The Third Soul Omnibus Two

by Jonathan Moeller

  The Brothers dragged Raelum into a vast vault, its roof supported by arches of gleaming stone. Countless urns lined stone shelves, the ashes of generations of Brothers, their bodies cremated and beyond the reach of demons. At the far end of the vault, Raelum saw a low stone arch. Within the arch stood a wooden podium, holding enormous chained book.

  Did the Book of Stolen Blood lie on that podium?

  “A word of warning,” said Ulrich to his Brothers. “Do not go under yonder arch, on the peril of your soul.” He walked along the wall and lit a brazier. “I will not leave anyone to sit alone in the darkness. Here.” Ulrich gestured at an alcove sealed off from the vault by a gate of iron bars. The First Brother unlocked the gate and the Brothers tossed Raelum through it. He groaned, flopped over, and managed to sit up.

  “Come,” said Ulrich, locking the gate. He and the brothers left, and a moment later Raelum heard the door slam shut, the locks clicking into place. The echoes faded away, and the vault fell into silence.

  Raelum was alone with the dead and the Book of Stolen Blood.

  He scooted to the edge of the alcove, trying to catch another glimpse of the book. Sooner or later, Marsile would come to claim the book, despite whatever precautions the Adept and the Brothers took.

  And here Raelum lay, bound and helpless. It made him want to scream in frustration.

  He lay against the wall, trying to think. Exhaustion weighed on him. Raelum to stay awake, tried to think, but his body betrayed him and fell into sleep.

  And he dreamed about the first time he had been thrown into a cell.

  Chapter 13 - The Knight in the Green Cloak

  “How did I come to Khauldun?” said Sister Julietta. “A long story, and sordid. You would not like it, I think.”

  Raelum thought about it. “I want to hear it.”

  They sat on the back stairs of the orphanage, overlooking a barren yard of dirt. It rained about once a year in Khauldun, and the dirt had become harder than rock. The younger children played, supervised by the clucking matrons. They looked better fed than usual.

  Raelum had been busy.

  “All right,” said Julietta. “If you promise to tell me your story.”

  “I promise,” said Raelum.

  “Let me think for a moment,” said Julietta.

  Raelum nodded, his eyes straying back to Julietta. Was he in love with her? He had heard so many songs of love sung in taverns. But Raelum doubted it. He had no wish to marry Julietta. But she did not curse him or fear him. Even Black Kaheen, the closest thing Raelum had to an ally, feared him.

  Julietta was not afraid of him.

  “Ten years ago,” said Julietta, “I lived in Callia City, in a great house. My father was rich and powerful. I was only twelve then, and I met a boy. I loved him, and wanted him to be my husband. I became pregnant and gave birth. But I was too young, and my son died.”

  “I’m sorry,” said Raelum.

  “My love would have nothing to do with me after that,” said Julietta. “My father might not have cared. But I was too young, and the birth damaged me. I could have no more children, and a barren daughter was useless to my father. So he shipped me off to the Temple, and the Temple sent me here.” Julietta shook her head. “I hated my father and the Temple. Sometimes I would stand on the edge of the seawall and think about throwing myself into the sea, like a wronged heroine from a ballad.”

  “That would be a foolish way to kill yourself,” said Raelum. “You might dash yourself against the rocks and survive, yet the seagulls would eat your innards, even though you lived. Not a good way to kill yourself.”

  Julietta laughed. “Not at all! Is there any good way, I wonder? I did not kill myself, as you can plainly see. I lived here with an older Sister of the Temple. And I saw the children.” Her voice dropped. “All the children. There’s so many of them, Raelum. Orphans. The children of street whores. Or the children of poor folk who cannot support them. So they are left in the streets to die. At first I ignored them. But then I started to see the face of my son in their faces. Who would take care of these children, I wondered? I never really believed in the Divine as a child, but perhaps the Divine had a purpose for me. Maybe that was why I came here, so someone could take care of these children.”

  “That makes sense, I suppose,” said Raelum.

  “Do you believe in the Divine?”

  Raelum shrugged. “I guess. Demons are real, I’ve seen that with my own eyes. A drunk crawled under a tavern’s foundations and died, and no one found him, so he rose as a ghoul. I saw the guard cut off his head with an axe. So if there are demons, there must be a Light and a Divine.”

