The Temple of Heart and Bone

by Evren, S. K.

  “I thought punishment was for the Divine,” Chance said in a challenging tone, regretting it instantly.

  “Yes,” Drothspar nodded, “probably so.” He looked down at the hand that had caught and cracked the man’s arm. “I hope the Maker won’t be too displeased that such a man is incapacitated. It will be an excellent time for him to consider his spiritual state.”

  “You sounded horrible,” she told him.

  “I did, didn’t I?” He put his hand down and looked at her. “Then again, I don’t suspect Petreus will be inviting me to join the choir anytime soon.” Chance smiled shyly. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that I have the ability to speak now, but I do see the way my voice chills you—and Petreus.” He paused a moment, looking for a way to explain. “When I was still a guard, long before any of this happened, it was common practice to threaten, cajole, or commiserate with a criminal. With a voice like I have now, I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to exaggerate it a little.”

  “A little?” She smiled again and he felt more at ease. “So you were acting?”

  “Exactly,” he rasped.

  “Well, you did an excellent job. I felt my heart freeze in my chest. I can’t imagine what that scoundrel must have been feeling.” A hard look narrowed her eyes. “Serves him right.”

  “You were certainly right about being hunted,” Drothspar said, trying to steer the subject away from his behavior.

  “I told you my ‘fiancé’s’ family would be persistent,” she said.

  “You’re certain that’s who sent them?”

  “I don’t think my own father would have sent someone after me with those intentions,” she said frowning thoughtfully. “At least I certainly hope that he wouldn’t…”

  “I’m sure he wouldn’t,” Drothspar tried to reassure her.

  “They were willing to kill you to get to me,” she said seriously. “I don’t think my father would ever go that far.” She pursed her lips. “Think about it, though. The man who did hire them isn’t squeamish about incidental casualties.”

  “Not at all,” Drothspar agreed, plucking at his twice-stabbed robes.

  “Oh my,” Chance exclaimed, looking at the torn fabric, “are you okay? You’re not chipped or broken or anything, are you?”

  “No, I don’t think so,” Drothspar replied, opening his robe. Both blades had slipped right through the cloth of the robe missing all of his internal structure.

  “Let me have a look,” Chance insisted. She shuffled her chair closer to his and examined the cuts in his robe. Without warning, Petreus opened the door and reentered the room.

  “I brought the key…,” he began, holding out his hand as he closed the door behind himself. Chance flushed brightly at the sound of his voice and stood up quickly. Her chair scraped noisily on the floor as her legs thrust it out behind her. Drothspar looked up at her, surprised that she had moved so quickly.

  “Th-thank you,” she said, smoothing down her blouse.

  “My pleasure,” Petreus replied, his eyes twinkling. “What were you two up to?” he asked, his voice neutral.

  “I was—well—we were just inspecting the tears in his robe… that he got… today.” Chance flushed more brightly.

  “I’ve got a sewing kit,” Petreus said helpfully, pretending to ignore his niece’s embarrassment. “It would probably be easier to repair if you took it off, though,” he said to Drothspar. “I’m sure I can find you some sort of wrap if you’re concerned about modesty.” Petreus’ lips turned up in a smile.

  “Thank you, Petreus,” Drothspar said and started taking off the robe. Chance spun around to face the window, her face flaming.

  “You might want to take the hood off,” Petreus suggested politely after retrieving the sewing kit and a large old robe. Drothspar pulled the cowl off of his head and shoulders and folded it with the robe on the desk.

  Petreus was grinning widely as he stepped behind Drothspar to help him put on the replacement robe. Just as Drothspar’s hands slipped into the sleeves, Petreus’ door burst open to reveal a thin, weasel-faced man.

  “I want my robes back, Petreus!” the man shouted, slamming the door behind him. He looked up and saw Chance, Petreus and Drothspar all standing with their mouths open. Drothspar’s skeleton stood out starkly pale against the dark background of the old brown robes. His arms were stretched out to either side to slip into the robe, giving the intruder a perfect view of his form.

