The Companions of Tartiël

by Jeff Wilcox

  He made it to the entrance, the whole area eerily silent as though even the gods were shocked at what had transpired here. “Master Caineye, are you…” Kaiyr said, trailing off when he saw the forces amassed in front of the temple’s steps. Mounted knights, more than a hundred of them, had stopped not twenty feet from the marble stairs leading up to the double doors. “This is….”

  A voice in the crowd caught Kaiyr’s attention. “Master Kaiyr!” Wild shouted, waving frantically. He was barely visible on the back of his little pony, but he steered his mount toward the front of the others. “We’ve come to help!”

  Kaiyr scanned the crowd. The surviving elves from this temple were being cared for by the clergy members from Alduros Hol’s temple. “I… see,” he said, sighing and releasing his soulblade, which he had unconsciously manifested when he first saw the numerous riders, their shields and standards proclaiming them to be paladins in the service of Alduros Hol. “I owe you my thanks, Master Wild.”

  Wild shook his head. “Don’t thank me. Thank Father Coëty,” he said as one of the knights dismounted and strode forward to greet the blademaster and druid. Neither Kaiyr nor Caineye missed the meaningful glance Wild threw their way.

  Just then, Warteär Nomen burst from the ruined temple. Father Coëty stopped in his tracks and half-drew his sword, while many of the other riders also drew their weapons; some even loosed a few arrows at the creature, who contemptuously batted them aside with one hand.

  Kaiyr’s soulblade appeared in his hand, and he stepped around Caineye to put himself between Warteär Nomen and his comrade. But the elf-like creature, it seemed, had had enough for one day. “I will deal with you later,” it promised the blademaster. It slid its rapier back into its sheath and took one step away from Kaiyr, vanishing into thin air.

  “Teleportation,” the blademaster grunted in annoyance, letting his weapon fade from his grasp. Turning back to the amassed paladins and clerics, Kaiyr frowned at their sudden appearance and reaction to Warteär Nomen. None of the clerics at this temple had had time to sound a call for help. And, while it was certainly possible that some magical alarm had been tripped, Alduros Hol was not the first name that came to Kaiyr’s mind when it came to other religions sending aid to a temple of Arvanos Sinterian. More concerning was the sluggish reaction to Warteär Nomen’s appearance.

  Out of more than just curiosity, Kaiyr sent a silent mental command to one of the amulets around his neck, the one that could detect evil presences. The entire company lit up to Kaiyr’s magical senses, and he lost his breath. Glancing over at Caineye, he then watched as Coëty put away his weapon and ascended the stairs to the temple, smiling serenely.

  Then Kaiyr remembered the amulets given to them by the Terth’Kaftineya; both he and Caineye still wore them. Sending another thought, this time to this other amulet, Kaiyr sent a silent message directly into the druid’s mind. It would seem that I must be the bearer of ill news, Master Caineye…

  XXXVI.

  It was late in the evening when Kaiyr and Caineye arrived at the temple of Alduros Hol. The two of them had, in Solaria’s presence, decided that Wild was in too deep, and together, the pair of them would extract him from the temple, forcibly if need be.

  Even a temple built into a tree would require more exits than merely the front entrance, Kaiyr whispered to Caineye through their paired amulets. There is little security, fortunately. They must be confident that they remain undiscovered.

  Let them believe that, Caineye growled back; Kaiyr could see the druid scowling in the shadows. Let them believe that until the moment they repay their debts for desecrating holy ground. He glanced back the way they had come; he had left Vinto to guard Solaria, but he still worried about both of them.

  Kaiyr closed his eyes, sighing. Then, refocusing and moving around to the back of the temple, he responded, My sentiments mirror yours. He led the way through a small copse of trees, one of many in a vast park just behind the temple.

  It was well-hidden, but the elven blademaster’s propensity for uncovering the hidden led them to discover a postern gate recessed into the wood of the great tree. The roots had grown around the sturdy, wooden door, and vines had crawled up to cover the entrance, but a hidden space such as this was obvious to an elf who had grown up surrounded by such natural phenomena.

