by Jon Bender
“We will of course aid you in any way we can to carry out the great god’s will,” the priest replied. He looked to the wagon and his lips spread into a smug grin. “Are these unbelievers you have found?”
Keller looked back to Vulgin and his family. He could see the fear etched on each of their faces. A fear he knew to be justified. The dark priests took great pleasure in punishing those who had strayed from the path, seeing such tasks as their holy duty to Or’Keer.
He turned back to the priests and hardened his glare to wipe away the man’s grin.
“This is Master Rogard and his family,” Keller said. “I found them fleeing north out of fear of our enemy’s approach. They are to be taken to one of the temples and guided in asking forgiveness from Or’Keer.”
“Of course, Chosen One. I will personally show them that their lack of faith is unacceptable,” the priest said.
Keller shook his head. “They’re loyal to Or’Keer, and only need their faith in his plan reaffirmed. I would be very displeased to discover they were taken to a conversion chamber,” he said firmly, making sure that the priest understood his meaning.
A conversion chamber amounted to nothing more than a room with two tables. One for the potential convert to be secured to, and another for the bloody tools used during the conversion. It was a place where enemies and those who refused to renounce the old gods were taken until they swore allegiance to Or’Keer.
Keller despised these rooms, knowing that they had only limited success in actually converting a nonbeliever. Most people simply died before coming to the path, but some were turned into almost mindless animals – men and women who thought of nothing but serving the dark god, their thinking becoming rigid and unyielding. Keller found the technique of conversion flawed. The convert would emerge unable to understand another’s point and find ways to bring them to the path through reason. He could not, however, dispute the fact that many who were converted in this way were the most devout in their worship of Or’Keer. Many joined the ranks of the faithful.
The priest looked from the family to Keller, as if deciding how serious the threat was. “They will be guided in asking for forgiveness and nothing else,” he assured.
Keller nodded and began to move forward again when the priest continued on. “But if Or’Keer should demand they be punished…”
Keller was shocked that this minor priest would even suggest going against the command of a chosen and looked carefully at the man for the first time. He noticed how small of stature the priest was, with a pinched face framing narrow blue eyes filled with anger and disdain. There was something else in those eyes that he also noticed – the man was filled with jealousy for him. This was not an uncommon emotion among priests, or even the faithful when confronted by one of the chosen, but it was the first time Keller had seen it so brazenly flaunted. He could kill the man for his disrespect without concern of retribution but doing so would make the priests less inclined to help in his mission.
Instead of responding with anger, Keller offered the priest a warm smile. It had the desired effect of unsettling the man, shown when he shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny. “What is your name?” Keller asked.
“I am Benkt, fourth tier of the northern Karadin temple,” he said, his tone losing some of its bluster.
Keller continued to stare at the man. Fourth tier placed him just above the initiates accepted into the priests’ order. He had also claimed a temple here in the city, which meant that this was where he had been accepted as a member of the brotherhood. His low station was probably the reason he had been placed on duty at the edge of the city in the scorching sun.
“We are all at the command of our God, and if he wishes these people to be punished for their transgression then so be it. But, should I find that you acted in his name without express instruction, you will suffer a worse fate than they do.” Keller let his smile slowly slip away with each word.
Benkt looked to his brother for help and found none as the other priest cast his eyes to the ground. The soldiers too were looking in any other direction but theirs. Finally, Benkt met his eyes again before nodding. “Of course, Chosen One. I would never presume to know what the great god wishes without him answering my prayers.”
Keller tilted his head to the side, looking for any trace of derision and finding none. It seemed no further lessons were needed for this young priest to know his place. “Good,” he said, looking at the other priest who had remained silent during the exchange. “Take this family to your temple and guide them in prayer to Or’Keer. While you are there, tell your superior that Benkt of the fourth tier will be serving me until I have completed my task here.”
The young priest nodded quickly and hurried to speak with Vulgin and his family as Keller looked back to Benkt. “Now, you will take me to a reputable tailor and then whoever claims lordship over this city.”
He would need a guide while in Karadin, someone who knew the city. Benkt, who was likely born here, would serve well in that function. The brash priest at first looked confused and opened his mouth to speak but, changing his mind, he turned and began walking into the city.
Keeping one eye on Benkt as he followed him through the twisting, cobbled streets, Keller looked about at the people who moved quickly out of their way. Most were dressed in common clothing, but none seemed to be impoverished even this far from the city proper. Once the entire city had sworn fealty to Or’Keer, any trade or commerce that had been disrupted during purges would have been restored with the help of the temples. Or’Keer cared little for the wealth of his worshipers, but the temples found that people were less likely to resist conversion if they were fed and clothed. Healthy trade also allowed for greater taxes to fund the growing army that would spread Or’Keer’s path to the other kingdoms. The only difference now that Karadin worshiped the dark god, was that nobles acted only as administrators for the temples who determined what was law.
The priest made several confident turns and Keller soon lost a sense of where he was. The buildings around him, packed so closely together and reaching as high as four stories, blocked his view of the wall surrounding the inner city. After nearly twenty minutes, Benkt stopped and pointed to a shop with a needle and thread depicted on the sign hanging over the door. The building was plain with grey stone walls and did not even have a large window to display the owner’s talent as was customary. It did not seem a place that catered to wealthier customers as he had expected Benkt to lead him to.
