Crisis of Faith by Benjamin Medrano (z-lib.org)

by Unknown

  For a moment Alexander thought the angel was praying to grant herself solace in her last moments. But then her halo began to burn, and his eyes widened as violet flame wreathed the angel’s body with steadily growing intensity.

  “Shit!” Adrian blurted out, his eyes going wide as the man who’d tackled the angel and the beautiful woman were both swallowed by the ruiner. It was still a good distance from them, and he swore again as it turned toward the temple, and the cracked doors wreathed in fire that barred its way.

  He’d just seen a beam of light shoot across the city as they’d run, enough mana in it to leave Adrian shaken, which concerned him a bit. Then a dragon had fled the area, bleeding from dozens of wounds, and leaving Adrian wondering just what in all the hells was happening in the region to have brought spells and creatures like that into a city in the middle of nowhere, along with an angel. Not that he had time to wonder, really.

  “Gods above, did that man let himself be eaten?” Kaylen asked, sounding like he was in shock.

  “Doesn’t matter, Kay. We need to kill the beast fast. If we’re quick enough, we can save the angel,” Clarissa snapped out, her voice unusually intent. It was the fact it was an angel, Adrian realized belatedly. Even if the angel wasn’t a devotee of her god, Clarissa obviously was concerned about her.

  “Right! It takes time for even something like a ruiner to kill an angel,” Kaylen said, shaking his head and skidding to a stop as he raised his staff, then began chanting loudly, lightning beginning to flicker along the staff.

  Harriet didn’t say anything, instead firing an arrow at the ruiner in mid-stride. Unfortunately, this time the ruiner ducked slightly, causing the arrow to glance off its shoulder.

  “Damn, I hate having to hurry,” Adrian muttered, charging at the ruiner.

  Then it paused, and Adrian skidded to a shock, blinking in confusion as threads of smoke seeped from the creature’s mouths.

  Fire erupted from the ruiner’s body, rampaging purple flames that wreathed it entirely, blackening the creature’s armor as it let out an unearthly scream of pain. Adrian stepped back, staring in horror as it staggered, clawing at its chest helplessly as the fire surged higher and hotter, cracking the ruiner’s exoskeleton.

  The creature exploded as suddenly as the flames had appeared, prompting a flinch from Adrian as he braced himself for the shower of gore. Gore which never appeared.

  Instead of gore, from within the ruiner appeared the angel once more, though she was resting on one knee, her hands clasped together in prayer. Her armor was pitted from acid, and some of her feathers were the worse for wear, but the angel was surrounded in the same purple flames, and the bodies of several people fell to the ground… some of which were even alive, though the man who’d tackled the angel wasn’t among them. The angel paused, opening her eyes, and blinked as the flames around her slowly died. Then she stood up, looking a little stunned.

  “Hm. That… was unexpectedly easy. Perhaps I should have let the beast swallow me to begin with,” the angel said, her voice musing, then she shook her head. “No, no… if I had, I wouldn’t have been worthy to call upon My Lady’s flames.”

  “Er, is that normal?” the guard leader who’d been following Adrian asked, his voice hesitant.

  “No, it isn’t. That’s the first time I’ve heard of a ruiner being killed from the inside,” Adrian said, looking at the angel, then belatedly released Storm again. After a moment he spoke up. “Ah… are you alright, Lady Angel?”

  “Zenith, if you please. As for me, I’m fine, thank you. I should also thank you for your aid,” the angel replied, smiling radiantly at Adrian in a way that brought a flush to his face. “Now, I’m afraid that I need to check on My Lady’s faithful and ensure that they’re well after all of that. Would those of you who can please ensure the injured are cared for? I’m sure the priesthood will assist as soon as they’re able.”

  “Um, sure?” Adrian said, blinking. Fortunately, Clarissa had already headed toward the wounded laying on the ground, and the angel turned away, heading for the temple.

