by J. Langland
She made her way through the camp towards the guarded area where the possessed soldiers were being kept. At least, that’s what she assumed the guards were for. She was actually just following her link to Danyel. She paused near the tent to allow some guards to look the other way before sneaking into the tent.
There were three soldiers in the tent, unconscious and heavily bandaged. They also appeared to be loosely chained to their cots. She was going to need to heal Danyel so he could help her, but she could not ignore the other two. So, first things first. She went to each cot and said a prayer of sleep over each man to keep them sleeping, and then she set about examining and healing their wounds.
It took her a few minutes per patient, as she had to make sure she had caught everything, but as she had often noted, saintly healing was a heck of a lot faster than priestly healing and definitely faster than what she’d been able to do as a Sister of Tiernon.
She healed Danyel last. When she was finished, she sat back on her stool for a moment and took a deep breath, preparing to wake him. Hilda grimaced and then put a silence spell around the tent. She did not want Danyel waking up and screaming when he saw her. With the ritual in place, they would be able to talk, but no one outside would hear them.
~
“I have to admit, you do have a nice view,” Ramses said, looking out the French doors of Exador’s breakfast room. They were at Exador’s tower in Astlan enjoying a late breakfast, Astlanian time.
“Thank you. I’ve spent centuries perfecting these gardens,” Exador said, setting his coffee down. They were having human beverages this morning, playing the necessary role for the servants and staff.
As Ramses picked up his cup, the room suddenly dimmed considerably and a deep, damp chill came over the room. “The air conditioning kicking into overdrive and dimming the lights?” Ramses asked, raising an eyebrow. That did not seem too likely, given that they were in a brightly fierdlit room.
The chill was bone deep, oddly palpable even to archdemons. Ramses gave Exador a concerned look. Exador glanced around the suddenly dim room and smiled. “Greetings, Morthador!” he exclaimed to the room.
A deep bass whisper reverberated from the darkness. It was felt more in the inner bones of the ear than in the air itself. “Greetings, master. I have news to report.”
Ramses relaxed slightly, realizing that Exador was in control of whatever this was. He was still on edge, of course; they were archdemons and treachery could never be ruled out.
Exador grinned over at Ramses, fully understanding his associate’s disquiet. “Ramses, allow me to introduce my most trusted spy, Morthador.” Exador gestured at the room.
Ramses looked around the room, trying to locate the source of darkness.
Exador chuckled. “Morthador is a greater shadow,” he explained.
“A greater shadow?” Ramses asked uncertainly.
“A type IV Shadow.”
Ramses shook his head. “A shadow that is a greater demon?” His brows furrowed. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of such a demon before.”
“They are rare, but not as rare as one might think,” Exador said. “For obvious reasons, they are often hard to find.”
“So this is a demon that has chosen to advance its skills, but not morph to an imp, sprite or fiend along the traditional paths?” Ramses asked.
“Exactly. There are a few who find true and lasting comfort in the darkness of the Shadow,” Exador said with a grin. “Morthador is one such. He has been quite invaluable in many ways. For the last thousand years or so, he has been stationed deep in the under-chasms of Astlan, in particular between Freehold and the Grove.”
Ramses furrowed his brow again, not understanding. “I see.” He clearly did not.
“As you may or may not recall, the Grove in Astlan is located due east of this tower, about three hundred plus leagues. Their ridiculously high mountains and more importantly, sizable military resources have been a thorn in my ability to deal with Cal Crestor on the other side of the Grove.” Exador shook his head.
Ramses nodded. “I recall they were a pain for us on the Council of Anilords. We never were able to conquer them.”
Exador nodded. “And as you may recall, going south one crosses the United Federation, whose general anarchy is something of a nuisance, and is also loosely Grove aligned. They were not organized back when you were here. One then has Jotungard to deal with, as you recall? Clearly, not Grove aligned, but still unpleasant.”
“Indeed, I recall,” Ramses said drily.
“Going north through Turelane, I am blocked by Kel Femaer, which is purely alvaren territory and also closely aligned with the Grove.” Exador waved his hand.
“Yes, I get your point on the alfar. Never have liked the sanctimonious bastards,” Ramses said.
“In short, the Grove has been a thorn in my side for my entire time in Astlan. Both before my adventures with the Rod and you, and since.” Exador took a breath. “So, I like to keep an eye on my fellow Councilor Trevin D’Vils and her Grove.”
“And Morthador fits in how?” Ramses asked.
“The Grove has a very secure communication line that runs through all of Norelon and, in fact, to all continents that rely on very deep rock veins and geological plates,” Exador said.
“Ahh,” Ramses said, suddenly understanding.
Exador smiled. “Exactly. Morthador enjoys the really deep, dark caverns and has no trouble spending time underground. He can intercept those communication lines.”
Ramses chuckled. “Quite clever.”
Exador smiled. “Thank you.” He rotated slightly toward the darker part of the room. “Morthador, what news do you bring?”
“The enchantress shall be journeying very shortly to the Grove with an entourage and shall then be taking the Nimbus out to investigate urgent Seeings of orc uprisings in Murgandy and Jotungard,” The bass voice reverberated in their ears.