  “What of your story?” said Julietta. “You promised to tell me.”

  “I don’t really know,” said Raelum. “There’s not much to tell. I never knew my mother, but she must have been demon-possessed. I’ve always lived on the streets, and I don’t know how I survived, but I did. I stole my food and kept living. About four years ago I met Black Kaheen. I almost killed him, but spared his life, and I joined his gang. I’ve haven’t been hungry since.”

  “Why do you help us?” said Julietta.

  “I don’t know,” said Raelum. “You don’t curse me, like everyone else. And the children are hungry. I know how that feels, aye. And I liked what you said, about how the emirs in Legate’s Hill never starve while we always go hungry. So that’s why I help you.”

  “I know you’re stealing to buy this food,” said Julietta.

  Raelum kept a straight face. “You can’t know that for certain.”

  “Raelum,” said Julietta. “Did you know there’s an easy way to tell if a man lies? Simply confront him. If he’s innocent, he will become angry and deny it. But if he’s guilty, he will claim there’s no way to know for sure.”

  Raelum swallowed. “How long have you known?”

  “From the beginning,” she said. “You certainly do not have the coin to buy so much food. The only way you could have gotten it is through theft.”

  “So if you’ve known,” said Raelum, “then why are you still taking the food?”

  “I told myself that we would not take it,” said Julietta, closing her eyes. “Yet the alms we receive from Legate’s Hill scarce buy each child a mouthful of rice. I cannot bear to see the children suffer more than they already have. Stolen coin brings nothing but woe, so it is said…but I have not the strength to refuse it.”

  “It’s not stolen coin,” said Raelum. “It’s food bought with stolen coin.”

  “It amounts to the same.”

  “It doesn’t bother me,” said Raelum. “I only steal from Legate’s Hill and Factor’s Market, from nobles and merchants that can afford it.”

  Julietta sighed. “It will end badly. I wish I had the wisdom to see some other course, but I do not. You should stay here. Thieves rarely die of old age.”

  “Maybe I will, someday,” said Raelum. He wondered what it would be like to sleep under a roof, not to scrape and steal from day to day. Maybe it would be a nice life. Then again, maybe he would be bored. “Maybe, when I make sure the orphanage will never go hungry again.”

  Julietta sighed. “Do not, I beg. You will get caught.”

  “I never get caught,” said Raelum. He stood and wrapped his black cloak around him. “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

  ###

  The next morning Raelum crouched by the Gate of Sorrows. He considered going to Legate’s Hill and seizing some jewelry, or pinching the purse of some fat merchant. He watched the carts come through the gate. Might he claim something valuable off one of them?

  A lone horseman rode to the gate, an older man in chain mail and a dusty green cloak. A sword dangled from his saddle, and Raelum watched with surprise. Who would be mad enough to travel alone through the bandit-infested roads? A pair of guardsmen stepped from the gate, and the horseman grinned, slid from the saddle, and spoke with the guards. He walked around the front of the horse, patting its head.

  His sword hung unat
tended from the saddle.

  The sword looked valuable enough, and Black Kaheen would pay a good price for it. Raelum darted from the gate’s shadows, slid to the horse, and grabbed the leather tie holding the scabbard to the saddle.

  The horse snorted, and Raelum saw the sigil of the rose-wrapped sword on the blade and froze. He had heard of the sigil, though had never seen it. It was the sigil of the Paladins, and for a moment sheer panic paralyzed Raelum.

  The horseman turned, as did the guards, and they saw him.

  “By the Divine,” said one guard, fumbling for his cudgel, “he’s possessed! Kill him!”

  “No!” said the horseman.

  Raelum yanked the sword free from the scabbard and ran. An instant later an iron-tipped cudgel struck his temple. Pain blasted through his head, and Raelum groaned and stumbled to one knee. Another blow struck the back of his head.

  The sword clanged against the ground, and Raelum knew no more.

  ###

  “Really, sir? You want him? Not that it’s any of my business, of course, sir, meaning no disrespect. But what’s one ragged street-rat to a Paladin? Charity, of course.”

