by Ty Arthur
Continuing to chant a funeral dirge she'd heard as a child, she tried to drown out the laughing whispers within and the muffled cries behind as she departed the Briar and returned to the streets now cleared of fleeing citizens.
Or perhaps not quite cleared after all, as a squad of six soldiers wielding spears and maces slowly converged on an alley entrance nearby, clearly moving in on some sought-after quarry. Instinctively she pulled herself up against the nearest wall and into whatever shadows could be found, having no desire for another run-in with the knights so soon. Not with the voices still promising a bigger brood.
Hoping the soldiers would find their prey and be gone soon, she held her breath and waited. It was only a moment before she knew this was anything but a routine case of guerrilla fighters being rounded up and slaughtered.
A drenched and dirty man – perhaps a mirror reflection of her own ragged form – suddenly appeared behind the line of soldiers, as though he'd shifted through them somehow without their noticing. She blinked rapidly, rubbing her eyes to be sure they weren't crusted over with mud. Only his back was visible to her, revealing a shaggy, brown-haired form noticeably shorter than the assailants who were suddenly spinning on their heels as their target materialized behind them.
The whispers shrieked at her, going from a faint whisper to a cacophony in an instant, screaming incoherently to run any direction or they'd enact a punishment she couldn't even imagine.
Tala pressed her palms to her temples and winced from the sudden flaring pain, but kept her gaze trained on the apparently suicidal man, who stood before six armed and armored knights, calmly raising his arm and pointing at them. Something blacker than even the void of the obelisk erupted from his hand and tore across the alley, momentarily blinding Tala as she was forced to look way from the spectacle.
When vision returned, along with several faint light stars in the air and a stinging sensation in her ears, she found only carnage, with blood-stained soot splattered across the dusty alley entrance all that remained of the knights. Staring slack-jawed at the figure that had somehow eradicated a patrol of guards with nothing but a wave of his hand, Tala prepared to flee this latest vile offering of Cestian madness, but instead stood as still as the city's obelisk when the wall of silence hit her.
The voices weren't quieted down. They weren't staying low to suddenly shriek louder. They were gone. It was a sensation she'd only ever felt once before in all her life.
That silence was broken when the conjurer of lethal darkness began screaming and burst into a full run away from his handiwork, madly dashing across the cobblestone street towards the Briar. Not knowing whether she rushed towards something even worse than the fate promised by the soldiers, she chased after the screams, holding onto the silence for dear life.
7 (High Ward, Entrance Checkpoint, Early Dimmet)
The damnable rain picked up even further as three guards at the trellised entrance to the high ward roughly searched the missionary for weapons and contraband. Erret could only barely smell the crackling wood and singed flesh now, and the smoke that had tried to clog the sky only minutes before was nearly evaporated altogether.
He held his tongue as they prodded and shoved, but his normally inexhaustible temper was on the way to snapping. All his carefully watched astrological signs had indicated a dry night ahead, as even the normally reliable sky conspired against his plans for revolution.
Despite their rough searching, he wasn't concerned about them finding his lock box and its all-important contents. That was safely hidden away in a personal bolt hole, but he doubted these men of low character and lower intelligence would have any clue as to its purpose even if he'd brazenly carried it on his person.
As they pulled and jabbed without actually looking for anything, his anger bubbled away at a simmer rapidly approaching a boil. This latest unforeseen turn had again dashed a meticulously cultivated plan to pieces at exactly the wrong moment. Echoing the baffling failure with his riot the previous week, even the heavens themselves thwarted his efforts, putting out the multiple fires he'd strategically started across the eastern ward simultaneously. He would persevere, however, as he'd always done.
As the half-wit soldiers completed their search, curiously taking longer than in visits past, he muttered to himself, “Sometimes the light casts a shadow, but if you follow a shadow long enough you will always return to the light.”
One of the brutes let loose a vicious laugh before shoving Erret away from the ward checkpoint, calling out, “Wiser words were never spoken! I wonder how many Cestian dogs we've killed who thought the same?”
The rest of the soldier's squad joined in the revelry, brazenly casting aspersions on the missionary's faith, with no care for what might await them on the other side of the veil when the deadly nature of the city finally caught up to them.
Back straight and head unbowed, Erret was on his way up the high ward's main road without bothering to respond or look back at those who openly mocked his beliefs. Lack of reverence for the truth was not a new concept to the veteran priest, but something about the flippant attitude and the way the man had smiled at him put the missionary at ill ease. The ward guardians were always brisk and unpleasant, but never accosted him with any particular glee before, knowing he frequently came on official business with the Overlord.
The thought was put aside as he traversed the ward's central lane, reminded of the disgusting opulence of those who believed themselves leaders of the true faith back home. Even here, in the hell that was a destroyed city on the verge of utter extinction, there somehow remained a clear divide between the favored and the destitute.