  The man’s body went rigid, and his eyes widened. His face drained of all color, and his mouth opened and closed several times, giving him the look of a fish gasping out of water. He raised his finger as if to make a point and said, “I whu…,” before toppling face first onto the floor. Chance, Petreus and Drothspar could only watch him fall.

  It took a few moments for everyone to snap out of their shock and react. Drothspar hurriedly finished wrapping the robe around himself while Petreus and Chance rushed to Brother Steadword’s side. They rolled him over onto his back to see bright, red blood flowing freely from his smashed nose.

  “Oh boy,” Petreus said in a sinking tone. He pulled his kerchief out of his pocket and pressed it hard against Steadword’s nose. Chance pulled Petreus pillow off of his bed, wincing as she touched the cold, wet cloth. She shoved the pillow under the unconscious man’s head and looked at Petreus.

  “Well?”

  “Give me a second,” Petreus told her. He glanced about the room. Drothspar had finished wrapping the overly large robe around his frame and looked down at the people on the floor. “Drothspar,” Petreus said, “give me that bottle of wine, would you?” Drothspar turned to the desk and picked up the bottle. He handed it to Petreus. “Such a shame to waste this,” Petreus said with true regret in his voice.

  “What are you going to do?” Chance asked him.

  “I’m going to take care of my good friend Steadword,” he told her, spilling wine down the front of the man’s robes. “Lift his head up a bit, will you?” Chance looked at her uncle dubiously, but did as he asked. Petreus poured a little wine into Steadword’s throat and waited. Steadword coughed weakly but managed to swallow some of the wine.

  “What are you doing?” Chance asked in a shocked whisper.

  “Sasha, he just walked in on a very bare skeleton in my room. What do you think I’m doing? I’m getting him drunk! If I do it well enough, maybe he won’t even believe it. God knows I had enough trouble…”

  “But—,” she started to protest.

  “Just trust me, Sasha, I won’t hurt him. Let’s sit him upright, it might help the wine go down.”

  They sat Steadword up and Petreus continued to pour wine slowly into the unconscious man’s mouth, occasionally taking a drink himself. After a particularly painful sounding bout of coughing, Steadword’s eyes fluttered open. Chance noticed that they seemed quite out of focus. Petreus put his hand on Steadword’s chin and turned the man’s head to face him.

  “Petreus,” Steadword said vacantly, “what are you doing in my room?”

  “We’re in my room, Steady,” Petreus told him, “you came over for a few drinks.”

  “I did?” Steadword asked, sounding unconvinced. “Why would I do that?”

  “I wanted to apologize for my behavior,” Petreus told him with aplomb. “You and your gracious heart came over to give me that opportunity.”

  “We did?”

  “You’re here, aren’t you? Here,” Petreus suggested, “have another drink.” He lifted the bottle to Steadword’s lips. Steadword coughed and sputtered as he swallowed more wine than Petreus had poured into him previously. Chance shuddered.

  “What were we doing?” Steadword asked, furrowing his brow at Petreus.

  “We were, uh, singing hymns,” Petreus answered quickly.

  “Really?” Steadword looked excited at the prospect of singing, then frowned. “But I don’t like you,” he told Petreus bluntly.

  “Of course you do,” Petreus told him sincerely. “You forgave me for all of my transg
ressions against you and even gave me a big hug! We’re good friends now, you and I!”

  “We are?”

  “Certainly,” Petreus said, keeping hold of Steadword’s head to prevent him from looking at Drothspar or Chance. Drothspar stood directly behind Steadword and Chance was close by his side. Her mouth gaped in shock as she listened to Petreus lie openly to Steadword.

  “You’ve been pretty mean to me,” Steadword told Petreus as he took the bottle for a drink. Petreus, himself, seemed shocked by that. “But I am very gorfiving!” Steadword pronounced, dribbling wine down his chin.

  “Of course you are,” Petreus agreed, smiling broadly at Steadword while rolling his eyes.

  Petreus continued to drink with Brother Steadword. As the bottle drained, the two priests moved from devotional hymns to raucous, almost bawdy, drinking ditties. About midway through the second bottle, Chance seated herself, carefully, on the bed and began to fix Drothspar’s robe. Each new song caused her to roll her eyes and shake her head.

