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xcpublishingCHAPTER FOURTEEN
KANEELIS (PT TWO)
Brydon woke early the next morning, feeling restless and slightly hung over. He had consumed half his bottle of fermented something with dinner—from the taste in his mouth he suspected it was rat dung—in an effort to drown Sellaris from his mind. He had not succeeded. He sorted through his belongings in hope of finding something to remove the foul taste on his tongue. A dagger tumbled out of his pack onto the floor and he stared at it in surprise, only then remembering he had taken it from Reed’s abandoned belongings with the intention of giving it to Toryn.
He picked up the dagger with a smile. Toryn had a fine sword and now he would have the ruby-encrusted dagger, as well. Brydon dressed and shaved, glad to have clean clothing and a mirror to shave by. He strapped the decorative dagger to his belt, but left his own hanging from the bedpost with his sword. It would look rather odd to be armed while he walked around in the Temple of Healing. Truth to tell, he felt better without his weapons—he seldom wore them at home and they were cumbersome.
He belted his surcoat over the dagger to conceal it completely—the better to surprise Toryn. He left his room and went down the hall to the foyer after he checked the Redolian’s room and found it empty. After questioning an underling, he exited the main doors at the back and found himself in a courtyard that was also a well-cultivated flower garden. Flowers bloomed in every imaginable color. Brydon walked among them, smelling their heady fragrances. The path that led through the garden was made of crushed shells. He sat on a bench near the fountain and listened to the birds sing. Verana found him there. Her dark skin looked even more so against the bright yellow robes she had donned. She looked very official with her red sash of office and her hair bound back in a bright yellow swatch of cloth.
“How is Alyn?” he asked.
“Much improved,” she answered. “The rest did her good and they have many medicines here. It will be some time before she fully recovers, but it looks as though she will be well.”
“Excellent.” Brydon smiled. “I can move on knowing she is in good hands.”
“You are leaving already?”
“The Quest will not wait for me and already time is passing too quickly,” he replied.
She nodded. “Promise you will keep me informed of your progress. I feel I have lent a hand to your destiny and would like to know how it turns out.”
He grinned. “I promise to send you a note from every messenger-post I happen upon.”
Her features became serious. “Do not hesitate to send for me if trouble should befall you. I have many friends in the Church—in all parts of the world.” She smiled again as her good humor returned. “Although Toryn is a stout guardian.”
Brydon returned her smile. “He is becoming a good friend.”
She patted his hand. “Do not leave without saying goodbye.”
“I would not think of it. I must go to the Temple of Might this morning. I have news from Falara to deliver.”
“I will see you when you return, then.” She rose and strolled away, her robes a golden contrast to the garden greenery.
Brydon sat for a moment before leaving to find Toryn. He assumed the Redolian was with Alyn, so he walked around hoping to find someone who knew where to find her, since he had forgotten to ask Verana.
He passed a room with an open door and a frantic Healer called to him. She was holding down a semi-conscious man whose leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Brydon hurried inside.
“What do you need?” he asked, at a loss.
“I need you to cut his leggings off so I can see the extent of the damage. Argis was assisting me, but he has gone for potions.” Brydon quickly fished the jeweled dagger from beneath his surcoat and cut the man’s pant leg from ankle to hip. At first touch of the dagger, the man fainted. The Healer straightened and pushed her hair from her brow with a sigh.
“He broke his leg. I cannot imagine how he got here by himself. He is strong-willed. Thank you for your help.” She turned to him, smiling, and her eyes fell on the dagger he still held. Her mouth rounded in an O before she screamed loudly, startling him. Before he could move, she pushed by him and fled the room.
He looked at the dagger, expecting to see a large hairy spider on it, but it looked the same as before. Gold nugget-style hilt crusted with crimson gems. A slightly curved blade, single edged. He shrugged and turned, just in time to see Verana and the babbling Healer enter the room with a hoard of others. The girl pointed at him and uttered something he could not quite make out.
Verana looked at the dagger and then up at Brydon. “Where did you get that?” she asked in a strange voice.
“Get what?” he asked, puzzled.
“The knife.”
“I picked it up out of Reed’s belongings and forgot about it. I planned to give it to Toryn. Why?”
Verana breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the others. “It is all right,” she said. “Tend to this man and I will have a talk with my friend. Come out to the courtyard with me, Brydon. This bears discussing.”
She went out and Brydon followed. The Healers parted before him as though he had suddenly sprouted black fangs and claws. “Is there a problem?”
She looked at him and then down at the dagger still in his hand. When they reached the bench, she sat down and motioned for him to sit. “That is a Parmittan sacrificial dagger. It is used in blood sacrifice to slice open a victim and offer their still-beating heart to Shaitan. I think Sellaris’ friend Reed is a bit more dangerous than we gave him credit for.”
The dagger suddenly felt heavier in Brydon’s hand. The gems seemed to wink at him with an evil light and he set it quickly on the bench beside him.
“You think Reed was a priest of Shaitan?” he asked, disgusted.
“I don’t know of anyone else who carries such a thing,” she said. “Perhaps he stole the dagger or came across it by trade. But from the manner of his disappearance, I do not think so.”
Brydon stood up, agitated. “Which brings up the question of why he is gathering horses in Bodor.” Neither of them had to mention that Bodor was separated from Parmitta only by a range of mountains.
“If a Bodorii noble is collaborating with the Parmittans...” Verana began.
Brydon snorted. “What could they do?” he asked. “Kerrick’s line and the Gauntlet are still in Ven-Kerrick.” Unless, Brydon realized, his Quest succeeded, in which case the Gauntlet would be on its way to Falara. That could be disastrous if Parmitta plotted a war.
“Still,” Brydon objected, “If they plan anything on a major scale, they will need more than a mere two dozen horses that Sellaris and her band acquired.”
