Cerulean_Wings
First Post
I can. I'm supper happy! Well done, Lazy Bones, you continue to raise the stakes and keep us interested, nay, addicted, to your story 
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The Doomed Bastards: Reckoning (story complete)
- Thread starter Lazybones
- Start date
Richard Rawen
First Post
Now that I've caught up, all I feel is: *Deep Satisfied Sigh*
I'm sorry I was not more diligent in posting LB.
The 'finish', at least of the DoG's, was superb.
The fact that the storyline continues... well, that's why I'm so happy... the feelings of dread - that horrid sensation one gets as they near the end of a wonderfully told story... well leave it to you to make even that into a fantastic Cliff-hanger.
Thanks again for sharing your talent with us!
I'm sorry I was not more diligent in posting LB.
The 'finish', at least of the DoG's, was superb.
The fact that the storyline continues... well, that's why I'm so happy... the feelings of dread - that horrid sensation one gets as they near the end of a wonderfully told story... well leave it to you to make even that into a fantastic Cliff-hanger.
Thanks again for sharing your talent with us!
Last edited:
Lazybones
Adventurer
Glad you're all still enjoying the story! I've been in a bit of a rut lately, in terms of writing. I try to force the block by writing at least a few paragraphs a day, but it's been real slow. Fortunately, I have a lot saved up, so there's no danger of falling behind in terms of updates.
* * * * *
Chapter 4
A SOMBER CONCLAVE
The mood in the conference chamber was muted, the small knots of conversation taking place around the edge of the great stone table forming a collective quiet murmur that didn’t carry far beyond the open chamber doors. Even the palace servants reflected the collective air, their livery covered with black shawls, silent as they moved in and out of the room. A sideboard had been placed out with various cold meats, pastries, and beverages, but few of those present had taken advantage of the offered food.
Dar piled several pieces of sliced ham onto a small roll, and took a big bite out of it. Allera, standing nearby, turned to greet two men who approached while he was thus distracted.
“Commander Octavius, Councilor Koth, it is good to see you again.”
Octavius nodded. “If only it were under better circumstances.” The former guardsman, now clad in the crisp uniform of the commander of the City Watch, accepted her hand and lifted it in a gesture of respect.
“Velan Tiros spent a lifetime in service,” Sukat Koth said. Age had softened the Emorite hunter only slightly; he stood several inches taller than Dar, and while he’d added on a bit of a paunch, he still looked as though he could break a cow in two with his bare hands. His garments, while of fine make, reflected his frontier heritage, with dense northern furs trimming both the long cloak and the broad belt he wore. Like Dar, he looked a bit uncomfortable without weapons about his person.
“It is good for you to have returned so quickly,” Allera said to Koth. “I had heard that you were on your way to Emor when it happened.”
The hunter nodded. “The business of the Council has left me little time to see my homeland over these recent years, but the marshal deserved no less honor.”
Dar joined them, still chewing the remains of his sandwich. “We just got here ourselves,” he said between swallows. “Saw Thullian’s placards posted everywhere. So he’s still pushing for the convening of a popular assembly?”
“We have heard that the People’s Faction is planning a large gathering in the Docks after the service,” Octavius said. “No doubt to take advantage of the First Citizen’s death to press for an abolition of the Council.”
Koth nodded. “And Gallo Eutropius’s money is behind it, as always.”
“I should have put my boot up that fat bastard’s ass when I had the chance,” Dar said. Allera put a hand on his arm, but he shook his head. “Tiros believed in giving the people a say in the rule of Camar, but Thullian’s scheme is just a way for the Guilds to sew up control over the government. As if they didn’t already hold enough of the levers of power in Camar.”
Octavius nodded. “When the Council was just a few people, right after the Duke went down, the Guilds held a lot of sway. The Duke had protected their prerogatives, and most of them were in bed with the older aristocratic families anyway. In the immediate aftermath of the Duke’s overthrow, the Council was careful not to provoke things with too many changes. But with Tiros’s reforms after the Demon War, they’ve lost a lot of their traditional privileges, and there’s been a lot of discontent among the leadership of some of the more powerful concerns.”
“We take down one band of freaking parasites, and another steps forward to take its place,” Dar grumbled. “First the nobility, and now these gods-damned merchant lords.”
“But the merchants do promote prosperity, which helps everyone,” Allera pointed out.
“I’m not talking about the small trader, or craftsman, or even the owners of the costers. It’s selfish pricks like Eutropius, carving out little empires with hundreds or even thousands of people who answer to him first, and to the well-being of Camar second. Hells, I’ve seen more armed men in the livery of the trading companies since I’ve been in Camar, than I’ve seen your guardsmen, Octavius.”
I had no idea you’d become such a radical, general,” Octavius said. Allera’s mouth twisted in a slight smile, but Dar merely growled something unintelligible. “And we’re on top of the mercenary situation,” Octavius replied. “With many outlying settlements still vacant since the war, the trade roads to the provinces are still a bit wild, and there’s a high demand for caravan guards. But the law has a strict cap on private armies, and most of what you’re seeing is the bigger houses putting on a show, to demonstrate their power to their rivals. We don’t mind that; as long as they’re at each others’ throats, there’s less chance of them causing trouble for us.”
“It might help sway things, if you would agree to stay for a few weeks after the service, talk to the Council, and the people,” Koth said. “The name of Corath Dar still has a great deal of influence in Camar. And you as well, Allera; almost half of the healers working in Camar today received training at your hospital.”
Dar looked as though he’d tasted something foul, but Allera responded for him. “We’ll do what we can to protect the First Citizen’s legacy, of course.”
“Ah, the Patriarch’s arrived,” Octavius said, drawing their attention around to the door.
Decius Jaduran had been old when he taken on the mantle of the head of the church of the Shining Father. Now he was ancient, a withered husk of a man, relying heavily on the arm of the young woman helping him along at his side. But those watching could sense the power that filled him, for Jaduran was the most powerful priest of Soleus left in Camar, and the god’s might flowed freely at his call. There were some who had worried that the scandalous fall of Gaius Annochus during the Demon War might have meant an eclipse of the power of the great and ancient church. Jaduran had calmed most of those fears, although there were still many individuals who were uncomfortable with the newly ascendant heterodoxy that had followed the end of that conflict. Temples to both the Earthmother and Dagos could now be found within the walls of Camar, which would have been an utterly unlikely development only twenty years ago.
Every face in the room turned to greet the leader of Camar’s most popular faith. He was flanked by a pair of armored guards, temple soldiers, the sigil of the burning torch threaded in gold cloth across their white tabards. The old man started slowly toward them, but the foursome moved to meet him, reducing the distance he had to walk. Kiron Tonneth, the young Dragon Knight who had brought Dar and Allera to Camar, brought a cushioned chair from the conference table and placed it where the Patriarch could settle into it. He met the eyes of the old priest’s female companion for a moment, and flushed slightly before withdrawing. The knots of people in the room gathered around to hear the Patriarch speak.
“Thank you all for coming, friends,” Jaduran began. He swept his gaze around the circle of gathered people, lingering for a moment on Dar and Allera. “It is good that you have come to honor our departed friend.”
“To the First Citizen!” one of the notables said, lifting his glass in tribute. The toast was echoed by those gathered, and there was a pause as they drank to his memory.
A servant offered the Patriarch a glass of wine, but the old man waved her away. He sagged in his seat as the tribute faded, and the attention of the room returned to him.
“The service for Velan Tiros, marshal and tribune, First Citizen of Camar, will be held in three days, at Highsun.” He paused and looked them over again, his dark eyes weighing them. “Friends,” he said, pausing to cough briefly. “Friends, we have lost an important leader, but we must carry on. Camar yet faces tough challenges, and it requires your service, and sacrifice. Fortunately we will have the example of the First Citizen to guide us, as we seek to walk in the Light.”
His brief speech concluded, the aged priest indicated that he wished to depart. His assistant helped him out of the chair, while the audience broke up, their conversations resuming as they weighed the Patriarch’s words and the prospects of the memorial service. Given the stature of the dead leader, it would likely be as much pageant as ritual, and all of those present here would be expected to be present in full panoply.
Jaduran started to leave, but as he passed through the doorway he paused, gesturing to Allera and Dar. More than one eye watched as the pair followed the priest and his escorts into the anteroom that adjoined the conference chamber, but no one followed them.
The priest made a strong gesture to his guards, and they withdrew a short distance off. His assistant started to join them, but he held her arm. “No, Maricela, you may remain; you need to hear this as well.”
Jaduran did not waste time in idle greetings as he turned to Dar and Allera. “I am glad you are here. My earlier words were not mere salves; something of dire import is coming to Camar. I have had... disturbing dreams.”
“Dreams?” Dar asked.
“I cannot be more specific; they fade like vapor when I wake, but the disquiet lingers. I suspect they are a message. There is darkness, and great power, and more: visions of a place that is familiar to you, I know.”
Dar’s expression darkened. “Rappan Athuk.”
“Have there been any reports of stirrings to the south?” Allera asked.
“No, but I have asked General Velius to reinforce his patrols in the region, and I have sent three clerics to assist them.”
“They have verified that the valley is dead, the seals intact?”
“Yes.”
“Have you communed with the Father?” Allera asked.
“I have tried divination, but other than to confirm that there are those who would wish Camar ill, I have not been able to pinpoint the nature of the threat.”
“I hope that you asked about... him,” Dar asked.
Jaduran nodded in understanding. “Yes. He still exists. I tried scrying both of them again, recently, but wherever they have gone, they lie beyond the sight of men and gods.”