Climbing down from his horse, he gave the building a dubious look that he shared with the priest. “I said take me to a reputable tailor, not one whose customers pay in eggs and beats,” he said annoyed.
Benkt narrowed his eyes. “Just because great lords who look down their noses at everyone else do not come here, you think that Raval cannot do as fine a job as any other tailor? When my father was alive, this was where he would come to have all our clothes made.”
Keller was again astounded by the priest’s impudence, but the words he spoke rang true as well. They also matched Keller’s own feelings about the supposed superiority of the wealthy over common people. Perhaps his own elevation in position since becoming one of the chosen had slowly been changing him, turning him into the very thing that he hated. It was something he would have to consider more deeply.
“Where is your father now?” he asked, deciding to let the priest’s disrespect go for the moment.
Benkt met his eyes with a firm stare. “He foolishly would not give up his devotion to the false god Lorem,” he said, offering no more on the topic.
Deciding not to press the matter and elicit more disrespect, something he would have to deal with should it continue, Keller handed the reins to Benkt as if he were a common stable boy. “Wait here for me to return,” he said, thinking that some humility would help curb the young priest’s attitude. Benkt took the reins, but it was evident he was not happy about it.
Satisfied that Benkt had been properly chastised, Keller opened th
e old but recently painted door and stepped inside. His nostrils were instantly filled with the scent of flowers and sweet incense. The room itself was simple with four wooden frames holding sets of clothing and a small platform for the customer to stand on. There was also a full-length mirror set next to the wall, an expensive item showing that the owner was successful in his trade. The only other door he could see connected to a back room lined with shelves holding different types of fabrics and a work area. A middle age man stepped out from the room. Seeing Keller, the man’s eyes went wide and he wiped his hands on the front of his dark blue pants. His grey hair was neatly cut and parted to frame a square face. He wore a dark jacket matching his pants and covering a white shirt with intricate embroidery. The entire wardrobe fit his body perfectly. From his appearance, Keller guessed the man to be tidy and fastidious, a valuable trait in a craftsman.
The man stepped out toward Keller and bowed low. “Good afternoon, holiness. I am Raval. How may I be of service to the great god Or’Keer?” he said, never standing from his bent position.
“I am not of the temple, but one of Or’Keer’s chosen. I require new attire that will show the difference,” Keller said, knowing by Raval’s reaction that he had been right to come. Not only did it vex him to be thought a priest instead of a mage, but being seen as one wherever he went would make it harder to find the unfaithful and traitors that were hidden within the city.
Raval dropped from his bow to both knees, placing his head on the floor as if he were at mandatory prayer. “Forgive me, Magus. Had I known…” His voice was muffled as he spoke into the colorful rug beneath them.
Keller sighed and leaned over to place a hand on Raval’s shoulder. “Your devotion is appreciated, but I am simply another servant of Or’Keer as you are. It is sacrilegious for you to act as if I was the great god himself.”
Raval shot to his feet but kept his eyes toward the ground. “I will of course serve in any way possible and free of charge.”
“That will not be necessary, I’ll pay you fairly for your work,” Keller said, leaning low to look at him directly.
Raval met his gaze, but still seemed uncomfortable to be in Keller’s presence. “Thank you, Magus. Do you know what style and color you wish to have made?” he said, seeming eager to change the subject.
Keller looked at Raval’s own clothing again and found the style too conservative for a mage. He did not want to overly stand out, but neither did he wish to appear a craftsman or common laborer. Turning his scrutiny on the wooden frames, one held a finely crafted blue coat that would fall to mid-thigh over a pair of dark pants. Underneath the coat, a white shirt with blue embroidery stood in stark contrast to the dark colors.
He pointed to the frame. “That one, but in black and silver. The colors of Or’Keer.”
Raval looked at the frame and nodded. “If you will step onto the stand so that I can get your measurements,” he said, waving his hand to the raised platform.
Keller removed his heavy robes and laid them on the counter, leaving him wearing only a simple undershirt and pants, before stepping up. The mirror offered a full view of himself. His light brown hair was short but neatly cut – in opposition to the custom of his home kingdom of Etear’a, where men of station kept their hair longer to separate themselves from the commoners – his choice a vestige of his time as a poor boy living in squalor. The light green eyes looking back at him were the perfect imitation of his mother’s and a constant reminder of the kind woman who had degraded herself to take care of him and his brother. He was taller than most with three inches over six feet, though not as muscular as some who made their livings as laborers or soldiers. Some would even call him thin, a result of years at study under the brotherhood. He was not concerned with his lack of physical strength. What did that matter when he wielded such power?
While he had been examining himself, Raval pulled a length of knotted rope from his pocket and stepped behind him. He began first by measuring each leg and marking some notes down on a small piece of parchment before moving on. “If I may ask, Magus, how did you find my shop? There are much more lavish establishments than mine.”
