Aldric had put off this day long enough, and it was already close to the predicted time of his arrival. He’d enjoyed his time with Soki as she showed him her city; she’d been a source of much knowledge for him, and they’d gotten to know each other quite well. But after what had happened with Etia at the Night Steps, he’d decided his break from responsibility had to end. He was here on secondment to assist the Church in any way he could, and it was time he informed them of his arrival. Besides, they needed to know about Etia and the Tainted Cabal’s attempts to steal her power. That the demon worshipers were active in Caronath wasn’t to be ignored. Or perhaps that was why the Church here had requested help.
Bells began to toll, marking the end of the afternoon’s service. Birds scattered from the bell tower and flew around in a circle until the clanging stopped. Worshipers filed down the steps, hundreds of them: men and women who bowed their heads to Menselas and sent their prayers to one of his five aspects. Couples held each other’s hands, and their children’s, while youngsters helped the elderly negotiate their descent to the square. Nobles chatted with businessmen and women, and commoners were treated almost as equals.
Such a situation, Aldric knew, only lasted until the warmth of the service left them, and they lost sight of the church. He sighed. It was a start, but human nature was human nature. And here in the north, on the edge of civilization, where existence was so much harder than in most other places, it was the best that could be hoped for.
He adjusted his khopesh, which hung from his hip, and straightened his collar. Running a hand through his hair, he ascended the steps. Inside, the pews and paintings and altars were illuminated by sorcerous lamps. Five marble statues stood at the center of the cavernous space, one on each side of a tessellated pentagon, each lit from all angles by lanterns of a specific color.
Aldric made his way up the nave, in between rows of pews, noting a number of worshipers still praying: an old woman, a young girl barely out of her teens, a weeping man with a bushy gray beard. Acolytes were busily sweeping, mopping, and dusting. One would approach him eventually, but he was grateful for the time to adjust. He paused to examine the statues. Each was a masterwork, likely having taken months to produce. Aldric faced the Elder first and bowed his head, then did the same to the other four: the Mother, the Healer, the Warrior, and lastly the Hooded One—or Death, as he was originally known.
A blue-robed priest approached, seeming hesitant if Aldric should be disturbed or not. “May I help you?” he said eventually. His eyes widened as he noticed the crescent blade hanging from Aldric’s hip, and he grimaced in distaste. “The Warrior’s service is—”
“I’m here to see Hierophant Karianne. I’ve traveled a long way at her behest.”
“I can take your name and add it to the list of petitioners waiting to see Her Holiness.” His tone indicated it would be a long time, if ever, before Aldric was seen.
There were murmurs from one side of the church. Aldric turned to see a white-haired man in a frayed scarlet robe rushing toward him past open-mouthed priests. He wore battered sandals and was sweating by the time he was close enough to talk to. The worn symbols on his robes signified he was an archbishop, but clearly he didn’t care for material wealth. The sign of a dedicated holy man, Aldric thought.
“Tell the settler to wait for us outside,” the archbishop told the priest, who nodded and hurried away.
The archbishop guided Aldric through a doorway and into a side room. Aldric concealed his irritation at the fact the man seemed to want him out of the way.
“Please, sit,” the archbishop said, and turned his penetrating pale blue eyes on Aldric. “We were wondering when you’d show up.”
His white hair stuck out from his head, above prominent features: a hooked nose, jutting eyebrows and cheeks. His face was tense, eyes hard and unflinching, and his bloodless lips were drawn into a line, as if he struggled to contain his disapproval. It was exactly the unfriendly welcome Aldric had expected, and one of the reasons he’d delayed reporting for his new position. A cold reception, from the people who’d asked for him and held his reins. He would simply do his best, as he always did, and hope his actions and manner went some way to persuading the priests of Caronath of the depth of his faith and his desire to serve Menselas.
Aldric unbuckled his khopesh and hung the belt from a hook next to the door. There were a few padded armchairs, and he sat in one, while the archbishop sat across from him. The man adjusted his robes as if stalling for time, or trying to think of what to say.
“My name is Archbishop Hannus,” he said finally, with a thin smile. “And I take it you’re Magister Aldric Kermoran. There wouldn’t be anyone else of your bearing and demeanor coming here. I saw the god’s mark on you from the other side of the church. It is a deep one.”
As was Hannus’s. To Aldric’s divine sight, it shone a brilliant green. He quickly closed those senses, and the room dimmed to normal.
“I hope to use it as Menselas sees fit,” he replied. “To help people.”
Hannus glanced at Aldric and frowned, then lowered his eyes and pretended to examine the archbishop’s ring that adorned his finger. It was set with a cut emerald—green, like the mark of the god. Against his pious appearance, it stood out like a sore thumb.
“You also have other talents,” Hannus said. “And it is those we are in need of. Your course may not be in the direction you would like, but it is the one the god has set you on.”
Aldric stiffened at the words, then forced himself to relax. Here was a man he could respect. To lash out at him because of his own circumstance wouldn’t do anyone any good.
“I know I was sent here at the request of the Hierophant. I’d rather talk to Her Holiness about what I’m to do in Caronath.”