  Raelum opened his eyes.

  A thick stench, a mixture of sweat and rust and filth, assaulted his nostrils. He lay on a cold stone floor, clad only in his worn trousers. Someone had taken his cloak, dagger, and tunic. His heart dropped into his stomach. He was in one of the common cells of Sorrowgate Tower, the fortress guarding the Gate of Sorrows. A half-dozen men sat against the walls, the torchlight leaking through the iron bars transforming them into hulking shadows.

  “You. Boy,” said one of the men, voice a wine-corroded rasp. “Come here and we’ll have ourselves a good time, aye?”

  Raelum backed against the wall.

  “Come here, boy,” growled the man, lurching to his feet.

  He stepped into the torchlight, saw Raelum’s eyes, and flinched.

  “Agh!” said the man, staggering back. “You’ve come to drag me to hell! Get away from me! Get away!”

  “You!” A guard banged his cudgel against the bars. “Keep it quiet in there, or I’ll sell the lot of you to the slavers.”

  Raelum blinked.

  The Paladin in the green cloak stood next to the guard.

  “There,” said the guard, pointing at Raelum, “that’s the one. You wish him released?”

  “Aye,” said the Paladin. “I will not bring charges. You will have no cause to take him to the magistrate, then, and no reason to keep him here. Release him.”

  “It seems such a waste,” said the guard. “We could make some profit off him, you know. I know a man who’s seeking to buy boys …”

  “Another word,” said the Paladin, voice calm but hard, “and I will have you reported to the magistrate for corruption.”

  The guard mumbled something, unlocked the door, and swung it open. “You, boy. Out, now! If any of the rest of you move I’ll bust your skulls. Move, boy!”

  Raelum walked out the cell door. The jailer slammed it behind him, and the Paladin watched Raelum with icy blue eyes. Raelum tried not to shiver, but did so anyway.

  “What of his garb?” said the cold-eyed Paladin. “He had a cloak and a dagger, as I recall.”

  “Begging your pardon, sir,” said the guard, “but the little rat had nothing when he came into my care, I tell it true.”

  The Paladin looked the guard.

  “Um,” said the guard, swallowing. “Nothing…I mean, I mean nothing here, with me. Uh…I’ll get it, right quick, on the way out.” He led them down a stinking corridor. An unending chorus of raucous cries came from the cells, but silence fell when the Paladin passed. The man moved with the silent grace of an old lion. Raelum cursed himself as a fool. What madness had driven him to take this man as a mark?

  “Here you are,” said the guard, handing the Paladin a bundle of black cloth. It was Raelum’s cloak, wrapped about his dagger and ragged tunic. “I wasn’t planning to sell it, I wasn’t. Wouldn’t do such a thing, of course.”

  “Of course,” said the Paladin, tucking the bundle under his arm and walking for the gate.

  Raelum hesitated.

  “Get out, you rat,” said the guard, “or I’ll throw you back in there.”

  Raelum hurried after the Paladin. The old man stood in the street, watching Raelum, holding the bundle.

  He held it out. “You’ll want this, I expect.”

  Raelum snatched the bundle, pulled on his tunic, hid the dagger in his pocket, and wrapped himself in the cloak. “What do you want from me?”

  Something like a smile crossed the old man’s face. “I chose well, I see. Clever lad. Most would have run for it by now.”

  “Who are you?” said Raelum, scowling.

  “Oliver Calabrant, Knight of the Silver Order,” said the old man.

  “The what?”

  “Most folk call us Paladins,” said Sir Oliver.

  “So that’s what you want, then?” said Raelum. “To kill the demonborn rat for the Order?”

  “No,” said Sir Oliver, “I want is your aid.”

  Raelum blinked. “My aid? Why does a Paladin need my help?”

  “Walk with me, if you will,” said Sir Oliver. “I would speak with you.”

  Raelum could dash into the streets and vanish. Sir Oliver would never catch him. But why had the Paladin freed him? And Oliver Calabrant had neither flinched nor looked away from Raelum’s red eyes. Raelum felt an odd sort of gratitude, despite himself.

  “All right,” said Raelum.

  “Come,” said Sir Oliver.