“Unless she lied,” Verana replied. “But I do not see what Shaitan’s minions would want with horses. The last time they attacked, they had more than enough power with foot soldiers alone. If not for Kerrick and the Gauntlet, they probably would have defeated the southern kingdoms.”
Brydon shook his head. “It’s too confusing to worry about. We will have to wait and see what happens, I suppose. Perhaps someone from the Order of Might can track down Reed. I’ll mention it when I go to the Temple and tell them about the horses.”
Verana nodded. “It would not be remiss to bring this to the attention of the bishops. May I keep the dagger?”
Brydon handed it to her gladly. She looked at it with distaste for a moment and then tucked it away and departed. Brydon thought about the Great War in which the countless hordes had come from Parmitta and devastated the southern kingdoms. Things had been going very badly for them until Kerrick had turned up with the Gauntlet of Power. Singlehandedly he had turned the tide of the war and driven the minions of Shaitan back into the southern climes of Parmitta, beyond the Ven-Horn Mountains.
In gratitude, the four kingdoms—Silver, Bodor, Tar-Tan, and Penkangum—had given up a portion of their lands and built a magnificent castle, calling it Ven-Kerrick. They had lauded Kerrick as the protector of the kingdoms and largely forgotten him over ensuing years of peace. Now Brydon intended to ride into Ven-Kerrick and see if he could borrow that Gauntlet for a short time. Thinking about it now, it seemed like a fool’s mission. Not for the first time he wondered what Princess Eryka was about. He had argued heartily with her when he’d first learned of the Quest, but the girl had been adamant.
He sighed, and went to his room to change his clothes before searching for Toryn again. He wondered if he would find the Redolian before the day ended. He had better results this time after making inquiries and finally found Toryn five streets down, in a tavern, clutching two wenches and telling them tall tales. Brydon pried Toryn’s grip away from the girls and made him take a walk.
“About time you got up. I thought you would sleep the day away.”
Brydon ignored that. “Did you see Alyn this morning?” he asked as they departed the tavern.
Toryn glared. “Yes. She threw a glass at me. I think she is feeling better.”
Brydon laughed.
Toryn asked, “What are you wearing? You look like a snowman.”
Brydon was bedecked in a pure white surcoat, white under-tunic, white breeches, and a short white cloak. He wore black boots and a black belt. A black design was embroidered diagonally upon his left breast and Toryn stared at it for a moment, furrowing his brow.
“Where have I seen that before?” Toryn asked. “Don’t you usually wear your falcon insignia? What happened? Did you change family lines?”
“I decided to dress up for our trip to the Temple,” Brydon replied.
“Are you planning to be sacrificed as a virgin?”
Brydon threw him a quelling look, but by then they had reached the Temple of Might. The building was spectacular. Grey-veined marble steps led up to the entrance where four huge pillars lined the front, carved into the likenesses of women with swords. The statues gazed out over the city as if protecting it from the power of Shaitan. Brydon found the image odd for a moment, considering that women were not allowed into the Order of Might. Toryn whistled softly.
They joined many other townspeople walking up the steps and into the coolness of the building. The main sanctuary was huge, able to hold thousands of people easily, and lined with dark green marble pillars. The ceiling had several open slats filled with glass, displaying the clear blue sky in all its glory. The walls contained many windows that looked out on magnificent gardens filled with all the flowers they had seen at the Temple of Healing and many more besides. Exotic birds flew in and about the trees in the gardens, showing off their stunning colors.
The Temple was full of light and color. The pulpit sat in front of a massive fountain that shot water a full twenty feet into the air and caught the light from the ceiling, sending rainbows around the room. Behind the fountain were marble steps where a choir would stand. Sunken areas at both sides allowed musicians to play. Many were there already, strumming on their instruments.
High up on the wall, a balcony was bolstered by the pillars all the way around the room. The ceiling was another twenty feet higher than that.
There was no service at the moment and people meandered about while they talked quietly, or seated themselves at the fountain’s edge. Many prayed while others sat quietly and listened to the Bards.
Brydon’s eyes skimmed the assortment of people until he caught sight of a particular uniform. He strode purposefully forward with Toryn at his heels. Brydon halted before the man, whose dress was similar to his own, except the man’s clothing was forest green and the design on his chest was that of a bronze shield. The man supervised a small boy who carefully scraped wax from a golden candlestick that rose easily to a man’s height. From the boy’s downcast expression, it was clear that the boy was being disciplined.
“Father Deacon?” Brydon asked the man respectfully. Cold blue eyes turned to view them. He took note of Brydon’s attire and then swung his gaze to Toryn. His eyes widened for a moment at the sight of Toryn’s braids, but his features betrayed no hint of his thoughts.
“Yes?” he asked with no inflection.
“I am Brydon Redwing of Falara. I have missives from Bishop Paryn for Bishop Nilyn. Could you direct me to his assistant or secretary?”
The man’s long nose twitched for a moment, almost like a rabbit’s. He said nothing for such a long time that Brydon began to think he was deaf.
“I can take them, Father,” the young boy piped up in a hopeful voice.
“You can remain where you are until your task is completed,” the deacon snapped without looking at the lad, who sighed and resumed his scraping. “Come with me,” the strange man continued, speaking to Brydon, and marched promptly off the dais and through a wide, arched corridor. Brydon looked at Toryn, who made a blatant gesture that alluded to idiocy and Brydon barely suppressed a smile. The boy giggled.
They walked through the long corridor, which was lined on either side by small rooms with curtained doorways. Each room was carpeted and contained a kneeling bench and a small wood-topped dais, which held an offering plate and a number of candles. The outer rooms had large high windows to let in sunlight. Several of the curtains were drawn, giving privacy to those praying within. The corridor they walked was laid with a wide strip of patterned Bodorii carpet to muffle the footsteps of passersby.
