Awakener

by J. C. Staudt

  Maaltred collared the vicar and pulled him close. “Your despondence is growing rather tiresome. I, however, am going back there to find the girls.”

  “You won’t get far.”

  “Stand here and give up, then. At least try to buy me some time while you’re at it.”

  Maaltred ducked into the crowd, heading for the altar. He didn’t hear Norne casting, but he could hear the black-robed figures getting closer. He took the shallow dais steps in a single leap and sprinted across the stage to the molded door panel.

  It popped open with a click, and he slipped into a tiny triangular room containing a waist-high bureau. Upon the bureau lay a golden tray lined in scalloped purple cloth. The tray was otherwise bare, and Maaltred suspected it was meant to hold the ceremonial dagger and coliph resin Briynad had been carrying.

  A small side door was the only visible exit from the room. Maaltred closed it behind him as the black-robed figures were entering through the molded panel. He tried each door along the ensuing hallway. The first led to a closet hung with black robes. The second opened into a storage room containing shelves full of cups and statues and holy symbols.

  The corridor turned left and ended in a suite of two adjoining rooms, the first of which was a study with bookshelves lining either wall and a slanted writing desk in one corner. A privacy wall blocked line of sight to the second room, so Maaltred ducked inside and peeked round to see what it contained.

  There on the floor, bound and muzzled, looking as though they’d seen neither a bath nor a solid meal in weeks, sat Ryssa and Vyleigh Ulther. Both girls were grimy and thin, their eyes bloodshot and their faces pink with tears. A sense of relief washed over Maaltred, though he was at the same time horrified by their condition.

  Ryssa stared up at him, her brown eyes barren of resolve. “My father and brother will come for you. You’ll be sorry when they do.”

  “You don’t understand,” Maaltred tried. “I’m going to get you out of here.”

  “They’ll kill you. They’re strong and brave, and you’re cowardly.”

  “You must believe me. I want to bring you to them.”

  Someone struck Maaltred across the head, knocking him to the floor. Black-sleeved arms grabbed him and removed his pack before binding his wrists with thick hempen ropes. They escorted Norne into the room and sat the two priests back to back before coiling a rope around their chests.

  Eril appeared in the doorway, Norne’s pack in his hand. He tossed it down beside Maaltred’s and came round to sit in the room’s only chair. “What are you doing here?”

  “I didn’t mean to interfere,” said Norne. “I swear it. I did everything I could to keep Brother Maaltred away.”

  “You assured us your companion would be dealt with.”

  “I was going to, I just—”

  “Will someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Maaltred interrupted.

  “Your friend here—and I would interpret the word rather loosely, if I were you—sold me these two girls.”

  “He did what?”

  “For a fat purse, I might add. Now it would seem he’s come to regret the decision.”

  Maaltred thought back to the ferryman, remembered him pulling Norne’s purse strings wide to reveal the sparkling coin within. Why hadn’t he questioned its size? “It wasn’t his decision to make. The girls weren’t his to sell.”

  “Oh no? And who might they belong to?”

  Norne shifted uncomfortably. “Brother Maaltred, don’t—”

  “Olyvard King,” Maaltred blurted.

  Eril snorted. “I do beg your pardon. The King of Dathrond, did you say?”

  “We are Warpriests of Dathrond, and we are about the king’s business.”

  “You? A Warpriest? Vicar Norne I might be persuaded to believe, but you…” He laughed. “I think not.”

  It was true. Maaltred was no Warpriest. Not one deserving of the title, anyway. Yet the king himself had bestowed the honor, so he might as well play the part. “I suggest you stand down. Anyone who knowingly interferes with the king’s business is liable to be found a traitor to the crown.”

  “A traitor to the crown?” Eril said in a mocking tone. “Very well. Show me the king’s writ. Surely he provided you at least that much protection.”

  “The nature of our errand is secret,” Maaltred explained. “We vowed we would never divulge our true purpose to anyone.”

  “Yet you’ve divulged it to me.”

  “Only because you’ve restrained us against our will. Why are Ryssa and Vyleigh so important to you, in particular? Forandran is home to an abundance of orphans and unwanteds.”