“My discern location revealed nothing when we last tried it, years back,” Allera said. “They must have access to powerful magic indeed, to cloak themselves so.”
“I have never liked the idea of the two of them out there, somewhere,” Dar said, his hands tightening into fists.
Jaduran’s eyes fell. “If only I had been stronger, I might have been able to help him, before...”
Allera placed her hands on his. “You have been strong enough for all of us, old friend. Your vigilance has allowed so many of us to live our lives in peace and security.”
“I fear that the sands left in the hourglass of my life are dwindling. It will fall to others to carry one, once I am gone.” He patted the arm of Maricela, whose eyes had widened to saucers over the course of their conversation.
“Have you spoken to the Knight Commander?” Dar asked.
“Commander Darius is still in Dalemar. Young Tonneth, here, is his deputy.” Maricela flushed slightly at the mention of the knight, which did not escape Allera.
“Kiron? He’s young,” Dar said.
“No younger than we were, once. But he is gifted, and the blessings of the Father are with him.”
“What do you want us to do?” Allera asked.
The old priest frowned. “At this point, I am not certain. But I wanted you to be ready. We will speak again, after the memorial. Come, Maricela, the hour grows late, and I am weary.”
Leaning on his assistant, the old cleric departed, leaving Allera and Dar to share a look of growing concern in his wake.
* * * * *
Chapter 4
A SOMBER CONCLAVE
The mood in the conference chamber was muted, the small knots of conversation taking place around the edge of the great stone table forming a collective quiet murmur that didn’t carry far beyond the open chamber doors. Even the palace servants reflected the collective air, their livery covered with black shawls, silent as they moved in and out of the room. A sideboard had been placed out with various cold meats, pastries, and beverages, but few of those present had taken advantage of the offered food.
Dar piled several pieces of sliced ham onto a small roll, and took a big bite out of it. Allera, standing nearby, turned to greet two men who approached while he was thus distracted.
“Commander Octavius, Councilor Koth, it is good to see you again.”
Octavius nodded. “If only it were under better circumstances.” The former guardsman, now clad in the crisp uniform of the commander of the City Watch, accepted her hand and lifted it in a gesture of respect.
“Velan Tiros spent a lifetime in service,” Sukat Koth said. Age had softened the Emorite hunter only slightly; he stood several inches taller than Dar, and while he’d added on a bit of a paunch, he still looked as though he could break a cow in two with his bare hands. His garments, while of fine make, reflected his frontier heritage, with dense northern furs trimming both the long cloak and the broad belt he wore. Like Dar, he looked a bit uncomfortable without weapons about his person.
“It is good for you to have returned so quickly,” Allera said to Koth. “I had heard that you were on your way to Emor when it happened.”
The hunter nodded. “The business of the Council has left me little time to see my homeland over these recent years, but the marshal deserved no less honor.”
Dar joined them, still chewing the remains of his sandwich. “We just got here ourselves,” he said between swallows. “Saw Thullian’s placards posted everywhere. So he’s still pushing for the convening of a popular assembly?”
“We have heard that the People’s Faction is planning a large gathering in the Docks after the service,” Octavius said. “No doubt to take advantage of the First Citizen’s death to press for an abolition of the Council.”
Koth nodded. “And Gallo Eutropius’s money is behind it, as always.”
“I should have put my boot up that fat bastard’s ass when I had the chance,” Dar said. Allera put a hand on his arm, but he shook his head. “Tiros believed in giving the people a say in the rule of Camar, but Thullian’s scheme is just a way for the Guilds to sew up control over the government. As if they didn’t already hold enough of the levers of power in Camar.”
Octavius nodded. “When the Council was just a few people, right after the Duke went down, the Guilds held a lot of sway. The Duke had protected their prerogatives, and most of them were in bed with the older aristocratic families anyway. In the immediate aftermath of the Duke’s overthrow, the Council was careful not to provoke things with too many changes. But with Tiros’s reforms after the Demon War, they’ve lost a lot of their traditional privileges, and there’s been a lot of discontent among the leadership of some of the more powerful concerns.”
“We take down one band of freaking parasites, and another steps forward to take its place,” Dar grumbled. “First the nobility, and now these gods-damned merchant lords.”
“But the merchants do promote prosperity, which helps everyone,” Allera pointed out.
“I’m not talking about the small trader, or craftsman, or even the owners of the costers. It’s selfish pricks like Eutropius, carving out little empires with hundreds or even thousands of people who answer to him first, and to the well-being of Camar second. Hells, I’ve seen more armed men in the livery of the trading companies since I’ve been in Camar, than I’ve seen your guardsmen, Octavius.”
I had no idea you’d become such a radical, general,” Octavius said. Allera’s mouth twisted in a slight smile, but Dar merely growled something unintelligible. “And we’re on top of the mercenary situation,” Octavius replied. “With many outlying settlements still vacant since the war, the trade roads to the provinces are still a bit wild, and there’s a high demand for caravan guards. But the law has a strict cap on private armies, and most of what you’re seeing is the bigger houses putting on a show, to demonstrate their power to their rivals. We don’t mind that; as long as they’re at each others’ throats, there’s less chance of them causing trouble for us.”
“It might help sway things, if you would agree to stay for a few weeks after the service, talk to the Council, and the people,” Koth said. “The name of Corath Dar still has a great deal of influence in Camar. And you as well, Allera; almost half of the healers working in Camar today received training at your hospital.”
Dar looked as though he’d tasted something foul, but Allera responded for him. “We’ll do what we can to protect the First Citizen’s legacy, of course.”
“Ah, the Patriarch’s arrived,” Octavius said, drawing their attention around to the door.
Decius Jaduran had been old when he taken on the mantle of the head of the church of the Shining Father. Now he was ancient, a withered husk of a man, relying heavily on the arm of the young woman helping him along at his side. But those watching could sense the power that filled him, for Jaduran was the most powerful priest of Soleus left in Camar, and the god’s might flowed freely at his call. There were some who had worried that the scandalous fall of Gaius Annochus during the Demon War might have meant an eclipse of the power of the great and ancient church. Jaduran had calmed most of those fears, although there were still many individuals who were uncomfortable with the newly ascendant heterodoxy that had followed the end of that conflict. Temples to both the Earthmother and Dagos could now be found within the walls of Camar, which would have been an utterly unlikely development only twenty years ago.
Every face in the room turned to greet the leader of Camar’s most popular faith. He was flanked by a pair of armored guards, temple soldiers, the sigil of the burning torch threaded in gold cloth across their white tabards. The old man started slowly toward them, but the foursome moved to meet him, reducing the distance he had to walk. Kiron Tonneth, the young Dragon Knight who had brought Dar and Allera to Camar, brought a cushioned chair from the conference table and placed it where the Patriarch could settle into it. He met the eyes of the old priest’s female companion for a moment, and flushed slightly before withdrawing. The knots of people in the room gathered around to hear the Patriarch speak.
“Thank you all for coming, friends,” Jaduran began. He swept his gaze around the circle of gathered people, lingering for a moment on Dar and Allera. “It is good that you have come to honor our departed friend.”
“To the First Citizen!” one of the notables said, lifting his glass in tribute. The toast was echoed by those gathered, and there was a pause as they drank to his memory.
A servant offered the Patriarch a glass of wine, but the old man waved her away. He sagged in his seat as the tribute faded, and the attention of the room returned to him.
“The service for Velan Tiros, marshal and tribune, First Citizen of Camar, will be held in three days, at Highsun.” He paused and looked them over again, his dark eyes weighing them. “Friends,” he said, pausing to cough briefly. “Friends, we have lost an important leader, but we must carry on. Camar yet faces tough challenges, and it requires your service, and sacrifice. Fortunately we will have the example of the First Citizen to guide us, as we seek to walk in the Light.”
His brief speech concluded, the aged priest indicated that he wished to depart. His assistant helped him out of the chair, while the audience broke up, their conversations resuming as they weighed the Patriarch’s words and the prospects of the memorial service. Given the stature of the dead leader, it would likely be as much pageant as ritual, and all of those present here would be expected to be present in full panoply.
Jaduran started to leave, but as he passed through the doorway he paused, gesturing to Allera and Dar. More than one eye watched as the pair followed the priest and his escorts into the anteroom that adjoined the conference chamber, but no one followed them.
The priest made a strong gesture to his guards, and they withdrew a short distance off. His assistant started to join them, but he held her arm. “No, Maricela, you may remain; you need to hear this as well.”
Jaduran did not waste time in idle greetings as he turned to Dar and Allera. “I am glad you are here. My earlier words were not mere salves; something of dire import is coming to Camar. I have had... disturbing dreams.”
“Dreams?” Dar asked.
“I cannot be more specific; they fade like vapor when I wake, but the disquiet lingers. I suspect they are a message. There is darkness, and great power, and more: visions of a place that is familiar to you, I know.”
Dar’s expression darkened. “Rappan Athuk.”
“Have there been any reports of stirrings to the south?” Allera asked.
“No, but I have asked General Velius to reinforce his patrols in the region, and I have sent three clerics to assist them.”
“They have verified that the valley is dead, the seals intact?”
“Yes.”
“Have you communed with the Father?” Allera asked.
“I have tried divination, but other than to confirm that there are those who would wish Camar ill, I have not been able to pinpoint the nature of the threat.”
“I hope that you asked about... him,” Dar asked.
Jaduran nodded in understanding. “Yes. He still exists. I tried scrying both of them again, recently, but wherever they have gone, they lie beyond the sight of men and gods.”
“My discern location revealed nothing when we last tried it, years back,” Allera said. “They must have access to powerful magic indeed, to cloak themselves so.”