  Adrian started toward the injured as well, and as he did the sound of more boots came in their direction. He tensed, then relaxed as a group of elves came around the corner. The elf in the front had definitely seen better days, and he winced sympathetically as he took in her face, which was blackened across the left side, and she was missing a good chunk of hair and her ear as well. The woman was wielding a bow made of odd white wood, and she had an arrow nocked.

  “Captain, what happened to you?” a soldier asked in concern.

  “An assassin tried to kill me. We dealt with the one in the market, what about the gates?” the woman replied curtly. “For that matter, where’s third squad?”

  “I’m not sure, but the one at the gates is dead, killed by the adventurers, and the angel…” the man began, but Adrian quickly turned his attention to the wounded, none of whom were in good shape.

  Clarissa nodded at him, smiling slightly as she cast a healing spell on one of them. As Adrian pulled out a healing potion, Clarissa spoke calmly. “The angel’s beautiful, isn’t she?”

  “Oh, shut up,” Adrian growled in response, prompting soft laughter from his friend.

  “Let go of—mrrph!” Umira began, only to be cut off by the gag as the soldiers hastily shoved it into place. They’d already bound her hands in hard leather gloves, which made using her magic difficult at best, and she couldn’t help her anger as she twisted, trying to escape the bonds.

  She was regretting running into the soldiers, as it appeared that deciding to play with them had been a mistake. Umira had thought they’d help her get out of the city more easily, but instead, all it’d done was rouse the suspicions of the others.

  “Damn, that was close,” one of the soldiers said, wiping sweat from her forehead as she nodded to one of the others. “If you hadn’t noticed that something was wrong, who knows what she’d have done to us?”

  “It wasn’t hard to tell something was wrong. There was no reason for the lot of you to be calmly walking toward the east gate under these circumstances,” the elven mage replied modestly, though his blue eyes were hard as he glared at Umira. “If you ask me, we’ve seen enough mind control in the city to last us a century.”

  “Agreed,” one of the others said, nodding firmly, then gestured at Umira. “Let’s get her in a cell, then head over to the temple. I hope we aren’t too late.”

  “Sounds like a plan to me,” the mage said, and the soldiers picked her up as Umira squirmed, trying to escape.

  It wasn’t going well.

  The blast of light vaporized a couple of the magi in the back, and with them Bran’s hopes died at last. Even if they’d taken heavy losses so far, he’d thought that they were going to win, particularly with the support of the dragon. Then the seven magi had shown up, and golems had begun pouring out of the teleportation platform, proving that reinforcements hadn’t been cut off. Worse, the four Enforcers he’d managed to hold onto had all fallen, though he wasn’t sure if they were simply injured or dead. Now everything was lost, though, and he decided to cut his losses at last, and hoped they could get out of the city in time.

  “Damn it, everyone fall back! Fall back!” Bran exclaimed, gesturing at Ruthan. “We’ve got to get out of here!”

  “Right! Everyone, fall back in sequence!” Ruthan bellowed, his gaze worried, but staying in control as he looked around.

  The soldiers began retreating with relief on their faces, and Bran felt a pang of despair. Even if they could get out of the city, their chances of escape weren’t good, and there was nothing he could do about it. He’d made the decision which had gotten them into this, and under the same circumstances, he’d have done it again, but that didn’t make him any happier. He turned to fall back as well, sheathing his bloody sword as he did so. There was a wagon partly in his path, but he’d be able to use it as cover.

  “Look out!” Ruthan’s exclamation was loud, and almost panicked, but B
ran didn’t act fast enough, instead freezing for just an instant too long before pain exploded through his stomach.

  Staggering, Bran looked down to see a bloody hole had been punched clean through his left side despite his plate armor, and a quivering steel arbalest bolt was sticking out of the wagon he’d been about to circle. He put a hand to the hole, his stomach lurching, then Bran fell to his knees. He would’ve fallen entirely, but then Ruthan was there, grabbing him.

  “Sir! Just a minute, I’ll get you patched up, and—” Ruthan began, but Bran shook his head, swallowing hard as he closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.

  “N-no. Get them out of here,” he gasped, a hint of despair washing over him. “I got them into it. Get them out.”