  “It is locked,” Kaiyr whispered to Caineye upon trying the door’s handle. “Or, if not locked, then held fast by the roots having grown around it. It seems as though this gate has not been used in quite some time.”

  Caineye, crouching next to the blademaster, squinted in the darkness; his human eyes could barely make out the handle built into the door. “What do we do? I can’t pick locks. Can you?”

  “No,” Kaiyr replied, but at that moment, a sudden calmness overcame him, and he knew the answer to their problem. “However, in my battle yesterday with Warteär Nomen, I discovered the blademasters’ secret to cutting through even the hardest materials. I have already told you of my experience penetrating that creature’s defenses and skin, and of my troubles in doing so. But at the very last, I managed to land a more telling blow. I believe I can apply the same principle to this situation, Master Caineye.”

  The druid shrugged and gestured Kaiyr forward. “If you believe it will work, then by all means. But… can you do it quietly?”

  Kaiyr had already manifested his soulblade and stepped forward to face the door head-on. He paused to look over his shoulder and raise an eyebrow. “Verily not. Stand back.”

  Caineye sighed in exasperation at the circumstances, but he could see no other way into the temple except for the front door or through a few windows higher up. So, he quieted his breathing and watched the blademaster.

  Kaiyr held his soulblade vertically from a position just below his right shoulder. He could only barely remember exactly how he had focused his energy so perfectly in that one cut against Warteär Nomen. But the single thread of memory was enough for the intelligent and wise blademaster, and he followed that thread to its core, finding within himself the focus balanced gently on the knife’s edge of his mind.

  The blademaster’s soulblade flickered and faded to nothing more than a single mote of golden light that floated serenely around his hand. Suddenly, his eyes snapped open, and in the dim luminance of the stars, even Caineye could see the flash of cyan light in Kaiyr’s reflective eyes at the blademaster’s sudden burst of focus. He sliced from the ground in a graceful arc seemingly made of moonlight that ended high overhead. His strike evoked from his soulblade a brief, keening screech of blade through wood, followed by a clarion ringing that faded when Kaiyr released his spiritual weapon.

  Silently, the door swung open slightly on its hinges. Caineye, unable to see the door well in the darkness, shrugged and stepped up next to the blademaster, who put his hand on the bark of the tree and whispered, “I am sorry.”

  Puzzled, Caineye touched the bark next to where Kaiyr had touched it, cursing silently and yanking his hand back. “It’s hot,” he said in wonder, sucking on one burned finger.

  Turning around, Kaiyr bowed slightly, acknowledging the obvious comment with more grace than it was due. “Of course. Come.”

  They stepped inside a perfectly dark hallway, Caineye pausing as he peered into the gloom. I can’t see a thing. I will need to light the way, he told Kaiyr, remembering to use the amulet now that they were inside the base of their enemies.

  Kaiyr, too, stopped. I would be much obliged. Let me close the door first so we do not attract undue attention from outside.

  When it was done, Caineye murmured a brief incantation and touched his shield. It flared into life with light like a torch, only it did not flicker as a flame would have. “By the Warden’s staff,” he whispered upon seeing the destruction Kaiyr’s soulblade had wrought. The weapon had sliced cleanly through the entire door three inches from the jamb.

  Farther inside, the two of them could hear voices emanating from behind what must have been a heavy door; their pass
age went unnoticed, and it seemed as though Kaiyr had been right. Nobody had used this corridor in a long time, and the only prints in the settled dust belonged to the two intruders.

  Damn, Caineye said telepathically as the two of them arrived at the end of the hall. In their path stood an eight-foot-diameter stone slab. End of the path. Maybe you could cut through it like with the other door?

  Kaiyr shook his head, inspecting the stone door’s side. It sat in a slight recession set into the living wood. With his keen eyes and Caineye’s magical light, the elf could accurately judge the depth of the channel, and thus the thickness of this door. Even if I could, it would take me several minutes to cut through this. It is more than a span thick. The noise would attract every cleric in this corrupt temple.

  Caineye scowled at the thought of their enemies. What do we do?