  Eril grunted. “Street urchins. Scum. Filth.”

  “So it’s a matter of breeding. Who’s to say these two are anything special in that regard?”

  “Vicar Norne, for one.”

  Maaltred closed his eyes in defeat. “You told them?”

  Norne didn’t reply.

  “These children are pure,” said Eril. “The blood of a champion runs in their veins. Highborn blood. Innocent blood. A worthy sacrifice to Dalahmet on this most crucial of occasions.”

  “This is a sacrifice you’ve no right to make. You must release us all, lest you earn yourself a death sentence.”

  “Oh, I’ll be happy to release you… just as soon as I’m reimbursed in full for my expense.”

  Norne gulped. “I lost all my coin in an unfortunate accident.”

  “It’s true,” said Maaltred. “There was an accident on the river. Vicar Norne lost his purse and everything in it.”

  Eril leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, stroking his chin. “Whatever shall I do? You understand my predicament, surely. I am to offer a sacrifice this night. While I would gladly defer to a king’s written decree, I cannot in good conscience forfeit my prizes otherwise. Dalahmet’s will is sovereign to us all.”

  “You call yourselves the Servants of the Dusk, do you not?”

  “Where did you hear that?”

  “From Captain Womarr, the day you boarded the Seadrake. What does it mean?”

  Eril cleared his throat. “Our Lord Dalahmet has many followers. Most believe him to be like the other gods; a faraway being in the heavens. Indeed he is. However, there are a few of us—a sect, you might say—who are aware of his presence in this world. His avatars walk among us, bent on carrying out his will. The true Servants of the Dusk are those who seek to entice these avatars into our midst.”

  “Entice them? How?”

  “Blood sacrifices to Dalahmet are the purest way to draw the keen senses of his vanguard.”

  “Haruspex Eril… you’ll want to see this.” One of the black-robed priests was rummaging through Maaltred’s pack. In his hand he held the ironglass sphere. On the floor lay the ceremonial dagger and the other implements from Briynad’s sack.

  Eril cocked his head curiously. “Let me see that.”

  The priest handed him the sphere.

  Eril studied it for a moment before casting Norne a hard look. “It’s you who’s killed my Briynad. The two of you. And what’s this thing you’ve brought into Dalahmet’s temple? An item of great power. Something you would use to destroy me. Neither of you is as blameless as you pretend to be. Tell me what this is, or I swear I’ll make you wish you had—king’s men or no.”

  “It’s a summoning sphere,” Maaltred lied. “With it, one may call storms or direct creatures of the wild.”

  “How does one use its powers?”

  “Untie me and I’ll show you.”

  Eril smirked. “You must think me a great fool. You will show me how to use it. Later. You shall remain here until after tonight’s sacrifice. When I’ve read our Lord’s will in the viscera, I’ll decide what’s to be done with you. Muzzle them. Bring the girls and the implements.”

  The priests gagged Norne and Maaltred with lengths of rolled cloth. They took the sacrificial implements and carried the girls away. Eril brought the sphere into the study, where
Maaltred heard the writing desk open and close. Then the elf disappeared down the hallway.

  Maaltred worked his gag downward, flexing and constricting his head and neck until he’d managed to slip the cloth over his bottom lip. “Norne. Brother Norne. Help me with these ropes.”

  Norne gave a lethargic groan.

  “I can’t believe you. How could you do a thing like this? You’ve sealed all our fates—yours, mine, Ryssa’s, and Vyleigh’s. And for what, a handful of coin?”

  Norne wriggled free of his gag. “They told us they were church custodians. I thought we could overpower them and recapture the girls before any harm befell them.”

  “So you were going to take their coin and then stab them in the back? Why not do it on the ship while they slept?”

  “How else was I going to manage a visit to Forandran?”

  “You wanted to go to Forandran all along? To see Wolla, no doubt.”

  “It was never about Wolla. You’ve complained about how few trips home the king’s granted you. I’ve been serving him for nigh on fifteen years, and until a few months ago I’ve never had his consent to leave Maergath. There’s no finer place in the realms to spend a full purse than Forandran.”

