ensure he didn't stir.
The priest is getting up now.
Boots remained inside to make sure that they could disengage should one of the others awake. It was risky what they attempted but they were prepared. As one of Demarest's dogs, he knew the Caial patrol routes in advance. Unless one of them deviated, a possibility that they could not discount, they would deliver the priest into the blind man's hands without being accosted by another living soul. But first they needed to get him out of the Cardinal's palace.
Keep an eye on him, Boots. Where is he now?
He has put on his robes. A pause. He's opening his door and stepping out.
And the others?
Still asleep.
"The others are sleeping," he told his companion. "So far so good."
His companion said nothing, concentrating on the task of moving Akaleth in his sleep. Boots followed after and sent a mental squeak of alarm only once. The priest bumped his toe on some carpet. He's fine now. Nobody is stirring.
He rubbed his hands together and gritted his teeth. The cold night air made his breath mist and fingers numb. His ears were already beginning to hurt. There'd be a frost in the morning, not unusual for this time of the year, but not common either. But at least it would dull the blind man's reflexes not at all.
Boots's next report made both of them breath easier. He's moving to the side door now. The house is still quiet.
His companion's concentration increased, sweat springing up across a narrowed brow even in the midnight chill. And then the small servant's door creaked open and a figure stepped through. The mage could see that it was the priest even in the starlight. Boots scampered out after him and immediately ran toward his master. The mage bent down and retrieved the rat who curled around his neck affectionately. He gently stroked his thumb down the rodent's back.
The priests's face was slack as if he were still sleeping. He turned and closed the door and then stumbled toward the wagon. His companion threw open the burlap tarp and the priest crawled inside. Another flick of the wrist and the tarp covered the priest completely.
"Let's go," his companion said softly, casting a wary glance around. "I do not like being in this neighbourhood."
He grabbed the poles at the front of the wagon and with a lift, starting pulling them down out of the shadow of the Ecclesia cathedral. "We'll be there shortly and then justice will be sated."
"Where is there?"
He smiled as Boots's whiskers
twitched and tickled his neck. "Why the Gauntlet of course!"
Kashin woke a moment before Sir Czestadt opened his door. Nor was Czestadt being quiet about it. He should have woken even earlier. He had no time to chide himself as the Yesbearn knight was on him and shaking his shoulder firmly. "Get up! Father Akaleth is missing."
He blinked the last of his sleep from his eyes and the scarred face blurred into focus. "What?"
"Father Akaleth is not in his room nor anywhere else in the palace." Czestadt leaned back and his frown deepened. He held a lantern in one hand and its twisting light made the Yesbearn flicker in and out of shadow. "I think something happened to him."
"Could he have gone to the cathedral to pray?"
"I doubt it. He took his robe but not his boots." His eyes narrowed. "And the cathedral is locked."
Kashin was out of the soft bed and into his clothes a moment later. Czestadt handed him his buckler and blade and a second lantern and then the two of them were out in the hall only a minute after the Yesbearn's intrusion. "We'll need to warn his eminence. Whatever is happening cannot be good. Can you follow him?"
"Like a hound."
"Good. You find his trail, and I'll warn the Cardinal."
"No Caial." Czestadt's expression was both grave and dismissive. "I do not trust them to protect Father Akaleth."
"We cannot ignore them. But I will ask for a short indulgence. If we can bring him back quietly, it will be for the better. Go, I'll join your shortly."
The two men moved quickly through
the dark halls, their focus singular and of one mind. Above all
else, they had to find Father Akaleth.
"They know the Questioner is missing," his companion said quietly in the darkness.
They entered Carpenter's Way and so far they had not been disturbed. It would not be long until they reached the Gauntlet. But would it be long enough to accomplish what had to be done? He wasn't certain. This was one of the possibilities he'd considered. What abilities they had to track their movements were unknown to either of them, but there was no sense assuming they had none. They were superlative warriors and could not be discounted on any account.
"We must assume the worst and that they will have no difficulty following our trail."
"How?" his companion asked. "We've left no tracks, and the streets are stone."
"I do not know. But I do know that to assume otherwise is folly." He licked his lips which were chapping. "Do you know what they are doing, the warriors that is?"
"They've both left the palace. I set a ward to warn us of that. I do not know where they are anymore though. I did not wish to arouse suspicion by casting too much magic. Keeping this foul priest still is taxing enough."
He did his best to smile but it was lost in the darkness. "It will not be for much longer." Boots kept close to his neck as he leaned forward and pulled harder. The freshly oiled wheels rolled with ease across the stone pavement, echoing no louder than their whispers. The road wound through shops, smithies, and depots for the woodworkers. The scent of horse and fresh lumber dominated.
