The man looked back at him with the same smile. "And now you would test me? Fair enough. You should know, Reverend Taylor is my son. And I'm not aware I have grandchildren. He never married."
Brent blinked and then laughed with relief. "You're his father? Dean Martin, then. Your son spoke of you. My apologies, sir. I had to be sure. Men of faith are tested all the time and by the most unseemly people who later turn out to be spies for the Word." Brent paused when the Dean's smile grew a little wider. "Sorry," said Brent. "You'd know better than most."
"Don't apologise, young man. Men and women of faith are tested every day, just as you say. For some they believe faith is faith and that is everything to them. Others question it until the day they die, never quite sure if they were right or wrong — always looking for proof. And others find their faith and simply wear it like a favourite shirt. Comfortable and familiar. Those people don't want or need proof. They don't question why God has to remain hidden and only through faith can people believe. You, I can see, have a favourite shirt, am I wrong?"
Brent felt emotions tighten his throat. He nodded and swallowed against the lump.
"I thought so," said Dean Martin. "We understand one another. My son has written about you so much I feel I already know you. The world is in for a shit storm and I need to speak to you about it."
"You swore."
"I did?"
"You just said shit. In a church."
"Yes, I did. My church, I might point out."
Brent said nothing.
"Brent, you need to get moving and I don't want to hold you up. This is a great building with one of the best libraries in the Realm. But the people inside the church are not true followers of God. They're assholes, to be frank."
Brent nodded mentally adding assholes to the list of things he could now say at will. Oh wait, I already do.
"Very funny. I'll give you a complete list of swear words later — I have a list going back aeons. But never mind that. Pay attention." Brent blinked quickly sensing something was wrong but not able to put his finger on it. Dean Martin continued without pause. "The world is about to change. The Church is corrupted from within. The people who profess to understand what God is all about have it wrong. And a particularly bad sort are working out of this very church we sit in and they report directly to the Archbishop of Munsten, the very head of the Church of the New Order. They call themselves the Sect of the Church. They are self-serving and seek merely to hold power over man and woman. They kill with lust and claim to do so in God's name. They are lost and I'm tired of it quite frankly. Anyway, it all has to end and you, my friend, are already wrapped up in it."
"I am? Why?" No shit, I'm wrapped up in it, thought Brent. Here I am on the road to oblivion. All alone.
"Good questions. You're not alone, by the way. But I'll give you an honest answer. Because."
Brent felt uneasy. Something strange was happening here. "Wait, what? Because? That's the answer?"
The man stared at him for a moment and laughed. "No, just kidding. God has picked you for a reason. You believe, Brent. You are a true believer. One of the few actually. And you have a pure heart. You care about people. Before yourself. When you helped Bill Redgrave when he was close to death, you proved your worth. You did it selflessly. You did it because it was the right thing to do. That is the true test of faith. Belief and faith are not measured by how much you pray or how much you try to help others because you think you will be rewarded by God. Those are exactly the wrong reasons, you understand? The most unworthy people of faith are those who do good things only because of a fear of a horrible afterlife or because someone of faith told them to do that. You need to come to it on your own. The words help, I won't lie, but seriously, unless you are doing it because you know it is the right thing to do, you are wasting effort. Trust me in that."
Brent nodded. He felt a little light-headed.
"Breathe. Relax. This will be over soon. I have to warn you of something. What you do with the warning is up to you and I'm not making you do shit. You have to want to do something about it because it is the right thing to do and not because I'm warning you."
Brent nodded again. He was following all this. He really was. It was just...just...so...? "So what is this warning?"
