by Mark B Frost
Atheme rubbed his hands together. “May I speak frankly for a moment?”
“I should hope so. If not the Lord Councilor, then who?”
“You defied a direct order,” he said, pointing a finger. “You were told to return to the city, and you did not. You then broke off communications with the capital and proceeded to ally yourself with a group of Cainites without alerting the city of their presence. Then you brought those same Cainites here, within our city walls, and have requested asylum for them. In response to these actions, have you been punished? Have you been chastised in some way? No,” he answered with a slash of his hand. “Instead, and perhaps because of these actions, you have been declared even more a hero. A parade will be thrown in your honor. The Eldram is speaking of making you a Knight of the Moon. Yet here you sit, in as foul of a mood as I have ever seen you, sulking in this bar. If the heir of the Emle line has concerns, then as your Lord Councilor I feel that I must hear them.”
Cildar slammed his fresh mug to the table. “Why did you recall the Dragoons but leave two thousand other soldiers to die?”
Atheme raised a finger. “That was not my doing. The Council of Paladins demanded that the Dragoons be recalled. You of all people know that the paladins do not listen to reason once they have made up their mind. Either you have leverage on them to make them listen, or you don’t. We did not.”
“And the time that we sat without word? You accuse me of breaking off communications, but I don’t recall having any further communications to break.”
“I had no word to send. I was working on finding a solution to the war, same as you.”
“Why didn’t you send reinforcements?” Cildar shouted loudly.
“I did send reinforcements!” Atheme shouted back even louder. The bar grew quiet, so the two men lowered their tones. “I am sorry for how long it took, but it wasn’t easy. I know that you were stuck in the horrors of the Vantrisk mess, but the war with Revian is going just as poorly. Most of the government considers them a more serious threat, and they were ready to give Vantrisk up. It took everything I had to stall as long as I did, and I knew I only had one more chance. I had to give us our best possible odds of success.”
“So you sent one monster to deal with another.”
“Daemon, you mean?”
“Cyprus told me about him, says he single-handedly held the city hostage. I’ve seen him in battle, so I find it easier to believe than you’d think.”
“Abaddon is a fearsome weapon, but an aimless one. I was confident that once given aim he would prove dependable. Did I gamble? Perhaps, but it’s a peculiar criticism coming from the man who allied with Cainites.”
Cildar leaned back, his temper cooled. “Felthespar took my best soldiers from me and left me to fend for myself. Myris stepped forward and stood by me, risking everything he and his people had for a cause that meant nothing to them. So here I sit, to ponder who my real friends are.”
“I told a man something similar recently,” Atheme answered. He stared at the fire burning in the corner. “I think we want the same things, Cildar. I think we share the same frustrations. I have not done this for nothing. I want to restore our city’s order. Like you, I need allies. I’ll grant Myris and his people the sanctuary they request, so long as you vouch for them. In return, I want you as my ally. Help me rebuild our city. The city of Calvin, and your father.”
“I am an Emle; we are not so cheaply purchased.”
“What will it take to convince you?”
“You want my allegiance? You want my faith? Restore the power of the General. The Dictus running our Military is a bad joke that has run its course. Kulara is a good man and a brilliant General, you and I are both fully aware of it.”
“Kulara’s a foreigner. No matter how silver my tongue might be, there is a difficult bias to overcome there. That vote has failed to pass the Grand Council every time it has risen.”
“You asked for my price. Now you have it.”
“You’re right, Emles are certainly not cheap.” He sat in silence for a moment longer. “I’ll make it happen, then. It’ll take time, though. Leprue is the swing vote, and though I have his ear his mind is not easily swayed. But I want something in return.”
“I wasn’t aware we were negotiating.”
“I ask only for advice. Something has to be done about the Council of Paladins. Every time they want something, they play the threat of banning Templars from cross-serving with the Military. I can legislate to prevent this, but I can’t stop them from quietly forbidding or shaming members internally. I need to free the government from this extortion.”