“How soon?” Exador asked.
“From what I gathered, she plans to depart on the Nimbus to Murgandy within a day or two,” the shadow informed them.
“The Nimbus?” Ramses asked.
Exador sighed quietly. “One of their military vessels. Trevin’s flagship.” He stroked his chin in thought. “I have allies in Nysegard who will want to know about this.” He looked up towards the darkness. “Excellent work, Morthador. Thank you.”
~
Danyel was having horrible dreams. He dreamt of imminent evil attacking his companions. He tried to stop it, and then his fellow soldiers turned on him, apparently possessed by the evil. The next thing he knew, he was in some weird location, some sort of leather-padded seat in the back of something like an enclosed chariot, hurtling down a stone road at an ungodly speed with no sign of horses; and then he was back on the battlefield watching Talarius slay the demon. In the dreams, a giant fireball would suddenly expand, then his legs would ache as if he had jumped off the top of a mountain and landed on stone feet first.
He remembered coming to between dreams and seeing nurses bandaging him, and feeling bruised and battered all over. But now, on waking, he found himself feeling better; quite refreshed, in fact. Actually, thinking about it with his eyes closed, he felt better than he had in some time. He smiled and opened his eyes to see his patron saint, Hilda of Rivenrock, dressed in her Sister of Tiernon habit, beaming down at him.
“Fuck, I’m dead!” Danyel cried out in dismay.
Saint Hilda frowned momentarily.
Crap! He had cursed in the presence of a holy saint! Some start to his afterlife. Danyel closed his eyes and gulped. “Forgive me, Saint Hilda! I beg you to forgive my ingratitude for your generous presence in greeting me at the gateway to Tierhallon.”
His patron saint seemed to snort and then chuckle. “Okay, not the reaction I’d been expecting,” she said, “but then I really wasn’t sure what to expect.”
Danyel felt the holy saint pat his hands, just like any Sister of Tiernon might do to a patient in her care.
Danyel blinked. Possessed by a demon? What was she talking about? “I’m sorry, Your Holiness, but…”
“You don’t remember?” She moved her head from side to side. “I am not really surprised. You were under the complete control of the demon, so you probably didn’t have much conscious thought.” Danyel just stared at her in shock. “Okay, we need to make this short. You remember the battle between Talarius and the big demon?”
Danyel nodded.
“Well, Talarius apparently defeated the demon, but not really. It somehow took possession of a good number of high priests and about a third of the Rod’s nearby archers and some others , including you. He then used those he had possessed to battle Talarius and defeat him. A few details later, and the demon hightailed it back to the Abyss with Talarius as a hostage.”
Danyel gasped in shock at this information. How could this be? He did not remember any of this, at least nothing after seeing the demon crumble to ashes on the battlefield. After that, things got blurry and he really only remembered a bunch of chaotic and weird dreams.
“Long story getting shorter still,” Saint Hilda continued. “Because you were possessed, they locked you and the others up in these tents while working to heal you.” She pulled on his arm to show him that he was, indeed, chained to the cot.
“Uhh…” Danyel was at a loss for words. “What? Uhm, I’m not dead?”
“Not at all!” The saint beamed at him. “In fact, I just healed you and purged any lingering demonic influences in you and your tent mates!” She gestured around the tent. Danyel noted that there were two other Rod members in here with him. He had seen them around, but did not know their names.
“If I may, Your Holiness?” Danyel was shaking his head, and the saint nodded for him to go on. “To what do I owe this great honor? For a great and holy saint like yourself to so intercede on my behalf in this manner is…” Danyel had no idea what to call it.
The Saint of Rivenrock smiled again and patted his shoulder. “Well, you are one of my most loyal devotees, so of course I want to help you.” Hilda paused and tilted her head a bit. “And you can help me in return.”
Danyel tried to bow his head, which was hard since he was lying down. “How can I possibly help you Your Holiness?”
“Well for one, don’t call me ‘Your Holiness’ in public!” The saint laughed good-naturedly. “I am trying to put together a solid understanding of the events that transpired here yesterday, and the events that led up to it.” Danyel nodded. “And I don’t want to alert too many people to what I am doing.”
Danyel shook his head, puzzled. “But certainly, you could just appear to the arch-diocate and vicar general and ask for a Holy Accounting?”
Saint Hilda made a small grimace. “Well, you see, that’s the thing. We—or rather, I—am concerned that we might not get a full and accurate accounting.” Danyel looked shocked, and Hilda patted his arm. “No, not like that. I fully trust our people on the ground. It’s just that when saints and archons appear, people sort of, well… misremember things, or sometimes just go numb and can’t remember anything. Further, I need to investigate outside the Rod. I need to go into Freehold and investigate what led to this incident and gather information about this demon and the plots surrounding it.”
Danyel looked at his patron saint, trying to understand. “You mean like a secret inquisition?”
The saint moved her head from shoulder to shoulder, thinking. “Yes, I suppose that’s a good way of phrasing it. A secret inquisition. I don’t want the identity of the questioner influencing the answers she receives.”
“So you aren’t going to tell people who you are?”