Keller looked down at the man as the cord was wrapped around his waist. “A priest named Benkt brought me here. He is waiting outside now.”
Raval’s hands hesitated in his work at hearing the name. “I have not seen Benkt in some years now. I knew he intended to join the priesthood, but didn’t know he had succeeded.”
Keller heard regret in the other man’s voice. “I understand that you knew his father as well,” he said, curious to know what had happened to the brazen priest’s family.
Raval had moved behind him, so he could not see his reaction to the statement. There was a long pause before he answered. “Yes, he was a good man who worked only to make a better life for his son, but he was too stubborn by half. He couldn’t accept that the world was changing around him.”
“What happened to him?” Keller asked.
Another long pause. “It’s not for me to say.”
Keller considered leaving it at that, but if Benkt was to guide him, it would do well to know more about the young man. “It is for you to say, because I say it is,” Keller said, adding a hint of threat to his tone.
Raval gently guided Keller’s arms up to the side allowing the tailor to measure breadth of his chest. “During the purges, there was a resistance formed by those who remained loyal to the old gods. Benkt’s father was among its leaders.”
“So, he was discovered and made an example of,” Keller said, familiar with the story.
Many people, if not most, resisted the path at first. Even now, he could be sure many still held onto their old faith in secret. Their devotion to Or’Keer may come in only a shallow form, but even this insincere worship seemed to satisfy his god for now. It had been almost a full generation since the last purge, and with every year that passed more became true believers, their worship adding to the dark god’s power.
“No, he was not discovered… at least not by the priests,” Raval said, his voice dropping low. “Benkt, even at such a young age, saw Or’Keer as the only true god and begged his father to give up his worship of Lorem. When his father refused, Benkt reported him and stood by as they dragged him out into the street. He and their neighbors watched as the traitor was put to death.”
This, too, was a common account of what happened within families during a purge.
“If his father would not renounce his false god, then Benkt had done the only thing he could,” Keller said, settling his arms to his side.”
“Of course, Magus,” Raval said, but Keller did not miss the echo of doubt in his voice. “I am finished with your measurements. If you return this time tomorrow, I will be able to make the final adjustments and have it ready for you the following day.”
That surprised him as he stepped down from the stand. “You do very fast work. I would have expected it to be days longer,” he said, pulling the heavy robes over his shoulders again. He had been much cooler without them and was already looking forward to the lighter jacket.
Raval nodded as he scribbled some more notes on the parchment. “The temples have commanded that any orders placed by them take precedent over others, but they pay well for quick work.”
“Then I will return tomorrow,” Keller said.
Raval mumbled a polite reply, but his mind was already elsewhere as he considered the task before him and turned to the back room.
Outside Keller found Benkt where he had left him. The priest was looking particularly annoyed as he laid a glare on anyone who walked past.
“Were you satisfied with the service?” he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm.
“Yes, he is a skilled craftsman,” Keller replied.
“Where to now?”
“To wherever the lord of this city resides.” Keller took the reins and climbed into the saddle.
Benkt turned smartly on his heel and headed deeper into the city. It wasn’t long before t
he gentle slope of the street became more pronounced and they soon came onto a straight road which allowed him to see the wall surrounding the original city. Off to the right and still outside the wall, another structure newer than the others towered above them – one of many of Or’Keer’s temples located throughout the city. In a few hours, it and the others would soon be filled with the city’s inhabitants joined together in prayer to Or’Keer. Those who could not make it to a temple were expected to pray on their own, a practice enforced by random patrols of soldiers and priests. It was also possible that the faithful, with their ability to blend into the shadows, would occasionally snatch up those who shirked their duty. These unexpected appearances instilled fear that a person never knew when they were being watched, and motivating them to be diligent in their devotion. He wished that such methods where not needed, but if that were the case, Or’Keer would not have sent him here in the first place.
When they reached the main gate leading to the city proper, Keller was not surprised to see it guarded. Travel within the city was unfettered, it was only those who came or went that were questioned and searched. Once beyond the wall, the buildings became much more ornate with grand archways and stylized iron fences on which ivy had been allowed to grow. The people walking the streets were more finely dressed than those outside the wall and recognized Benkt and himself as servants of Or’Keer and quickly moved out of the way, their eyes downcast so as to not draw attention. The streets were paved with flat grey stones that clicked loudly against his horse’s hooves. Unlike the outer city, they were also far more orderly with straight lines and sharp turns. Sitting at the top of the hill was a large complex of grey buildings surrounded by a short wall. The barrier was no more than a dozen feet tall and appeared more ceremonial than serving as a true defense.
“What’s this lord’s name?” he asked the back of Benkt’s head.
“Lord Prasil,” Benkt said, without turning around. “His family has ruled over Karadin and the surrounding lands for six generations. They have served faithfully whoever controlled the throne of Fenaris, and now they serve Or’Keer just as well. When the faithful came in force to this city, I remember him fighting bitterly against them and those loyal to our god. He would have fought on until death if one of the brotherhood had not brought proof of the king’s death. When he discovered that a new king had taken the throne and sworn allegiance to Or’Keer, he quickly capitulated and has since been a devout servant to the path.”