  Drothspar sat on the floor near the bed quietly watching the two priests. He had memories of his drinking days, hazy as they were. Things had seemed so very simple back then. If a problem arose, drinking put it off. If a guilty conscience nagged at the mind, drinking would put it to sleep. It usually worked out very well for the drinker, at least until the next morning. The problem, he thought to himself as he watched the two men giggle and chortle, was that drinking blinded one to the pain they could inflict on others.

  A sharp crash interrupted Drothspar’s thoughts. He looked at Petreus and Steadword. Their bottle had smashed on the floor and they were blinking owlishly at the remains. Steadword’s eyes were red and starting to water when Petreus patted him on the shoulder.

  “It’s all right, Steady… I know where we can get more,” Petreus said.

  “You do?” Steadword asked, looking at Petreus as if he were a personal savior. Petreus nodded sagely.

  “Of course, Brother, if you’ll follow me then,” Petreus assured him and struggled up and toward the door. Brother Steadword made several failed attempts at standing on his own. Finally, Petreus leaned over and pulled Steadword to his feet.

  “Thank you, Brother,” Steadword said in a dignified tone. Petreus smiled at him and opened the door.

  “I’ll be back,” Petreus whispered after Steadword stepped into the hall. He smiled impishly and winked before leaving and closing the door.

  “I swear that man will never grow up,” Chance said in a voice both exasperated and amused. She handed Drothspar his stitched-up robe.

  “Probably not,” Drothspar whispered in agreement. “And thank you.” Chance smiled at him and turned around so that he could change robes.

  They sat together in the room quietly waiting for Petreus to return. Chance watched Drothspar and toyed with her flask. He seemed to be studying a part of the floor. At least she thought he was. It was difficult to tell with his hood again covering his skull. His head was tilted down toward his chest as if he were resting. It had been a long day and she was tired, but she was almost certain that Drothspar was not.

  Something seemed to have affected her new friend and she wondered what it could have been. Perhaps the attack on the way back from the Ythel manor, she thought. Certainly it had affected her. She knew she was in trouble, but she just hadn’t expected that kind of attack nor that level of violence. She hadn’t expected retribution to come in the form of murder. That had been a surprise. Drothspar’s reaction had been a surprise as well. She was quite certain that her assailant’s life had hung in the balance for a few moments back in that alley. She had not expected such aggression from her skeletal friend. Thinking back, it hadn’t frightened her all that much. Being honest, she felt flattered instead. What a strange thing to feel, she thought.

  She had just opened her mouth to ask him what he was thinking when a sharp knock sounded at the door. Drothspar and Chance looked at each other and then back at the door. It wasn’t the secret knock. The knock sounded again and the door crashed open. Wood splintered from the latch and hinges. Several solid men dressed in chain armor and surcoats stood outside as the door fell into the room. Dust kicked up into Chance’s eyes as the door hit the floor.

  “What’s going—,” Chance started to say.

  “We are here to escort a thin priest to my Lord Ythel’s forces,” one of the men stated. “If it so pleases the priest, his assistant may accompany him.” He looked meaningfully at Chance. Drothspar looked from the man in the doorframe to Chance. She nodded her head.

  “I’m going,” she said firmly.

  “It does please the priest,” Drothspar said in his deathly whisper. The man in the doorframe blanched slightly. “She will come with us. We shall wait for Petreus as well.”

  “I’m sorry, my Lord Priest,” the soldier hedged, “but my orders are quite specific. I am to present you as soon as possible to my Lord Ythel. I will leave one of my men to inform the priest, Petreus, of your whereabouts and bring him to you.” He turned and pointed to one of his men. The soldier nodded and stepped into the room.

  “I see,” Drothspar said.

  “If you will come with me, please? My Lord Ythel informs you that you will be provided with whatever sundries you may require when you join him.”

  Drothspar nodded. Chance snatched up her travel pack and stood to leave. They stepped over the door and out into the hall. The soldiers formed up in the hallway ahead of them and behind them. Their sergeant was not taking risks.

