Wicked Ways: An Iron Kingdoms Chronicles Anthology

by Douglas Seacat

  “But I have,” Versh said. “Prelate Mara Lynyse is the senior priest at the Monastery of Ascendant Angellia, which is attached to and supervises the library. We have a history from when I was an active member of the Order of Illumination.” A troubled look crossed over his face, as if a bad memory had suddenly come to the fore of his mind. He shook it off. “She has given me dispensation to search the library. Today is a holy day for her worshippers, however, so while the pews will be filled, the library will be ours.”

  Elliot brightened. To visit the great library and the Monastery of Ascendant Angellia, even under such dire circumstances, was a once-in-a-lifetime experience. The library had been built by the ascendant herself, and her remains were preserved in the monastery, making it a site of pilgrimage to many Morrowans.

  “So, we start at the library,” Elliot said. “Do we need to make a reservation in case…?”

  This got a sad smile from everyone but Kincaid. It was one of Mel’s jokes, one she’d repeated often enough to become tired. They could hear her finish it …in case they’re booked?

  When no one filled the silence, Kincaid cleared his throat. “Well, after some of the places we’ve been, a nice quiet library will be a change of pace.”

  “Maybe this time we won’t run into any bloody former kings,” Grimes said with a sour grimace.

  • • •

  ELLIOT WAS DISAPPOINTED the prelate of the monastery did not greet them at the library, though he understood that a woman that important likely had more pressing matters to attend to, especially with the steady flow of worshippers visiting the monastery chapel. Instead, the senior librarian and a priest met them in the antechamber serving as the main library entrance. Father Gaius Murdoch was in his early sixties, tall, and bald-headed but obviously hale for his age. Yet his manner troubled Elliot—the priest seemed impatient and overly vexed by their presence. When Elliot mentioned this to Grimes, the jammer just shrugged.

  “Look at us,” he said. “Who knows what all this gear does, right? We could be a library fire just waiting to happen.”

  The antechamber was a round room with a soaring ceiling and white marble floors with the symbol of Morrow picked out in blue stone. A pair of great doors, heavy wood bearing the open tome symbols of Ascendant Angellia in silver, loomed behind the father. A pair of Knights of the Order of Keeping stood beside the doors, their armor gleaming in the morning sun that shone through the stained glass window opposite them.

  “This is a deeply spiritual day for us,” Father Murdoch explained as he sat at a long table and folded his hands over one another. “I am aware you’ve been given leave to explore our library, but your timing is dubious. We expect hundreds of visitors today. Perhaps tomorrow?”

  “This is truly urgent,” Versh said, and his tone, while deferential, was nonnegotiable.

  Father Murdoch lowered his eyes. “I trust you will not venture into the nave itself while our church is filled with the pious. This is a holy day to Angellia.”

  Versh smiled. “Never to worry, Father. I prefer to offer my praises to other, more proactive, ascendants.”

  Father Murdoch seemed unflappable. He smiled back. “And you will, of course, be careful with any texts you handle, especially in the vault.”

  “I will personally vouch that no harm will come to anything in the library,” Versh said, a note of respect in the man’s voice.

  “Of course, Illuminated One,” Father Murdoch said. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me for asking, but the texts in the vault are irreplaceable.”

  “Some among us are skilled academics,” Abigail said. “We know how to handle such rare and valuable resources, I promise.”

  Father Murdoch nodded, though Elliot thought his eyes suggested he was not convinced. “You may use the library for as long as you require. If you need something more from me, I will be in my chambers or in the nave of the church for the rest of this holy day.” He turned toward the two knights at the doors, and they opened them, revealing a cavernous chamber beyond. As the priest departed, Elliot felt an odd relief that he was leaving, as if he’d been holding his breath. He wondered if the man had the same effect on the mass of worshippers soon to crowd the church’s nave.

  “Who could possibly need this many books,” Grimes said in disbelief as they walked through the doors. The central library was topped by a massive dome, its ceiling a tiled mosaic depicting a number of significant holy events, mostly focused on Morrow and Angellia and their interest in preserving knowledge. Countless books were contained in a labyrinth of bookshelves scattered through the huge chamber.