“Exactly!” Hilda beamed at Danyel, again making him feel warm and relaxed, even though intellectually he knew he should be freaking out.
“So how can I help you, Your Holiness?” Danyel asked, shaking his head. “I’m but a simple Rod member.”
The saint smiled. “My dear, you are no simple Rod member. You are a loyal devotee of mine. Not only were you a witness to these events, you were a participant. And…”
“And?” Danyel asked when she paused.
“I need you to get us a couple of horses from the Rod’s quartermaster along with tack, and then for you to pose as my squire—my man-at-arms if you will—while I pretend to be a resident of Freehold returning from an alvaren wedding.”
Danyel blinked in shock at this completely unexpected request.
~
“Very interesting, Madam Councilor,” Elrose said to Trevin D’Vils in her guest parlor as a knock came on the door. He and Maelen were continuing their discussions with her from last night.
“My, this is a busy morning!” Trevin exclaimed from the divan, upon which she was sitting upright and sipping a cup of tea. She set the cup back in its saucer and nodded to one of her serving boys to answer the door. “I beg your pardon for the interruption.” She nodded to her two guests, Elrose and Maelen.
The boy opened the door to reveal Damien as her newest visitor. “Master Damien!” Trevin greeted her fellow councilor and gestured for him to come in. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”
“I beg your pardon, Councilor, but at the request of our Archimage, I’ve come seeking one of your visitors: the good seer, Maelen.” Damien gestured to the seer.
Trevin shook her head in surprise. “And what does Gandros want with the good seer?” Maelen and Elrose both looked curiously at Damien.
Damien coughed slightly and glanced to make sure the servant had closed the door. “Well, it’s more like where he’d like our visitor to be.”
Trevin raised her right eyebrow in question, motioning for the inquisitor to continue.
“Well”—he looked back and forth between Elrose and Maelen —“as you are aware, we have an army still sitting outside the walls.”
“And an air fleet as well,” Trevin observed.
Damien smiled grimly and nodded. “And both are looking for Maelen, Gastropé, Edwyrd, Rupert and Jen.”
“Aaahh,” said Trevin with a nod, understanding.
“So,” Maelen said, smiling, “I’m guessing we are being invited to leave?”
Damien shrugged, slightly uncomfortable. “I’m afraid so. However, obviously, I will unofficially assist in your departure.”
“And where do you, or rather Gandros, want them to go?” Elrose asked.
“We haven’t figured that out yet, but we do know the Rod and the Oorstemothians will want to try and verify that you all departed with the demons,” Damien said. “Yes, the whole thing is going to look awkward, but if you are all verifiably gone, they won’t have much choice but to leave.”
“I think you underestimate the logic of the Oorstemothians,” Maelen stated drily.
“And the fervor of the Rod,” Elrose added.
“Actually,” Trevin interrupted, “my colleagues here and I have been discussing an idea that may help with this situation.” Maelen and Elrose chuckled; Damien looked at her, puzzled.
“The three of us were just discussing the option of visiting some of Bastet’s old temples to see if we can: one, pick up any residue of recent activity and two, try and use these once holy sites to see if we can scry her current activities. If she has been in Astlan recently, as we are starting to suspect, we should get some sympathetic residual emanations from the shrine and any artifacts left in it, and they could provide us a link to her that we can follow. We had thus been discussing mounting an expedition to investigate. We could easily bring your friends along with us,” she said, gesturing to Maelen.
Damien shook his head. “An expedition?”
“Well, we would ha
ve to go to Natoor, on the other side of Eton. It is not a quick trip. The lady councilor is the only person we know to have been there, and even so, that was long ago. Thus, we are blind for more instantaneous forms of magical transport. Therefore, we shall have to travel conventionally. It would be an expedition,” Elrose explained.
Damien shook his head again. “I like the idea, but unfortunately, we don’t have time to mount a full expedition from here, and that would be a bit too obvious.”
Trevin waved her hand. “Nonsense. We won’t mount it from here, we’ll mount it from the Grove. I’ve got reasonable transportation there and I can get us to the Grove quickly and without anyone knowing.”
~
“Master Trisfelt!” Hilda called out as she and Danyel approached his encampment. It had taken a bit more effort than she had expected. The local quartermaster had been not entirely helpful to Danyel, so she had had to add a bit of her own persuasion and then a rather high-powered forget ritual. She had not dared to use the standard forget ritual, which was, of course, a proscribed spell. The Rod had plenty of priests with them, so they would have been able to detect the standard ritual, and so she had had to get slightly “miraculous.”
In any event, they had acquired two horses and a mule; she had then had to zap back to the quartermaster at Tierhallon and get a non-Rod set of man-at-arms clothing for Danyel. She had her own clothing already packed, which was why they had needed a mule. Of course, due to modesty, she had stopped by home and changed to her city clothes. A Sister of Tiernon was a good disguise for the Rod, but would be completely at odds with her “Hilda” persona that Trisfelt had met. She and Danyel were leading their animals as they approached the wizard’s encampment.
Trisfelt looked up from a mirror he was staring at intently. His face split into a broad smile as he saw her. “My dear lady, what a pleasure to see you again!” he said, beaming. He glanced curiously at Danyel.