Hannus let out a weary sigh. “Her Holiness doesn’t want to meet with you,” he said bluntly. “Which is why you’re talking to me. Your other talents don’t sit well with her.”
She doesn’t want to be polluted by me, Aldric thought. He hadn’t expected that here, of all places, where they needed his help.
He kept himself under control and said, “I will do Menselas’s will.”
Hannus nodded and rubbed his hands together. “Good. And just as well—something has come up.”
“Before you begin, I must tell you of my experiences since I arrived in Caronath.”
“That can wait—”
“No. It cannot.”
Hannus stared at Aldric with barely concealed annoyance. He probably didn’t get interrupted often.
As quickly as he could, Aldric gave a summary of his encounter with Etia, and with Darya of the Tainted Cabal. He paced as he spoke, unable to keep still in his chair. When he’d finished, he listened as Archbishop Hannus listed half a dozen reasons why his encounter with Etia wasn’t significant. He was beginning to think reporting to the man was a mistake. It seemed it wasn’t just Her Holiness who wasn’t comfortable with Aldric’s sorcerous abilities.
“Etia is a high priestess,” Aldric added. “If I had to guess which god she serves, I’d say some sort of old volcano god, based on the red finches and fire and the obsidian.”
“She is not unknown to us,” Hannus said.
“Someone tried to kill her,” repeated Aldric. “The Tainted Cabal. Menselas intervened.”
The archbishop laughed. “So you say, but what evidence do you have? She’s the servant of an old god, one with no relevance any more. She was probably deceiving you. And what does it matter if she disappears? Good riddance, I say. We have enough problems of our own to worry about without adding to them.”
“But, Archbishop—”
“Enough!” barked Hannus. “Although we requested assistance, you’re here on sufferance. We will not replace you and send you back in disgrace, but we will send dispatches to Archbishop Roald, detailing any wayward conduct. And I won’t lose any sleep over it.”
“I understand.” Aldric kept his voice devoid of emotion. He’d run out of th
ings he dared say. Hannus’s cold and bloodless logic sat uneasily with him. The archbishop’s office seemed oppressive, and Aldric now regretted coming to him and sharing what he knew. But what was done was done.
Etia’s words came back to him: Heavy currents are moving in and around Caronath, and There are old evils, and new ones, stirring. Beware the wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Was he being guided by Menselas? Or was he only a pawn in whatever Hannus had in motion? Aldric had been used enough by the Church to know his true value to them. He had to believe his god steered him, or he might abandon his faith entirely. Already, he clung to it by a thread.
“There is more going on here than you’re allowed to know,” Hannus said. “Trust the Church. Trust me. Focus on the tasks we give you. There are mysteries here, but we have them under control.”
Aldric remained silent. Was this another test? When would the Church stop testing him? Never, probably. He scratched the stubble on his cheek, then glanced at his khopesh. He knew what the archbishop would want. The Church had decided how his talents might benefit them best, and they would make full use of him.
“May I spend some time with the healers?” he asked eventually. “My skills are getting rusty, and I’d like to brush up on them. It helps me to reconnect to the Healer aspect of Menselas.” Seeing Hannus begin to shake his head, Aldric quickly continued. “The god gave me this talent also, to be used, revered, and given freely. On my journey, I took a short cut through the wilderness, where I gathered rare herbs and plants when I came across them. The healers will be glad of them.”
Hannus clasped his hands together and shifted in his armchair. “All right. I suppose they could use your assistance, briefly. A few hours tomorrow morning. This far north, away from most of civilization, there are a lot more run-ins with Dead-eyes and the like. Evil creatures.”
Aldric felt his chest loosen a little and looked away from the pity in Hannus’s eyes. A few hours were better than nothing. He could insist on longer, and Hannus couldn’t use his rank to stop him—the gift of the god’s mark was venerated and useful, there was no denying it. But making enemies on his first day would be a bad start. Especially with Her Holiness already shunning him.
“What is the situation you need help with?” he asked. “I’ve traveled a long way to get here and was taken off another job for the Church.”
“Well, it’s nothing mundane, I can tell you. And there’s already a complication. First, some settlers found a nice valley, and by all accounts have been living there for years. But now they’ve had a run-in with Dead-eyes.”
“A run-in?”
“Dozens of the creatures. Came down from the cliffs surrounding the valley, apparently, and they weren’t just after chickens or smaller livestock. According to what I’ve been told, they attacked the settlers over a period of days—well, nights, really. At the time of full-dark, when the Dead-eyes are usually most active. Eventually, they were driven off, but these people aren’t warriors. They’re hurt and scared and need help. Since then, there have been a number of attacks, though not of the same ferocity as the first. They are worried the Dead-eyes might come again in force, which could spell the end for the settlement.”
Full-dark was when both moons stayed below the horizon, and in the inky darkness the Dead-eyes were most active.
Aldric’s hand drifted toward his belt where his khopesh usually hung. He stopped it. “You have brought me here to help defend a settlement against Dead-eyes? Why can’t soldiers do it?”