  “There has to be thousands of them,” Elliot said.

  “Tens of thousands,” Doctor Goodman said. “On every subject you could imagine…except the subject we’re currently researching. Those books, if they exist, will be in the vault. This way.”

  They followed Doctor Goodman through the forest of shelves. Elliot saw a dozen tomes on the history of the Morrowan church he’d give his eye-teeth to read, and he noticed other members of the team, even Grimes, lingering over books on subjects dear to them.

  Without Doctor Goodman’s guidance, they would have become lost in the stacks, but she navigated the labyrinth like someone who’d done it many times and led them to the other side of the mammoth chamber. There, a short marble staircase led up to what looked like a smaller secondary building within the larger space, at its fore a literal vault, a round steel door set into the wall. This led to the oldest portion of the library, what had once been a simple and small stone structure, the section created by Angellia herself to safeguard lore from the ravages of time. Another pair of Knights of the Order of the Keeping stood guard at the vault like grim stone gargoyles, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords.

  The knights Elliot expected, but the golden-haired young man sitting on the bottom step was a surprise to all of them. He stood as they approached, a man of middling height, fair featured, with an easy smile. He looked to be the kind of man used to getting what he wanted with that smile.

  “Now, which of you is Doctor Goodman?” the man said.

  Doctor Goodman looked him up and down, and clearly did not like what she saw.

  “I know you,” she said. “You are Eilish Garrity, and I’ve told you a dozen times, I do not have access to the vault.”

  His smile widened. “You did say that. And it might have even been true, but then your friend showed up.” He nodded to Harlan Versh.

  “Who is this man?” Versh asked and took a step toward Eilish. Elliot had to give the man credit; he didn’t flinch.

  “A mercenary,” Doctor Goodman said with obvious distaste. “Set on researching infernal lore.”

  Elliot shuddered. He had no desire to be that close to such creatures again.

  Versh’s eyes narrowed to slits. “Do you know who I am, Mister Garrity?”

  “You are Harlan Versh, slayer of witches, hunter of infernalists, and spoiler of parties,” Eilish said.

  Versh was not amused. “Should I desire to do so, I can hold you until I decide if you are an infernalist or just an idiot.”

  “I’m sorry,” Eilish said. “You’re not a man swayed by humor, I can see. I’m no witch. Doctor Goodman is correct—I’m a simple mercenary from Corvis. Part of a small outfit there. I’m looking into some unusual occult activity. As I’ve told Goodman, it has nothing to do with her March of the Dead.”

  “And you think we’ll let you into the vault with us?” Doctor Goodman said.

  “That was my hope,” Eilish said. “I am a skilled researcher.”

  “Absolutely not,” Versh said.

  “We really do have an issue in Corvis,” Eilish said. “Maybe if I help you, you can help me.”

  “I did check him out with the Strangelight chapter in Corvis,” Doctor Goodman said. “The watch commander verified his story and vouched for him. I simply didn’t have the access he needed.”

  Elliot said, “You said you’re a researcher. What is your spec
ialty, Mr. Garrity?” he said.

  “Arcane lore, primarily,” Eilish said. “I’m an arcanist. I was actually educated in Ceryl.”

  “Fraternal Order?” Abigail asked. Like the Workshop, those wizards also had their headquarters in the city.

  Eilish shook his head emphatically, “No. My old mentor was one of them, but they didn’t care for me much. Had to make my way on my own. I’ve gotten quite good at finding what I need to know.”

  “That could be useful,” Abigail said, “if you are all you claim to be.”

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise,” Doctor Goodman said reluctantly. Her wariness wasn’t unusual, Elliot knew, as most investigators in the Workshop didn’t entirely trust arcanists.

  “You’re not seriously considering letting him into the vault,” Versh said. “The prelate and Father Murdoch gave permission to your team only.”

