"Who are you?"
"Friends of the mayor," said the dark figure on the right. His diction was far more precise, his manner cultivated.
Behind her she heard Celene latching the door tight.
"He don't like loose ends," said the first speaker
"Terribly sorry about that," the second said. "Terribly."
So Celene had been told to watch for her. Clever. Her nephew had probably been sent to find these two, which was the real reason Celene had been so long about answering. If Lisette hadn't been so preoccupied, she would probably have been a lot more suspicious. She forced a pleasant note into her voice. "You boys must have been waiting a long time."
"Weren't no big thing," the large man on the left said. "We had rooms in the home, like. Easy money, waiting on you."
"What did the mayor offer?" Lisette asked.
The polite one cleared his throat. "Now, in your line of work, you know it's bad form to discuss contracts."
"Or to talk too much."
Lisette tossed the bag of heads at the dumb one and, by reflex, he fumbled to catch it.
The other had a knife ready, but the startled cries of his friend delayed him just a moment.
A moment was all Lisette required. She drew her gun in a flash, drew back the hammer, and pulled the trigger.
Her assailant was rushing the steps when the blast caught him. The flash from the gun illuminated the scene as she blew off his chin, and he dropped screaming.
His big partner rushed the porch, sword out. There was no time to pull her second pistol, so she leapt over the dying man.
The larger man was hampered by the clutching hands of his dying companion, who tore at his pant leg. He cursed at her and came on.
But Lisette had gained the moment she needed. One moment, one bullet. At point-blank range, with dry powder, she couldn't miss, and didn't.
The big man grunted as the bullet took him in the chest, but the rest of his body didn't realize he was dead. He thrust. Swift as Lisette was, the blow grazed her ribs.
She bit back a cry as she hopped away and felt her side. The giant crumpled in on himself, as if bowing to her, then lay in the dirt. Elsewhere, up and down the street, candles flared to life in windows. Voices called out in surprise.
It just couldn't get much worse. Lisette's hands came away wet from where she pressed them to her side. Damn. It stung like blazes. No time to bandage, now, and her medical supplies were back with the tree in any case.
She shoved both smoking pistols back through her belt and scooped up the bag before speeding into the darkness, free hand clutching to her side.
She owed Celene, but there was no time. Not when there was a more important target. Lisette had planned no claim against Avelis before, not when she hadn't come through. Now he owed her, and she planned to take payment in blood or money, whichever came easier.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty-Two
Blood and Dust
Elyana
In larger cities the temple district might stretch on for blocks, or there might be temples to various gods scattered randomly throughout the streets. Delgar was so small that there were only two buildings that could be classified as temples. The goddess Calistria was worshiped by all those who thrived on trickery, hoped to punish those who'd wronged them, and liked a good roll in the hay, which meant practically everyone. She remained as popular in Delgar as she had ever been throughout the River Kingdoms, and her temple was the oldest by a year, and the largest, though it was little more than a converted cabin rumored to once have been a whorehouse. Calistria, Elyana suspected, probably didn't mind.
More recent was the stone shrine beside it, erected at Drelm's behest, to Abadar.
Most recent of all was the temple to Razmir. It too was wood, but the Razmiri had spared no expense and covered it first in plaster, then painted it with brilliant gold and reds and hauled in stone steps that led to the wide doors opening to its interior.
Elyana and the others paused just beyond those doors. As she directed Cyrelle, Aladel, and Melias to scout the building's rear, she couldn't help overhearing the prayer from within.
"Sounds like a full house," Drelm said, frowning.
She didn't remember any exits on the building's right side, opposite from where she'd sent the others toward the back, but she wished to leave as little to chance as possible. "Make sure there are no north-side exits," she told him, and Drelm hurried into the darkness.
The Razmiri priest, she supposed, was haranguing the crowd. Hindreck stepped up to her shoulder, turning his ear toward the door.
"Pray," the voice cried. "Pray with all of your fervor, all of your heart, and ask Razmir for protection. It is his to give. His is the will."
"His is the will," a chorus of voices repeated.
"What a strange religion," Hindreck muttered.
"Aren't they all?" Elyana asked.
"His is the way!" The priest cried.
"His is the way," his followers repeated.
Drelm came trotting back up from the darkness. "No exits on the north."
"Right. You ready for this?"
Illidian had been strangely silent since Lisette had hurried off, and when he spoke, his savage eagerness was startling. "I am more than ready," he promised darkly.
"Pray then for Razmir to shield you!" the priest shouted. "Pray that he might guide all your people to his loving embrace. For there is safety with Razmir."
Drelm growled low in his throat.
Elyana was putting her hand to the doors when she heard the gunshot. She froze. A week ago she wouldn't have recognized that popping noise.
It seemed to have come from the northwest, near the city's outskirts.
"That was a gun," Illidian said, but she silenced him with a raised hand, for she thought she'd heard a shout.
Then there came a second gunshot.
"Drelm, you handle this. Illidian, back him up."
"But—" Illidian started to object.
"Stay with Drelm!" Elyana snapped. She was already running.