“I have never liked the idea of the two of them out there, somewhere,” Dar said, his hands tightening into fists.
Jaduran’s eyes fell. “If only I had been stronger, I might have been able to help him, before...”
Allera placed her hands on his. “You have been strong enough for all of us, old friend. Your vigilance has allowed so many of us to live our lives in peace and security.”
“I fear that the sands left in the hourglass of my life are dwindling. It will fall to others to carry one, once I am gone.” He patted the arm of Maricela, whose eyes had widened to saucers over the course of their conversation.
“Have you spoken to the Knight Commander?” Dar asked.
“Commander Darius is still in Dalemar. Young Tonneth, here, is his deputy.” Maricela flushed slightly at the mention of the knight, which did not escape Allera.
“Kiron? He’s young,” Dar said.
“No younger than we were, once. But he is gifted, and the blessings of the Father are with him.”
“What do you want us to do?” Allera asked.
The old priest frowned. “At this point, I am not certain. But I wanted you to be ready. We will speak again, after the memorial. Come, Maricela, the hour grows late, and I am weary.”
Leaning on his assistant, the old cleric departed, leaving Allera and Dar to share a look of growing concern in his wake.
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 5
A DAY OF FAREWELL
The sky was a glorious swath of blue unbroken by clouds, the brilliant orb of the sun blazing high above as it ascended toward its zenith. Despite the brightness of the day, there was a chill in the air, augmented by the breeze that blew in off the adjacent bay, bringing with it a salty tang.
The cold did not dissuade the thousands that thronged Camar’s streets. The crowds, clad in dark, heavy clothes that they wore thick around them against the wind, followed the course of a procession that had made its way slowly through the city since midmorning, passing through the Docks Quarter along the waterfront, then up into the Trades Quarter, down avenues with usually-busy shops and craftshalls that now stood shuttered and quiet. The procession was preceded by fifty men and women of the City Watch, their uniforms pressed and spotless, who were followed by fifty soldiers of the First Legion, holding their standards high above their heads. In the center, drawn by a team of eight large horses, rode the coffin of Velan Tiros, First Citizen of Camar. The wagon bearing him was flanked by two dozen men and women on foot, the members of the council that ruled Camar. A small marching band comprised of Legionaries, accompanied by the famous bard Gelian Sinar, filled the air with a mournful song of sad notes that nevertheless left its listeners feeling a faint afterimage of hope.
As the Highsun hour approached, the meandering procession entered the Gold Quarter, and the massive open square that dominated the district. The ominous Wall of Regret that had once bordered the square had been destroyed over a decade earlier, but its other prominent feature, the huge Cathedral of the Shining Father, loomed high over the multitudes gathered here. The church had been full almost since dawn, but the great doors stood open, and criers stood perched throughout the square to relate the words of the Patriarch to those gathered. For all the emotions of the people collected here, the mood was surprisingly restrained. Maybe it was the feeling that he would not have wanted disruption, or that a fuss be made on his behalf.
In contrast to the press in the square on the front side of the cathedral, the walled courtyard at its rear, part of the complex of buildings that formed the administrative structure of Camar’s primary church, was relatively deserted. A few white-clad priests made their way hastily under a variety of errands, and a handful of guards stood watch at their traditional posts, but other than that the area was fairly quiet.
A small, recessed door in the rear of the cathedral, almost invisible from more than a few feet away, opened to discharge Maricela Uliedes. A tall figure appeared almost at once as she turned from closing the door, and she nearly leapt into the air in sudden startlement.
“Kiron! You nearly killed me with fright!”
The knight’s expression shifted into a grimace, and became a shade more crimson. Clad in a suit of heavy armor polished to a brilliant sheen, his surcoat bearing the sigil of the dragon in silver thread, he was resplendent. But one look at him was enough to reveal that his heart had already been pierced by an arrow against which there was no defense.
The young priestess saw the young man’s distress, and took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, I only have a minute or to to spare. The ceremony will start as soon as the procession reached the cathedral, and I must be there to help the Patriarch.”
“Even if it is only for a minute, I will thank the gods for that chance to see you,” the knight replied. “It kills me to be apart for you for these days. I haven’t seen you since that night at the palace, and then we could not speak, with the Patriarch and those others there.”
“I know, I feel the same.” She pulled him into the alcove, away from the door. “I meant to tell you. That night, the Patriarch mentioned you by name, and praised your abilities to General Dar himself!”
“The General is retired,” he said, but he was clearly impressed by the compliment.
“The Patriarch said that you were blessed by the Father. You see, he knows of your gifts! You could petition to join the church, if you wished. We could be together in our service...”
Kiron’s expression darkened subtly. “You know that I cannot, love.”
Maricela’s nod told that she knew his reasons. “I... I do understand. But what happened to your brother... it is not all that the church is. You love me... and I am part of it.”
He took her chin in his hand and lifted it so that her eyes met his. “I do love you. And I know, in my mind, that what you say is true. But sometimes my mind has a tough time convincing my heart. And that is a good thing, or perhaps I might have never believed that a priestess of the Shining Father could love a common knight of ordinary birth...”
Her cheeks flushed, and she started to lean into him, but a group of servants carrying bundles came past at that moment, and she drew back, reddening further.
“Will I get a chance to see you after the ceremony?” he asked.
“I will have duties...” she began, but on seeing the look on his face, added, “I will, if I have to sneak away and jump over the walls of the rectory! The usual place?”
He nodded. They kissed then, briefly but intensely, and then parted, the woman opening the door with a key, and then vanishing inside before he could say anything more.
The knight turned and headed back toward the gate that led toward the front of the cathedral. While Knight Commander Darius was holding his space inside, and had granted him leave to attend to his private errand, he knew that missing the beginning of the ceremony would extend past the limits of his lord’s patience. He hastened, nearly bumping into a pair of priests that were just coming around the corner of one of the buildings that adjoined the cathedral.
“Excuse me,” he said, hastening past. For a moment, he hesitated, and glanced back, but the pair were moving almost as quickly as he had been, and all he saw was the backs of their white robes as they moved into the shadow of the cathedral and disappeared. He lingered for another second, suddenly uncertain.
A loud cry from the square drew his attention back around. He was going to be late, if he wasn’t already, and making his rendezvous with Maricela was likely going to cost him more in the way of demerits. The thought of dishonesty to conceal his tryst did not occur to him; he would accept whatever punishments or additional assignments were required of him with equanimity. While he was already one of the most skilled of the Knights of the Dragon at twenty-one, rank had not yet kept up with talent, and if anything his potential put more burden of responsibility upon his shoulders.
The priests were forgotten as the young knight hurried back toward the square.
A DAY OF FAREWELL
The sky was a glorious swath of blue unbroken by clouds, the brilliant orb of the sun blazing high above as it ascended toward its zenith. Despite the brightness of the day, there was a chill in the air, augmented by the breeze that blew in off the adjacent bay, bringing with it a salty tang.
The cold did not dissuade the thousands that thronged Camar’s streets. The crowds, clad in dark, heavy clothes that they wore thick around them against the wind, followed the course of a procession that had made its way slowly through the city since midmorning, passing through the Docks Quarter along the waterfront, then up into the Trades Quarter, down avenues with usually-busy shops and craftshalls that now stood shuttered and quiet. The procession was preceded by fifty men and women of the City Watch, their uniforms pressed and spotless, who were followed by fifty soldiers of the First Legion, holding their standards high above their heads. In the center, drawn by a team of eight large horses, rode the coffin of Velan Tiros, First Citizen of Camar. The wagon bearing him was flanked by two dozen men and women on foot, the members of the council that ruled Camar. A small marching band comprised of Legionaries, accompanied by the famous bard Gelian Sinar, filled the air with a mournful song of sad notes that nevertheless left its listeners feeling a faint afterimage of hope.
As the Highsun hour approached, the meandering procession entered the Gold Quarter, and the massive open square that dominated the district. The ominous Wall of Regret that had once bordered the square had been destroyed over a decade earlier, but its other prominent feature, the huge Cathedral of the Shining Father, loomed high over the multitudes gathered here. The church had been full almost since dawn, but the great doors stood open, and criers stood perched throughout the square to relate the words of the Patriarch to those gathered. For all the emotions of the people collected here, the mood was surprisingly restrained. Maybe it was the feeling that he would not have wanted disruption, or that a fuss be made on his behalf.
In contrast to the press in the square on the front side of the cathedral, the walled courtyard at its rear, part of the complex of buildings that formed the administrative structure of Camar’s primary church, was relatively deserted. A few white-clad priests made their way hastily under a variety of errands, and a handful of guards stood watch at their traditional posts, but other than that the area was fairly quiet.
A small, recessed door in the rear of the cathedral, almost invisible from more than a few feet away, opened to discharge Maricela Uliedes. A tall figure appeared almost at once as she turned from closing the door, and she nearly leapt into the air in sudden startlement.
“Kiron! You nearly killed me with fright!”
The knight’s expression shifted into a grimace, and became a shade more crimson. Clad in a suit of heavy armor polished to a brilliant sheen, his surcoat bearing the sigil of the dragon in silver thread, he was resplendent. But one look at him was enough to reveal that his heart had already been pierced by an arrow against which there was no defense.
The young priestess saw the young man’s distress, and took his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, I only have a minute or to to spare. The ceremony will start as soon as the procession reached the cathedral, and I must be there to help the Patriarch.”
“Even if it is only for a minute, I will thank the gods for that chance to see you,” the knight replied. “It kills me to be apart for you for these days. I haven’t seen you since that night at the palace, and then we could not speak, with the Patriarch and those others there.”