Remarkably, some of the former nobles who had turned on their fellow citizens and colluded with the invading force appeared not only bathed and well-fed, but lacked any telltale bruises or broken limbs to be found on nearly anyone still breathing elsewhere in the city. It was fitting that this was the road he took to the old apostate church, the primary location where these knights flocked to worship a fallen god.
They failed to see the irony in taking over a shrine consecrated to one heathen entity only to utilize it as a temple to yet another. It had once been a mighty cathedral to some southern god or other, a place of pilgrimage where deluded supplicants came from far and wide to seek miracles. That god, whose name wasn't worth drudging up from memory, clearly had done nothing to save the faithful, and the people had returned the favor by abandoning their faith altogether.
The missionary knew they were right to do so, but could only shake his head and sigh at the thought of how the building now housed another religion that meant nothing and would only take the people of Cestia backwards, rather than forwards on the true path.
He thought of the poor soldiers back at the gate when he muttered, “Stumbling around looking for meaning in the darkness like children. Truth and purpose are only found in the light.”
A commotion among those moving along the lane pulled Erret from his remonstration as he noticed them all flinch and cower down, with one particularly witless individual pointing up at the sight above while crying out.
Even the missionary couldn't stop his heartbeat from slowing when he saw the monstrosity in the sky, but he knew better than to cower before such filth like the common rabble. Twice the size of a man, its serpentine body was marred by two opposing sets of black, insectoid wings buzzing rapidly in tandem to propel its heretical form through the air. It lifted off from the top of the obelisk overlooking the city and took to the sky, heading away from the squalor below.
Its shape seemed to twist over time however, altering each time Erret blinked while straining to look skyward. What had appeared to be thin, membranous wings one instant were suddenly thick and leathery the next. A maw full of fangs appeared to top its sinuous neck, empty of features at first but then suddenly jutting with a crown of horns.
A creature of the darkness, the talons at the end of its two segmented arms always remained stable and clutching a jet black spear that c
ould easily skewer a dozen men, as though it was an intelligent creature capable of thought and tactics on its own without its rider. Few took the time to truly study the being that always accompanied the flying creature. The thing that might have been a man but most assuredly was not seemed to have no fear of falling from such a height astride his obscene mount.
While all trembled and quaked when the creature flew above, Erret knew it was the thing in the form of a man that was the true threat. He only came and went sparingly, seemingly marking the progress of the city's occupation and then departing as suddenly as he came to attend to matters unknown. Although apparently allied to the knighthood's cause, he appeared to be outside the hierarchy of the Black Gauntlet, as even the soldiers spoke little of him and clearly feared his coming and going.
In moments the thing and its rider were gone, but the aftermath remained, with those few braving the streets now returning to their feet, save for one pampered aristocrat lying on the road with his hands over his ears, screaming about the buzzing while letting out gasping sobs.
That simmering deep inside Erret finally boiled over as he screamed, “How dare you prostrate yourself before that wretch? The light can overcome his pale darkness!”
He was on his way towards the gigantic stone cathedral that capped off the high ward before anyone could accost him for his outburst, leaving noble and soldier alike to puzzle at his lack of fear as they regained their composure.
The leveled stone steps were run through with spikes of blackened soot – as were many of the wood or stone structures in the city since the night of the obelisk's coming – but the cathedral itself remained intact. The grand structure, stretching from one end of the street to the other, was more fortress than church, and it was utilized as such by the Overlord as a base of operations for overseeing the city's subjugation.
Massive wood doors remained opened wide and no guards stood at attention, as no one was mad enough, yet, to openly assault the Overlord's base of operations. Not that the thought hadn't crossed Erret's mind before, but the specifics of getting freedom fighters over the dividing wall or through the checkpoint before being cut down were proving to be elusive.
It was only after he entered the main hall, resplendent in the meritless glory of a fallen deity not worthy of worship from the lowest of men, that the missionary realized none of the usual clerks or supplicants were passing in and out. Only the Overlord himself waited at the far end of the hall, draped in long shafts of light through the stained glass far above, broken by stretches of darkness as no torches along the walls were yet lit.
Unlike his subordinates, the overseer of this apostasy that was Cestia was not adorned in either chain links or heavy plate, instead dressing as a common citizen, save for the thick tabard over his shirt bearing the symbol of his unholy order. While the ruler lacked the resolve to fully commit as Erret wished, there was a hint of steel in that backbone that meant he had to be pushed just far enough without going over the edge.
After a dozen of these meetings, the missionary decided the best tactic was to keep Brant off his guard. Before the Overlord could address his so-called subordinate, Erret turned the interrogation on its heels.
“What business does the druid have here? His mount sends your men into a crying fit every time he departs.”