It was too dark to see them,
they were too quiet to hear unless one were on top of them, and the
smell was too raucous to notice them. How then could any follow
them? Boots had no ideas either.
The lanterns bobbed in the air like spectral ghosts hovering over a murky swamp. Kashin and Czestadt trailed noiselessly down the streets. At each intersection they would stop and Czestadt would both inspect the ground and turn this way and that until he pointed and they continued on their way. They never once backtracked.
At the first turn they made, Kashin had wondered why the Yesbearn was so certain. Czestadt grunted and replied between breaths, "He is my charge. I can feel him and his passage as if he were a sword himself." He then tapped his nose with a finger. "And I can smell magic about him. I've never forgotten that peculiar bouquet after my years with the Kankoran."
Kashin nodded, having felt slightly unsettled in his gut ever since they left the Cardinal's palace. "Then somebody has come to take him. But to where and to what purpose?"
"Not a good one," Czestadt
replied, and that was the last either of them said. They could
only hope and pray that they would not be too late.
With a choked whisper of relief, he brought the wagon out of Merdslow and into the Gauntlet itself. The border between a Rebuilder and Follower neighbourhood, it had been the site of four riots in the last dozen years. It was travelled only by necessity and only by the desperate.
The road itself was wide enough for wagons to pass with ease or for merchants to set up stalls and hawk their wares. But none ever did. The road was as empty as a Questioner's heart, or so he'd always felt. It was not even a site for refuse; only the remnants of snow lined the shadowed corners beneath awnings and the scattered detritus of Autumn's foliage they covered littered the stone road. And though there were houses from one end to the other with only a few lonely alleys emptying in the street, there was neither door nor window looking upon the street. Of all the places in Marigund there was none more abandoned than the Gauntlet.
"Where's the blind man?" his companion asked.
"The third alley. We leave the wagon at the second and we can watch from the first." As if from instinctual fear of the darkness that subsumed everything in the Gauntlet, he drew the wagon cautiously and without his earlier haste. It was thirty paces to the first alley which disappeared between two homes into a black hole. And it was another fifty paces before they reached the second alley. The third was even further beyond and barely visible to their night eyes.
He curled one hand around Boots and set the rat down on the lip of the wagon. Wait here and keep watch, friend. We'll be in yon alley if there is trouble.
I will tell you all that happens, Master!
I know. Keep out of harm's way. There's fresh potato bread waiting for you back home when we're finished.
Boots squeaked in delight and rubbed his paws over his snout. The mage gently stroked down his back, and then together with his companion rushed back to the first alley. Once enveloped by the sheltering blackness, he whispered to the other, "Let the priest wake up. Once he stirs my friend will come and see to his proper departure."
"My spell is done. He should wake any moment now."
"Good." His ears strained
to hear the vain struggles of the priest, but also the feared interruption
of the warriors. Nothing yet. He tensed and pulled his cloak
tightly about his shoulders as they waited.
It was cold. Akaleth pulled his feet up closer to his body, and then realized that aside from the cold, he was laying on wood and not the mattress at the Cardinal's palace. That and it smelled... musty like dried earth. Where was he and how did he get there?
The Questioner lifted one hand and felt heavy burlap. He searched along the burlap until he found and edge and slid it across his body. He sat up and looked around. Above him he could see innumerable stars framed by a row of buildings on either side. In two directions he saw the street open up, otherwise he was in darkness with only the faintest of light to illuminate the centre of the street. None of the houses along the street had windows, a fact that he found both curious and distressing.
His feet felt numb and he ran his fingers through the toes checking for frostbite. They were still pliable, but they were definitely in need of coverings. At least he was wearing his robe. It was thick enough to handle desert nights. Still, he'd need to find shelter soon. He was still in the city, but where?
Sitting in a one-man wagon in a street with no windows or doors. He glanced down both directions and saw that one way was quicker and so settled on following that road. He lowered his head and offered a quick prayer of deliverance to Eli and then scrambled out of the wagon.
He'd gone no more than five paces when he heard a tapping behind him. The Questioner paused, turned, and marvelled as he could see the faint silhouette of a man walking toward him from the other direction. He had a cane that he tapped along the road as he walked. Akaleth wondered if he was blind or if it were merely too dark for him to see. Either way, he would be more likely to know where they were and perhaps give him directions back to the palace.
He started to take a step back when a chill not born of the night gripped him. He had not even come close to answering the question how he'd come to be here. The wagon, the burlap covering, no shoes, and a street with no windows or doors in the dead of night. This was arranged and not to his benefit.