  Kaiyr squatted down and began inspecting the stone’s base, as well as the slot into which the door would roll, were they to open it. He blew away some of the dust and peered into the crack. I suspect that the two of us might be able to open this door with little effort. But come, let us listen first and determine our course of action afterward.

  Caineye nodded, and both of them leaned slightly against the door, rolling it less than an inch to the side, just enough for them to peer through the tiniest of cracks and hear more clearly what transpired within.

  *

  “No, really,” Wild protested as he was led from his office and down the hall. The fact that one cleric led him and one trailed behind told him all he needed to know: something was up. “I’d feel like an intruder, witnessing such a personal-sounding ritual. If you’d prefer, I could spend the evening away from the temple and let you perform it in privacy.”

  “Oh, no,” said the leading cleric, “we insist. You said you have come from afar, Father Wild. This ceremony is one we traditionally hold only here.”

  “Strange,” Wild said, “when I was younger, I never heard of this ceremony. What’s it for, again?” Despite the danger into which he knew he was directly walking, Wild burned with curiosity. He could also see that this “priest” was getting a little fed up with the halfling’s questioning.

  “Hush, now, Father Wild. We draw close to the sanctuary.”

  Smirking inwardly, Wild quieted down and kept his snarky remarks to himself.

  The halfling soon found himself just inside the double doors leading from the temple’s narthex to the sanctuary. The flickering light of several torches around the edges of the room did little to illuminate the area where all the clergy had been herded.

  Most of the brethren here were rather young, but they were wise enough to sense a dark pressure in the air about them, and tension could be felt as though it were a tangible thing. Those not sitting in roughly the center of the floor were the older clerics, including Father Coëty, who stood at the door. The way the man stood was less indicative of a priest welcoming followers into his sanctuary than of guarding against escape.

  “Ah,” Wild said, smiling up at Coëty as a pair of hands gently but firmly pushed him onto his rear end with the rest of the younger clergy. “How generous of you to share your ritual with me. As I was telling the brethren who led me here, I am not familiar with such a ceremony. Perhaps you would care to enlighten me?”

  Father Coëty did not respond, and one of the other clergy members approached the leader and leaned forward, giving a whispered message. The head priest nodded and moved to the doors, helping three others pull them closed.

  “What’s going on here?” asked one of the men on the floor next to Wild. “This doesn’t sound like any ceremony I’ve ever read about in the Warden’s teachings.”

  Wild pulled out his favorite green gem, the one he had gotten from Sayel’s body, and stared into its glittering facets. “I don’t know, but I’m terribly excited to find out,” the halfling said as the double doors slammed closed. He quieted down as Coëty began to speak.

  “I welcome you brethren into our sanctuary. I realize that this ceremony was announced suddenly, but it was decided by our diocese that we were to initiate all of you to the ways of a true follower of Alduros Hol. The Warden preaches that nature shall be as it is wont, and with that sentiment comes the survival of the fittest. Tonight, all of you shall be made ‘the fittest,’ and you shall continue our work here in a few days’ time.”

  Wild largely ignored Coëty, suddenly finding himself absorbed in the sparkling light of Sayel’s gem. The emerald occasionally seemed to whisper of its secrets to the halfling, usually when he was paying it no attention, and much of what he had gleaned of the gem’s properties was fragmented. But tonight, the pull was stronger, and his ears rang with eldritch winds carrying words spoken long ago.

  What is your will?

  Wild started, jerking upright and giving Coëty reason to pause. “Is something the matter, Father Wild? We were just about to begin.”

  Shaking his head, Wild quickly palmed his treasure. “Uh, nothing. I was just falling asleep, is all.”

  The head priest scowled and twitched his head toward the halfling, and two of the initiated clergy took Wild under the arms and hoisted him into the air, carrying him over to Father Coëty. “Well, I suppose you wouldn’t mind being the first of the initiated, then. Perhaps it will better catch your attention.”

  What is your will?

  Wild flinched, and Coëty must have thought himself the cause, for he let out a barking laugh that turned into a long, low howl. A tearing sound followed, as of flesh being rent asunder, and Coëty and all his followers, also howling, writhed momentarily as silvery fur sprouted all over their bodies. Faces elongated into canine muzzles, and claws jutted out in place of fingernails. In a matter of seconds, ten werewolves stood around the herd of helpless, innocent clergy members, who cried out in terror and huddled together in ineffectual defense.