"Something bad is going to happen. You were followed out of Munsten by Seth Farlow. Ah, I can see in your eyes you know this man. He is the dagger for the Archbishop. Heads up the Sect of the Church of the New Order. The same Sect mothers tell stories of to scare their children to go to bed. But they're real. Too real. They base here in Jergen in the basement of this Cathedral. Right under our feet. They did terrible things over the years. Unspeakable things. It couldn't be stopped. Can't be stopped. I have no power over them. None." The Dean took a deep breath before continuing. "Seth was following you and where he goes death is sure to follow as well. He is now ahead of you. I fear for you, Brent. But I have hope for you. You are smart and you showed it when you got rid of those men that came with you. All of them Protector's men, but you knew that."
Brent nodded. Seth Farlow was forefront in his mind. He had the displeasure to encounter him on several occasions over the years. It was never pleasant and left him feeling sullied. There was nothing in the man's eyes. Like he had no life in him. Brent shuddered.
The Dean seemed to wait until Brent settled before speaking again. "You are heading to Jaipers. There is a man there you need to meet. He is the Reeve. Reeve Comlin. A good man. He will help you and you will need his help. A group of the Sect left a week ago for Jaipers. It's no coincidence. So head to Jaipers with your men and stop them. Stop Seth. Do what you need to do there and get out."
Brent raised his eyebrows. Taking orders from his brother and the Lord Protector was ingrained in him. Taking orders from a man he just met was something altogether different. He wasn't sure how to respond. "Meet with the Reeve and stop the Sect. How will I recognise them?"
"They wear black, soft-soled, boots. Very distinctive."
"I see. And why would they be heading to Jaipers?"
"I suspect you already have the answer to that. They answer directly to the Archbishop. Remember that. There was a time when the Archbishop answered only to the King. Now he is nothing but a figure. Crippled with age and humiliation. Head to Jaipers; meet with the Reeve."
"The Reeve," repeated Brent.
"Yes. Here, take this." The man handed Brent a wooden amulet tied to a leather thong.
"What is it?" Brent held the amulet up to his face and examined it. It was plain hardwood, polished and oiled. It had the symbol of the Church of the New Order on one side and a triskelion on the other. It was the same symbol he had seen on the coin he had sent down to Bill Redgrave all those many months ago.
"An amulet. You'll recognise the symbol of the Church of the New Order. On the reverse, however, what you've recognised is an old symbol of the Word. No one today would recall the ties of the Church to the Word. There was a time men and women of the cloth understood and worked with the men and women of the Word. Religion and Science it was called back then. They used to get along. Then they almost destroyed the world in their hatred for one another. Never mind. Woolgathering on my part. Please wear it and do not remove it. Whomever recognises it on you are those whom you can trust."
Brent didn't respond but pulled the amulet over his head and tucked it inside his shirt. He stood up and walked over to the stairs leading up to the altar. The colours from the sun through the stained-glass were beautiful. It is too bad all this beauty is tainted by the politics of the Realm, thought Brent. And I'm right in the middle of it now. He trusted Reverend Taylor and remembered he had once spoken of his father the Dean of Jergen Cathedral — the memory was fleeting — spoken over too much wine.
Brent knew he had nothing to fear from a weasel like Seth, but this Sect...if they had numbers they could pose a real threat. Jaipers and its garrison would need his help. Faith and proof. Brent snorted to himself. I have faith, of that I am sure. Fa
ith in God but not in people. A glimmer of a memory returned to Brent. He recalled his conversation with Reverend Taylor. They were seated at his kitchen table in his house, three bottles of good wine gone. As always, they talked of the Church. In this memory, they had talked of faith and people. Taylor had been talking about his father: the Dean of Jergen Cathedral. He had said his father's favourite saying had been 'Have faith in God but less so in people'. His father, he said, had been killed during the Revolution fighting an insurgency within the church.
Brent spun around to find himself alone in the Cathedral. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and his eyes darted to all the corners looking for movement. Dean Martin was gone. Vanished into thin air. A man dead these past ten years. Fear rose up quick as a snake and grabbed hold of his reason. Brent couldn't help himself. He bolted for the narthex and the cloakroom and snatched his cloak. He could feel eyes on him and he shivered despite the heat. A panic filled him and he had to escape. He fumbled at the latch, finally engaged it, and pulled the door open forcefully lunging through the opening and down the steps of the Cathedral, his feet beating a staccato on the stone.