It had taken longer than she wished to drop their heavier gear and divvy up roles, but then she'd taken it slow because she wanted to give Lisette time enough to reach the city guard post and the mayor. Much as she wanted the Razmiri out of the city, she wanted the mayor involved, lest she or Drelm be accused of overstepping their authority.
Now she wondered both if she'd waited too long and what it was that Lisette was doing at the wrong end of the city. Surely no other guns had come to Delgar in the intervening days.
Her long legs carried her quickly through the streets. Tired as she was, she was breathing heavily by the time she rounded the corner and found the crowd gathered outside the tall stone building that was the widow Celene's home and boarding house.
A throng of some dozen were there with lanterns, and Madame Celene herself watched timidly from the porch. Everyone else crowded around something in the street. Elyana didn't see the bodies until she had pushed her way through.
At sight of her the crowd fell silent, and her examination of the scene was disrupted and delayed by glad cries. At any other time she would have been delighted to be so well received, but she offered only a distracted smile at the questions.
"The monster's dead," she said, "and Drelm and I are returned."
At mention of the captain a number of the people brightened further. Not even in Stelan's lands, where he had first risen to a position of leadership, had he been so well regarded. A small woman then lay into her with a whole set of questions, and Miklos the tanner chimed in, asking for details. As other queries thundered around her she held out her hands.
"Silence, please. What happened here?"
They told her how they'd heard the shots and the scream. A few had seen a shadowy struggle at the door of Celene's home, then someone had run into the darkness.
More and more people gathered, and Elyana asked them to step b
ack. They'd probably already made a muddle of the tracks.
"Which way did the figure go?" Elyana asked.
Miklos pointed south, and Elyana slipped quickly past the crowd, searching the ground. A few steps farther on, beyond the crowd's prints, she discovered a drop of blood and the leather-soled shoes she knew by shape for Lisette's.
So she'd been wounded. Elyana turned quickly back, her eyes raking over the bodies. It was easy to recognize Lisette's handiwork. One of the victims, the one with the ghastly face wound, was still groaning feebly.
"Get him to a healer," Elyana snapped. "And hurry."
Miklos snapped to work then. Calling two burly men to aid him, he lifted the fellow up. A child of no more than eight picked up the blood-and-dirt-crusted thing Elyana now recognized as what was left of the man's jaw and trotted after. At sight of that, one of the women turned and vomited in the street, and a few others looked noticeably pale.
Lisette was wounded, and probably in need of help. But there was much here that Elyana didn't understand. She turned to Madame Celene. She had never been especially fond of the old woman, but she'd never before been suspicious of her.
"Did you see what happened here?"
"Not really," Celene said thickly. "It was very dark."
"Any idea why Lisette Demonde was on your doorstep?"
"She roomed with me. She'd come back to gather something."
"Something?"
"A bag. I don't know what it was."
"Her nephew ran over to my tavern," said a voice behind her, "and got those two. The dead one and the dying one."
Elyana glanced back to find the red-bearded owner of The Roisterer's Inn glaring at Celene.
"They've been staying at her place the last couple days," he continued.
Celene blinked nervously then, and hemmed and hawed until Elyana advanced upon her.
She shrank back.
"I'm tired right now," Elyana said, "and I don't have much patience. I suggest you start with the truth and save me some time."
"They showed up right after she left," Celene said. "They took rooms, and made sure I always knew where they were going. They were good tenants."
"Model, I'm sure," Elyana said dryly. "Get to the point."
"Well, they told me they were waiting for Ms. Demonde to return, and to notify them as soon as she did. I didn't know they were going to attack her!"
"Of course not. Did you mention them to Lisette?"
Again Celene hemmed and hawed.
"Because they paid you not to mention them."
"They didn't say why," Celene said primly.
This was taking entirely too long. Elyana fought down the urge to shake Celene, partly because she knew it was the wrong way to handle an old woman, but mostly because people were watching. "Alright then. I think I've got enough grounds to run you out of town. I'll just send for the mayor—"
Celene's eyes bulged. "No! I didn't do anything wrong!"
"Sounds to me like you did." Elyana glanced at the crowd behind her, and saw their hardened looks. Celene would find no sympathy from them.
"There anything else I need to know? Something I can tell the mayor to help your case?"
Celene glanced frantically between Elyana and the grumbling folk behind her. "There was a letter," she blurted out.
"A letter?" Elyana prompted. Gods, the woman was slow.
"Lisette wrote a letter. Said to give it to you if you turned up."
"Then give it to me!"
"I can't!"
Elyana stepped even closer, towering over the woman. It took tremendous willpower not to take her by the shoulders. "Why not?"
Celene's face drained of all color. "I burned it," she whispered, then licked dry lips. "I...I was afraid about what it said."
"You read the letter?"
She nodded. "I was going to reseal it until I saw..."
Elyana lowered her voice. "I'm only going to ask once. Tell me, very quietly, what it said."
Again the woman gulped. Her breath smelled of sour apples and disease, and Elyana held her breath lest she breathe in more as Celene whispered her answer.
At the words, Elyana's brows rose in astonishment, and she pulled away. Celene cried out, shielding her face with one arm as though she expected Elyana to strike her.