  “But—” Ruthan began.

  “GO!” Bran all but yelled with as much breath as he could muster.

  Ruthan hesitated for just a moment, then bowed his head and nodded, murmuring, “Yes, sir. It’s been an honor.”

  The man took a moment to lay Bran against the wagon, then stood, snapping out orders as he organized the retreat. For his part, Bran declined to watch, instead closing his eyes as his blood slowly poured out from between his fingers and back, his body steadily growing colder.

  The sounds around him faded slowly, and for a little while he thought he was going to die like that. Then another voice spoke.

  “Well, if it isn’t Adjudicator Bran Darleth?” a woman’s voice said, sounding idly curious, and he heard a soft chant, followed by a surge of warmth through his body, causing the flow of blood to slow. “I did think you looked familiar.”

  Bran opened his eyes to see Elissa of Silence looking down at him, a priestess of Medaea at her side, as well as a couple of golems. They all showed the signs of battle, but they also didn’t look much the worse for wear, unlike Bran. He glanced down and noticed that while his injury hadn’t been fully healed, it wasn’t actively bleeding.

  “I’m surprised you recognize me,” Bran replied, looking up at her again, then sighed, wincing as he did so. “Why did you heal me? I was trying to kill you.”

  “Why? Because you likely have information we need, and besides, King Damrung would be most put out if he couldn’t put you on trial,” Elissa replied, grinning widely, and Bran couldn’t help a sigh as he slumped back, defeated at last.

  “At least I’ll likely be fed properly until I’m executed,” he muttered, resigned to his fate. Hopefully Ruthan would get the others out.

  Far away from Westgate, Alexander tried to groan as he opened his eyes and immediately regretted it.

  His thoughts were fuzzy, as they always were when one of his copies was slain. He’d likely remember most of what had happened after some time, but it was rarely pleasant, and a part of him wished that Mazina would let him die already.

  That wasn’t going to happen, though. The complex magical devices surrounded him in a tank formed of brass, one with a tiny crystal window in it, and across the room he could see another tank. That was where another copy of him would be made, then sent out into the world.

  After a few moments of contemplation, Alexander simply closed his eyes again since he couldn’t free himself from the bindings holding him in place anyway. Instead, he decided to rest and hope that maybe this time he’d figure out a way to break his original body out of the dungeon it was trapped in.

  He also wondered why he could vaguely remember a bright purple halo, and why it was so fascinating.

  Tyria opened her eyes and let out a soft sigh of relief. Beatrice’s prayers had turned to those of thanks, and the sense of danger from Westgate had come to an end at last, which relieved her. That didn’t reduce the number of dead, sadly, but that was how life worked. Instead, she took the small victory as best she could and smiled, hope rising within her at last.

  It was largely because of Sistina and the bravery of mortals that they’d survived, Tyria knew, though Zenith had also done everything the angel could, and Elissa and Nadis had contributed as well. She dared hope that their cooperation might help in the future.

  And if the truth of Erethor and Eretha came out… perhaps that would help unite her faith. So Tyria smiled slightly, looking down as she murmured, “Thank you, Sistina.”

  Perhaps she imagined it, but it almost felt like the wind deliberately ruffled her hair in return.

  Chapter 41

  “This year has been far too eventful,” Elissa murmured, and Nadis snorted.

  “This year? Try the last two decades, thank you,” the elf replied, her arms crossed. “You might only have had to deal with things for a year or so, but we’ve been dealing with Kelvanis for a long, long time.”

  “True,” Elissa conceded, to Diamond’s private relief.

  It’d taken a couple of days for them to stabilize the situation in Westgate, as a large part of the market had been damaged or destroyed, and there had been more deaths than Diamond cared to think about. Still, most of the attackers hadn’t been able to escape, and for once they’d actually captured some of the rebel leaders, as well as the head of Kelvanis’s old assassin guild, so they’d been able to get information on what exactly had happened.