“I know, I feel the same.” She pulled him into the alcove, away from the door. “I meant to tell you. That night, the Patriarch mentioned you by name, and praised your abilities to General Dar himself!”
“The General is retired,” he said, but he was clearly impressed by the compliment.
“The Patriarch said that you were blessed by the Father. You see, he knows of your gifts! You could petition to join the church, if you wished. We could be together in our service...”
Kiron’s expression darkened subtly. “You know that I cannot, love.”
Maricela’s nod told that she knew his reasons. “I... I do understand. But what happened to your brother... it is not all that the church is. You love me... and I am part of it.”
He took her chin in his hand and lifted it so that her eyes met his. “I do love you. And I know, in my mind, that what you say is true. But sometimes my mind has a tough time convincing my heart. And that is a good thing, or perhaps I might have never believed that a priestess of the Shining Father could love a common knight of ordinary birth...”
Her cheeks flushed, and she started to lean into him, but a group of servants carrying bundles came past at that moment, and she drew back, reddening further.
“Will I get a chance to see you after the ceremony?” he asked.
“I will have duties...” she began, but on seeing the look on his face, added, “I will, if I have to sneak away and jump over the walls of the rectory! The usual place?”
He nodded. They kissed then, briefly but intensely, and then parted, the woman opening the door with a key, and then vanishing inside before he could say anything more.
The knight turned and headed back toward the gate that led toward the front of the cathedral. While Knight Commander Darius was holding his space inside, and had granted him leave to attend to his private errand, he knew that missing the beginning of the ceremony would extend past the limits of his lord’s patience. He hastened, nearly bumping into a pair of priests that were just coming around the corner of one of the buildings that adjoined the cathedral.
“Excuse me,” he said, hastening past. For a moment, he hesitated, and glanced back, but the pair were moving almost as quickly as he had been, and all he saw was the backs of their white robes as they moved into the shadow of the cathedral and disappeared. He lingered for another second, suddenly uncertain.
A loud cry from the square drew his attention back around. He was going to be late, if he wasn’t already, and making his rendezvous with Maricela was likely going to cost him more in the way of demerits. The thought of dishonesty to conceal his tryst did not occur to him; he would accept whatever punishments or additional assignments were required of him with equanimity. While he was already one of the most skilled of the Knights of the Dragon at twenty-one, rank had not yet kept up with talent, and if anything his potential put more burden of responsibility upon his shoulders.
The priests were forgotten as the young knight hurried back toward the square.
Richard Rawen
First Post
tsk tsk... not talented enough to listen to that small voice... that's the important one!
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 6
BREAK-IN
“That knight was prescient,” Parzad whispered, as they emerged from the shadow of the rectory to see the massive cathedral looming directly over them.
“Focus on the objective,” Jasek muttered back. He did not turn, but he thought he could feel the weight of the knight’s stare on his back, and he tensed slightly, waiting for the hue and cry that would transform their mission into something else.
But no shout came, and in just a few seconds they were lost among the understructure of the cathedral. Massive supports bolstered the building along its sides and rear, forming deep nooks in the stone, and in one of those the door was waiting for them. Jasek led them to it; the lock took him less time than most people would have spent fumbling with the key, and then they were inside.
The interior was dark, the corridor behind the door lit only by small lamps recessed into niches in the walls, but Jasek’s eyes adjusted quickly. They could hear the noise from the cathedral that seemed to bleed through the stones of the wall to their right, and signs of activity were evident up ahead as the supporting cast for the ceremony went about its preparations. The corridor opened onto a room that held a number of priests; all it would have taken was for one to turn to see them. But Jasek led them through a small arch that opened onto a narrow staircase leading down, and once more they were gone before anyone could see them.
“This would have been much simpler in the night hours,” Parzad said.
“It may seem so, but it is far easier to lose someone in a press of busy people,” Jasek returned. The stairs deposited them onto another level, with passages branching off in several directions, and at least a half-dozen iron-shod doors visible in the light of single lamp.
“Someone is coming,” Parzad began, but even as Jasek turned, a woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks.
“You aren’t supposed to be down here.”
The speaker was a woman in late middle age, clad in robes almost identical to those worn by the two men. The light from the lamp glinted off of the silver sigil of the burning torch that she wore around her neck.
Parzad tensed, but Jasek responded before he could take action. “Pardons, priestess. I know that this area is off-limits, but the Patriarch’s secretary sent us to check the lower robing room for... ah, well, it seems that His Holiness misplaced the mozzetta that he had intended to wear for the second part of the ceremony. People have been sent running in every direction; I suspect we were grabbed merely because we were nearby.” He let out a sigh. “After coming all the way from Elem, it looks as though we will miss the most important ritual of our age.”
The woman’s expression shifted. “Come on, I’ll help you look. Though the lower chamber is hardly used any more, and it’s very unlikely that you’ll find it there.”
She led them down one of the corridors, around one bend and then another, past a dozen iron-shod doors. The only others they encountered were a pair of servants, teenaged girls who stepped aside to let them pass.
“Thank you for helping us, priestess...”
“Naela,” she said.
“Ah, thank you then, Naela. We have only just arrived in Camar this morning, and it has been rather... ah, chaotic, thus far.”
“So, you are both from Elem?” the priestess asked.
“I am, originally,” Jasek said. “My companion Patriocles here, he is from Dalemar.”
The priestess nodded. “Well. Here we are.” They stopped at an intersection of two passages, next to a large door. There was another archway nearby, which led to a set of stairs that headed down. Jasek gestured in that direction. “There is yet another cellar below this one?”
“That stair leads down to the Vault. You would not want to wander down there; there are guards, and the Patriarch does not suffer casual intrusions.”
“Good to know. Now, where would the vestment be located?”
The priestess led them into the robing room, which clearly had not seen recent use. Heavy wooden wardrobes lined the walls, interspaced with curved brass hooks at eye level; a half-dozen long benches were spread out between them. Two small wooden chests lay on a table to the left of the entry. Layers of dust covered everything, and a small magical flame set into a casement high along one wall provided a wan light. “You see, no one has been in here in—umph!”
Her words were cut off as Jasek seized her, wrapping a muscled arm around her throat and locking it tight with his free hand. She started to struggle, but he was much stronger, and after a few feeble moments her body went limp as his grip cut off the flow of blood to her brain. He maintained the hold until he was certain that she was dead. Parzad had already secured the door behind them, and as he turned, Jasek nodded toward one of the tall wooden wardrobes.
“Open that up for me, will you?”
The guards assigned to duty in the church’s vault took their duty seriously, for all that they knew that they were the least of the protections that warded that safehold. Neither was particularly perturbed at missing the grand ceremony above; all of the temple guards were going to pull long duty shifts today, and at least in the vault it was quiet.
Quiet enough so that they heard the noise of people coming down the stairs, and were alert when the two priests appeared in the small guardroom. They were having some trouble with a wooden chest that they were carrying between them.
“No one is allowed down here without authorization from the Patriarch,” the older of the two guards said. He glanced at his companion, who shook his head slightly; he didn’t recognize either of the two priests.
“Oh, we don’t want access, the Patriarch’s secretary just asked us to move this chest down here,” one of the two priests replied. “From what I understand, it just came in from Elem, and he wants it put in the Vault once the ceremony up there is finished.”
The two priests had started to put the chest down, but the older guard forestalled them with a raised hand. “I’m sorry, but you cannot leave that here.”
“But I was told...”
“Gelawin Sorath knows the rules better than anyone. You’ll have to leave it upstairs.”
The two priests shared a look. Finally, the first said, “All right, I’m sorry for the bother. Can I just put it down for a second, catch my breath?”
The older guard glanced back at the other, who hadn’t moved from his position, and stood ready, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He never even saw the small broad-bladed dart that sank into his throat as he turned back. The guardsman clutched at the wound, gurgling as he slumped forward, and fell to the ground.
The other guard opened his mouth to shout an alarm, but he suddenly froze. Jasek had started toward him, but as soon as he saw the guard stop he glanced back at Parzad, who had fixed the hapless man with a cold stare, ensnaring him with some power.
“Nice,” he said, taking his time, using the man’s own dagger to finish him. He eased the dying man to the ground, then looked around.
“We need to be swift,” he said. The secret door wasn’t hard to find, especially since he knew it had to be there somewhere, and that it had seen a lot of use over the years. An entire segment of the wall swung back, revealing a larger chamber beyond.
The chamber was dominated by the large metal door set deep into a recess in the far wall. The door was ingrained with a sigil of a blazing sun, and there was no keyhole or other opening, not even any evident hinges, just a slab of unbroken, solid metal. A pair of lamps set into the walls to either side provided a constant illumination.
Jasek scanned the room. “Where’s the barrier?”
Parzard had the faraway look of a man who sees what others do not. “It is there.”
“Let’s get the guards in here.”
It took about a minute to make the transfer, and then Jasek closed the door behind them. After a wary glance at Parzad, who stood there stonily, making no indication, he started toward the door.
He got about halfway through it before something happened.
It started as a tingling across the skin of his arms, but the barrier quickly manifested as a translucent blue aura that seemed to radiate out from the walls surrounding the door.
Jasek extended his right hand, and snapped his fingers. And suddenly, there was a sword in his grasp.
The sword was a short broad-bladed weapon, not unlike the gladius used by the Camarian legions. But its blade was jet black, and shone glossily in the light of the lamps.
Jasek stepped forward, until he was within reach of the blue glow. He extended the sword slowly, until its point was right up against the edge of the barrier. Then, he began to cut.