  “So this was all about having a little fun.”

  “Sullimas was a fine mentor, but much too stiff for my liking. The old codger never let me have my fun. With him gone, I thought I’d make merry for a while. We’d swoop in and rescue the girls; I’d look like a hero to you; and Olyvard would never know the difference. When you mentioned going home, I decided it would be easier if I carried on alone. Less chance you might make a mess of things. Alas, here we are.”

  “Oh, do shut up. I’m not the one who’s put us in this mess. I still don’t understand why you needed the coin so badly. Has the king not rewarded you generously for your service to him?”

  Norne scoffed. “Generously? Which king have you been serving?”

  “You and Sullimas had your own stallions. You paid for them to be sent back to the castle. I know the king gave you a stipend to afford passage across the seas and wages for a guide through the wilderness, but it always seemed you had plenty to spare.”

  “Olyvard’s money,” Norne said. “Funds for the trip, and nothing more. We were to manage it wisely and return with a surplus. Those horses we rode to Drythorne were issued us by the crown. We never owned them.”

  “The crown didn’t issue me a horse.”

  “You’re not a vicar. It doesn’t get better from here, Brother Maaltred. The bounty Olyvard has promised you will never come. Sullimas served him for many a year longer than I have. The old man was living in squalor, aside from the occasional dinner at the king’s table.”

  “I can’t believe it.”

  Norne laughed. “Can’t you? It’s why Olyvard loves priests. They’re content to get by with little. They sacrifice wealth and abstain from the pleasures of the flesh in favor of higher pursuits. Prayer and meditation tend to be rather cost-effective.”

  “It’s not the king I can’t believe. It’s me. All this time I trusted him. Or I wanted to, anyway. I thought he’d be so pleased when we returned with the hostages he’d shower us with gold. And here I find you’ve been deceiving me for weeks as well. How naive can one man be?”

  Norne’s laugh came from deep in his belly this time. “We’ve both been fooled, it seems. Persistent defeat has a way of breaking one’s will, doesn’t it?”

  “I’m not giving up yet, and neither are you.”

  “I feel old, Maaltred. Weary. That healing spell stole something from me.”

  “It needn’t steal your backbone. Or your sense of empathy, for that matter. Surely you agree; those two children in there don’t deserve what they’re about to go through. Their future may not look bright, but at least they stand a chance as the king’s hostages. You didn’t sell them with the intention of letting them die, did you? You’re the only one who can do something to stop it.”

  “You’ve a curious way about you, Brother Maaltred. Sometimes I think you’re too gentle to be in the king’s service.”

  “I don’t want to be in the king’s service anymore.”

  “If we do get back, I’ll give him a glowing report of your bravery and perseverance. I’ll recommend he send you home at once.”

  “Better yet, tell him I’m a bumbling incompetent, far better at glassblowing than upholding the priesthood. Then he’ll be sure to send me away.”

  Norne chuckled. “You’re right. That may work better. Well then, I suppose we’d better get to it.”

  Maaltred rejoiced silently as Norne began to chant. A spectral sword burst to life across the room, shedding wisps of ghostly fire. Maaltred cried out and shut his eyes as the sword flashed toward him. He could feel its wind on his face. Next he knew, his bonds fell away. The sword vanished in a twist of smoke.

  “Get the girls and get out of here as quickly as you can,” Norne instructed. “I’ll do the rest.”

  “Where will we meet afterwards?”

  “In the Temple of Adenc.”

  They donned their packs and retrieved the sphere from the writing desk.

  “I’ll take that,” Norne said.

  “I thought you didn’t want to carry it.”

  “I don’t. I want to use it.”

  They both began to cast as they hurried down the hallway, Maaltred from a parchment page and Norne from memory. While Norne rounded the corner toward the sanctum’s side entrance, Maaltred went through the triangular preparation room. He touched his spell to his chest, and his footsteps went silent. When he put his ear to the molded door panel, he could hear Eril’s voice booming over a hushed crowd.