The corridor ended at a T. The left passageway was unblocked, but the right was closed by an iron-barred gate. The deacon took a heavy chain from beneath his robes. A key was attached to the chain and he used it to unlock the gate.
“Walk this way,” he said and they proceeded down the right-hand corridor. The rest of the corridor was rather plain, showing only a blank wall on the right and several numbered doorways on the left. The carpet was apparently no longer needed in this section and their footsteps rang on the polished oak floor.
Before the corridor ended, the three of them halted at an ironbound wooden door, this one guarded by another green-clad man who stood at rigid attention.
“These men are here for Secretary Ulwyn,” their escort stated in a brusque manner. The guard rapped on the door and a panel instantly slid open to reveal two eyes behind a wire grill.
“Messengers for Secretary Ulwyn,” the guard said and the panel snapped shut. After an interminable moment, the door swung open and they beheld a nearly identical guardsman within the doorway. Brydon looked from one to the other and deduced they were twins.
“The Secretary will see you. Please follow me,” the second guard said. Brydon gladly entered the doorway, relieved to be free of their unfriendly escort, who sniffed and marched off. The first twin shut the door behind them, presumably to resume his post in the corridor.
A short walk down another hallway—this one completely carpeted in rich burgundy—brought them to another wooden door; this one open. Their attendant rapped on the doorframe before he entered the room. Brydon paused with Toryn on his heels. The room was small and seemed in some disarray. A large desk dominated the room, accompanied by a number of comfortable-looking chairs. Shelves covered the entire wall space, stuffed with every manner of books, scrolls, and loose parchment. Books were stacked haphazardly on the desk as well as the floor and one of the chairs.
A bespectacled face peered at them from behind one of the book piles on the desk and a smile greeted them.
“Come in! Come in!” the old man cried. He waved to them as he got to his feet. The top of his head reached only as high as Brydon’s chin. His hair was nearly gone and what slight wisps remained clung to his round head above his ears, white as goose down. His face was pleasant, but Brydon refused to let himself be swayed by appearances—a sword lay sheathed upon the desk and a large dagger was visible at the man’s side. The little man could not be an incompetent fighter to have risen in the ranks and become the Bishop’s secretary. As if affirming Brydon’s assessment, the guard who had let them in smiled slightly and went out, leaving the old fellow alone with two young armed men.
“Greetings, Knight Commander,” Brydon said warmly, noting the man’s rank insignia upon the bronze shield adorning his green robes. “I am Brydon Redwing and this is my companion, Toryn of Redol. I bring news from Bishop Paryn of Eaglecrest to Bishop Nilyn.”
Secretary Ulwyn waved them each to a seat. “No bad tidings, I dare say?” he asked and seated himself behind the desk once more.
“No, sir,” Brydon assured him. He rummaged in his pouch for the oilskin bag he had carried all the way from Falara. Toryn carefully removed a stack of books from the nearest chair and set them on the floor before he seated himself.
Brydon handed Secretary Ulwyn the packet and sat in another chair—this one surprisingly free of books and scrolls. The secretary shook out the missives and broke the seal on the first one. He read it quickly and his bushy eyebrows rose now and again.
“Quarterly report,” Ulwyn muttered. “Late, as usual.” He set it aside and winked at Brydon. “I suppose the Brotherhood of the Lance has a good excuse, being so far from us, eh?” Brydon nodded agreeably and the old man opened the second missive. Ulwyn muttered as he read this one.
“... a handful of knightings... request more supplies, yes, yes, as always... Sir Dorwyn taken ill... hmmm... trouble with Redol...” The secretary paused at that and looked owlishly at Toryn for a moment. The Redolian smiled broadly, looking like a black-haired angel. Ulwyn turned his gaze to Brydon, but forbore asking questions. He returned his attention to the document. “... hmmm... Princess Eryka... chosen a suitor—” Ulwyn’s eyes widened. He stared at Brydon and then grinned hugely. “Why, congratulations, my boy!” he cried. “On a Quest! Nice to see the little minx has a head on her shoulders, to choose one of the Brotherhood.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brydon said and flushed slightly.
The old man chuckled and returned to the document. “... hmmm, and what has she sent you after, eh? Some girlish bauble...?” Ulwyn’s face drained of all color and he shot to his feet. “The Gauntlet of Ven-Kerrick?” Ulwyn bellowed. “Is the girl mad?!” He stared meaningfully at Brydon, whose jaw worked a couple of times, but no sound emerged. Running footsteps approached and the guardsman burst into the room, sword drawn. Secretary Ulwyn looked at him for a moment and then waved him away apologetically.
“Sorry, my boy. Shocking news, is all. Didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”
The guard smiled slightly, nodded, and headed back to his post. Toryn sank back into the chair and let go of his own sword hilt. Ulwyn sat down and picked up the parchment once more.
“The Gauntlet,” Ulwyn murmured, disbelieving. “Why?”
Toryn turned curious green eyes to Brydon, who shrugged.
“She is young, my lord,” he tried to explain. “And unlikely to travel outside of Falara in her lifetime. I think she just wants to see something magical.”
Ulwyn snorted. “Magical, indeed. Damned thing kills anyone who touches it.” The secretary clamped his mouth shut, as if he had spoken too much. He read the rest of the letter and rolled it up carefully. He tapped it thoughtfully against his chin as he contemplated Brydon once more.
“How do you plan to get it away from the Kerricks, my boy?”
“Why, ask them, of course,” Brydon admitted. He forestalled Ulwyn’s bark of laughter and continued, “They can send a royal escort to keep it safe. Surely the Kerricks would be willing to give Falara a brief glimpse of the holy object in the name of international goodwill?”
Secretary Ulwyn’s amused expression turned thoughtful. “Very diplomatic of you, my boy. You might succeed, after all. Do you want an escort to guide you to Ven-Kerrick?”
