Bladeborn

by Clayton Schonberger

  Agatha spotted a ladder that was doubtless used to go into the pit. Hastily, she grabbed it from where it lay next to several small cages. Agatha startled in fright—the cages contained living Rat-bugs. They appeared secure for now.

  Steadying her nerves, Agatha climbed into the pit and examined the child, who looked at her with clear eyes. He was a perfect, healthy little boy and his crying lessened as soon as Agatha got close. Agatha looked at the deceased young lady who wore a robe like the dead cultist, yet still clutched a holy symbol of Saint Morth in one of her unmoving hands. Under the young lady’s robe was a gown of a commoner.

  Agatha turned to the boy, “You poor little one…” Picking him up, softly, she said to him, “What is your name, little one? Do you have a name? My name is Agatha. And you are called...?”

  “Bladeborn," the boy responded. He said to her, “Bad men hurt Mommy?”

  Agatha thought, “He speaks well for one so young...and he doesn’t seem afraid, despite all he must have seen.” She stared into the boy’s gray eyes. “You have the name of a gladiator, Bladeborn. You are a strong little one, yes. A strong, good boy.” Agatha looked him over again, and other than the tattoo, he appeared to be uninjured, which was certainly a miracle. “Saint Morth must have been watching over you, little Bladeborn.”

  The boy put his head onto Agatha’s shoulder and said, “What’s wrong with my mommy?”

  Agatha tried to explain, “Bladeborn, this hard to explain… Your mommy is in Heaven now...” She picked up the necklace the young lady held in her hand and climbed out of the pit, carrying the little boy. Then Agatha ran out of the place carrying the child, ordering Edann and Angres to block off the door after her.

  Chapter 4: The Investigation

  Back at the Enclave, Agatha told Angres his party would be delayed indefinitely.

  “Good,” Angres said. “I haven’t the stomach for it tonight anyway.”

  “Here’s what you are going to do instead: organize the boys into search parties. They are to scour the City for men in grey robes with henna tattoos on their face and hands.”

  “You gotta be kiddin me…” Angres said. “You have that changeling now Agatha! You got everyone here riled up over it. Now you want me to run around searching for cult guys?”

  “You heard me the first time, Angres!” Agatha stated.

  “I can’t believe you sometimes, Aggie,” Angres said.

  “I’ve told you not to call me that—NOW GO!”

  Angres slammed the door to Agatha’s office. After he left, a young lady who worked for Agatha knocked on the office door.

  “Come in,” Agatha said.

  The lady looked over at little Bladeborn sleeping on Agatha’s couch. “We are concerned, Agatha…about you.”

  Eyes narrowing, Agatha said, “Explain yourself!”

  The young lady said in deference, “Is the boy safe? Some of us have been talking and we’re just not sure.”

  “I see,” Agatha said. “Get all the women up here in my office for a meeting, soon as possible. Go!”

  In a little while the women of the cult looked Bladeborn over.

  “Where is Shyla?” Agatha asked. “She was there when we found the boy. I want her here too.”

  “I looked for Shyla and couldn’t find her.” Shyla’s bunkmate said. “I think she stepped out.”

  “Fine!” Agatha said, “Now everyone, I want you to look at him. He’s no changeling, just a survivor, like the rest of us, see? That he didn’t die is a miracle, wouldn’t you all say?”

  One young lady said, “But that horrid tattoo…”

  “Do you think he asked for it?” Agatha asked.

  “Is he safe?” an older matron asked pointedly. “Take him to a priest, Agatha. If a priest of Saint Morth says he’s alright, I’ll accept him, despite where he comes from.”

  It made Agatha angry that the women in the gang might go against her wishes. But here, even Agatha had to give way.

  “I agree.” Agatha said definitively. “If he’s a changeling the church will know what to do about it.”

  The child she had rescued was the center of attention for the women in the Enclave. They hovered over him, and many were in Agatha’s camp, pitying that he would be treated so. However, there were others who feared the boy from the beginning.

  “Will that tattoo ever come off?” A woman asked.