Akaleth turned toward the end of the street and took a quick pace, casting furtive glanced behind him. The blind man moved with surprising alacrity; the tapping drew nearer with each step. His mind raced nearly as fast as his heart. What could he do? His life was clearly in jeopardy so he could use his light, but should he? If the man was blind already, it would do nothing. But could it alert help? What if that was what his enemies intended and as soon as he used the light it would be the signal for other attackers to come? And what of Czestadt and Kashin? Where were they?
Was he going to die?
Akaleth quickened his pace, and to his horror realized that the man was still nearing him. Even at a dead run he wouldn't reach the end of the street before that tapping was at his back. He had to take a chance.
Stretching his right hand upward light spread above, bathing the entire street in a warm yellow glow. The tapping behind him continued. His breath was heavy, and his limbs sore from laying in the wagon and the cold. He stubbed his toe on a loose rock and nearly tumbled to the ground, flailing his arms wildly to keep his balance and forward momentum. Only seconds remained to him.
Eli, if I am to die, receive me in thy merciful embrace. Forgive me my sins.
And then two blessed figures charged down the street, their dark faces illumined and glowing. Czestadt already had a sword in hand, while Kashin drew his after discarding his lantern. "Father, watch out!" Czestadt shouted as he flung his sword into the air.
Akaleth dived to the ground, but the sword clattered off the thin air a good fifteen feet in front of the priest. The figure stalking at him rushed forward, cane waving back and forth with reckless abandon. Kashin ran toward him with the Yesbearn close on his heels. At the exact spot where Czestadt's blade had bounced harmlessly away, Kashin jumped and drove in a twisting screw with sole arm outstretched. A brilliant blue wall of energy crackled and then disintegrated with a thunderous report.
Voices cried from all around in the houses on either side. The blind man slowed to a confused standstill, turning his head from side to side. Akaleth lay completely still and held his breath. A moment later Kashin crashed to the ground, barely getting his feet and arm down in time to keep his head from smacking into the fitted stones. His sword fell from his grip and clattered away into one of the snow banks.
But Czestadt was on the blind man in a second. He swung heavily with his reclaimed sword, which the blind man deflected with a riposte of his cane and a step to the side. The sword that could slice through both wood and stone in the former Kankoran's hands was balked by that cane. His surprise was doubled when the blind man slipped around behind him and smacked the cane across his back with the force of a horse's kick. Czestadt fell forward, almost on top of Akaleth and scrambled to the side to avoid another strike.
Akaleth could see the blind man now. He was dressed in warm but loose clothing with a hood covering his face offering holes only for his nose and mouth. Little throwing knives fashioned from glass were looped around his belt far enough apart not to touch each other. One of these he grabbed with consummate skill and flung it at the retreating Czestadt. The knife tumbled end over end and would ave imbedded in the knight's back but for a quick twist of his body. The glass dagger shattered against the ground after slicing across Czestadt's ribs leaving a bright red gash along his left side.
Kashin climbed to his feet and ran toward the man unarmed. A second glass dagger was flung at him. The Yeshuel skipped a step and caught the blade by the handle. He flipped it into his hand and made a feint. The blind man dodged backward, as Kashin pushed him relentlessly. Akaleth could hear in the distance several armoured men running in their direction as well as the shouts of the people whose slumber had been interrupted. But his eyes stayed on the two fighters, ducking and weaving against each other, neither managing to spill blood.
Even though this man was intent on killing them, Akaleth was impressed by his skill. He'd rarely seen any who could move as fast as either Kashin or Czestadt, and yet this man was clearly blind. And in that, he marvelled, was Kashin's advantage. As Kashin drove the blind man backward with quick thrusts of the glass dagger, it dawned on the Questioner that the blind man had forgotten where he'd fallen and lay. He tensed for the moment of contact.
And then the blind man's leg hit him in the side as he dodged another blow. He overbalanced and that was all Kashin needed to slam his arm into his chest and drive him to the ground. Czestadt came at him from the other side and after a quick kick to the chest, grabbed him by the shoulders and hurled him at the nearest wall. Most of the blind man's daggers shattered on impact, as he fell to the ground. A muffled squeak pierced the air as he fell.
And then a man's voice in terror cried, "Boots!" From out of the alley a good fifteen paces away ran a man in warm woolens and cloak. His face, ashen white, and hair, a lanky brown, were sweating as he pushed the blind man aside. Beneath him was a black rat with white paws that could not make most of them work anymore. "No, my Boots!" he cried, tears streaming from his face as he pushed the rat against his cheek.
The blind man struggled to get to his bearings again but was quickly pressed against the wall with Czestadt's sword point at his throat. Teeth grit in frustration but he didn't move. Kashin bent over Akaleth but the priest waved him off. His eyes were for this new figure alone.