“No, sir.” Brydon shook his head. “I do not wish to take anyone from more important duties, especially when my Quest is of a secular nature.”
The secretary chortled in delight. “A fine tongue you have, young one. I shall wish Adona’s blessing on your endeavor. Will you celebrate evening services with us?”
“Of course.” Brydon nodded. Ulwyn smiled at Toryn.
“Your Redolian friend is free to join us.” His eyes sparkled as he went on. “I do hope you will give me the tale of your companionship one day.”
“One day,” Brydon promised. “As time permits.”
Ulwyn sighed deeply as if mourning the passage of time and Brydon rose. Toryn stood with him.
“By your leave, Knight Commander,” Brydon said and touched stiffened fingers over his insignia in salute. The secretary rose and returned the gesture.
“Until this evening, Brother Brydon,” Ulwyn responded and gave Toryn a friendly nod. They went out and Brydon caught Toryn looking at him intently, but the Redolian made no comment. They traversed the hallway and were allowed egress by the same pleasant guardsman. The second twin guided them to the iron gate and allowed them through. It was not until they had crossed the sanctuary and exited the building that Toryn spoke.
“You are one of them,” Toryn said. “It never occurred to me before, when you said you had been ‘trained by the Knight-Priests.’ They don’t train outsiders, do they? You are a Knight-Priest.”
Brydon smiled. “Order of Might, Brotherhood of the Lance, Eaglecrest Chapter,” he confirmed, gesturing to the lance embroidered upon his breast.
Toryn glared at him. “I tried to kill you!” he snapped. “You could not have mentioned it once? Does Verana know? Of course she knows! You two probably made some secret holy sign to each other and vowed to keep the Redolian in the dark!” Toryn stalked down the marble steps. Brydon followed, rather surprised at his censure. Toryn turned on him. “Are there any other little secrets you are keeping from me?” Toryn cried. “Is there anything else strange about you that I should know, Brother Brydon?”
Brydon pondered for a long moment while Toryn waited impatiently, outwardly fuming. Finally, Brydon said, “No, not that I can think of.”
“Nothing at all?” Toryn prodded.
“No, that should be everything.”
Toryn nodded curtly and they began to walk back to the Temple of Healing. After a long silence, Toryn asked quietly, “Why did you never tell me?”
Brydon shrugged. “There was not much opportunity upon our first meeting.”
Toryn glared at him and Brydon chuckled. He sobered before he continued. “After that, it did not seem to be a consideration. I set aside my religious duties for the duration of the Quest and there has been no need for me to don the mantle, except for the time I said the final blessing over the bodies of your companions.” Brydon dispelled the gloom of that image by smiling again. “I did not think you felt any great need to confess your sins.”
Toryn snorted, not amused. “You should have told me at once,” Toryn griped. “I would never have tried to kill a priest.”
“You mean you would have gone merrily back to Redol and spared my life after that first attempt?”
“Yes!” Toryn admitted vehemently.
“Then I’m glad I said nothing or you wouldn’t be here now,” Brydon confessed.
Toryn seemed to consider that for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
Verana and Davin joined them for a private dinner in one of the smaller rooms of the Temple of Healing.
“The journey will not be the same without you, Verana,” Brydon told her sadly. She smiled and saluted him with her wineglass.
“I have fulfilled my task. Now I must return to my regular duties. I feel we shall meet again one day.”
“A premonition?” Brydon asked.
She smiled. “No. More of a hope. Still, you will pass through Kaneelis on your way back to Falara. You must promise to stop here.”
“I promise,” Brydon intoned seriously. “Will you come with us, Davin?” he asked after a pause.
Davin looked surprised. “You want me along?”
“Of course. Anyone who can hunt like you is welcome. Besides, I need someone to keep me from killing Toryn once he starts to annoy me.” Brydon laughed. Toryn kicked him.
“Can you leave Alyn?” Toryn asked Davin a bit snidely. Davin still spent several hours a day with Alyn. The silver-haired man flushed and looked at Verana.
“I believe it will be better for her if you go, although you may not understand why right now,” she said quietly.
His face grew dark. “I understand perfectly,” he snapped. Verana made to protest, but he looked at Brydon. “I will come.”
Brydon shied his mind away from the sudden image of the cat in the forest and turned to Toryn. “What about the horses? Did you ask Alyn if it was permissible for us to take them with us? It will be much faster than traveling afoot.”
Toryn studied his fork with great interest. “She said it would be fine,” he said. “Of course, she is not exactly in her right mind...”
“If you think it’s not a good idea, we will leave them here and walk.”
“No. If we run into any Akarskans, you can talk them into letting us keep them. Besides, Alyn told me the horses are unmarked. Nobody’s property. No Akarskan’s property.”
Brydon sighed. “I hope they see it that way.”
“Don’t worry.” Toryn grinned. Brydon looked dubious, but dropped it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
KANEELIS (PT TWO)
Brydon woke early the next morning, feeling restless and slightly hung over. He had consumed half his bottle of fermented something with dinner—from the taste in his mouth he suspected it was rat dung—in an effort to drown Sellaris from his mind. He had not succeeded. He sorted through his belongings in hope of finding something to remove the foul taste on his tongue. A dagger tumbled out of his pack onto the floor and he stared at it in surprise, only then remembering he had taken it from Reed’s abandoned belongings with the intention of giving it to Toryn.
He picked up the dagger with a smile. Toryn had a fine sword and now he would have the ruby-encrusted dagger, as well. Brydon dressed and shaved, glad to have clean clothing and a mirror to shave by. He strapped the decorative dagger to his belt, but left his own hanging from the bedpost with his sword. It would look rather odd to be armed while he walked around in the Temple of Healing. Truth to tell, he felt better without his weapons—he seldom wore them at home and they were cumbersome.