  “If Eilish is part of our team, then we have broken no rules,” Abigail said.

  “Semantics,” Versh said with disgust.

  “I would welcome your experience in my own matter, Illuminated One,” Eilish said.

  “Oh, that you will have, Mr. Garrity,” Versh said. “You will have my full attention.”

  “We need to get to work,” Abigail said. “Given the scope of this library, I for one would not mind another capable researcher. Are you willing to accept his help, Doctor Goodman?”

  She gave Eilish a hard stare. “If we let you in, you must promise to do exactly as we tell you. That’s the deal. No negotiations.”

  “Agreed,” Eilish said placing his right hand over his heart. “Now tell me: what are we looking for?”

  • • •

  “WE’VE BEEN AT THIS FOR BLOODY HOURS,” Grimes said and set another dusty tome back on a shelf—carefully, Elliot noted. “I can’t even read many of these.”

  The vault was much smaller than the main library but still expansive, containing thousands of books, some of them large and truly ancient. They were looking for anything that dealt with the Orgoth, including accounts of the lengthy period they had occupied the region. There was no single clean area to describe them, as they had dominated western Immoren for many centuries, and their presence had affected all walks of life. Occult lore on their activities was especially hard to come by. There also seemed to be nothing directly pertinent to what had happened to Gallowey’s army after it left Elsinberg.

  “These things take time,” Elliot said. “We’ve barely scratched the surface of what’s here.”

  “Well, I have a confession,” Eilish said. “While you lot have been looking for information on Orgoth necromancy, I’ve been looking at tomes on infernals.” This drew a withering glance from Versh. Eilish held up both hands. “No wait a minute; you might just thank me in a moment.”

  “Unlikely,” Versh said.

  “Did you find something?” Abigail asked.

  “Possibly,” Eilish replied. “Have a look at this passage.” He handed Abigail a large tome bound in black leather and penned in a tiny spidery script. He’d opened it to a page somewhere in the middle of the book, his finger hovering over a line.

  “I can’t read it,” she said, shaking her head. “What language is it?”

  “It’s a variant tongue of ancient Morrdhic,” Versh replied. He took the book from Abigail and read the line Eilish had pointed out. His eyebrows went up, and he turned to Eilish. “It’s a language sometimes favored by certain forgotten secret societies. The fact that you can read this is very troubling, Mister Garrity.”

  Eilish rolled his eyes. “If you would read it aloud, please.”

  Versh took his time. “‘The executor required fifty souls to seal our bargain and gave to me a withered and mummified hand, once belonged to…’” He paused and said, “The name is blotched out. It goes on. ‘I was to use its touch to mark those to be offered unto him. The captives were brought forth, and one by one their throats were cut. As their souls left their bodies, I could see them, each howling in pain. I passed the hand through their immaterial flesh, and the mark was upon them. Spectral light became jaundiced sores, marking their forms as was foretold, slowly consuming them, and thereby feeding them to my master.’”

  “That sounds like what you described to me, Doctor Goodman,” Eilish said. “Or at least close to it.”

  Versh closed the book and handed it back to Eilish. “Put that back where you found it,” he said. The Illuminated One looked concerned, and that sent a spike of dread into Elliot’s gut. “I hadn’t considered infernal influence, but what is described in that tome is…too familiar to ignore. Though what was described is not a normal infernal mark.”

  Elliot recalled the sight of the infernalist’s death in Caspia and how his soul had been marked with black streaks before the soul collector had taken it away.

  “What is an executor?” he asked.

  “A powerful true infernal. Among those who bargain with foolish mortals, the infernals regularly tasked to handle such matters are called curators. They are terrible and dangerous, each one immortal and cunning. Above even the curators are the executors, who govern infernal society and oversee contracts with much greater stakes. They only involve themselves in bargains where there are many souls to claim. It was an executor who likely aided Scion Ekris to assist him in rejoining Thamar after her dark ascension. That particular bargain was said to involve the sacrifice of an entire town of innocents.”