He must have been involved in this conspiracy to kill him, there was no other explanation for his presence and for hiding in a dark alley. But seeing him weep over a rat stirred the priest in a way he'd not expected. Before he quite realized what he was doing, Akaleth had risen and crouched at the weeping man's side.
"Let me," he said, compassion filling him. He could not help but think of Father Felsah and that dog Rakka. The man blinked and flinched from Akaleth's touch, but he had nowhere to go. Akaleth put his hand on the rat's back and felt it twisted and broken. The animal would not live long.
Light suffused them both. Warmth unbidden sprang forth, and Akaleth felt a love greater than any he'd ever known pour through him like a torrent through floodgates. This little rat, beloved friend to the weeping man, was made by Eli. For love of the man, Akaleth had been given this grace. He shared it with tears in his own eyes.
The man blinked, the sudden agony in his face falling away to wonder. "You healed him. You healed Boots." The rat moved again, crawling around the man's neck and looking up at Akaleth with beady black eyes. The man's gaze fell to the ground and then climbed to the blind man. "Oh what have I done!"
"What have you done?" the blind man snapped. "Your orders!"
"There were no orders," he said as he stroked the rat with one finger, gaze returned in awe to Akaleth who backed away from him. "I falsified them. It was all a lie."
"Hugo you traitor!" A female voice screamed from the alleyway. A familiar blonde marched out blue energy crawling up her arms and to her buxom chest. "That Questioner needs to die!" She lashed out with her arm and an indigo bolt leapt across the short space and struck Akaleth in the leg. He spun in the air and sprawled across the ground.
"No!" Hugo shouted, leaping to his feet and standing between the woman and the priest. "You will not harm him! He saved Boots. We were wrong about him!"
"He is a Questioner!"
"He is not like the others!"
"You and that damn rat, Hugo! This is about our laws!"
Czestadt left his sword hanging in midair at the blind man's neck and rushed to the priest's side. Akaleth's leg was burned but not badly. He still let Czestadt pick him up and lead him toward the end of the street. They didn't quite make it.
Kashin, still gripping the glass knife, worked his way around the two mages to reach the woman. Her face was red with fury at her fellow mage and so she didn't seem to notice him. He gaped when he realized he knew her.
"Diomedra!" He cried. "So that's why you wanted to know our strengths and abilities!" She turned in surprise at hearing her name, and he slipped around behind her and pressed the knife against her neck. "No more spells." She screamed in rage but the energy on her arms faded away.
Hugo shook his head. "Please don't hurt her!"
"I won't," Kashin replied. "Unless she leaves me no choice."
"All of you!" A man's voice shouted from the end of the street. "Put your weapons down! This is the Caial!"
At least twenty soldiers armed with spears, bows, and lanterns stood in a solid line three deep at the end of the street. The arrows were prepared and not a one of them was unmarked. Czestadt and Akaleth raised their arms, and the sword pointing at the blind man's neck fell harmlessly to the ground. The blind man rubbed his neck and then got on the ground groping for his lost cane.
Kashin dropped the glass knife which shattered at their feet. He grabbed Diomedra's right wrist and pulled it behind her back. "Don't even think of lying. Or of running away."
"You Ecclesiast toad!" she spat.
"Diomedra, please," Hugo said with agony. "I'm so sorry I involved you in this. I will take the blame. Let me."
The Caial captain and his men advanced down the street and he shouted another warning, "You are all to come peacefully with us. You are causing a disturbance and it comes to an end now." Six of the soldiers pointed their spears at Czestadt and Akaleth who made no move to resist. The rest continued toward, Kashin, the two mages, and the blind man.
"Come take us," Kashin shouted. "We're ready to go with you."
"Not I!" Diomedra spat and stamped her boot on Kashin's foot. He grunted and leaned forward involuntarily. She then smacked the back of her head against his face. A sharp lance of pain ripped through his nose. But even as the blood drenched his face, he still had a grip on her arm and this he jerked upward. She screamed in pain for a moment, and then fell limp in his arms.
He blinked; he hadn't pulled that hard. And then he saw the blind man standing next to him with the cane in one hand. He turned his sightless face toward Kashin and then to the whimpering Hugo. "I may not have eyes, but I can see where this is going. We're all going with the Caial." He scowled at Hugo. "And you better damn well have a good explanation for Demarest, dog!"
"You all better have a good explanation," the Caial captain, a balding man in his early forties with a scarred chin declared as he approached them with another dozen soldiers. "A very good explanation. Now move, all of you."
Kashin made no objection, nor the blind man. Several soldiers carried Diomedra. Hugo held his rat Boots close as he accompanied the soldiers. Once they left the street amidst, Akaleth glanced behind them and winked the bright beacon of light out.