He belted his surcoat over the dagger to conceal it completely—the better to surprise Toryn. He left his room and went down the hall to the foyer after he checked the Redolian’s room and found it empty. After questioning an underling, he exited the main doors at the back and found himself in a courtyard that was also a well-cultivated flower garden. Flowers bloomed in every imaginable color. Brydon walked among them, smelling their heady fragrances. The path that led through the garden was made of crushed shells. He sat on a bench near the fountain and listened to the birds sing. Verana found him there. Her dark skin looked even more so against the bright yellow robes she had donned. She looked very official with her red sash of office and her hair bound back in a bright yellow swatch of cloth.
“How is Alyn?” he asked.
“Much improved,” she answered. “The rest did her good and they have many medicines here. It will be some time before she fully recovers, but it looks as though she will be well.”
“Excellent.” Brydon smiled. “I can move on knowing she is in good hands.”
“You are leaving already?”
“The Quest will not wait for me and already time is passing too quickly,” he replied.
She nodded. “Promise you will keep me informed of your progress. I feel I have lent a hand to your destiny and would like to know how it turns out.”
He grinned. “I promise to send you a note from every messenger-post I happen upon.”
Her features became serious. “Do not hesitate to send for me if trouble should befall you. I have many friends in the Church—in all parts of the world.” She smiled again as her good humor returned. “Although Toryn is a stout guardian.”
Brydon returned her smile. “He is becoming a good friend.”
She patted his hand. “Do not leave without saying goodbye.”
“I would not think of it. I must go to the Temple of Might this morning. I have news from Falara to deliver.”
“I will see you when you return, then.” She rose and strolled away, her robes a golden contrast to the garden greenery.
Brydon sat for a moment before leaving to find Toryn. He assumed the Redolian was with Alyn, so he walked around hoping to find someone who knew where to find her, since he had forgotten to ask Verana.
He passed a room with an open door and a frantic Healer called to him. She was holding down a semi-conscious man whose leg was twisted at an unnatural angle. Brydon hurried inside.
“What do you need?” he asked, at a loss.
“I need you to cut his leggings off so I can see the extent of the damage. Argis was assisting me, but he has gone for potions.” Brydon quickly fished the jeweled dagger from beneath his surcoat and cut the man’s pant leg from ankle to hip. At first touch of the dagger, the man fainted. The Healer straightened and pushed her hair from her brow with a sigh.
“He broke his leg. I cannot imagine how he got here by himself. He is strong-willed. Thank you for your help.” She turned to him, smiling, and her eyes fell on the dagger he still held. Her mouth rounded in an O before she screamed loudly, startling him. Before he could move, she pushed by him and fled the room.
He looked at the dagger, expecting to see a large hairy spider on it, but it looked the same as before. Gold nugget-style hilt crusted with crimson gems. A slightly curved blade, single edged. He shrugged and turned, just in time to see Verana and the babbling Healer enter the room with a hoard of others. The girl pointed at him and uttered something he could not quite make out.
Verana looked at the dagger and then up at Brydon. “Where did you get that?” she asked in a strange voice.
“Get what?” he asked, puzzled.
“The knife.”
“I picked it up out of Reed’s belongings and forgot about it. I planned to give it to Toryn. Why?”
Verana breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the others. “It is all right,” she said. “Tend to this man and I will have a talk with my friend. Come out to the courtyard with me, Brydon. This bears discussing.”
She went out and Brydon followed. The Healers parted before him as though he had suddenly sprouted black fangs and claws. “Is there a problem?”
She looked at him and then down at the dagger still in his hand. When they reached the bench, she sat down and motioned for him to sit. “That is a Parmittan sacrificial dagger. It is used in blood sacrifice to slice open a victim and offer their still-beating heart to Shaitan. I think Sellaris’ friend Reed is a bit more dangerous than we gave him credit for.”
The dagger suddenly felt heavier in Brydon’s hand. The gems seemed to wink at him with an evil light and he set it quickly on the bench beside him.
“You think Reed was a priest of Shaitan?” he asked, disgusted.
“I don’t know of anyone else who carries such a thing,” she said. “Perhaps he stole the dagger or came across it by trade. But from the manner of his disappearance, I do not think so.”
Brydon stood up, agitated. “Which brings up the question of why he is gathering horses in Bodor.” Neither of them had to mention that Bodor was separated from Parmitta only by a range of mountains.
“If a Bodorii noble is collaborating with the Parmittans...” Verana began.
Brydon snorted. “What could they do?” he asked. “Kerrick’s line and the Gauntlet are still in Ven-Kerrick.” Unless, Brydon realized, his Quest succeeded, in which case the Gauntlet would be on its way to Falara. That could be disastrous if Parmitta plotted a war.
“Still,” Brydon objected, “If they plan anything on a major scale, they will need more than a mere two dozen horses that Sellaris and her band acquired.”
“Unless she lied,” Verana replied. “But I do not see what Shaitan’s minions would want with horses. The last time they attacked, they had more than enough power with foot soldiers alone. If not for Kerrick and the Gauntlet, they probably would have defeated the southern kingdoms.”
Brydon shook his head. “It’s too confusing to worry about. We will have to wait and see what happens, I suppose. Perhaps someone from the Order of Might can track down Reed. I’ll mention it when I go to the Temple and tell them about the horses.”
Verana nodded. “It would not be remiss to bring this to the attention of the bishops. May I keep the dagger?”
Brydon handed it to her gladly. She looked at it with distaste for a moment and then tucked it away and departed. Brydon thought about the Great War in which the countless hordes had come from Parmitta and devastated the southern kingdoms. Things had been going very badly for them until Kerrick had turned up with the Gauntlet of Power. Singlehandedly he had turned the tide of the war and driven the minions of Shaitan back into the southern climes of Parmitta, beyond the Ven-Horn Mountains.