  They marched down the hall and out of the dormitory. Brothers who had come out of their rooms to investigate the noise jumped out of their way like startled hares. The soldiers’ armor jingled as they marched, keeping time to the tread of their feet. They passed through the courtyard and the cathedral swiftly. Chance craned her neck to get a glimpse of the craftsman, but a soldier’s head blocked her view. They halted for a moment outside the cathedral as the soldiers recovered torches they had left in spare rings mounted on either side of the massive doors.

  Chapter 29 – Staging

  The sky was an endless black. Ythel’s men marched in a box formation around Drothspar and Chance. The city was once again settled for the night. Shops were closed with their doors barred. The Arle Square was bare of hawking merchants. Candlelight glowed from second-story windows as citizens prepared for bed. The clatter of the passing company echoed back from the brick and stone buildings.

  The clear streets made for a quick return to Ythel’s estates. Chance thought she might have seen someone following their party, but their swift-moving march made it difficult to be sure. The soldiers escorted them past the main house and into an adjacent courtyard.

  Torches were flickering throughout the compound, illuminating hundreds of soldiers and horses. Orders were barked as men rushed about with purpose. Formations were being assembled and supply wagons loaded. In the center of the compound a man sat astride a white horse. Drothspar recognized his father-in-law at once. Ythel was approached by a steady stream of soldiers who stood smartly to attention, waiting for instructions. The Duke gave his commands and watched as his men carried out his orders. The escort halted before Ythel and waited for his attention.

  “You’ve made it, I see,” Ythel said to Drothspar as he turned to face them.

  “Yes,” Drothspar answered. Ythel’s eyes opened a bit wider as he heard Drothspar’s voice. He shook his head as if trying to clear an image from his mind.

  “Very well,” Ythel went on. “Sergeant, find Captain Cardalan and bring him to me.”

  “At once, my Lord,” the sergeant replied, snapping to attention. He looked meaningfully at Ythel and the men surrounding Drothspar and Chance.

  “You may dismiss your men, Sergeant, these people will do me no harm,” Ythel answered the unspoken question.

  “Yes, my Lord.” The sergeant turned and snapped orders at his men. The escort fanned out efficiently to search for Captain Cardalan. Ythel looked down his horse’s neck at Drothspar and Cha
nce.

  “I regret that I don’t have time to inform you of all that has taken place,” Ythel said. His voice sounded strained, forced. “I must, however, deal with the mobilization. Cardalan can explain to you what’s afoot when he arrives.” Another soldier came forward at that moment to receive orders about the disposition of spare cavalry mounts. Ythel turned his attention to the soldier and started giving orders.

  Drothspar felt something nudge his elbow. Chance stood very close to him, touching him occasionally with her back. She seemed to be trying to take in the entire compound at once. Drothspar realized that she was using him as a sort of wall, a safe point of cover for her back as she assessed the unknown threats that issued from all sides. He had seen the behavior before in guards and soldiers. He knew she wasn’t afraid, just cautious. She backed into him again. He wondered if she were even aware that she was touching him.

  He had been so certain, when they had first met, that no one would ever want to consciously touch the dead bones of his body. In the beginning, he had repulsed even himself. Time and again, however, Chance had offered a gentle hand to comfort him, and allowed him to do the same. He thought that, being dead, he might be beyond the comfort of a human touch, or immune to it. He wasn’t, though. He had found her touch comforting. It was acceptance, he thought to himself. He had felt alone in his state, alone in the world, and the simple touch of another’s hand had assured him that he wasn’t. He put his hands gently on Chance’s shoulders. He felt her body startle beneath his hands then settle. She turned her head to look back at him and gave him a grateful smile. It was acceptance, he thought to himself.

  Chance continued to survey the compound and the working soldiers. Drothspar marveled that her eyes could take in so much, so quickly. She tapped his hand and pointed past Ythel. Captain Cardalan, the man who’d been guarding Ythel earlier, moved purposefully toward his Lord.

  “Cardalan,” Ythel said gratefully, “our guests have arrived. See to them.”