by Richard Ford
He stood in front of a large portrait, his lambent robes made from satin, silk, ermine, velvet and taffeta. As he gazed into the portrait it was like staring into a mirror, the figure that stared back was dressed identically, the face bearing the same ebon hair and troubled brow. It pleased him that such an accurate likeness had been rendered. It was fitting that when he eventually ascended there should be an apt representation left behind for all to see. He had commended the artist heartily for his work. Then he had arranged for the man to be eliminated, so such perfect labour could never be repeated for anyone else. Well, it was only right and proper that the Hierophant of the First Fane of the Sancrarium should have no rivals of any sort, not even in image.
Absently, the Hierophant raised his hand and gazed languidly upon what it contained. The Key of Lunos sat innocently in his palm, cold and sleeping. But the Hierophant knew what it could do – what it yearned to do.
All in good time, he thought to himself, though he did not speak it. He would not want his guest to hear of his ambitions.
‘Thaddeus Blaklok failed. What would you have us do about it?’ said the voice from behind him.
The Hierophant turned to regard his guest as it squatted on the floor, ichor dripping and mist rising from its newly summoned body.
‘What would you suggest?’ he replied, raising an eyebrow in expectation.
‘We think Blaklok should be given to us, so that we may convey him back to our plane. So that we may punish him for all his sins.’
The Hierophant smiled at the predictable response. ‘You would so readily squander such a valuable asset? So typical of your kind. Despite his failure, Blaklok has proven himself resourceful, strong, and above all, loyal to our cause. As long as we have what he wants he will do our bidding. This,’ the Hierophant held up the Key, turning it in his opulently ringed fingers, ‘was little more than a test. I could have taken it at any time. As it was, circumstances meant it was delivered to the Judicature. And I own the Judicature. So in a way, Blaklok did not fail at all. But there will be more chances for him to prove his worth.’
‘But he has allowed the Host and the Horde to be unleashed on the city. What are we to do about that?’
‘That is of little interest to me. There are enough demons wandering the streets of the Manufactory already. What matter are a few more?’
‘Your lack of concern in this matter is most–’
‘My only concern is to keep the First Fane’s involvement in all this a secret. And you would do well to remember with whom you speak. Remember whom you serve. We have the Key, we are above suspicion and that is all that matters. Now, to further business. When Blaklok recovers, there is another task I would have you give him…’
Rankpuddle squatted down, ready to listen as the Hierophant of the First Fane of the Sancrarium, wielder of the Manufactory’s faith, and moral compass by which all righteous men were judged, related his instructions.
And the demon was powerless to do anything but his bidding.
For now…
About the Author
Richard Ford originally hails from Leeds in the heartland of Yorkshire, but now resides in the Wiltshire countryside, where he can be found frolicking by the Thames, drinking cider and singing songs about combine harvesters.
For more information on what he’s up to check out
www.richard4ord.wordpress.com.