In gratitude, the four kingdoms—Silver, Bodor, Tar-Tan, and Penkangum—had given up a portion of their lands and built a magnificent castle, calling it Ven-Kerrick. They had lauded Kerrick as the protector of the kingdoms and largely forgotten him over ensuing years of peace. Now Brydon intended to ride into Ven-Kerrick and see if he could borrow that Gauntlet for a short time. Thinking about it now, it seemed like a fool’s mission. Not for the first time he wondered what Princess Eryka was about. He had argued heartily with her when he’d first learned of the Quest, but the girl had been adamant.
He sighed, and went to his room to change his clothes before searching for Toryn again. He wondered if he would find the Redolian before the day ended. He had better results this time after making inquiries and finally found Toryn five streets down, in a tavern, clutching two wenches and telling them tall tales. Brydon pried Toryn’s grip away from the girls and made him take a walk.
“About time you got up. I thought you would sleep the day away.”
Brydon ignored that. “Did you see Alyn this morning?” he asked as they departed the tavern.
Toryn glared. “Yes. She threw a glass at me. I think she is feeling better.”
Brydon laughed.
Toryn asked, “What are you wearing? You look like a snowman.”
Brydon was bedecked in a pure white surcoat, white under-tunic, white breeches, and a short white cloak. He wore black boots and a black belt. A black design was embroidered diagonally upon his left breast and Toryn stared at it for a moment, furrowing his brow.
“Where have I seen that before?” Toryn asked. “Don’t you usually wear your falcon insignia? What happened? Did you change family lines?”
“I decided to dress up for our trip to the Temple,” Brydon replied.
“Are you planning to be sacrificed as a virgin?”
Brydon threw him a quelling look, but by then they had reached the Temple of Might. The building was spectacular. Grey-veined marble steps led up to the entrance where four huge pillars lined the front, carved into the likenesses of women with swords. The statues gazed out over the city as if protecting it from the power of Shaitan. Brydon found the image odd for a moment, considering that women were not allowed into the Order of Might. Toryn whistled softly.
They joined many other townspeople walking up the steps and into the coolness of the building. The main sanctuary was huge, able to hold thousands of people easily, and lined with dark green marble pillars. The ceiling had several open slats filled with glass, displaying the clear blue sky in all its glory. The walls contained many windows that looked out on magnificent gardens filled with all the flowers they had seen at the Temple of Healing and many more besides. Exotic birds flew in and about the trees in the gardens, showing off their stunning colors.
The Temple was full of light and color. The pulpit sat in front of a massive fountain that shot water a full twenty feet into the air and caught the light from the ceiling, sending rainbows around the room. Behind the fountain were marble steps where a choir would stand. Sunken areas at both sides allowed musicians to play. Many were there already, strumming on their instruments.
High up on the wall, a balcony was bolstered by the pillars all the way around the room. The ceiling was another twenty feet higher than that.
There was no service at the moment and people meandered about while they talked quietly, or seated themselves at the fountain’s edge. Many prayed while others sat quietly and listened to the Bards.
Brydon’s eyes skimmed the assortment of people until he caught sight of a particular uniform. He strode purposefully forward with Toryn at his heels. Brydon halted before the man, whose dress was similar to his own, except the man’s clothing was forest green and the design on his chest was that of a bronze shield. The man supervised a small boy who carefully scraped wax from a golden candlestick that rose easily to a man’s height. From the boy’s downcast expression, it was clear that the boy was being disciplined.
“Father Deacon?” Brydon asked the man respectfully. Cold blue eyes turned to view them. He took note of Brydon’s attire and then swung his gaze to Toryn. His eyes widened for a moment at the sight of Toryn’s braids, but his features betrayed no hint of his thoughts.
“Yes?” he asked with no inflection.
“I am Brydon Redwing of Falara. I have missives from Bishop Paryn for Bishop Nilyn. Could you direct me to his assistant or secretary?”
The man’s long nose twitched for a moment, almost like a rabbit’s. He said nothing for such a long time that Brydon began to think he was deaf.
“I can take them, Father,” the young boy piped up in a hopeful voice.
“You can remain where you are until your task is completed,” the deacon snapped without looking at the lad, who sighed and resumed his scraping. “Come with me,” the strange man continued, speaking to Brydon, and marched promptly off the dais and through a wide, arched corridor. Brydon looked at Toryn, who made a blatant gesture that alluded to idiocy and Brydon barely suppressed a smile. The boy giggled.
They walked through the long corridor, which was lined on either side by small rooms with curtained doorways. Each room was carpeted and contained a kneeling bench and a small wood-topped dais, which held an offering plate and a number of candles. The outer rooms had large high windows to let in sunlight. Several of the curtains were drawn, giving privacy to those praying within. The corridor they walked was laid with a wide strip of patterned Bodorii carpet to muffle the footsteps of passersby.
The corridor ended at a T. The left passageway was unblocked, but the right was closed by an iron-barred gate. The deacon took a heavy chain from beneath his robes. A key was attached to the chain and he used it to unlock the gate.
“Walk this way,” he said and they proceeded down the right-hand corridor. The rest of the corridor was rather plain, showing only a blank wall on the right and several numbered doorways on the left. The carpet was apparently no longer needed in this section and their footsteps rang on the polished oak floor.
Before the corridor ended, the three of them halted at an ironbound wooden door, this one guarded by another green-clad man who stood at rigid attention.
“These men are here for Secretary Ulwyn,” their escort stated in a brusque manner. The guard rapped on the door and a panel instantly slid open to reveal two eyes behind a wire grill.
“Messengers for Secretary Ulwyn,” the guard said and the panel snapped shut. After an interminable moment, the door swung open and they beheld a nearly identical guardsman within the doorway. Brydon looked from one to the other and deduced they were twins.
“The Secretary will see you. Please follow me,” the second guard said. Brydon gladly entered the doorway, relieved to be free of their unfriendly escort, who sniffed and marched off. The first twin shut the door behind them, presumably to resume his post in the corridor.