The sword sliced through the glow as though it was a coherent object. Layers of blue slid off the barrier, dissolving as they fell away toward the floor. He had managed to forge an opening almost the size of a man when the glowing field flickered and collapsed utterly, disappearing into nothing.
“They will know that we are here, now,” Parzad said.
“Well then, we’d better get moving. There’s nothing I can do about that door; that’s a slab of solid adamantine, with no locking mechanism to work on. From what I’ve heard, it’s warded against magic, so no simple knock spell’s going to get us past it. Your boss sent you here with me for a reason, so you’d better do whatever it is that you’re going to do.”
Parzad did not respond, merely turned to the door and started walking toward it. As he approached it, the outline of his form became hazy, and then his body became translucent, with the light of the far lamp shining through him.
By the time he reached the door, he was a ghost, and he passed through it without apparent difficulty.
Jasek watched and waited for a minute that became two, and then there was a loud scraping noise, and the heavy door began to sink into the floor. As it opened, it revealed Parzad, who stood there as solid as he had been before.
“Let us get what we came here to find,” the wilder said, turning to lead Jasek into the vault beyond the door.
BREAK-IN
“That knight was prescient,” Parzad whispered, as they emerged from the shadow of the rectory to see the massive cathedral looming directly over them.
“Focus on the objective,” Jasek muttered back. He did not turn, but he thought he could feel the weight of the knight’s stare on his back, and he tensed slightly, waiting for the hue and cry that would transform their mission into something else.
But no shout came, and in just a few seconds they were lost among the understructure of the cathedral. Massive supports bolstered the building along its sides and rear, forming deep nooks in the stone, and in one of those the door was waiting for them. Jasek led them to it; the lock took him less time than most people would have spent fumbling with the key, and then they were inside.
The interior was dark, the corridor behind the door lit only by small lamps recessed into niches in the walls, but Jasek’s eyes adjusted quickly. They could hear the noise from the cathedral that seemed to bleed through the stones of the wall to their right, and signs of activity were evident up ahead as the supporting cast for the ceremony went about its preparations. The corridor opened onto a room that held a number of priests; all it would have taken was for one to turn to see them. But Jasek led them through a small arch that opened onto a narrow staircase leading down, and once more they were gone before anyone could see them.
“This would have been much simpler in the night hours,” Parzad said.
“It may seem so, but it is far easier to lose someone in a press of busy people,” Jasek returned. The stairs deposited them onto another level, with passages branching off in several directions, and at least a half-dozen iron-shod doors visible in the light of single lamp.
“Someone is coming,” Parzad began, but even as Jasek turned, a woman’s voice stopped them in their tracks.
“You aren’t supposed to be down here.”
The speaker was a woman in late middle age, clad in robes almost identical to those worn by the two men. The light from the lamp glinted off of the silver sigil of the burning torch that she wore around her neck.
Parzad tensed, but Jasek responded before he could take action. “Pardons, priestess. I know that this area is off-limits, but the Patriarch’s secretary sent us to check the lower robing room for... ah, well, it seems that His Holiness misplaced the mozzetta that he had intended to wear for the second part of the ceremony. People have been sent running in every direction; I suspect we were grabbed merely because we were nearby.” He let out a sigh. “After coming all the way from Elem, it looks as though we will miss the most important ritual of our age.”
The woman’s expression shifted. “Come on, I’ll help you look. Though the lower chamber is hardly used any more, and it’s very unlikely that you’ll find it there.”
She led them down one of the corridors, around one bend and then another, past a dozen iron-shod doors. The only others they encountered were a pair of servants, teenaged girls who stepped aside to let them pass.
“Thank you for helping us, priestess...”
“Naela,” she said.
“Ah, thank you then, Naela. We have only just arrived in Camar this morning, and it has been rather... ah, chaotic, thus far.”
“So, you are both from Elem?” the priestess asked.
“I am, originally,” Jasek said. “My companion Patriocles here, he is from Dalemar.”
The priestess nodded. “Well. Here we are.” They stopped at an intersection of two passages, next to a large door. There was another archway nearby, which led to a set of stairs that headed down. Jasek gestured in that direction. “There is yet another cellar below this one?”
“That stair leads down to the Vault. You would not want to wander down there; there are guards, and the Patriarch does not suffer casual intrusions.”
“Good to know. Now, where would the vestment be located?”
The priestess led them into the robing room, which clearly had not seen recent use. Heavy wooden wardrobes lined the walls, interspaced with curved brass hooks at eye level; a half-dozen long benches were spread out between them. Two small wooden chests lay on a table to the left of the entry. Layers of dust covered everything, and a small magical flame set into a casement high along one wall provided a wan light. “You see, no one has been in here in—umph!”
Her words were cut off as Jasek seized her, wrapping a muscled arm around her throat and locking it tight with his free hand. She started to struggle, but he was much stronger, and after a few feeble moments her body went limp as his grip cut off the flow of blood to her brain. He maintained the hold until he was certain that she was dead. Parzad had already secured the door behind them, and as he turned, Jasek nodded toward one of the tall wooden wardrobes.
“Open that up for me, will you?”
The guards assigned to duty in the church’s vault took their duty seriously, for all that they knew that they were the least of the protections that warded that safehold. Neither was particularly perturbed at missing the grand ceremony above; all of the temple guards were going to pull long duty shifts today, and at least in the vault it was quiet.
Quiet enough so that they heard the noise of people coming down the stairs, and were alert when the two priests appeared in the small guardroom. They were having some trouble with a wooden chest that they were carrying between them.
“No one is allowed down here without authorization from the Patriarch,” the older of the two guards said. He glanced at his companion, who shook his head slightly; he didn’t recognize either of the two priests.
“Oh, we don’t want access, the Patriarch’s secretary just asked us to move this chest down here,” one of the two priests replied. “From what I understand, it just came in from Elem, and he wants it put in the Vault once the ceremony up there is finished.”
The two priests had started to put the chest down, but the older guard forestalled them with a raised hand. “I’m sorry, but you cannot leave that here.”
“But I was told...”
“Gelawin Sorath knows the rules better than anyone. You’ll have to leave it upstairs.”
The two priests shared a look. Finally, the first said, “All right, I’m sorry for the bother. Can I just put it down for a second, catch my breath?”
The older guard glanced back at the other, who hadn’t moved from his position, and stood ready, his hand on the hilt of his sword. He never even saw the small broad-bladed dart that sank into his throat as he turned back. The guardsman clutched at the wound, gurgling as he slumped forward, and fell to the ground.
The other guard opened his mouth to shout an alarm, but he suddenly froze. Jasek had started toward him, but as soon as he saw the guard stop he glanced back at Parzad, who had fixed the hapless man with a cold stare, ensnaring him with some power.
“Nice,” he said, taking his time, using the man’s own dagger to finish him. He eased the dying man to the ground, then looked around.
“We need to be swift,” he said. The secret door wasn’t hard to find, especially since he knew it had to be there somewhere, and that it had seen a lot of use over the years. An entire segment of the wall swung back, revealing a larger chamber beyond.
The chamber was dominated by the large metal door set deep into a recess in the far wall. The door was ingrained with a sigil of a blazing sun, and there was no keyhole or other opening, not even any evident hinges, just a slab of unbroken, solid metal. A pair of lamps set into the walls to either side provided a constant illumination.
Jasek scanned the room. “Where’s the barrier?”
Parzard had the faraway look of a man who sees what others do not. “It is there.”
“Let’s get the guards in here.”
It took about a minute to make the transfer, and then Jasek closed the door behind them. After a wary glance at Parzad, who stood there stonily, making no indication, he started toward the door.
He got about halfway through it before something happened.
It started as a tingling across the skin of his arms, but the barrier quickly manifested as a translucent blue aura that seemed to radiate out from the walls surrounding the door.
Jasek extended his right hand, and snapped his fingers. And suddenly, there was a sword in his grasp.
The sword was a short broad-bladed weapon, not unlike the gladius used by the Camarian legions. But its blade was jet black, and shone glossily in the light of the lamps.
Jasek stepped forward, until he was within reach of the blue glow. He extended the sword slowly, until its point was right up against the edge of the barrier. Then, he began to cut.
The sword sliced through the glow as though it was a coherent object. Layers of blue slid off the barrier, dissolving as they fell away toward the floor. He had managed to forge an opening almost the size of a man when the glowing field flickered and collapsed utterly, disappearing into nothing.
“They will know that we are here, now,” Parzad said.
“Well then, we’d better get moving. There’s nothing I can do about that door; that’s a slab of solid adamantine, with no locking mechanism to work on. From what I’ve heard, it’s warded against magic, so no simple knock spell’s going to get us past it. Your boss sent you here with me for a reason, so you’d better do whatever it is that you’re going to do.”
Parzad did not respond, merely turned to the door and started walking toward it. As he approached it, the outline of his form became hazy, and then his body became translucent, with the light of the far lamp shining through him.
By the time he reached the door, he was a ghost, and he passed through it without apparent difficulty.
Jasek watched and waited for a minute that became two, and then there was a loud scraping noise, and the heavy door began to sink into the floor. As it opened, it revealed Parzad, who stood there as solid as he had been before.
“Let us get what we came here to find,” the wilder said, turning to lead Jasek into the vault beyond the door.
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Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 7
OLD WOUNDS
Dar emerged from the recessed door in the back of the cathedral, into the empty rectory courtyard. The mass of the cathedral stood between the courtyard and the huge square on the far side, but he could still hear the droning din of the professional speakers hired to repeat the Patriarch’s words to the population gathered there, the huge crowds that could not fit inside the building.