  “He will wear it the rest of his life, I think,” Agatha said.

  The mother of another child said. “He is another mouth to feed. Take him to the orphanage, I say!”

  “Bite your tongue!” Agatha said. “He is our responsibility now.”

  “You are sure this boy isn’t going to curse us?” Another mother asked.

  “Look at his rose-cheeked face…This is not a changeling!” Shyla’s bunkmate claimed. “Agatha, show what the boy’s mother wore as jewelry.”

  Agatha produced the symbol of Saint Morth that she had taken from the neck of the dead woman who the three-year-old identified as his mother.

  “The boy’s mother was simply trying to save her son from the cult. She died doing so. Are we supposed to turn a blind eye to this? I am going to the temple now. That will be the final word!”

  A male gangmember knocked on the office door.

  “What now?” Agatha said.

  The gangmember said, “Angres got one! A cultist! He found him dead drunk in a tavern, and he’s got him in the gaming hall right now!”

  “Good,” Agatha said. “Ladies, keep an eye on the boy. After I question this fellah, I’ll go to the temple of Morth. Don’t let the kid out of your sight.”

  Agatha’s gang managed to capture a suspicious man who they thought was connected to the cult. The man had been drunk and passed out in a Tavern near the Enclave when Angres came across him and dragged him back to their gaming hall. In a back room of the Enclave, they poured water on him until he sobered up.

  The suspicious man wore the same style of robe that the dead cult members had worn and had many diabolical tattoos. Agatha and her men questioned their prisoner as soon as he was conscious.

  “You are a member of the old morgue cult?” Agatha asked the man.

  “I…was…” he admitted pathetically. “But now, I am as good as dead… ‘HE’ will see to it, soon enough… My life is worthless! My soul is destined for the abyss.”

  “Tell us what we need to know, and we will protect you from him,” Agatha declared.

  “You? Protect me?” The cultist said with a maniacal laugh. “Not even an Avatar of Heaven can help me now!”

  “Speak clearly,” Agatha commanded him.

  The man put his hands over his face to sob, “Of all the luck! That woman! How did she get in there with us? She must have come—come to save her son—and then…” His eyes got wide and madness filled them. His jaw hung limply, as if what came next was beyond description.

  “What?” Agatha demanded, “What happened after the woman arrived? Get him more water, someone,” Agatha told her men. “Sober him up!”

  They handed him a water-skin and he drank desperately, trying to finish the its contents in a single drink. Agatha’s men were forced to take it from his lips.

  Agatha said, “Since you say you are a dead man, tell us what you know!”

  “Ha, ha! You are right!” the man was acting more and more unbalanced, not only drunk, but like his sanity was slipping away. “The cult made promises to me. I tried to get out from under my string of bad luck—one failed deal after the other, until I was a broken man. Debts… burned bridges with other businesses… I had no hope. I was the poorest investor you had ever seen! At one point, I owed four-hundred coin! I just couldn’t get ahead. Where was I to turn?”

  “Go on,” Agatha demanded.

  “Then I joined the cult and ‘BAM!’” The man brought his hands together. “Everything I touched was gold! I began paying off my debts, laughing at those who had snubbed me!”

  “That is impossible,” Agatha told him. �
��No magic can do that!”

  “YOU are wrong!” the man said, and then his mood darkened. “I was riding high… But there was a price for my good fortunes. Blood! And more blood…! I have been present at four sacrifices in the last few years! We would come in the night, kidnapping the chosen victim, sometimes slaughtering their entire family… Then, we would hide the bodies in the crypts! I was terrified about being caught, but our High Priest picked the targets like he knew who wouldn’t be missed.”

  “Why do all this?” Agatha asked.

  “Each sacrifice was meant to make the ‘Master’ stronger. Today, it was said the Master would gain power over the Judge of the Dead! Really, that’s what they told me!”

  Agatha recoiled then said, “No one has power over the Judge of the Dead, fool! He holds the final word for us all!”

  The man looked at the floor and said, “What do I know? I was a pawn, just following along!”