“The paladins are easy. As noble and untouchable as they present themselves, everything hinges on their reputation. Currently that reputation is that they are undisputed as the mightiest warriors in Felthespar. The fact that you fear them severing the Templars from the Military is a sign of that strength. If you want to take their sting away, you’ve got to take it on your terms. Get stung in the hand, not in the face.”
“You mean, stop relying on the Dragoons?”
“For a while. Regulate them to home defense, like the paladins keep threatening. Claim that it’s because of military restructuring, or something of the like. Take the best soldiers from the Military and lean on them. Maybe form a cavalry unit, and put the Military Councilors into it. Build your own rival to the Dragoon Corps. Don’t position it that way, but make sure the rumors are out in the streets. Do this for a while, when you can handle it, and I guarantee you won’t get a power play out of the paladins for two years, at least. The next time you ask to use the Dragoons, they’ll practically beg to help out.”
At that moment a young acolyte ran up to the table and gave a bow. “My deepest apologies for interrupting, Lord Councilor, but the Lord Cardinal requests your presence.”
Atheme stood, throwing a few coins onto the table to cover the drinks. “Thank you for your time, Sir Emle. I will take care of it. I promise you that.”
The Dragoon gave a nod and returned to his drink. “I’ll be waiting.” As Atheme was walking away, Cildar stood and shouted, “Tethen.”
He turned back. “Yes?”
“There is one more thing. I wish to train with Daemon.”
Atheme motioned for the acolyte to wait outside, then moved back. “That may be beyond my control. I am certain neither if he will survive, nor if he will remain our ally.”
“This is not a condition, just a favor. Between friends.”
He nodded. “Then I’ll see what I can do.”
* * * * *
Atheme moved north into Church property, which encompassed the northeastern sector of Felthespar. Having just left Cildar’s company, his thoughts turned to the grandeur of the Emle estates, which rivaled that of the Church itself. As he spent a moment thinking on the matter, he recognized that Cildar’s boasts of his riches were no mere jest.
Many members of the clergy had complained, even demanded, that the Emles should donate as much as half of their property to the Church. The Emle property managers paid them no mind, and forcing a change of that nature had to pass through the Grand Council. The subject had already come up twice in Atheme’s own tenure, but he had a tendency to ignore such controversial issues. He wanted to end the in-fighting between factions, not choose sides.
Church property was a complicated maze of buildings and sights. In centuries past, the original plans had depicted a single building that would have covered the entire sector. This had never worked out, a building so large requiring more resources than was manageable in that era. Instead the Church consisted of the Cathedral, where ceremonies, offerings, sermons, lectures, and other services for the general public could be held. From the Cathedral there were many doors, all of which led to corridors that were not part of the original building, but rather additions.
These corridors led to many important places, such as the massive dome where the Templars trained, or the meeting chamber for the Church’s High Council. Outside
there were more buildings, many of which were selling holy artifacts or relics, almost all of which were fake. The Church had once made a motion to have these shut down, but the Grand Council had been disinclined. They held that the vendors were popular with tourists and helped to keep the economy moving. They also suggested that most people knew they were buying rubbish, so the vendors could not be classified as scams.
A variety of charity institutions were also situated outside of the Cathedral. These had once been located across Felthespar, but it had come to someone’s attention that people were more likely to give money after repenting their sins. Some of the institutions were quite large, such as the Shield of Pecoros, a charity foundation that promised cash contributions to the families of loyal donors upon their death. There were hundreds of other charities, some of which were legit, most of which were not. In all, the Church was a confusing place where one could get lost for days and emerge with substantially lighter pockets.
Atheme knew the area well, however, and paying the vendors no mind he headed directly to the Cathedral. The acolyte had told him that the Lord Cardinal would likely be in the Chamber of Life—the central infirmary of the Church—or in his private office. Since it had taken the messenger some number of hours to locate him, he could not provide more reliable information. As a large outdoor sermon barred his path to the Chamber of Life, Atheme headed first to Aveni’s office.