The fighter took a deep breath, like that of a swimmer coming up from a long dive. He glanced down at the fine garments he wore, expensive linens trimmed with soft frostfur and silver thread. The backs of the gloves he wore bore the sigil of Camar, traced in gold. He smirked. While he had no official title in Camar, he was still too “important” to show up at an event as significant as this one dressed like a commoner. Or so a dozen people had told him, including Allera.
The door opened behind him, and he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. It sometimes felt like just thinking about her could summon her, that reassuring presence that was so much a part of him that he could no longer imagine what his life had been like without her.
“I had no idea you were considering a new career as a rogue,” she said, coming up behind him to place a hand on his shoulder. “How you escaped that press of well-wishers... I thought maybe you’d pocketed a potion of gaseous form somewhere.”
“People know to get out of my way.”
“I hope you didn’t break any bones; that would be inconvenient.” She came around and looked up at him. “Are you all right?”
He grunted noncommittally. “Just needed a little air. I’ve gotten used to life on the frontier. There’s probably more people inside that cathedral than ten villages the size of Hope, twenty maybe.”
“We’ll be expected for the Ritual of Commemoration, once they get started again.”
Dar grimaced. “Gah, it’ll take an hour just to get through the line to the privy.”
“It will make people feel better if you say something. Tiros gave people a sense of stability, and they need to know that Camar is in good hands, going forward.”
“What does that have to do with us? We aren’t part of this, anymore.”
“Just because we live where we do doesn’t make us any less a part of this society,” she persisted. “Maybe you should come with me, on my next circuit, when we place the newly trained healers in their communities, and check on the ones that...”
He interrupted her with a waved hand. “I have no more interest in the life of the wanderer.”
“Is this about the... encounter... on the road, before?”
He looked down at her. “I’ve had enough of fighting,” he said. “That’s one reason I went with you to Hope. Here, in ‘civilization’, it always comes down to swords and blood.”
“Sometimes swords are needed, to defend things that are worth protecting.”
“I know that. And I’ve shed my share of blood.”
“More than your share. And I know exactly what you are feeling, I too have felt it. We have built something... important, at Hope. The collegium has done a lot of good; we’ve trained over a hundred healers since we started. You have done more than your share with that, as well. There are a lot of lives that have been turned around at Hope.”
“But we also cannot disengage completely from the world around us. I know you’ve given a great deal; no one can fault you for what you’ve sacrificed for Camar. I willingly came with you to Hope, to start a new community, to build a new life. But I can’t turn my back on the outside world. It needs us, still.”
“Not all fighting is done with swords,” she said, touching his arm.
He covered her hand with his. “You are still the diplomat. You should give lessons to Darius’s Dragons on negotiation.” He smiled, and turned to look off across the courtyard.
“I already have a job,” she said, with a smile. Come on, I’ll...”
She trailed off suddenly. Sensing her tensing, he turned back to look at her. “What’s the matter?”
The healer’s expression looked vague, but then she turned and stared at a point just over his shoulder. “I believe we are being magically scried,” she said.
Dar’s hand darted to his hip reflexively, and he cursed as he remembered that he was not carrying any weapons. “Can you tell who it is?”
“No... wait, it’s gone.”
Dar shook his head. “Come on, let’s find Jaduran, or someone else with some authority here...”
But he was interrupted a moment later as a flash of magical energy appeared in the courtyard, only about a dozen paces ahead of them. The disturbance lasted only a heartbeat, and when it had faded, three newcomers faced them.
“By the hells...” Dar muttered.
“Greetings, Corath Dar, Allera Hialar,” Setarcos said, with a short bow.
Dar did not recognize one of Setarcos’s companions, a muscled young Drusian clad in a simple brown robe. But he certainly recognized the other, and also recognized the look of hatred that shone in her eyes.
“Corath Dar,” Kupra said. “Hardly a day has gone by without my imagining what it would be like to see you die.”
OLD WOUNDS
Dar emerged from the recessed door in the back of the cathedral, into the empty rectory courtyard. The mass of the cathedral stood between the courtyard and the huge square on the far side, but he could still hear the droning din of the professional speakers hired to repeat the Patriarch’s words to the population gathered there, the huge crowds that could not fit inside the building.
The fighter took a deep breath, like that of a swimmer coming up from a long dive. He glanced down at the fine garments he wore, expensive linens trimmed with soft frostfur and silver thread. The backs of the gloves he wore bore the sigil of Camar, traced in gold. He smirked. While he had no official title in Camar, he was still too “important” to show up at an event as significant as this one dressed like a commoner. Or so a dozen people had told him, including Allera.
The door opened behind him, and he didn’t have to turn around to know who it was. It sometimes felt like just thinking about her could summon her, that reassuring presence that was so much a part of him that he could no longer imagine what his life had been like without her.
“I had no idea you were considering a new career as a rogue,” she said, coming up behind him to place a hand on his shoulder. “How you escaped that press of well-wishers... I thought maybe you’d pocketed a potion of gaseous form somewhere.”
“People know to get out of my way.”
“I hope you didn’t break any bones; that would be inconvenient.” She came around and looked up at him. “Are you all right?”
He grunted noncommittally. “Just needed a little air. I’ve gotten used to life on the frontier. There’s probably more people inside that cathedral than ten villages the size of Hope, twenty maybe.”
“We’ll be expected for the Ritual of Commemoration, once they get started again.”
Dar grimaced. “Gah, it’ll take an hour just to get through the line to the privy.”
“It will make people feel better if you say something. Tiros gave people a sense of stability, and they need to know that Camar is in good hands, going forward.”
“What does that have to do with us? We aren’t part of this, anymore.”
“Just because we live where we do doesn’t make us any less a part of this society,” she persisted. “Maybe you should come with me, on my next circuit, when we place the newly trained healers in their communities, and check on the ones that...”
He interrupted her with a waved hand. “I have no more interest in the life of the wanderer.”
“Is this about the... encounter... on the road, before?”
He looked down at her. “I’ve had enough of fighting,” he said. “That’s one reason I went with you to Hope. Here, in ‘civilization’, it always comes down to swords and blood.”
“Sometimes swords are needed, to defend things that are worth protecting.”
“I know that. And I’ve shed my share of blood.”
“More than your share. And I know exactly what you are feeling, I too have felt it. We have built something... important, at Hope. The collegium has done a lot of good; we’ve trained over a hundred healers since we started. You have done more than your share with that, as well. There are a lot of lives that have been turned around at Hope.”
“But we also cannot disengage completely from the world around us. I know you’ve given a great deal; no one can fault you for what you’ve sacrificed for Camar. I willingly came with you to Hope, to start a new community, to build a new life. But I can’t turn my back on the outside world. It needs us, still.”
“Not all fighting is done with swords,” she said, touching his arm.
He covered her hand with his. “You are still the diplomat. You should give lessons to Darius’s Dragons on negotiation.” He smiled, and turned to look off across the courtyard.
“I already have a job,” she said, with a smile. Come on, I’ll...”
She trailed off suddenly. Sensing her tensing, he turned back to look at her. “What’s the matter?”
The healer’s expression looked vague, but then she turned and stared at a point just over his shoulder. “I believe we are being magically scried,” she said.
Dar’s hand darted to his hip reflexively, and he cursed as he remembered that he was not carrying any weapons. “Can you tell who it is?”
“No... wait, it’s gone.”
Dar shook his head. “Come on, let’s find Jaduran, or someone else with some authority here...”
But he was interrupted a moment later as a flash of magical energy appeared in the courtyard, only about a dozen paces ahead of them. The disturbance lasted only a heartbeat, and when it had faded, three newcomers faced them.
“By the hells...” Dar muttered.
“Greetings, Corath Dar, Allera Hialar,” Setarcos said, with a short bow.
Dar did not recognize one of Setarcos’s companions, a muscled young Drusian clad in a simple brown robe. But he certainly recognized the other, and also recognized the look of hatred that shone in her eyes.
“Corath Dar,” Kupra said. “Hardly a day has gone by without my imagining what it would be like to see you die.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 8
OLD ACQUAINTANCES
Allera stepped in front of Dar, a nimbus of blue energies flaring around her fists as she summoned her power. But Dar did not flinch from the wizardess’s steeled gaze. “Oh? Thinking that today might be the day, woman?”
Violence flared in Kupra’s eyes, and her own fists were clenched at her side, but she did not make any move to attack. Setarcos turned to her, and whispered something. She did not turn her stare from Dar, but said to the monk, “Per our agreement, my debt to you is paid, old man.” She spoke words of magic, and vanished in a slight flare of white power.
“What was that all about?” Allera asked.
“Someone else who bears a grudge,” Dar said.
Setarcos came forward, the other monk in his shadow. “I would not have brought the two of you together again, but time was of the essence, and our attempts to scry others I knew from Camar were unsuccessful.”
“What is the matter, Setarcos?” Allera asked.
“We come bearing a warning. There is a cult in Drusia, a foul cabal of nihilists who worship the apotheosis of destruction. Their goal is to bring about the end of the world, an armageddon.”
“Sounds a bit familiar,” Dar said.
“These cultists are not associated with the servants of Orcus, not directly, at least. But recently my order, the Vigilant Fists, located and destroyed a major cell of this cult. We had been searching for years to locate their hiding place, and while we killed most of the cultists, their leader escaped.”
“And this cult leader has an interest in Camar?” Allera asked.
The old monk nodded. “We found some documents, and a huge mural, in the main chamber of their sanctuary. The mural depicted a huge, red monstrosity, a demonic thing that they refer to as the Ravager. There was also something small in the background, a distinctive landscape that might have been unfamiliar to most, but not to anyone who had ever been to Rappan Athuk...”