  Now they were well on their way back to Beacon, which Diamond knew made all of the Jewels happier, as well as Nadis’s guards. They’d been very unhappy to have their archpriestess run off without them, particularly when they’d heard what had happened in Westgate. As it was, Elissa had lost several of her guards permanently, and Westgate’s prison was uncomfortably full, at least until they could extradite the prisoners that Kelvanis wanted to put on trial.

  “To be fair, I’m not sure that you could put this all on Ulvian’s plate,” Diamond interjected, almost surprising herself, and the others looked at her, blinking as the carriage bounced along the road.

  “Oh? Because of the cultists?” Nadis asked, looking at Diamond skeptically.

  “That’s right. What did you say about them, Ruby?” Diamond asked, looking at her wife curiously. “You spotted mention of their deities in the book about Medaea’s old faith.”

  “Yes, I did. And it’s just like you to foist this off on me,” Ruby replied, a touch tartly, though her smile removed any sting from it. “According to the scriptures, Medaea’s position in trying to get justice for the fallen led her to frequent clashes with Erethor and Eretha, making them something of archenemies.”

  “Ah, so you’re saying that they were after us from the beginning, and just used the Adjudicator’s desperation for their own ends,” Elissa said, understanding dawning on her face. “That would make far more sense… and yes, it would mean that Ulvian isn’t directly at fault for this.”

  “True, I suppose. Though the opportunity to deal with one of the last pockets of his regime does give me some pleasure,” Nadis admitted, glancing out the window. “I just wish it hadn’t cost so many people their lives.”

  “We did what we could,” Diamond said, her mood dimming a little at the thought of the dead.

  No one picked up the conversation after that, at least not immediately. When they did, fortunately it was to continue discussing the changes that Tyria was going to go through, and what effect it might have on their churches. Personally, Diamond was just happy the alterations had been delayed until after they returned to Beacon.

  For that matter, she was also glad to have the company of the adventurers who’d killed one of the monstrous ruiners that’d attacked the city, as they would help if the cultists tried to attack again. Even if their leader, Adrian, had been asking a rather lot of questions about Zenith, to Diamond’s amusement. He probably even thought he was being subtle.

  On the other hand, she couldn’t wait to get home to her own bed, and to Phynis and Sistina. It stunned Diamond how much she missed them, even after only a few days apart.

  “Oops,” Wenris murmured, grinning broadly as she watched Lady Ryn Nocris screaming at her brother through the window, her tail lashing idly behind her.

  Lord Allen Nocris hadn’t been hard
to seduce when she compared him to the majority of people Wenris had dealt with over the centuries. Indeed, his pride had made him even easier to flatter, and that had led him to bed with her.

  From there it hadn’t taken more than a few days to draw out many of his secrets, and Wenris had taken pleasure in spreading those secrets far and wide… and exactly in the right places to let his sister hear about them first.

  Their plots to try and drive Phynis and the Jewels apart had not pleased the majority of the city, and they’d quite abruptly found themselves unwelcome, something that likely prompted the stunned look on the dark-haired human’s face, and his sister looked particularly displeased as they packed their bags. Something about losing all her maids in a single night had upset the young woman, Wenris thought, and she was rather pleased with herself.

  She did enjoy doing good work, in the end. And perhaps that would help her get approval from Phynis and Sistina to stay in the city longer. Anything that let her stay close to Diane made her happier, though she had to wonder why she enjoyed the elf’s company so much.

  “Because she’s fun to corrupt, of course,” Wenris told herself, looking away from the window at last. She stretched indolently, secure in the knowledge that she had all the time in the world to carry out her desires.

  “How many days is it to Kelvanath?” Bane asked, adjusting his cap carefully.

  “’bout three days, sir,” the driver said, adjusting the contents of the trunk to fit Bane’s bags. “Ya’d best be ready for lots of sleep in the coaches. We only stop long ’nuff to change the ’orses.”

  “Alright,” Bane agreed, glancing back once, then stepped over to get into the stagecoach. It wasn’t going to be the most comfortable trip, but he was looking forward to putting Westgate behind him.