This worked to his advantage, as the revered priest was enjoying a brief moment of prayer. The Templar sentry recognized the Lord Councilor and quickly stepped aside. Atheme greeted the man with a nod. “Good morrow, Guardian,” he said, using the unofficial title of the Templars.
He entered a small, plain room. It was undeserving of a Lord Cardinal, but Aveni preferred the humble surroundings. Atheme saw a few precious artifacts on the room’s single bookshelf. These were not trinkets like the ones sold on the streets, but true spiritual possessions. Each was endowed with some divine blessings, perhaps from Pecoros himself. In the corner near a simple oak desk, the Church’s cherished Staff of Ainshen stood propped upright, a simple but beautiful bluish-white orb atop a long green staff. The Lord Cardinal knelt before a small pool of holy water in the back of the room, offering up prayer.
Atheme waited for the man to finish praying and bowed his head. He was not a man of strong faith, but he respected Pecoros as a figurehead and a symbol of virtue, much as he had Calvin. Atheme did not personally pray, as he was uncertain of the god’s influence over his personal destiny.
Finally Aveni stood and turned to face his visitor. “Good day, Lord Atheme. Pecoros’ blessing be upon you.”
The Lord Councilor bowed deeply. “And you, Father. You wished to see me?”
“Not I. The young man, Abaddon, has asked for you.”
“He’s awake, then? How is he coming along?”
“Given the extremity of his injuries, I am forced to say ‘well’. He is extremely respondent to white magic, yet resistant to traditional medicine.”
“Sounds about right,” Atheme said with a smile.
“I do not believe he will walk again. The dragon removed a large group of muscle and tendon from his left leg. There’s nothing we can do to restore that kind of deep tissue loss.”
Atheme stood in shock. He had heard Abaddon’s injuries were serious, but he had never considered that it might be anything beyond the Lord Cardinal’s abilities. “Please tell me that’s not the case. I bear responsibility for what this man has been through. There must be something that can be done for him.”
“I would do more, but you know the Church only affords me a certain amount of leeway in charity cases.”
“The government will handle the expense, whatever you require. What are the options?”
“Given how effective white magic is on him, I have some experimental procedures that may work. It will involve frequent surgery, and nearly continuous physical therapy in addition to treatments only I can administer. The idea is that if we prevent the area around the missing flesh from healing over in its normal manner, it may be possible to coax his body to continue regenerating the missing tissue over an extensive period. It will be unpleasant throughout, but in theory he could regain enough muscle to walk again in a few years. You understand, of course, that the Church forces me to charge a premium for my time?”
“Of course, Cardinal. You are their finest priest and a venerable leader. Their stance is reasonable.”
“I can work on the man’s body, Atheme, but I cannot influence his mind. I don’t know him well enough to speak to whether or not he will have the spirit to go through the physical therapy.”
“I will attend to that. Please, let me see him.”
Upon arriving in Abaddon’s room, Atheme was greeted with an unpleasant sight. Normally patients of the Church were treated with the utmost modesty, but Abaddon lay sprawled out on his bed, looking to Atheme more of an Arcanum experiment than a guest of the Church. His skin was burned all over, most of it blackened. Several patches had been removed, and scraps of both the discarded skin and failed grafts lay around the bed. Several fragments of weapons that had been fished out of the man’s body were in a large silver bowl, and fresh blood still pooled on the floor.
“By Pecoros,” Atheme muttered, fighting off a dizzy sensation.