But the elf's mind was already racing on, trying to reason through what she'd been told.
"What's happened?" the innkeeper called.
"Let her be," Elyana answered distractedly, then gently lifted the lantern from his wife's outstretched fingers. "Don't follow," she said, and used the lantern to pursue the tracks into the darkness. She was pretty sure she knew where they'd lead, and she was afraid she'd find something very bad when she reached their end.
paizo.com #3236236, Corry Douglas
Chapter Twenty-Three
The Temple and the Cleric
Drelm
Drelm pushed the temple doors open with such force that they slammed into the walls to either side.
The congregation sat in pews facing the altar where the masked Razmiri priest stood on a little platform. Two acolytes, broad-shouldered fellows in dark robes with deep hoods, stood behind him with bowed heads. The man faltered as Drelm stood on the threshold, then spoke on, asking the assembled to continue praying to Razmir for safety and protection.
Those at the rear of the temple turned to see who had made such noise, frowning in disapproval, then stopped short as Drelm advanced down the central aisle. More and more began to mutter, and word spread through them faster than fire in dry summer grass: Drelm had returned.
Hindreck and Illidian followed.
Finally, so many in the congregation were distracted from their prayer that the priest stopped his speech and addressed Drelm.
"May I help you, my child?"
It was only then that Drelm realized who sat in that front row nearest the aisle, for Daylah turned suddenly, her face lighting in wonder, then climbed to her feet and threw herself into Drelm's arms.
"Praise Razmir!" she said into his shoulder. "I knew it! I knew you would return to me."
When had she turned to this god? "Razmir had very much to do with it," Drelm said, "but not in the way you think." He put her aside, as gently as he was able, ignoring the curious, hurt look in her eyes. "The beast is dead," he told her, then addressed the congregation, louder. "We have killed the beast!"
The temple erupted into cheers of joy, and the priest cried out, clapping, "Razmir be praised!"
"The beast was sent by priests of Razmir," Drelm shouted, and the cheers floundered and clapping came awkwardly to an end.
"Surely," the priest began, then his iron mask turned as Illidian and Hindreck advanced from left and right. Hindreck looked none too pleased, but Illidian's face was bright with vicious joy. The two acolytes cast their robes aside and put hands to revealed sword hilts.
Drelm would let the others take care of the priests. It was time to explain. He faced the worshipers. "The priests sent the thing against those who would not worship their god, and protected those who did. They've tricked you."
"You blaspheme!" The priest cried.
Drelm turned to him in time to see a corona of blue energy come to the priest's fingertips as he raised them. "You mock Razmir in his own temple! My god's wrath is swift and terrible!"
His fingers flexed, and lightning sparked and hummed in a blue arc and struck the half-orc.
Drelm gritted his teeth against the numbing burn and shook his head to clear the spots from his eyes as he charged. The eyes behind the iron Razmiri mask widened in fear.
About him he heard the scream of those who watched, and Daylah's was especially cutting. He did not like to hear her worried.
The priest's cloaked acolytes raised swords as Hindreck and Illidian rushed forward. Drelm heard the druid chanting and the elf laughing in mad pleasure as swords clanged, but he did not see what they did.
He caught the lead priest b
y the throat and lifted him from the ground, the axe ready in his right hand.
"It is you who blaspheme," he snapped. "Yours is a false god."
While the fellow wriggled Drelm cast down his axe and tore free the mask. It clanged against the planked floor. The face of the man beneath was utterly ordinary: middle-aged, pockmarked, with a brown mustache and beard going to gray.
"Tell them," Drelm cried. "Did your so-called god send the beast? Give them the truth!"
The priest writhed for a long time, prying with his hands against the gloved fingers that seemed of iron. Finally, he gasped, "Yes!"
Drelm released him, and the priest crumpled to the floor planks, gasping and massaging his throat.
"Depart this land," Drelm commanded. "Depart this temple, and crawl back to your little god."
The priest climbed to his feet, stumbling down the aisle toward the front door, gasping as if he had run a span of miles. He reeled out the door. Illidian had killed the other acolyte, as Drelm might have guessed. The second knelt, quivering, before Hindreck.
"Send him away," Drelm commanded the druid.
Drelm took up his battleaxe as the moaning acolyte stumbled after his master, then considered the crowd. "Let the taint of Razmir's name be banished. Henceforth, this building shall be a temple to Abadar, where we can all contemplate justice and balance in his name."
Drelm spoke on. In the past, words had sometimes been difficult for him. This day, though, they came easily. He knew precisely what must be said. "There are some who say Abadar is god only to the wealthy, or that he means to pave the nations of the world so there's no land that does not quiver under the tread of empire. They profane his teachings! Laws and wisdom must be carried forward to all the lands. Thus will you prosper, so long as you strive always for balance."
Drelm felt then as though a weight had been lifted from him. For a moment, he breathed more clearly than he had ever breathed, and the aches and pain in his body eased. He stood blinking, looking at the familiar faces that stared back at him. He gazed then upon his axe, and at a strange gleam upon the gauntlet of his left hand. Until that moment, it had always been plain, yet now he saw it had been emblazoned with a golden key: the symbol of Abadar.
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