by Jon Bender
Benkt seemed satisfied that this Prasil was loyal, but from the events he had just described, the man’s switch seemed to Keller more a showing of pragmatism than loyalty. “Does he know what I am?” he asked.
Benkt looked back at him then. “Lord Prasil is aware of the chosen, but you will be the first he or anyone in Karadin has seen.” Again, Keller detected a flash of jealousy from the young priest’s eyes.
When they reached the small iron gate, they found only two guards wearing Or’Keer’s grey livery. The men immediately pulled the gates open for them and stepped to the side. There was no grandeur to the garden inside beyond what he had already seen. The buildings were slightly larger than the average of those in the city and were arranged in half circle creating a large area filled with curving paths, plants, and small ponds where one could sit on nearby benches. He also noticed how much cooler it was thanks to the breeze blowing over the water, bringing with it the scent of flowers and plants. It was a welcome respite from the heat of the day. Looking through the buildings and over the opposite wall, he could just make out the tops of houses on the other side of the river. Having never visited a city so profoundly split before, he wondered if that side would be any different from the one he had already passed through.
A young stable hand appeared to take his horse as Benkt led him up one of the winding paths toward a building on the right. “You seem to know exactly where you’re going,” Keller said, stepping up beside the priest.
“I spent some time here leading morning and evening prayer for Lord Prasil and many of his staff,” Benkt said, looking around at the courtyard. “He is a busy man and doesn’t always have the time to make it to a temple. It was decided that he would be given exception from mandatory prayer at a temple for all the work he does.”
“What work beyond managing taxes does he do?” Keller asked, wondering why the priests in charge of the city would allow him to maintain so much authority.
“He still manages the trade that comes through Karadin, and also has done well in handling the many vices that plague the city by ensuring that they do not interfere with the commands of Or’Keer. The high priest of Karadin counts him among the most loyal servants of our god, and trusts him to act in the temple’s best interest. This has allowed us to concentrate on the more important matter of bringing the neighboring kingdom Vil’Real into the fold.”
Keller nodded and considered himself lucky that his path had crossed with Benkt’s. The young man may have an attitude unworthy of a priest, but his knowledge of the city had already proven helpful. Climbing the few steps up to an entrance framed by white pillars, they were met by guards who opened the large double doors. Inside, the smell of cooked meat and spices flooded the nostrils and reminded Keller that he had not eaten since that morning, his stomach growling in protest at the neglect.
Benkt moved deeper inside and down a hall that passed several large rooms with people sitting at tables eating. “All meals are taken here earlier in the afternoon so that there is no interruption to prayer,” he explained.
Finally, they stopped in front of the only set of closed doors Keller had seen since entering. Four soldiers stood outside wearing stern looks at their approach. What struck him as odd were the two men dressed in black robes standing watch next to them.
“Hello, Benkt,” the priest on the right said, his tone less than flattering when addressing Keller’s guide. “I thought you had been banished to the outer city checking vegetable carts and beggars.”
“The Pontiff is here, and he will not be pleased to know you defied him again,” the second said.
“I’m here because –” Benkt tried to explain, raising his hand toward Keller who the two men had ignored thus far.
“It doesn’t matter,” the priest on the right interrupted. “You will be punished for this, and I will volunteer to be the one to deliver that punishment.”
“You are going to wish that you were still an initiate when we are done with you,” the second priest added.
Listening to these men threaten one of their own brothers, Keller began to wonder if Benkt’s attitude issues were not representative of a larger problem among the Karadin priesthood. Having heard enough, and annoyed at being ignored, Keller raised his hand to cast. The two priests took notice of him then and, acting on reflex, both fell into a chant, calling on power from Or’Keer to defend themselves. Keller never learned what magic they intended to conjure, as two thin, shadow whips leapt from his palm to wrap around the necks of each priest, the cast cutting off their breath and words.
The soldiers each reached for their swords but their hands were stayed by a glare from Keller and they wisely decided that a dispute between servants of Or’Keer was not their concern.
Turning his eyes back to the priests, whose faces were quickly changing color as they futilely clawed at the whips, the thought of letting them suffocate passed through Keller’s mind. After several more seconds, he released the cast as the two men dropped to their knees gasping. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Benkt had crossed his arms and was wearing a satisfied grin.
“Step aside now,” he said, the chill in his voice enough to freeze water even this far south.
The priest on the right lifted his head. Flaring anger burning in his eyes, and was quickly doused as recognition spread across his face. “Forgive us chosen one,” he said, gaining his feet unsteadily.