The summer heat beat down on him but he still felt cold. So cold he was shaking. He ran out across the street and bumped into a few people as he pushed his way to the far sidewalk. Some cursed him and declared him drunk. He kept moving down streets, keeping to the open and soon reached the far side of the district. He stopped, panting, with fear eating at the edges of his strength, and he felt weak. He forced himself to stand tall and turned to look back over the rooftops at the Cathedral. It stood silent and bright in the sun. The fear began to sweat itself out his pores and he breathed a sigh of relief and pushed back the hood of his cloak.
After the shaking went away. Brent half convinced himself he had imagined it all. He hadn't eaten yet today. And he had drunk too much wine the night before. He had slept in the Church, perhaps it was only a waking dream. He was hallucinating, he was sure of it. He shook himself and started back toward his rooms. He walked a few feet and then stopped and snapped his hand to his neck and chest and felt the wooden amulet still around his neck.
James sat comfortably in his saddle and looked around at the men gathered in front of him on horseback and with the carts in line. They had just completed muster in the parade square of the garrison. These men were the replacements for Major Gillespie and the others. These men were handpicked by Brent's brother, Major General Frederick Bairstow. They looked eager and attentive. It was a good start. James glanced to Brent beside him but the other man looked deep in thought and so he adjusted his weight a little in the saddle and judged the horse's reactions.
His horse was well suited to his style of riding and he had to admit to a certain fondness for the animal. His father often scolded him for being too attached to the beasts, but James had ignored his advice and the use of the word. Horses were not beasts. Men were beasts. The truth was simple: his father simply couldn't suffer the loss of the animals and instead chose to distance himself from them. His loss, thought James. Horses were in many ways better than people. James reached forward and patted his horse's neck and the horse blew out air. James looked the men over again. These men are not beasts. Quite the contrary.
"They will be reliable and trustworthy," Brent had said before the muster. "But I still fear a spy in their midst. I think it safe to assume at least one is in the pockets of our Lord Protector."
"Hmm, yes," was James' reply. "I think that is a safe bet, sir. We'll know soon enough. What I fear most, however, is Major Gillespie not heading north as he should. How do we confirm that?"
Brent had drawn quiet for a time, contemplating before he spoke again. "We don't. There's no way to know. We will need to send scouts behind our travel. Gillespie will follow and watch for that. Despite how much of a scoundrel he is, I don't dare doubt his military mind. He'll find a way. He can't return to Munsten empty handed. It would be his death and he knows it. He'll pick his most trustworthy men and follow us at a safe distance. All army men I should think."
James had merely nodded. Brent was probably correct. Generals usually are, he had thought.
As ordered, they were mustered. Captain Marcel Mayer and James had inspected it at dawn. Their kit had checked out clean and ready. Weapons and armour beyond reproach. These were good men. All army and all strong men and well-honed by years of experience. The men had arrived on horseback and they had no shortage of mounts now. Two of the men James knew for their horse skills. One was once a farrier and the other had worked making saddles before joining the military. James liked men who understood horses. They were usually more reliable in the long run.
Brent was beside him and looking out towards the gate. He kept reaching up to grasp something under his chain shirt. His face looked troubled and James had tried to broach the subject but had been gently persuaded not to bother. James hoped whatever had happened to make him look that way would not be a sign of more trouble ahead. He would watch him and be prepared to help him if he could. Brent was more than a friend. He had become a mentor, a man James hoped to be like. He was professional and had a natural leadership style James could only envy. But he had a wild side to him as well. The two of them had managed to find a couple of fine ladies to spend their evenings with. All due to Brent's charm and wit. But it was his military bearing that made James want to be like him. Already the men were responding to Brent's leadership and it had only been less than twelve hours.