  “We offer to you, oh Dalahmet, this first of our sacrifices; a child pure of body and mind, born of a dignified lineage. May you find this oblation pleasing and suitable for such a purpose as you deem it worthy. Now, with this blade, I commend unto you the spirit of this sacrifice, to be added unto thy banquet feast, that we might know and understand your ways, oh Lord of Dusk and Master of Discord.”

  There was a long moment of silence in which Maaltred imagined Eril lifting the ceremonial dagger high over his head while Ryssa lay atop the altar. He pressed his hands to the door, forbidding himself to push until he heard evidence of Norne’s presence in the sanctum. He was sure the little girl’s scream would be the next sound he heard. Instead there was a crack, followed by a piercing blast and the cries of a crowd in dismay.

  Maaltred could wait no longer. He shoved open the door to find the templegoers scattering beneath the feet of a gigantic creature made of smog and lightning. Its body swirled like a storm come to life, its head and limbs veined in crackling green energy. It was so tall its head nearly bumped the sanctum’s arched ceiling when it walked on legs as thick as tree trunks.

  Vicar Norne stood behind the creature, holding high the ironglass sphere and directing its movements. The sphere’s green glow pulsed in time with the creature’s lightning veins like a beating heart. Norne made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. The creature mirrored him, shattering two of the sanctum’s stone columns in a single swing. Falling stone crushed dozens of fleeing templegoers.

  Eril flung a spell toward Norne from behind the altar, where Vyleigh sat crying and Ryssa lay bound and squirming. Norne twisted sideways into a crouch. The lightning creature mimicked him, and Eril’s spell crashed into its arm, shedding a gust of flame meant for the vicar.

  Maaltred grabbed a brass candlestick on his way across the dais. He came up behind Eril and raised the candlestick, then hesitated. He’d never struck anyone before, not even Liselle when she was little and misbehaving. Eril was finishing another spell, though, and Norne’s lightning monster appeared to be weakening.

  The brass candlestick made a rather unpleasant sound against Eril’s skull. The druid clutched his head and staggered into the altar, twisting round to see who’d hit him. The sight of blood trickling through Eril’s hair made Maaltred sick to his stomach. He supp
osed he should’ve hit him harder.

  Eril’s face screwed up in blind rage. The spell he’d been preparing was hovering in front of him. Maaltred reached out to snuff it, but Eril got a hand on it first. Instead of flinging the spell at Maaltred, the druid touched it to his own chest.

  Four thin, furry legs grew from Eril’s sides while his own limbs contracted to match. Dozens of eyes sprouted from his face. His skin darkened, and thick glossy fangs descended from his mouth. His body rounded into a bulbous abdomen striped in brown markings. He grew until he was twice the height of a horse, his eight legs arching over the altar and across the dais.

  Maaltred stumbled backward. This is it, he thought. I’m done for.

  The spider scuttled over him and climbed the wall as easily as if it were walking on flat ground. It moved so fast it was hard to follow, circumventing the huge lightning creature on its way around the room. Norne made an upward punching gesture; his monster slammed a fist into the ceiling, missing the spider in a blast of stone fragments.

  “Come with me, girls,” said Maaltred, cutting them free with the ceremonial dagger. He helped Ryssa down, lifted Vyleigh into his arms, and led them through the molded door panel.

  The temple thundered with the sounds of the unfolding battle as he hurried down the hallway, pulling Ryssa by the hand. Crumbles of stone and dust fell from the ceilings each time the building shook under the monster’s power. Maaltred steered them through a series of halls and chambers until he came to a door edged in afternoon light.

  They burst outside to find themselves in an open courtyard beside the street. Curious cityfolk were congregating in front of the temple with a number of Dalahmet’s frightened and bewildered followers. Maaltred slinked off without a word, knowing that if Norne survived this fight against Eril, it would be a miracle indeed.

  Chapter 27

  Axli’s eyes were red and raw, her shoulders hunched. She stood at the window in Castle Deepsail’s gatehouse, watching the first light of morning bloom over the Bay of Stones. Darion had cleared the guards from the upper level and summoned her here so he could deliver the news without Lund and Lupin present. When she finally collected herself long enough to speak, she said something Darion hadn’t expected.