When Keller only continued to stare, the two men opened the door inward making room for them to pass. Walking forward with Benkt at his side, the young priest gave a wink to one of his brothers. In return, he received a look that promised retribution for the embarrassment. Keller ignored the exchange, directing his attention instead to the group of six men sitting around a long table. All looked up to see who had interrupted them, and Keller was immediately able to pick out the Pontiff. The highest priest within the city with his grey hair and lined face sat between his attendants. The older man’s robes were the same as the others next to him, with the exception of silver thread trim and a silver medallion on which the black figure of Or’Keer had been stamped. Directly to the high priest’s front could only be Lord Prasil, similarly flanked by aids. Prasil was at least twenty years older than Keller’s own thirty, with well-made but simple clothes that fit his muscular frame. His sun-bleached, brown hair contrasted darkened skin that showed he spent much of his time outdoors. Keller had expected to find another soft noble who lounged in luxury at the expense of the people, but was pleasantly surprised to be wrong. He could tell from the lord’s calculating brown eyes, that the man was more than just another pampered member of the aristocracy, and the way the lord held himself led Keller to believe that Prasil knew how to use the sword sheathed at his hip.
“I do not recognize you. Are you from a temple outside the city, and why are you interrupting my evening meal?” the Pontiff asked, his tone filled with annoyance verging on anger.
Keller shifted his eyes from Prasil to the high priest. He had not thought the man would recognize him, but had expected some form of civility. “I am Magus Keller. What I require is for you to explain why those who represent Or’Keer, the lord of all, do not conduct themselves with more dignity to visitors or even each other. I would like to know why priests under your guidance think it appropriate to threaten punishment of a brother of a lower tier in front of our god’s soldiers and most of all, Pontiff, I require your name as would normally be offered in polite introduction before I lose all patience and see you taken to a conversion chamber.” Keller’s voice echoed off the empty walls as its volume had risen during the rant.
He had not wanted to make such a scene on his first day in the city, intending to slip quietly among the people so that he could complete the task Or’Keer had set before him. Now, word would quickly spread from the soldiers, priests, and aids present, that one of the chosen had arrived and immediately shamed the highest priest of the city.
Shock was evident on the faces of all that were present, exc
ept for Prasil, whose features remained smooth except for the corner of his mouth that was slightly upturned. “I-I meant no offense, Chosen One,” the older priest stuttered in obvious shock. He stood slowly with the rest following his lead. “I did not recognize you. I am Pontiff Yeriel, leader of those who serve the great god here in Karadin.”
Keller’s wrath began to cool as he was finally shown the deference a chosen of Or’Keer was due. “I have been in your city for only a short time, Pontiff, and have found the behavior of your priests to be lacking,” he said, giving a meaningful glance to Benkt. The priest, to his credit, did not shrink for the scrutiny. “If I did not have more pressing issues to deal with, I would ensure you performed your duty in bringing discipline to those for whom you are responsible.”
“If you are not here to discipline the brotherhood, Magus, may I ask what brought you to Karadin?” Prasil interjected. His voice was calm and seemingly unconcerned with the fact that one of Or’Keer’s most powerful weapons stood before him. The man’s composed demeanor suggested to Keller that this lord did not fear anyone, no matter their station or the power they wielded. It would make him more difficult to work with, but also a strong ally in the coming fight against the alliance.
The Pontiff had locked an angry glare on Prasil, which the lord ignored while waiting for an answer. From that look, and the way the two men held themselves, Keller could tell that they were not on good terms and was curious to know what that animosity stemmed from. Their dislike for each other was of no consequence to his mission, however, and both would obey him in completing the task given by Or’Keer.
“Leave us and close the door,” he said to the others still in the room.
Benkt moved to obey as well, but he laid a hand on the priest’s shoulder to keep him where he was. If the man was to guide him effectively, he would be better able to do so knowing Keller’s true purpose. When the aids had left and the doors closed softly behind him, Keller moved to the table and indicated for the others to sit. Taking a seat himself, he looked at the two men in turn. The Pontiff and Benkt looked uncomfortable, but he was sure it was for different reasons. For all his brazenness, the young priest was out of his element sitting with three men who held significant power. Yeriel’s weathered face was harder to read, but Keller thought it likely the man was worried. For the Dark God to send one of his chosen to deal with a problem instead of speaking to the high priest directly would be reason enough to put the Pontiff on edge. It hinted that Or’Keer did not have faith in the man’s ability to deal with the situation, which was true in a sense. The man ruled over a city in all but name, and still he was unable to find those that would thwart the will of his god.
“You are aware that the army led by the king of Bruxa and his death mage, have managed to defeat our allies in Ostega. In doing so they have brought that kingdom’s queen into their alliance?” he began.
Yeriel shifted in his seat, but it was Prasil that answered. “Of course, the whole of the city knows by now. It was exactly that topic we were discussing when you arrived,” the lord of Karadin said. He placed his elbows on the table to rest his chin on interwoven knuckles.
“I have prayed to seek guidance on the matter, but our lord has declined to answer,” Yeriel added.
Keller leaned back in his chair and stared at the much older man. “He has answered by sending me. Or’Keer does not believe that the king of Vil’Real will be able to withstand this alliance’s approach any better than the other kingdoms before it. Already those that would see the old gods maintain their grip over men have been emboldened by this news. Traitors within Vil’Real have begun sabotaging food supplies and assassinating those loyal to Or’Keer.
“To what end?” Prasil asked. “Any such rebellion, even if successful, will be met with quick retaliation.”
