relationship with Saelin, Sethlzaar found he had to work harder if he intended on revealing nothing. The report was short lived and his brother ended it with a suggestion that at this rate he was bound to break his oath of celibacy. Sethlzaar wondered if the annoyance he'd heard in his brother's voice as he spoke of Saelin had been his imagination or if it had truly been present as Monsignor Shrowl mulled over the report.
"Father Vi Sorlan," Shrowl addressed him. "We have also received report from the church on this issue, and were advised to withdraw you from the fort. Or at least, bring your pastoral service to t
The cathedral wasn't far; a short journey by any means. But it was frustrated by Takaris' mumbled complaints at having to take a carriage for such a distance. Suffice it to say, they didn't care.Cenam joined Sethlzaar in taking Wraith to the stables at the heels of a priest there to receive them, leaving their brothers to take the lead. The stables were large enough to house ten Lire wolves but surprise was far from Sethlzaar when he saw the massive chains spilling from the side of the building beside it. He really hoped it accommodated no one.
Sethlzaar lost his touched to his brother. An acceptable sacrifice, he thought, taking Soartin's bishop. He had sequestered it to a point at one end of the board, hoping Soartin would be forced to claim it so he could in turn take the bishop that had caused him so much trouble in the past five minutes. Although, that piece had troubled his brother as much as his brother's had troubled him. Perhaps Soartin had seen the loss of his bishop as an acceptable one as well. What if he had walked into the priest's plan thinking it was his own? This was why he hated playing the man. The second-guessing never did him any good.
Midday saw Sethlzaar walking the cathedral. He started at the building that housed him and his brothers a few hours before high noon, covered a mile around the Bishop's mansion, then past the stables, sparing Wraith no attention, and through the chapel of his ordination. Now he walked towards the exit. Soartin's words from last night peeling at his thoughts with every step.If killing a priest was punishable by death, didn't that make killing multiple priests a matter of importance? If it was, w
Sethlzaar dropped ten feet and landed quietly on his feet on the other side of the stone fence. But somehow, it still managed to feel as if he disturbed the serenity of the night. He turned his head both sides before moving on and unto the vast expanse of manila grass between him and the mansion he sought to invade. Certain no one was watching, he crossed it in three steps.At the site of the door, he changed his plan. Initially, his intent was to pick its lock. Not all the skills learned in the conisoir were lost to him. Actu
Wraith brought Sethlzaar to Skeldrige in two days. He'd been lucky enough to be set upon by bandits who had been too careless to spot the massive wolf sleeping a few trees away while he settled elsewhere for a piss. Four of them, all men with knives. He'd given them a beating and taken the one thing he needed and was in short supply of: coins.In his haste to leave his brothers he had taken what he needed but hadn't accounted for money. In truth, he'd thought this wouldn't last long, a few days perhaps. He knew now that he'd b
Clad in his hooded cassock, veils and bow securely strapped in place, and his quiver hanging low on his hip, Sethlzaar left the hotel. When he relinquished his room key to the man behind the table at the entrance, the man said nothing, choosing to receive the key in silence. Smart men never asked priests questions. Especially when they were in their cassock.The night was illuminated by glowing street lamps, and even after accepting three nights were more than enough to have grown accustomed to a bright night, it did nothing to shake away the wrongness he felt as he walked the streets.
Shaking his head in refusal Sethlzaar almost stepped away in disagreement with reality. His throat grew dry, choked up, and his eyes stung. He didn't fight it. He let the tears well up as he reached his hand to the woman's face. Her voice had strained to push the words out even as a whisper, and saliva dripped from her mouth when she spoke. She leaned into his touch, blood and dirt staining his palm. He didn't care.She was crying from her good eye.
Dimma had said nothing in the past hour. When they walked through the gates of the city, he had paid her entrance fee while she looked around. Despite the hood concealing most of her face, she leaned back to take in the buildings and people around her.They were just returning from the healer's house where he'd gone to show her to a friend. Not all his contacts from his time at the realm were priests. Some men he had saved from certain perils, and he knew if they learned he was no longer of the frock they'd still help him.
Darkness has never truly been a thing of worry here. Basically, it’s most often dark here. Most of us don’t like it, but time is enough to make anyone adapt to it. Still, it’s not like we have much of an option. Wether it’s dark or bright or generally colorless, it wouldn’t matter, this is the life we live. We would claim we didn’t choose it, that it chose us. But I’ll be honest, we chose it as much as it chose us. Every action we ever took has led us here; at least all the actions I ever took led me here.
Maekil snapped his finger in recognition. “Yes,” he almost exclaimed. “The Shadow Child of the Conisoir. Even the Lords employ it to scare their children from bad deeds.” He placed a finger to his bottom lip in puzzlement. “Although, yours is different. Why is that?”“Because it is the true tale.”“And you believe this
Red wine twirled within a transparent cup made of glass and fashioned for the simple and unnecessary sake of aesthetics. By Truth, Maekil never could understand the desire to be pleasing to the eye. Perhaps it was because all his life he had been nothing but pleasing to the eye, perhaps it was not. He dropped the cup without taking a sip.He would only taste of the wine when the night was over and the morning greeted him with the light of the sun. Normally this wasn’t the case: not in his manor.
Valerik came awake screaming and gasping. His cassock was soaked in sweat and a terror grasped at his heart as he cried into arms that held him with so much untainted love. But somethings were greater than others and he knew that no love or hate or indifference could triumph over the terror that held him.“What’s wrong, father?” a voice asked.He knew who
Valerik opened his eyes from his slumber, instinct propelled to reach across him to ensure he bow still lay where he’d left it last night when he’d bedded down for the night. The bow was the livelihood of his people. A man with no knowledge of where his bow lay at all times was a failure of a man. Assured it was where he’d left it, he rose from the ground to a sitting position and watched the man who sat on the log on the other side of a fire that was nothing but ash. No doubt it had fizzled out sometime during the night, considering no one had paid it any attention.
Sethlzaar blinked the darkness away, but he might as well have waved away the air. Unable to see, he sat up with ease. The floor was covered in grass and served as a soft bed to his rump, so much so that he hesitated to rise to his feet. But he did.Around him was overshadowed in a familiar darkness, and when he took a step forward he frowned at the sight before him.A rub
They couldn’t afford to let the fight drag on. But if there were no wisps, how could he change its course? If Berlak evaded him at every turn, how could they turn the tide? The answer came to him as quickly as the question. There’s more you can do in the dark.Stepping forward, he moved his hand in as he spun from the cover of Cenam’s back to oppose Berlak. The god turned away from his attack easily, striking a closed fist against the flat of Cenam’s veil.
Sethlzaar saw the moment the fight was decided. The climax to the torrential build up. Cenam swung the veil in his left hand. A downward stroke designed to take his enemy’s head. Berlak reacted as fast as the stroke itself, his longsword striking the veil from Cenam’s grip, taking away the priest’s advantage. But Sethlzaar had seen such decisions before. Cenam had intended it. The strike, although intended to take the man’s head, had never truly been expected to. Not a feint. A sacrifice.Cenam’s second ve
The war raged on within the city walls, though the carnage was not as depressing within as it was without. Sethlzaar carried himself in a full sprint, his previously perceived fatigue ebbing away at the touch of darkness as he followed where Cenam led. Bratvi kept pace beside him and paid no obvious attention to his broken wrist. One thing was certain; even if the Most Reverend could fight, it would be impossible to use both veils.There was no doubt that those who had given the once mythical city of Arlyn its reigning title had never stepped foot within its walls. Still, there wa