His estimation of Cestia's conqueror rose when not even a hint of annoyance or anger came through in the man's body language or vocal patterns.
“His coming and goings aren't of concern at the moment, priest. The rebels are growing bolder and rousing the populace with their rhetoric of a free city. If we don't get this situation under control, there won't be anything left the next time he returns.”
Erret took note of the phrasing and filed away a further suspicion that Brant wasn't privy to the druid's confidence and was likely just as terrified of the flying creature as any of his soldiers, hoping it was a piece of information that could be put to good use when the time was right.
“The light illuminates all truths, but I'm afraid I haven't seen how I can help end the bloodshed. My concern is with the spiritual well being of these people, whether you maintain control or they govern themselves.”
Any hope at uncovering more useful information in a round of verbal sparring was ended when Brant revealed the reason for his latest summons.
“Enough of your posturing. They might not give any more credence to your faith than to mine, but you hold the confidence of many of the locals and you know which of them are involved in the rebellion. Your counsel has proven most effective at rooting out conspirators in the past.”
The Overlord would be wanting specifics on the next strike by those with revolution in their hearts, overheard by one who traveled in many circles but wasn't seemingly part of any of them. It was information Erret was willing to give up if he could be certain the retribution would be strong enough to warrant a response from those who hadn't taken up their swords yet. A few more could always be sacrificed if it galvanized the many.
“I have no doubt there are those still plotting to overthrow you, and I may be able to discover who -”
For the first time Erret could recall, he was interrupted mid-sentence by the normally stoic Overlord when Brant cut in, “The Empress is displeased with our lack of progress here.”
The news was hardly surprising, Cestia became more unruly every day, but it was the tone of voice that piqued the missionary's interest. Those who patrolled the city and the scribes who saw to the logistics of prosecuting an occupation rarely spoke of their homeland or those there who gave the orders.
Long before his pilgrimage to the city, Erret had heard the whole of the southern sub-continent was under the thumb of some heretic Empress obsessed with bringing as much land under her control as possible. He was not the only one to wonder why an empire bent on conquest had suddenly stopped at a vital gateway city offering access and a supply route to the north, rather than pushing forward towards his own home kingdom.
This sudden admission about his failure was the time to press forward and seek an advantage. “If you don't have the proper appetite for what has to be done, perhaps you should hold more of your ridiculous supplications begging the darkness to give you the stomach to please your task master.”
Used to dealing with religious lackeys and freedom fighters all too eager to hang on his every word, the priest immediately knew he'd overstepped in the chance to finally gain advantage. Brant may have been ineffective at bringing the city to heel, but he was dangerous in many other ways. A slight shift in posture and a flash of his eyes revealed the game had changed. Gone was the curt but cordial man in need of help. In his place was a ruler of men, exuding a dominating chill.
“The next phase of the invasion will commence soon whether we are successful here or not. I will be at the forefront either way. The only difference will be whether I'm leading the army or flayed and presented as a standard to warn others about the cost of failure.”
There was no weakness or fear or in the admission. It was stated as simple fact, and would clearly be accepted by the man as a just consequence for his actions. News of more soldiers arriving soon was concerning however. His plans hinged on the people rising up now before their will could be entirely broken or they came to accept life as part of a larger empire.
Cautious now as to his phrasing, Erret prepared to re-engage in a game of cat and mouse to give up as little information as possible while gaining all he could in return. He was denied the opportunity when Brant turned his back to grasp a bronze cup atop an obsidian altar at the side of the chamber.
The Overlord called over his shoulder, “I've known for some time that you were more involved than you let on, but your knowledge has proven too useful to see you in chains or nailed to a tree.”
The missionary took closer stock of his surroundings, seeking out an exit when Brant raised the cup to his lips and took a drink. The coward couldn't even look Erret in the eye when continuing on, “Unfortunately you have outlived
that usefulness. Your latest scheme to burn down the eastern ward would have been more trouble to me than you are worth.”
It was while considering a side passage leading deeper into the cathedral that he noticed movement when a familiar figure stepped out of the darkness as the far end of the hall.
“I'm sorry Father. The Farwalker has called on me to save these people without anymore needless death.”
He was wrong about the cursed acolyte after all then. Not a boy to be discarded, but even worse, a traitor without the stomach for true revolution. One who would rather side with the darkness for short term safety than walk through the harsh light of truth to eternal glory.
Erret always knew it would be a possibility the Knights of the Black Gauntlet or their rebel foes would catch wind that he had neither side's interests in mind when aiding them. The missionary just hadn't anticipated it would be one of his own brethren in the faith to see his ruse finally ended. Just as the one true faith's Speaker of the Light had been betrayed by his closest lieutenant when capturing the city-states of Enthol hundreds of years before, so too had his own student betrayed him on the cusp of victory.