The man doesn't even need to try. He exudes leadership like some men sweat. By the Word, I want to be more like this man.
James leant back in the saddle and his horse shifted slightly under the change in weight. James smiled, pleased with the horse. Brent had called the horse Shitters after it proved to want to shit at the most inopportune moments. James knew horses well enough to know the horse was doing it intentionally. It was one of the reasons he liked it so much.
Brent inclined his head and James leant slightly forward and to the left and his horse immediately moved to follow behind Brent's horse. Brent led his horse to the front and wheeled to face the men. Captain Mayer sat on horseback holding the Army Standard. It flapped lazily in the slight wind. James shifted in his saddle to steer his horse and then squeezed his legs to stop the horse beside Mayer.
"Gentlemen," began Brent in a slightly raised voice. A voice meant to be heard but not abrasive. Brent has the knack of that down pat, thought James. "First of all, I thank you for travelling at such speed to Jergen. Time was short and you did not let me down. I apologise I cannot allow you time to recover here in Jergen. Trust me when I tell you: you are truly missing out on some fine sights here."
Two of the men chuckled and glanced at one another.
"Yes, you two made quite a name for yourselves with some of the wildlife here in Jergen. Well, done. I heard from some of the other wildlife you left quite the impression."
The men laughed easily and the others joined in. James found himself smiling. Brent and he had found a couple of ladies who were worth returning to Jergen for. A rare form of wildlife. Women who spoke their mind and considered themselves equals, if not better, than men. James had found it refreshing and satisfying. I could love a woman like that, he thought. Isabelle is bold, outspoken, and intelligent — an equal in life, mind and body.
"Sadly," continued Brent with a raised hand to quell the laughter. "We must be on our way. I know my brother briefed you personally before you left and I have no doubt the city has ears and eyes on us today. You understand the threat. You know the mission. That is enough for now. I don't imagine that this will be easy. This mission will be a challenge and you will be hard pressed to apply your military experience. This is political and petty and we have enemies. Enemies that look like us and talk like us. You know what I mean.
This will be a long journey. You will be placed in situations where your lives may be in danger. I trust you to use your judgement. I have explained how I want force used and when. I may not be there when
you will need to make a snap decision on whether to strike or not. Know this: I trust you to make the right choice. We are brothers first on this journey. Officers and enlisted second. Are you with me?"
The men barked loudly in unison. "Sir, yes, sir!"
The echo of the shout returned in the large, walled, parade square. James smiled. This is a completely different sort of adventure now, he thought.
Brent looked over to Captain Marcel Mayer when he rode his horse up along the right side of his horse Shitters. The Captain touched his forehead in respect and then looked ahead. James rode up beside him on the other side and nodded to Brent. They rode in silence for a few minutes.
Behind them, Jergen disappeared around the bend in the road. It was a fine day for riding: warm, overcast, but with little chance of rain. The men were spread out behind them, staggered, using both sides of the road. The carts and spare horses were placed in the middle of their train. Every single one of the men was regular Army and knew how to ride and remain vigilant.
"Sir, this is Captain Marcel Mayer," said James by way of introduction.
"Pleasure, Captain. Glad you made it as soon as you did. Tell me, how have you managed to get so spectacularly lost? Shouldn't you be conducting manoeuvres in the vicinity of Curachan?"
Captain Mayer laughed a bright peal of laughter. "Sir, yes. Those were my orders. Not sure what happened exactly. We went straight at the crossroads when we should have gone left. Next thing we knew we were in Jergen. Imagine our surprise. I blame my corporal, sir. He's not very smart with maps and the like."
Brent heard an exclamation from behind him and smiled. "So it seems." He nodded to Marcel. "Thanks for making such good timing, captain. It was getting harder to remain in Jergen. James tells me you knew each other back in Munsten?"
Leaf and Branch (New Druids Series Vol 1 & 2) Page 58