  They walked in silence for a while as the sun went down. Khauldun’s streets emptied and darkened, and Raelum watched the old Paladin, fingering his dagger, watching for treachery. Sir Oliver seemed lost in thought, and did not notice Raelum’s caution. Or he didn’t care.

  “Street thieves are common enough,” said Sir Oliver, “but demonborn ones with red eyes, well…that’s something different. Did you know your parents, boy?”

  “No,” said Raelum. “I didn’t know my parents. My mother must have been possessed, but that’s all I know.”

  They stopped at the edge of the seawall. The light the stars glimmered off the water, transforming it into burnished silver.

  “I have always liked,” said Sir Oliver, “watching the sea.”

  “Really?” said Raelum, surprised. “So do I.”

  “Do you know why?” said Sir Oliver.

  Raelum shrugged.

  “I grew up in Saranor, by the sea,” said Sir Oliver, “and I know it can be hard and cruel. But the sea is clean. The demons do not touch it, boy.”

  “You mean…”

  “If a man dies on the sea,” said Sir Oliver, “he dies a clean death, and his body returns to dust. The demons do not touch the sea. Perhaps the untamed waters are too strong. Or it is a sign from the Divine.”

  “I’ve seen dead men rise,” said Raelum, “so the demons must exist, and the Divine, but I doubt the Divine cares for men at all. Even if Sister Julietta says so.”

  “Who?” said Sir Oliver.

  “A Sister I know,” said Raelum.

  “The Divine does care for men,” said Sir Oliver, “for he has given us the Light, the great gift to fight the demons. How is your head? I thought the guards might have cracked your skull.”

  “It hurts,” said Raelum, puzzled, “but…”

  Sir Oliver lifted his hand, a pale glow shimmering around his fingers. Raelum gaped in surprise, and the old Paladin’s hand darted out and gripped his forehead. A wave of searing warmth shot through Raelum, followed by a lance of icy cold. Raelum tried to scream, but only a dry rasp came from his mouth.

  Sir Oliver released him, the light vanishing from his hand.

  Raelum scrambled backwards, yanking his dagger free. “Stay away from me!”

  “Your head,” said Sir Oliver. “How does it feel?”

  “My head? You’re shooting fire from your fingers and you ask…” Raelum’s
protests trailed off. The pain had vanished from his head.

  “Healing,” said Sir Oliver, “is but one of the gifts of the Light, though it is very exhausting.”

  Raelum rubbed his hand over his forehead.

  “What is your name, boy?” said Sir Oliver.

  “Raelum.”

  “I need your help, Raelum,” said the old Paladin. “You did not run from me when I released you from prison. You did not run from me as we walked the streets, nor did you hand me over whatever criminal gang sponsors you.” Raelum felt a flare of heat in his face. “And you did not run when I showed you the Light. Long have the High Brothers and Sisters of the Temple claimed that demonborn are filled with wickedness, but I believe it not. You are clever, aye, but there is daring in you, else you would have run. And strength, as well. Perhaps you will become evil in time, if you live to manhood. But not yet, I deem. So I ask for your help, Raelum of Khauldun.”

  Raelum lowered his dagger. “What do you want of me?”

  “Do you know anything of my Order?” said Sir Oliver. “Do you know what we do?”

  “Not really,” said Raelum. “Some say you wander the lands fighting demons. Others say you meddle in business not your own, and slay folk for the lightest of sins. Either way, you are not men to be crossed, and that is enough for me.” He shook his head. “If I’d known you were a Paladin, I would never have tried for your sword.”

  “The Divine led you to me,” said Sir Oliver. “I have come to Khauldun seeking slavers.”

  Raelum scowled. “What, you’ve come seeking business?”

  “Nay!” said Sir Oliver. “The trafficking of slaves is a dire evil. I would stop it, if I could. Yet I have not the power.” He shook his head. “A new band of slavers has arisen in Khauldun. They do not ship their slaves to Araspan or overseas to Carth. No, they sell their slaves here, in Khauldun.”

  “To who?” said Raelum.

  “Demon-worshippers,” said Sir Oliver.

  “Demon-worshippers?” said Raelum, incredulous. “Who would be so stupid as to worship a demon?”