  “You seem pretty well informed for a pawn!” Agatha said. “What else do you know? Be quick, we haven’t got all day!”

  “Augh, what I became! Now it’s over for sure. The murders, the human sacrifice…all amounting to this!” He sobbed again, full of regret for himself, without any remorse for his victims. “Why me? Why has fate chosen me to be singled out with such bad luck?”

  Agatha and those in her gang who were listening were horrified. They had all done some unscrupulous things at one time or another, but what this man described was far beyond any of their lowest days.

  “How many are in your cult?” Agatha demanded. “Who is this ‘Master’ you refer to?”

  The man looked as if he was remembering something awful. “How can I describe the unknowable?”

  “Perhaps Angres could help you remember,” Agatha threatened.

  “How’d you like going to the afterlife with a few broken bones?” Angres said menacingly. “Answer Agatha’s questions now, murderer!”

  The man cleared his throat. “The power—it comes from the top. It is new to—Ahem!—the lower floors of Fortress City.”

  “What do you mean by the top?” Agatha asked.

  The man coughed and cleared his throat again. “I mean the very top of the city!” he stated. Coughing more, he choked out, “The ROYALS! And a lot of… Cough! A lot of the Nobility are in on it…”

  Suddenly the man started struggling, unable to draw a breath. He fell out of the chair he was in, gasping for air, and clutching at his throat. He began turning blue.

  “He’s choking!” Agatha said to her men. “Give him some air! Spread out, or I’ll bust your teeth in! Curse it all, don’t let him die!”

  Agatha was shocked, and she could see that her men were terrified, for the cultist was dead, and his body had turned icy cold!

  Agatha took a step back and said, “He’s…”

  “By the Horns of the Dragon God!” Angres whispered hoarsely. “That ain’t a natural way to die!”

  “We’ve got to get rid of that body, and quickly,” Agatha said, worrying that the corpse would spread some curse or plague in her hide-out. “We’ll dump him in the crypts. Angres, I want you to take three men and do so right away—”

  “Why do I get all the worst jobs around here?” Angres demanded. “I don’t want nothing else to do with this! I don’t want to touch that guy, let alone carry him halfway across the city and dump him!”

  “Then wrap him in a carpet first!” Agatha ordered. “What do you want me to do? Leave him here on the floor of our back room?”

  “You really owe me now, Agatha!” Angres declared, “I didn’t sign up for such as this!”

  “I say what you sign up for!” Agatha said. “Now everyone, get back to work!”

  As she walked to the Lower City’s Great temple, Agatha had with grave concerns about the cult. She wondered how the evil rites could go on so close to their headquarters without notice. It seemed the door to the old morgue, leading to where the cult had operated, had been unknown to all of Agatha’s gang. Not too surprising, since there were many secret passages between the walls of the city. But this was merely an unexplored entryway. How the old morgue and what lay beyond had operated within sight range of the entrance to their gambling hall was a mystery that had no good explanation.

  Agatha was also disturbed with the accusation that the Royals and Nobility were could be so evil. She assumed those in power were greedy fools, uninterested in what happened on the lower floors. Agatha’s sins were many… But still, she and all those she knew prayed to the same God, Saint Morth of the Heavens. It chilled her to think that the men at the top of the City might follow powers of the Abyss.

  Agatha had not been in the church since she was young, and she was a bit worried that if she was recognized they would throw her out. She paid a sizable amount of coin to meet with a healing priest. The man was a leader in Church affairs, High Priest Auxi. The High Priest of Saint Morth met Agatha in the pews and listened to her without judgment.

  “Describe your sins to me, woman,” High Priest Auxi said, “and I shall tell you what good works you must do to absolve yourself of them, through the light of Saint Morth.”

  “Please, holy man, I am not here for that,” Agatha said, trying to sound as gentle as possible. “I do, however, wish to know something, and I believe you could help.”

  “I will try, good woman, to aid as best I can,” High Priest Auxi responded. “Tell me what it is you seek.”