“You must forgive the mess,” Aveni said as he moved to Abaddon’s side and began casting spells. “We are working without rest to do what we can with his skin. Much of it has healed poorly from his travel to Vantrisk, and his body has rejected all grafts with unexpected violence. It is as if we were injecting poison directly into his veins. Given his natural healing abilities and responsiveness to white magic, it has become necessary to simply remove damaged areas and allow them to regrow under my supervision. But progress is slow, for he also rejects blood transfusions, vomiting it out ferociously. I have been alternating between restoring his skin and helping his body to produce blood. He’s at least keeping down food now, so long as we don’t try more transfusions.” The priest turned to see a stunned look on Atheme’s face, then led the Lord Councilor to a nearby chair. “He poses an interesting challenge as a patient, but he is strong, Atheme. It is my belief that if he was going to die, he would have done so by now.”
“Could you give me a minute?”
“Certainly. One moment.” He ran a few more checks on his patient’s condition, then left the room to discuss things with the other priests.
Atheme leaned forward and clutched his forehead in his hands. He had been working to so many different ends for so long that he had forgotten the smaller consequences. Seeing Abaddon before him like this, he wondered how many other lives he had discarded in the same manner. Is this why Cildar was so angry? Because he still witnessed the death that Atheme had forgotten about? How could he go forth as Lord Councilor, knowing that with every decision he made some man, woman, or child might wind up in such condition? He had treated Abaddon as a mere tool. He had called him a weapon. But for all of his strength, there was still a man beneath it, and a heart which now pumped blood onto the floor at Atheme’s feet—blood for which he was responsible.
“No,” he said quietly to himself. “I will not fall into this trap. I will not become the fool who sits on a throne of delusions. I am still a soldier. I will march with my army. I will continue to lead expeditions, as Cildar does. I will never forget the battlefield. Never again. I will fight alongside my people.”
“Fight,” the man on the bed gargled weakly.
“Abaddon?” Atheme moved to the side of the bed and looked down at the blackened face with tears in his eyes. “Do you wish to fight with me?”
The man took a few hoarse breaths, and then rattled out, “Fight... you.”
He smiled and gave a nod. “Of course. I still owe you your rematch. Very well. I will come back here every day that I am able. When you are strong enough to lift a sword, I will give you your fight. Stay alive. We must swear that to each other, then. We will both stay alive un
til I can fulfill my debt to you.” His eyes began to fill with tears as he once more took in the man’s condition. “I won’t have you die on me. Not like this. Do you hear me? There’s too much we can do together, Abaddon. I can accomplish so much with a man like you at my side. I can change Felthespar. I can change Itrius. This is just the start, for both of us. I swear that to you.”
The man gave another hoarse breath, but then turned his head away and looked out the window. Atheme wiped his eyes and took his leave, thanking Aveni on his way out.
Chapter 11.
The Favor of the Lord Councilor
Atheme sat in his new office reading reports on the Revian war. His new quarters were located near the Chamber Vesovia, and were the most resplendent in Felthespar save for those of Vesovius himself. Atheme had installed several bookshelves, and was rapidly filling them with books that had been copied by Relm. She had finished her apprenticeship with the Arcanum and earned the rank of Scribe, only to learn that she would spend most of her time copying books and runes for other people. When Atheme had assured her that the books meant a great deal to him, she had become enthusiastic, working at a fiendish pace.
He had spent a small fortune in paying the Arcanum’s fees for the copies, nearly his entire year’s salary and life’s savings combined. But as Lord Councilor he had little need for money, and he had an obsession with collecting books from Felthespar’s historians. He read each one as fast as Relm brought it, carefully cataloging it in his quarters. Only a few weeks ago she had attained the Arcanum rank of Herald, and with it the opportunity for more interesting duties and studies. Atheme had since eased up his demands for her Scribe work, so he knew it might take years for him to complete his collection.
So with a heavy heart, he had turned to reading more modern documents. The Revian battle lines had moved increasingly east, and estimates were that within another month the various factions of Revian’s army would begin to collapse on Felthespar’s walls. There were several orders from the Senate and the Council of Paladins ordering siege preparations. Even now Atheme could feel his city on the brink of abject panic.