He trailed off as he noticed the change in Dar’s expression. “I take it that this tale bears some relevance for you?”
But Dar was already running toward the cathedral door. Allera rushed after him, glancing back to see that the monks were keeping pace, the old man moving with surprising quickness for his advanced age. By the time she got inside, Dar had already grabbed a priest, and was almost shaking the poor man as he spoke.
“I don’t care if the ceremony’s about to start, get Jaduran, and get him down to the Vault, now! And send a squad of temple guards down there as well.”
Releasing the priest, Dar dashed down the stairs that led from the upper level to the cathedral cellars. Allera was right behind him. “What are you doing?” she yelled after him.
“I have a bad feeling, angel,” he said. He reached the bottom of the stairs but did not hesitate, moving with purpose to the next set of stairs that led to the sublevel that housed the vault. He had been down to the warren of catacombs under the cathedral several times, mostly for grim errands related to Rappan Athuk, but he had only been to the vault itself once, in the company of Jaduran, shortly after the final defeat of Orcus those twelve years back.
He got to the guard room and stopped. The chamber was empty.
“I smell blood,” Allera said, entering the room behind him. “There was violence here, very recently.”
“There’s a secret door over here,” Dar said. He had a good memory, but the exact mechanism was difficult to identify, and by the time that he got it open others had arrived. The two monks stepped to the side of the stairs, fading into the shadows, while the small knot of priests and armed guards that arrived in their wake looked around in confusion.
“What is going on here?” a man clad in a uniform bearing golden insignia asked. He pressed forward but hesitated, recognizing Dar and Allera.
“Aren’t there supposed to be guards here?” Dar asked.
“Yes, two at all times, but...”
He was interrupted as Dar finally worked the hidden mechanism, and a segment of wall groaned open. The others followed him as he moved into the chamber beyond.
They didn’t have to look far. The bodies of the two guards had been dumped unceremoniously off to the side, just inside the hidden portal. The huge doorway to the Vault stood open ahead of them, gaping like an open maw.
The guards rushed forward with two of the priests. The other priest went over to the guards with Allera, but Dar already knew what they would find. His fist clenched and unclenched reflexively.
“Damn it, I hate it when I’m right.”
OLD ACQUAINTANCES
Allera stepped in front of Dar, a nimbus of blue energies flaring around her fists as she summoned her power. But Dar did not flinch from the wizardess’s steeled gaze. “Oh? Thinking that today might be the day, woman?”
Violence flared in Kupra’s eyes, and her own fists were clenched at her side, but she did not make any move to attack. Setarcos turned to her, and whispered something. She did not turn her stare from Dar, but said to the monk, “Per our agreement, my debt to you is paid, old man.” She spoke words of magic, and vanished in a slight flare of white power.
“What was that all about?” Allera asked.
“Someone else who bears a grudge,” Dar said.
Setarcos came forward, the other monk in his shadow. “I would not have brought the two of you together again, but time was of the essence, and our attempts to scry others I knew from Camar were unsuccessful.”
“What is the matter, Setarcos?” Allera asked.
“We come bearing a warning. There is a cult in Drusia, a foul cabal of nihilists who worship the apotheosis of destruction. Their goal is to bring about the end of the world, an armageddon.”
“Sounds a bit familiar,” Dar said.
“These cultists are not associated with the servants of Orcus, not directly, at least. But recently my order, the Vigilant Fists, located and destroyed a major cell of this cult. We had been searching for years to locate their hiding place, and while we killed most of the cultists, their leader escaped.”
“And this cult leader has an interest in Camar?” Allera asked.
The old monk nodded. “We found some documents, and a huge mural, in the main chamber of their sanctuary. The mural depicted a huge, red monstrosity, a demonic thing that they refer to as the Ravager. There was also something small in the background, a distinctive landscape that might have been unfamiliar to most, but not to anyone who had ever been to Rappan Athuk...”
He trailed off as he noticed the change in Dar’s expression. “I take it that this tale bears some relevance for you?”
But Dar was already running toward the cathedral door. Allera rushed after him, glancing back to see that the monks were keeping pace, the old man moving with surprising quickness for his advanced age. By the time she got inside, Dar had already grabbed a priest, and was almost shaking the poor man as he spoke.
“I don’t care if the ceremony’s about to start, get Jaduran, and get him down to the Vault, now! And send a squad of temple guards down there as well.”
Releasing the priest, Dar dashed down the stairs that led from the upper level to the cathedral cellars. Allera was right behind him. “What are you doing?” she yelled after him.
“I have a bad feeling, angel,” he said. He reached the bottom of the stairs but did not hesitate, moving with purpose to the next set of stairs that led to the sublevel that housed the vault. He had been down to the warren of catacombs under the cathedral several times, mostly for grim errands related to Rappan Athuk, but he had only been to the vault itself once, in the company of Jaduran, shortly after the final defeat of Orcus those twelve years back.
He got to the guard room and stopped. The chamber was empty.
“I smell blood,” Allera said, entering the room behind him. “There was violence here, very recently.”
“There’s a secret door over here,” Dar said. He had a good memory, but the exact mechanism was difficult to identify, and by the time that he got it open others had arrived. The two monks stepped to the side of the stairs, fading into the shadows, while the small knot of priests and armed guards that arrived in their wake looked around in confusion.
“What is going on here?” a man clad in a uniform bearing golden insignia asked. He pressed forward but hesitated, recognizing Dar and Allera.
“Aren’t there supposed to be guards here?” Dar asked.
“Yes, two at all times, but...”
He was interrupted as Dar finally worked the hidden mechanism, and a segment of wall groaned open. The others followed him as he moved into the chamber beyond.
They didn’t have to look far. The bodies of the two guards had been dumped unceremoniously off to the side, just inside the hidden portal. The huge doorway to the Vault stood open ahead of them, gaping like an open maw.
The guards rushed forward with two of the priests. The other priest went over to the guards with Allera, but Dar already knew what they would find. His fist clenched and unclenched reflexively.
“Damn it, I hate it when I’m right.”
Lazybones
Adventurer
Chapter 9
THE TEMPLE OF THE FINAL SACRAMENT
On the same morning that the funeral service for Velan Tiros was scheduled to began in Camar, the dawn was just a rumor on the eastern horizon when the four made their appearance. All but invisible in the predawn haze, the four figures drifted down out of the sky, into a densely wooded dell nestled into the range of rolling hills and jagged ridges that abutted the sea. The four wind walkers drifted between the web of interlocking branches and drifted to the ground, which was covered with layers of dead leaves. They took on substance after a few moments as the spell ended, leaving them standing in a cluster facing the south.
“This way,” Ghazaran said, leading the way.
They did not have far to go to their destination. The ground descended as they made their way forward, toward the darkest depths of the dell. The air was cold, still, the web of branches above them blocking out both the light and the wind. Dead twigs crackled under their feet, and only the lack of undergrowth allowed them to press ahead without light to direct them. The forest was otherwise silent, dead.
“This is ill-advised,” the Seer said, his voice sounding eerily loud in the morning stillness. “Not only do we lose the abilities of Jasek and Parzad, but we place ourselves in a position where we will be unable to render aid, should they encounter difficulties in their mission.”
Ghazaran did not look back. “We have no choice but to proceed, and quickly. My divination has revealed that our enemies have knowledge of our plans, and will attempt to intervene.”
“All the more reason to abandon this side errand, and focus on our primary objective.”
“I have consulted with higher powers, mage. We will require the assistance of the Duke to have any chance of success in the Well.”
The wizard subsided as the ground leveled out, and a structure rose out of the forest ahead of them.
The fane was located in a clearing, but the surrounding trees extended their long branches over it like a shroud, leaving only a tiny opening through which the slowly brightening sky could be seen above. Those trees nearest the building itself were short, stunted affairs, and nothing at all grew within about ten paces of the massive blocks of black marble that marked its foundation. The structure was not especially large, perhaps thirty feet by forty. A set of weathered stone steps faced them, leading up to a black opening in the front of the building.
Falah had moved ahead unbidden to scout out the perimeter. The hulking southerner was clad in a breastplate of black adamantine, and wore his huge khopesh slung across his back, atop a bulky bundle wrapped in leather and bound with thick black cords. For a man of his size, he moved with surprising grace and speed, possibly the result of magical augmentation.
“We shall have to move quickly,” Ghazaran said. “I hope that your knowledge of the ways is as good as you claim, wizard.”
“I will do my part,” the Seer said. “We will face trials within. Our combined spellpower is considerable, and its presence will help,” he said, with a nod in the direction of Zafir Navev, who stood a short distance away, masked in its robes, its thoughts private. “However, we are lacking in brute strength, no offense intended to your guardian.”
“I have arranged for assistance in that area,” Ghazaran said. He walked over to the side of the fane. The ground here was blasted and dry, the soil infused with a reddish taint like dried blood.
Falah had returned, and the cleric turned to him. “I require ten minutes of undisturbed solitude.” The fighter nodded, and took up a warding stance a few paces away.
As the Seer and Navev watched silently, the cleric knelt and incanted a ritual of summoning. The complex phrases, full of guttural croaks and unnatural syllables, felt somehow appropriate to this dismal place. The Seer eventually grew bored and walked over to the front of the building, inspecting an inscribed plaque of black metal set into the stone at the top of the stairs. He did not enter the structure itself. Navev shuffled back and forth, faint noises issuing occasionally from the depths of its cowl.