  “Well…it is difficult to describe,” Agatha began. “Recently, near my home, I have found evidence of a cult. This is not what you would think. It is more than a passing, minor thing. These men worship powers from the very reaches of the Abyss. I was speaking to one of the followers of this evil force when he died mysteriously, right before my eyes. He said the cult has corrupted many in our City. Some unknown force wiped out his comrades earlier today… I saw the carnage myself. Before the cult man we captured died, he said their ‘Master’ originated not with the people on our floors, but the Nobility high above us, and possibly even… The Royal Family itself. Do you know of this?”

  There was a long pause, as High Priest Auxi considered what he heard. He lowered his voice and leaned into Agatha’s ear, touching her arm. “What you speak of is a very grave matter, and not to be taken lightly!”

  Agatha was chilled, and surprised that the High Priest was willing to discuss it with her.

  Auxi continued, “We are aware of who you are, woman, and what you found in the room beyond the infirmary.”

  “What? How?” Agatha asked.

  “The person who came here thought that her contact with the cult may have brought a curse upon her. I will not name her, but she was right to come here.”

  Agatha guessed that almost as soon as she could, Shyla had come to the temple.

  High Priest Auxi said, “Take care of the boy called Bladeborn. He may one day redeem the City from the path it is on. Such selfless work as this can change the balance you face in the afterlife, when you stand before the Judge of the Dead.”

  Agatha said pointedly, “I will do as you ask. I have this… jewelry… It belonged to the boy’s mother. Perhaps you could try to find his surviving family by taking it.

  “Hand it to me,” High Priest Auxi said. He took the holy symbol of Morth and pocketed it.

  Agatha then asked more of the High Priest. “Can you tell me if it is true that the Nobles of our city are corrupted? The violence done by this cult—murder, dark sacrifice—I wish to know how far this evil goes.”

  With tinges of anger in his voice, High Priest Auxi told Agatha, “There is a power struggle brewing within the City. Since King Koss ascended to the throne there has been much turmoil. He and his retainers live on—never aging—due to alchemy and necromancy! The cult of which you speak is at the center of it.”

  “What can we do?” Agatha said to the High Priest. “I must know more about this power struggle. Lives are at stake here, Priest, my own and the lives of those I care for!”

  “This ev
il presence in Fortress City is a new, tangible thing, not merely bad governance or hedonism. Woman, there is a physical force involved—we all must do what we can to stem the tide, lest the City fall under its sway and crumble… There is nothing more to say.”

  “But—the danger to myself and my—” Agatha persisted.

  “No, my child, I will not speak of it any further,” High Priest Auxi interrupted. “Doing so would invite too much trouble into both our lives. Now go, before we further tread upon the ground that is beyond our limited capability to endure. Steps are being taken, but the fewer people who know, the better.”

  High Priest Auxi arose, making a holy sign of Saint Morth for a blessing and then left Agatha’s side. Agatha exited the temple soon after, more worried than ever.

  Agatha reported to her people what the High Priest of Morth said about the boy. “The priest said it is our task to raise the boy right, and it will give us all better standing in the afterlife, when we face the Judge of the Dead.”

  Agatha left a lot of information out, not wishing to panic her people. Most were satisfied, but some, especially the ladies with children of their own, were less easy to convince.

  Later, Agatha assigned one of her best spies to try to get details about the cult. In two days, the spy, whose name was Kelane, returned with some success. They met in Agatha’s private office and he told what he found.

  “I am close, Agatha,” Kelane said. “There is a little-known temple on one of the upper levels of the City, said to be another base which the cult maintains. The man I have as a contact said he could get me in… But there is more!”

  “Tell me all,” Agatha said.

  “I hear the ritual they will perform is a part of a great series of rituals meant to give their Master some sort of ‘immunity.’ It is very secretive, and my contact seemed acutely zealous.” Kelane said. “Tomorrow I will go and find this man again, and be admitted to their cult, if I am lucky.”

  Agatha said, “Good… Keep working on this, Kelane.”

  Agatha lay down in her chamber that night, hopeful that her spy could ascertain what threat there truly was.