  The very thought of such a thing made Elliot sick to his stomach. An entire town not just murdered but their souls stolen away by unholy beings.

  “There are thousands of souls among the spirits of the March,” Doctor Goodman said, her face pale. “It can’t be that.”

  “We should keep looking,” Abigail said, “but we should broaden our search to include the information Eilish discovered.”

  “I’m wondering if there’s a faster way,” Kincaid said.

  “You got a faster way to read a thousand books?” Grimes said.

  Kincaid shook his head. “No, but you’ve catalogued all the different manifestations in the city so far, right, Doctor?”

  She nodded. “All that have been reported.”

  “Were there any reported here, in the library, or in the adjoining monastery?”

  She shook her head. “No, I’ve heard nothing from the clergy.”

  Grimes said, “Wouldn’t they be protected? Holy ground and all that? Ghosts don’t ordinarily haunt such places.”

  Versh said, “Absolutely. These two places are extremely sacred. This vault was originally built by Angellia herself. And the monastery preserves her blessed remains.”

  “Morrow shields such places,” Elliot added.

  Kincaid frowned. “But earlier, Doctor Goodman, you said maybe the spirits were trying to communicate. Would they come here to find some sort of…salvation? After all, the March isn’t behaving normally. Maybe the ghosts can get into places they couldn’t before.”

  Elliot had to admit it was an interesting idea from their relative newcomer. He’d never have considered it himself. He liked to think the ghosts might seek holiness to cleanse themselves. Though he also knew many trapped spirits had very little self-awareness and often could not perceive the world around them, locked in echoes of their past.

  “Well, this is still a huge building,” Abigail said. “Plus the adjoining monastery. There may have been some activity here with no one to witness it.”

  “I suppose that’s possible,” Doctor Goodman conceded.

  “As I’ve been led to understand it, you’ve got one of the best callers in the business right here,” Kincaid said, drawing nods from the rest of the team.

  Elliot blushed. “I suppose if there were a spirit here, I could possibly communicate with it and see if it knows what’s happening.”

  “It’s not a terrible idea,” Versh said.

  “You can talk to ghosts?” Eilish said.

  “Lost souls,” Elliot corrected him. “It’s my gift.”

 
“I don’t know if I’d call it that,” Grimes said, not unkindly.

  “Interesting,” Eilish said grinning. “I’ve heard you Strangelight folks had all manner of strange abilities and equipment.” He glanced at the lumitype hanging from Abigail’s shoulder.

  “Keep your hands to yourself,” Kincaid advised.

  “If we were going to look for ghosts around here, where should we begin?” Grimes said. “Presumably somewhere out of the way, which rules out the main library hall.”

  “There are crypts below the monastery church,” Doctor Goodman said. “I have to believe there have been no restless spirits native to that place, given its nature. But that might be the sort of place a tormented spirit might wander into. Maybe the holiness so close to the ascendant’s remains could fix whatever is affecting the other ghosts in Elsinberg.” Her voice sounded hopeful for the first time.

  “How do we get there?” Abigail asked, her eyes bright and interested. Elliot knew this was the kind of investigation she enjoyed the most—when it became focused.

  “We’ll have to get permission from Father Murdoch,” Versh said.

  “Of course,” Elliot said. “It would be an honor just to set foot in such a place.”

  “We should get suited up, then,” Grimes said. They’d brought all their equipment to the library but had left most of it in the antechamber.

  “Yes, at once,” Abigail said. “Illuminated One Versh, Doctor Goodman, and I will speak to Father Murdoch. The rest of you prepare yourselves.”

  Elliot felt some apprehension about putting on the Sensory Augmentation Hood this time—it made him feel cut off from the safety of the team, and made his mind more open and vulnerable. Still, he was excited by the prospect of entering the crypts that held the remains of Ascendant Angellia.

  They returned to the antechamber where their equipment had been stored in bags and boxes. Abigail, Versh, and Doctor Goodman spoke to one of the knights, who then led them out of the antechamber, presumably to Father Murdoch’s chambers.