By the time that Ghazaran completed his summoning, the others had returned, awaiting the conclusion of his spell. A frisson of dark energies had begun to gather in the space before him, and as he concluded his invocation a considerable form began to materialize within that vortex. Ghazaran concluded by issuing a repeated command, “Zuur’ka, Zuur’ka, Zuur’ka!” then sagged back, weakened by the energies involved in the summoning.
As he finished the third repetition of the name, the summoned creature stepped forward out of the energy matrix and took on substance. It was big, over nine feet of stony flesh and bulging muscles. It looked like a gargoyle at first glance, with broad wings and a long face complete with protruding fangs and jutting horns. But it had four arms rather than two, and it carried a massive axe in two of them, which it lifted menacingly as it loomed over the priest. Falah regarded the newcomer impassively, trusting in the commands of his master, but the Seer and Navev both tensed, expectant, their respective powers ready at hand.
“You dare to call me again, human!” the nycaloth said, its voice deep and powerful. “I am not some lesser being to be yanked from Gehenna to serve your whims! I warned you the last time that you trifle with the nether powers at the risk of your soul!”
If Ghazaran was discomfited by the creature’s threats, or the proximity of the big axe to his neck, he gave no sign of it. “I do not call you for a trifle, mighty Zuur’ka,” he said. “I give you the opportunity to discomfit a rival, to rend demons, and to gain a prize that will serve you well in your war against the infernal hosts that invade your realm.”
“Bah,” the loth said, but its curiosity was ill-disguised. “If I might show you what I offer, great Zuur’ka?” Ghazaran prodded.
The nycaloth made a small gesture, and Ghazaran nodded to Falah. The warrior unlimbered his falchion, hooking the hilt into his belt within easy reach before he unslung the large package across his back. The cords parted to reveal a greataxe, its single blade an glimmering arc of white steel. It glowed slightly as the fighter grasped the hilt, and tiny sparks of flickering energy began to dance around the blade as he tugged it free and tossed the leather wrap aside.
“A shock axe might be a useful weapon, against those devils with which you war,” Ghazaran suggested.
“The weapon is puny in size,” Zuur’ka said. And while it was true that the yugoloth’s axe was considerably larger, the greed in its eyes as it looked upon the offered weapon was impossible to dissemble, and fooled none of those present.
The negotiations passed quickly, and concluded with the outsider taking the axe, and a position at the van of their company. The nycaloth barely acknowledged Falah or the Seer, but it gave a hard look to Navev, whose bandaged fingers clenched and unclenched, while black tendrils of insubstantial energy writhed between them.
They made their way back up the steps, to the entrance of the fane. The interior of the building was a single small chamber, the only feature of note the metal plaque set into the floor of the entry, and a ramp inside that descended into the earth.
Ghazaran paused for a moment to look up at the brightening sky one last time. “We have approximately six hours until the ceremony in Camar begins. We must complete our errand swiftly, so that we may be ready when Jasek and Parzad rejoin us.”
“And if something goes wrong?” the Seer asked.
Ghazaran’s smile was anything but friendly. “You must have faith.” He turned and nodded to Zuur’ka, who started down the ramp, the others falling into a line behind him. Within a few moments, they were gone, and the dark fane again became silent.
THE TEMPLE OF THE FINAL SACRAMENT
On the same morning that the funeral service for Velan Tiros was scheduled to began in Camar, the dawn was just a rumor on the eastern horizon when the four made their appearance. All but invisible in the predawn haze, the four figures drifted down out of the sky, into a densely wooded dell nestled into the range of rolling hills and jagged ridges that abutted the sea. The four wind walkers drifted between the web of interlocking branches and drifted to the ground, which was covered with layers of dead leaves. They took on substance after a few moments as the spell ended, leaving them standing in a cluster facing the south.
“This way,” Ghazaran said, leading the way.
They did not have far to go to their destination. The ground descended as they made their way forward, toward the darkest depths of the dell. The air was cold, still, the web of branches above them blocking out both the light and the wind. Dead twigs crackled under their feet, and only the lack of undergrowth allowed them to press ahead without light to direct them. The forest was otherwise silent, dead.
“This is ill-advised,” the Seer said, his voice sounding eerily loud in the morning stillness. “Not only do we lose the abilities of Jasek and Parzad, but we place ourselves in a position where we will be unable to render aid, should they encounter difficulties in their mission.”
Ghazaran did not look back. “We have no choice but to proceed, and quickly. My divination has revealed that our enemies have knowledge of our plans, and will attempt to intervene.”
“All the more reason to abandon this side errand, and focus on our primary objective.”
“I have consulted with higher powers, mage. We will require the assistance of the Duke to have any chance of success in the Well.”
The wizard subsided as the ground leveled out, and a structure rose out of the forest ahead of them.
The fane was located in a clearing, but the surrounding trees extended their long branches over it like a shroud, leaving only a tiny opening through which the slowly brightening sky could be seen above. Those trees nearest the building itself were short, stunted affairs, and nothing at all grew within about ten paces of the massive blocks of black marble that marked its foundation. The structure was not especially large, perhaps thirty feet by forty. A set of weathered stone steps faced them, leading up to a black opening in the front of the building.
Falah had moved ahead unbidden to scout out the perimeter. The hulking southerner was clad in a breastplate of black adamantine, and wore his huge khopesh slung across his back, atop a bulky bundle wrapped in leather and bound with thick black cords. For a man of his size, he moved with surprising grace and speed, possibly the result of magical augmentation.
“We shall have to move quickly,” Ghazaran said. “I hope that your knowledge of the ways is as good as you claim, wizard.”
“I will do my part,” the Seer said. “We will face trials within. Our combined spellpower is considerable, and its presence will help,” he said, with a nod in the direction of Zafir Navev, who stood a short distance away, masked in its robes, its thoughts private. “However, we are lacking in brute strength, no offense intended to your guardian.”
“I have arranged for assistance in that area,” Ghazaran said. He walked over to the side of the fane. The ground here was blasted and dry, the soil infused with a reddish taint like dried blood.
Falah had returned, and the cleric turned to him. “I require ten minutes of undisturbed solitude.” The fighter nodded, and took up a warding stance a few paces away.
As the Seer and Navev watched silently, the cleric knelt and incanted a ritual of summoning. The complex phrases, full of guttural croaks and unnatural syllables, felt somehow appropriate to this dismal place. The Seer eventually grew bored and walked over to the front of the building, inspecting an inscribed plaque of black metal set into the stone at the top of the stairs. He did not enter the structure itself. Navev shuffled back and forth, faint noises issuing occasionally from the depths of its cowl.
By the time that Ghazaran completed his summoning, the others had returned, awaiting the conclusion of his spell. A frisson of dark energies had begun to gather in the space before him, and as he concluded his invocation a considerable form began to materialize within that vortex. Ghazaran concluded by issuing a repeated command, “Zuur’ka, Zuur’ka, Zuur’ka!” then sagged back, weakened by the energies involved in the summoning.
As he finished the third repetition of the name, the summoned creature stepped forward out of the energy matrix and took on substance. It was big, over nine feet of stony flesh and bulging muscles. It looked like a gargoyle at first glance, with broad wings and a long face complete with protruding fangs and jutting horns. But it had four arms rather than two, and it carried a massive axe in two of them, which it lifted menacingly as it loomed over the priest. Falah regarded the newcomer impassively, trusting in the commands of his master, but the Seer and Navev both tensed, expectant, their respective powers ready at hand.
“You dare to call me again, human!” the nycaloth said, its voice deep and powerful. “I am not some lesser being to be yanked from Gehenna to serve your whims! I warned you the last time that you trifle with the nether powers at the risk of your soul!”
If Ghazaran was discomfited by the creature’s threats, or the proximity of the big axe to his neck, he gave no sign of it. “I do not call you for a trifle, mighty Zuur’ka,” he said. “I give you the opportunity to discomfit a rival, to rend demons, and to gain a prize that will serve you well in your war against the infernal hosts that invade your realm.”
“Bah,” the loth said, but its curiosity was ill-disguised. “If I might show you what I offer, great Zuur’ka?” Ghazaran prodded.
The nycaloth made a small gesture, and Ghazaran nodded to Falah. The warrior unlimbered his falchion, hooking the hilt into his belt within easy reach before he unslung the large package across his back. The cords parted to reveal a greataxe, its single blade an glimmering arc of white steel. It glowed slightly as the fighter grasped the hilt, and tiny sparks of flickering energy began to dance around the blade as he tugged it free and tossed the leather wrap aside.
“A shock axe might be a useful weapon, against those devils with which you war,” Ghazaran suggested.
“The weapon is puny in size,” Zuur’ka said. And while it was true that the yugoloth’s axe was considerably larger, the greed in its eyes as it looked upon the offered weapon was impossible to dissemble, and fooled none of those present.
The negotiations passed quickly, and concluded with the outsider taking the axe, and a position at the van of their company. The nycaloth barely acknowledged Falah or the Seer, but it gave a hard look to Navev, whose bandaged fingers clenched and unclenched, while black tendrils of insubstantial energy writhed between them.
They made their way back up the steps, to the entrance of the fane. The interior of the building was a single small chamber, the only feature of note the metal plaque set into the floor of the entry, and a ramp inside that descended into the earth.
Ghazaran paused for a moment to look up at the brightening sky one last time. “We have approximately six hours until the ceremony in Camar begins. We must complete our errand swiftly, so that we may be ready when Jasek and Parzad rejoin us.”
“And if something goes wrong?” the Seer asked.
Ghazaran’s smile was anything but friendly. “You must have faith.” He turned and nodded to Zuur’ka, who started down the ramp, the others falling into a line behind him. Within a few moments, they were gone, and the dark fane again became silent.