“This happened after we’d requested someone of your … abilities. But there’s more. The settlers searched for where the Dead-eyes had scaled down the cliffs, to see if they could do anything to block their return. It was thought they came through one of the nearby caves, which could lead to an opening outside the valley. They discovered a ruin inside one of the caves: a great door surrounded by carvings, and some orichalcum sheets covered with ancient writing. You know the type.”
Aldric shifted restlessly. There was something the archbishop wasn’t telling him, he could feel it. “You want me to attempt to translate the writing? Or to explore the ruins?”
“The writing isn’t important,” Hannus said, looking away. “But from our historical records and the shared memories of the Church’s relics, we think this ruin is unique.”
The writing is important, realized Aldric. Why was Hannus lying to him? “Were soldiers sent to deal with the Dead-eyes?”
“They were, except the fractious creatures never appeared again. Probably because the nights of full-dark have passed, and the moons light the night sky again.”
Fractious. A callous way to describe the terrible frenzy of the Dead-eyes when they raided, and the deaths and chaos they caused.
“The soldiers waited,” Hannus continued, “but when the Dead-eyes didn’t return, they left. The settlers have sent a representative to petition us for help—an old man they could easily spare from the look of him. A few idealistic priests took up his cause and have petitioned the bishops to take action. My peers were reluctant to do so. Only I saw it as our chance to show solidarity in the face of evil. We are not a callous, uncaring faith.” He shook his head. “In the name of charity and our service to Menselas, we must take a stand against the Dead-eyes. The creatures have plagued us for far too long.”
Hannus’s enthusiasm was palpable, but Aldric saw the task for what it was. A babysitting mission.
“You want me to travel to the settlement, train the people there, and deal with the Dead-eyes,” he confirmed.
“Correct. This will be your first task. And … the settlers might have taken more from the ruins than they admitted. Find out if they have, and what it is. Bring everything back to me.”
And there it was: what Hannus really wanted.
“Do they have a firm idea of the number of Dead-eyes we’re talking about?”
“A few dozen. The settlers have had a bad time of it. That’s why they sent to us for assistance. In truth, I welcome the opportunity. The Dead-eyes are evil, and the fewer of them in the world, the better.”
Aldric had never heard a priest of the Five refer to the other races that shared this world as evil. They just … were. And he was concerned that if there was a tribe of Dead-eyes preying on the settlement, instead of groups of nomads or scavengers, he wouldn’t be able to cope on his own. Then again, perhaps Hannus didn’t care if the settlement was destroyed. No, that was uncharitable. As an archbishop of the Five, Hannus had to be good-hearted, didn’t he?
“I can’t take on an entire tribe on my own,” Aldric said. “If—”
“We’ve already assembled a team. And someone from another Church will be joining you, a mercenary of some sort. This will be a joint effort to show harmony among the gods.”
“I’d rather choose my own men. I need people I can trust—”
Hannus cut him off with a sharp gesture. “I’m not giving you an option. We’ve gone to the effort of putting together a team for you, so the least you could do is be grateful.”
Suppressing a sigh, Aldric nodded. “As long as they’re experienced fighters. If it is a tribe of Dead-eyes, we might have to track them to their clan and destroy them all.”
Hannus waved a hand, and his emerald ring glittered in the light. “Two faiths are cooperating here. I needn’t stress to you how important it is we put our best foot forward in everything we do. You’ll be given gold and whatever equipment you need. The … talismans”—Hannus spat the word—“you use … well, you can use some of the funds we give you for them.”
Aldric gave Hannus a flat stare. “I only require one. And I try to use sorcery as little as possible.”
“Yes, well, be that as it may, you must use whatever talents you have to complete this task. And remember, find whatever artifacts the settlers have taken from the ruins, and bring them to me.” Hannus pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Although perhaps it would be better if you investigated the ruins
yourself. Eventually the settlers will become curious, their fear overcome by greed. If they were to commission a rogue sorcerer and explore the place themselves, that could be dangerous. Those not bound by our agreement with the Covenants are selfish and despicable.”
Aldric was getting mixed messages, and he didn’t like it. It was obvious that Hannus trusted him far less than Roald did, which was hardly at all, and consequently was giving him as little information as possible.
Having had enough of the charade, Aldric stood. “Very well. When do I meet this mercenary? And where is the team you’ve already assembled?”
He didn’t like having unknown warriors thrust upon him, but it seemed he didn’t have a choice. And if he fought with Hannus the first time they met, it wouldn’t bode well for his appointment in Caronath.
Hannus rose to his feet and smoothed his faded robes with both hands. His fingers found and picked at a stray thread. Once again Aldric was impressed by the man’s apparent poverty and sanctity. But Hannus’s coldness toward him reminded him of Etia’s comment about wolves in sheep’s clothing. Maybe she was warning him against the archbishop. Immediately he felt ashamed for thinking badly of one of his god’s servants, a man no doubt far holier than Aldric was himself.
“You’ll meet him tomorrow,” said Hannus, “and the team shortly after. In the morning, spend a few hours with our healers; then you’ll need to take charge of the mission. We don’t know when the Dead-eyes will strike again, though we strongly suspect at the next full-dark, in around eleven days. Now, come and meet the old settler.”
Revenant Winds (The Tainted Cabal Book 1) Page 16