“Or’Keer believes these uprisings have been instigated in an attempt to weaken us before King Corin arrives. The dark god has even heard the prayer of a priest from one of the larger towns on the border of Ostega. He died during his prayer, but spoke of all who served Or’Keer being purged by the people who live there.”
“That’s not possible,” Benkt shouted, placing his hand on the table and half standing. The Pontiff laid a withering glare on him for speaking out of turn and the young priest slowly sat again, but continued at a lower volume. “It isn’t possible that common men could have overpowered our brothers and the faithful.”
“They could if they had help from priests who worship the old gods and a mage,” Keller said. Both Benkt and the Pontiff displayed disbelief and shock. The priests of Or’Keer, while completely faithful to the dark god, did have a flaw that seemed to persist. They did not believe that they could be defeated, even as encounters such as that between Tandis and the death mage proved otherwise. Only Lord Prasil took the news in his stride, nodding his head slightly against his fists.
“The priest must have been mistaken,” Yeriel said, reaching up to grip the medallion hanging from his neck. “Vil’Real has all but openly sworn allegiance to Or’Keer. The priests of the old gods have either been killed or fled, along with any mages who have not come to the path.”
“Are you suggesting that the Dark God is wrong?” Keller asked, spreading his palms over the table and looking down at its dark, polished surface.
“Of course, not… I only meant… that what this brother saw may not have been…” Yeriel sputtered.
Keller held up a hand to stop him. He knew that the man would never question their god’s word. He only wanted to put an end to any doubt that there were conspirators amongst them. If Or’Keer said it was so, then it was the truth and undeniable.
“What we believe or think is of no consequence. We will proceed with the knowledge that our god demands that action be taken to stop this,” Keller told them.
“That still does not explain why you have come to Karadin instead of continuing on to Vil’Real,” Prasil said.
“As I have said, the Dark God does not believe Vil’Real will hold against the alliance. Our army will not be prepared to march by the time they reach it. So, he has commanded that Karadin will be where we throw them back before advancing to bring the all of the fifteen kingdoms to the path,” Keller said, giving them a moment to grasp what that meant. “I am here to find any that would undermine that plan.”
“There are no such traitors here,” the Pontiff was quick to reply. “Only few dissenters have been found and dealt with, but not one of their confessions have ever indicated that there is a conspiracy to subvert the will of our god.”
Keller had expected such a denial from the high priests, but Or’Keer had told him there was exactly such a conspiracy here. Even Benkt grunted at what he thought was a ridiculous idea. It was Prasil who did not seem to dismiss the notion out of hand. Keller met the lord’s eyes. “You think otherwise?”
Prasil looked at Yeriel for a moment before nodding and drawing a frown from the other man. “There have been rumors of the faithful and even a few priests who have gone missing in the past month. Even one of my captains of the city guard and a squad of men has disappeared.”
“Random occurrences,” Yeriel said, waving his hand in dismissal. “There is a large criminal element in Karadin and they have control of the undercity. It is likely that our brothers and Lord Prasil’s captain pursued them there and were killed so they could not inform on what they found.”
“What do you think?” Keller asked Benkt.
The priest looked at the Pontiff before answering. “It’s possible that a group of thieves and street toughs could have overwhelmed the city guard in the undercity, but I don’t think they could have taken priests and the faithful without being prepared for them. Even so, being prepared to hide their activities does not mean those responsible are planning a rebellion.”
“Even a faithful can fall if there were enough of these villains,” Yeriel agreed.
“Enough!” Keller said, with enough authority that even Prasil’s aloof demeanor was broken
as he sat straighter in his chair.
The Pontiff’s constant refusal to accept that he had allowed such descent was beginning to wear thin. The man was prideful, and did not seem capable of entertaining the idea that as the highest representative of their god, he was responsible for the situation. It was also possible that he feared punishment for his laziness so insisted that there was no problem. Whatever the reason, Keller had all the evidence he needed when Or’Keer had said it was so, and he had no patience to convince the man of the truth.
“I do not require you to believe that there is a group working against the designs of Or’Keer. Your god has said it is so.”
“If that were true then Or’Keer would have told me. I am one of his most trusted, even matching yourself,” Yeriel continued, ignoring the warning in Keller’s tone.
Keller felt his anger rising. The Pontiff’s words verged on blasphemous, if they were not already so. No one, not even Keller himself, had the right to speak of their lord in such a manner. They were not aids or advisors to some common king, but servants of a powerful god who demanded absolute obedience. There was no room for self-importance or feelings of superiority over others simply because he had been granted status over them. That arrogance gave fuel to the fire within Keller – a flame that had been ignited long ago by the merchant who had tried to rape him and the noble who had killed his family. Before he could speak to warn the Pontiff of the dangerous territory on which he walked, he felt an echo inside his mind. A wordless sound that conveyed anger and dissatisfaction. He had felt similar emotions before and knew they came from Or’Keer. Unlike the priests, he could not communicate directly with his deity. The power he had been granted was his alone, and not linked to the dark god directly. This flood of emotions was a close as he could get to what came naturally for the brotherhood. Or’Keer must have been observing their conversation through either the Pontiff’s or Benkt’s senses, and he was not pleased with what he heard.