A short walk down another hallway—this one completely carpeted in rich burgundy—brought them to another wooden door; this one open. Their attendant rapped on the doorframe before he entered the room. Brydon paused with Toryn on his heels. The room was small and seemed in some disarray. A large desk dominated the room, accompanied by a number of comfortable-looking chairs. Shelves covered the entire wall space, stuffed with every manner of books, scrolls, and loose parchment. Books were stacked haphazardly on the desk as well as the floor and one of the chairs.
A bespectacled face peered at them from behind one of the book piles on the desk and a smile greeted them.
“Come in! Come in!” the old man cried. He waved to them as he got to his feet. The top of his head reached only as high as Brydon’s chin. His hair was nearly gone and what slight wisps remained clung to his round head above his ears, white as goose down. His face was pleasant, but Brydon refused to let himself be swayed by appearances—a sword lay sheathed upon the desk and a large dagger was visible at the man’s side. The little man could not be an incompetent fighter to have risen in the ranks and become the Bishop’s secretary. As if affirming Brydon’s assessment, the guard who had let them in smiled slightly and went out, leaving the old fellow alone with two young armed men.
“Greetings, Knight Commander,” Brydon said warmly, noting the man’s rank insignia upon the bronze shield adorning his green robes. “I am Brydon Redwing and this is my companion, Toryn of Redol. I bring news from Bishop Paryn of Eaglecrest to Bishop Nilyn.”
Secretary Ulwyn waved them each to a seat. “No bad tidings, I dare say?” he asked and seated himself behind the desk once more.
“No, sir,” Brydon assured him. He rummaged in his pouch for the oilskin bag he had carried all the way from Falara. Toryn carefully removed a stack of books from the nearest chair and set them on the floor before he seated himself.
Brydon handed Secretary Ulwyn the packet and sat in another chair—this one surprisingly free of books and scrolls. The secretary shook out the missives and broke the seal on the first one. He read it quickly and his bushy eyebrows rose now and again.
“Quarterly report,” Ulwyn muttered. “Late, as usual.” He set it aside and winked at Brydon. “I suppose the Brotherhood of the Lance has a good excuse, being so far from us, eh?” Brydon nodded agreeably and the old man opened the second missive. Ulwyn muttered as he read this one.
“... a handful of knightings... request more supplies, yes, yes, as always... Sir Dorwyn taken ill... hmmm... trouble with Redol...” The secretary paused at that and looked owlishly at Toryn for a moment. The Redolian smiled broadly, looking like a black-haired angel. Ulwyn turned his gaze to Brydon, but forbore asking questions. He returned his attention to the document. “... hmmm... Princess Eryka... chosen a suitor—” Ulwyn’s eyes widened. He stared at Brydon and then grinned hugely. “Why, congratulations, my boy!” he cried. “On a Quest! Nice to see the little minx has a head on her shoulders, to choose one of the Brotherhood.”
“Thank you, sir,” Brydon said and flushed slightly.
The old man chuckled and returned to the document. “... hmmm, and what has she sent you after, eh? Some girlish bauble...?” Ulwyn’s face drained of all color and he shot to his feet. “The Gauntlet of Ven-Kerrick?” Ulwyn bellowed. “Is the girl mad?!” He stared meaningfully at Brydon, whose jaw worked a couple of times, but no sound emerged. Running footsteps approached and the guardsman burst into the room, sword drawn. Secretary Ulwyn looked at him for a moment and then waved him away apologetically.
“Sorry, my boy. Shocking news, is all. Didn’t mean to cause a ruckus.”
The guard smiled slightly, nodded, and headed back to his post. Toryn sank back into the chair and let go of his own sword hilt. Ulwyn sat down and picked up the parchment once more.
“The Gauntlet,” Ulwyn murmured, disbelieving. “Why?”
Toryn turned curious green eyes to Brydon, who shrugged.
“She is young, my lord,” he tried to explain. “And unlikely to travel outside of Falara in her lifetime. I think she just wants to see something magical.”
Ulwyn snorted. “Magical, indeed. Damned thing kills anyone who touches it.” The secretary clamped his mouth shut, as if he had spoken too much. He read the rest of the letter and rolled it up carefully. He tapped it thoughtfully against his chin as he contemplated Brydon once more.
“How do you plan to get it away from the Kerricks, my boy?”
“Why, ask them, of course,” Brydon admitted. He forestalled Ulwyn’s bark of laughter and continued, “They can send a royal escort to keep it safe. Surely the Kerricks would be willing to give Falara a brief glimpse of the holy object in the name of international goodwill?”
Secretary Ulwyn’s amused expression turned thoughtful. “Very diplomatic of you, my boy. You might succeed, after all. Do you want an escort to guide you to Ven-Kerrick?”
“No, sir.” Brydon shook his head. “I do not wish to take anyone from more important duties, especially when my Quest is of a secular nature.”
The secretary chortled in delight. “A fine tongue you have, young one. I shall wish Adona’s blessing on your endeavor. Will you celebrate evening services with us?”
“Of course.” Brydon nodded. Ulwyn smiled at Toryn.
“Your Redolian friend is free to join us.” His eyes sparkled as he went on. “I do hope you will give me the tale of your companionship one day.”
“One day,” Brydon promised. “As time permits.”
Ulwyn sighed deeply as if mourning the passage of time and Brydon rose. Toryn stood with him.
“By your leave, Knight Commander,” Brydon said and touched stiffened fingers over his insignia in salute. The secretary rose and returned the gesture.
“Until this evening, Brother Brydon,” Ulwyn responded and gave Toryn a friendly nod. They went out and Brydon caught Toryn looking at him intently, but the Redolian made no comment. They traversed the hallway and were allowed egress by the same pleasant guardsman. The second twin guided them to the iron gate and allowed them through. It was not until they had crossed the sanctuary and exited the building that Toryn spoke.