  “It is time,” Coëty growled, his words slurred by his long muzzle. “The first moon has risen. Soon, you will all realize the power to be had.” He reared back his head, baring his fangs as he prepared to bite down on Wild’s shoulder.

  WHAT IS YOUR WILL?

  The whispered words whirled through the halfling’s mind into a crescendo, and he knew it would be his last chance to answer its call. Time slowed for him as he saw his approaching doom. Hurriedly, he shook Sayel’s emerald from his sleeve and into his palm. The brightest of the lights glowing within the gem flared up higher, stunning the werewolves so much that the two holding Wild dropped him. Scrambling to his feet, Wild held the gem high over his head. “My will? I wish all evil power here be dispelled!” Sayel’s gem burned in his hand, but he dared not let go as coruscating rays lanced from the gem, stabbing in all directions. All of the werewolves found themselves struck by these beams, and as one, they fell to the floor, writhing in excruciating pain.

  Mesmerized, Wild and the terrified innocents looked on as the shining gem’s rays stripped away the werewolves’ hair, ears, muzzles, fangs, and claws. Power swirled around Wild in a tempest, drawing the lycanthropy from these men and utterly destroying the magical disease.

  At last, the light faded, leaving the ten men on the ground exhausted and drained of their supernatural powers.

  Your will be done.

  Wild lowered his arm, his hand aching from the intense heat of Sayel’s gem. The bright flare that had graced the stone twinkled once then went out, leaving the emerald looking lop-sided, as though the gemcutter had accidentally shaved off too much of one corner.

  Finally, Coëty regained enough strength to rise and point a finger at Wild. “K-kill him!” he cried, “Kill him for disobeying the master! Kill them all!” He swept his arm over toward the clergy in the center of the room.

  Wild, sighing, tucked away his gem and tossed a dagger into the air. Catching it, he spun and buried it in the chest of one of the rising ex-werewolves.

  From out the shadows near the deeper recesses of the desecrated sanctuary, Kaiyr and Caineye arrived. “Werewolves again?” Caineye
shouted to Wild, conjuring a handful of flames and throwing them at available targets as he closed the distance between himself and his halfling companion.

  “Not anymore!” Wild said with a grin as he ripped his dagger out of the dead “priest” and rolled forward to dodge the swing of a club to which he hadn’t even been paying attention.

  Kaiyr swept into the room behind Caineye as the stone door rolled back into place. The ex-werewolves were still getting up, but some of them had already found their feet and had drawn their weapons. The elven blademaster hit them like a meteor crashing to earth. The first false clergyman could not withstand Kaiyr’s onslaught for more than a few seconds, and he dropped like a stone, his chest, stomach, and neck slashed open.

  Caineye felled another of their foes with a pair of splinterbolts, both the druid and the blademaster focusing on the enemies nearest the unarmed innocents. Wild danced around Coëty and two of his cronies, laughing as he alternately stabbed at all three of them.

  The halfling’s glee was short-lived, however, when Coëty stepped back and, revealing his true nature as an arcane spellcaster, pointed at Wild and unleashed a spell from his fingertips. “Damn,” Caineye muttered, recognizing the spell both as Coëty cast it, as well as when Wild suddenly shrank down and turned into a housecat.

  Wild, shocked by the sudden change, arched his back and hissed at Coëty, glaring at the grinning “priest” through angry, green eyes.

  Kaiyr kept up the assault, focusing on defending the innocent clerics. The number of enemies dwindled from nearly a score down to three in the span of less than a minute, many of Coëty’s followers unprepared to face foes without their supernatural disease to turn them into werewolves. He and Caineye neither offered nor accepted surrender, and their foes did likewise, until none was left. Coëty lay on the floor, bleeding from a dozen wounds inflicted by Kaiyr’s soulblade and Caineye’s spells. Neither of the standing combatants was much the worse for wear except, perhaps, for Wild, who sauntered over to Kaiyr and rubbed against the blademaster’s leg.