“You are one of them,” Toryn said. “It never occurred to me before, when you said you had been ‘trained by the Knight-Priests.’ They don’t train outsiders, do they? You are a Knight-Priest.”
Brydon smiled. “Order of Might, Brotherhood of the Lance, Eaglecrest Chapter,” he confirmed, gesturing to the lance embroidered upon his breast.
Toryn glared at him. “I tried to kill you!” he snapped. “You could not have mentioned it once? Does Verana know? Of course she knows! You two probably made some secret holy sign to each other and vowed to keep the Redolian in the dark!” Toryn stalked down the marble steps. Brydon followed, rather surprised at his censure. Toryn turned on him. “Are there any other little secrets you are keeping from me?” Toryn cried. “Is there anything else strange about you that I should know, Brother Brydon?”
Brydon pondered for a long moment while Toryn waited impatiently, outwardly fuming. Finally, Brydon said, “No, not that I can think of.”
“Nothing at all?” Toryn prodded.
“No, that should be everything.”
Toryn nodded curtly and they began to walk back to the Temple of Healing. After a long silence, Toryn asked quietly, “Why did you never tell me?”
Brydon shrugged. “There was not much opportunity upon our first meeting.”
Toryn glared at him and Brydon chuckled. He sobered before he continued. “After that, it did not seem to be a consideration. I set aside my religious duties for the duration of the Quest and there has been no need for me to don the mantle, except for the time I said the final blessing over the bodies of your companions.” Brydon dispelled the gloom of that image by smiling again. “I did not think you felt any great need to confess your sins.”
Toryn snorted, not amused. “You should have told me at once,” Toryn griped. “I would never have tried to kill a priest.”
“You mean you would have gone merrily back to Redol and spared my life after that first attempt?”
“Yes!” Toryn admitted vehemently.
“Then I’m glad I said nothing or you wouldn’t be here now,” Brydon confessed.
Toryn seemed to consider that for a moment. “I suppose you’re right.”
Verana and Davin joined them for a private dinner in one of the smaller rooms of the Temple of Healing.
“The journey will not be the same without you, Verana,” Brydon told her sadly. She smiled and saluted him with her wineglass.
“I have fulfilled my task. Now I must return to my regular duties. I feel we shall meet again one day.”
“A premonition?” Brydon asked.
She smiled. “No. More of a hope. Still, you will pass through Kaneelis on your way back to Falara. You must promise to stop here.”
“I promise,” Brydon intoned seriously. “Will you come with us, Davin?” he asked after a pause.
Davin looked surprised. “You want me along?”
“Of course. Anyone who can hunt like you is welcome. Besides, I need someone to keep me from killing Toryn once he starts to annoy me.” Brydon laughed. Toryn kicked him.
“Can you leave Alyn?” Toryn asked Davin a bit snidely. Davin still spent several hours a day with Alyn. The silver-haired man flushed and looked at Verana.
“I believe it will be better for her if you go, although you may not understand why right now,” she said quietly.
His face grew dark. “I understand perfectly,” he snapped. Verana made to protest, but he looked at Brydon. “I will come.”
Brydon shied his mind away from the sudden image of the cat in the forest and turned to Toryn. “What about the horses? Did you ask Alyn if it was permissible for us to take them with us? It will be much faster than traveling afoot.”
Toryn studied his fork with great interest. “She said it would be fine,” he said. “Of course, she is not exactly in her right mind...”
“If you think it’s not a good idea, we will leave them here and walk.”
“No. If we run into any Akarskans, you can talk them into letting us keep them. Besides, Alyn told me the horses are unmarked. Nobody’s property. No Akarskan’s property.”
Brydon sighed. “I hope they see it that way.”
“Don’t worry.” Toryn grinned. Brydon looked dubious, but dropped it.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2008-09-24 09:14 pm (UTC)I liked them getting all wet in the beginning. Heh. And I liked that Brydon took Toryn shopping. And ...
Their hair was trimmed and their beards shaved off by young boys dressed in blue uniforms who worked with silent competence.
O rly? Sorry. I'm thinking — orgy!
And oh God! Brydon plans to ask for the Gauntlet? Ask? That's his plan? *frets*
Also,
“You mean you would have gone merrily back to Redol and spared my life after that first attempt?”
“Yes!” Toryn admitted vehemently.
“Then I’m glad I said nothing or you wouldn’t be here now,” Brydon confessed.
Awwwwwww!
no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 11:26 pm (UTC)I can't believe I wrote this in pre-slash days. O.o
no subject
Date: 2008-09-24 09:33 pm (UTC)<3 that Toryn is developing his powers too, Brydon is a priest, love that Gavin is going with them so we can learn a bit more about his *cat problem*... and is it bad to be happy that there are no females on the journey now? *headdesk* I'm ruined for Het.
And Brydon is going to just ask for it? *loves him* But everything is all part of Reed's little plan, isn't it? *evil cackle*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-25 11:31 pm (UTC)Of course Brydon is going to ask for it. If it was Toryn, he'd probably steal it...
vesperagain
Date: 2008-09-24 10:42 pm (UTC)Ok, now Reed is really creeping me out, offering beating hearts for sacrifice, bloody yuck! *shudders*
This new information about a previous attack and Gauntlet's importance, coupled with the fact that anyone who touches it dies, has made me wonder what princess Eryka really wants! Brydon dead, or southern kingdoms under followers of Evil! Or is she really an airhead?
Lovely chapter, and just cannot wait till next week. Lotsa huggles.
Re: vesperagain
Date: 2008-09-25 11:38 pm (UTC)Those horrible southern kingdoms! More on that later, too. *evil laugh*
no subject
Date: 2008-09-28 07:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2008-10-01 03:13 am (UTC)