The Mists of Erantia (Realm of Arkon Book 7) Page 16

  "Oh, Count Linaec knows best, I'm sure!"

  Mitt didn't smile this time. "Seriously, what's wrong?"

  "Your dad won all his glory in the battle at Arnah. But what are we doing here? We just got out of training camp. Wait—you don't know, do you?"

  "Know what?"

  "Our commander is Captain Cartwright! Have you seen her before? You know what they say about how she treats rookies like us?"

  "Quit believing every stupid rumor you hear," Mitt shrugged. "Those idiots were just scaring us. I have a hard time believing the Earl of Dedivia could be like that. You know, we only have forty minutes left till our shift ends. I doubt anyone will come to check on us..."

  "You don't believe the rumors? It was she who, when the Rhodian Regiment advanced, personally cut down the four who failed to keep up. Now she makes life hell for all the recruits! What if someone does come, eh?"

  "See, that was easy," Mordred whispered. "They'll open the door soon. Enter quickly, and go where this young knight leads you, straight to Father Sebastian. He's in the main temple hall as we speak. Give him my regards, if you wish!"

  I was stunned. "What are you planning?"

  "You will see," the divine companion replied with a grin. "Follow the squirrel—he'll show you the way. I must bid you farewell now, for I cannot enter this place."

  With a barely audible clap, Mordred disappeared. Seconds later, the sound of horseshoes beating the floor came to us from the depths of the corridor.

  The guards at the entrance whirled, taken aback.

  A woman was riding in from the distant end of the corridor, astride a dazzling white horse with a bright blue mane but no armor. It pranced towards them, viewing both sides of its surroundings with utter contempt. It was Captain Cartwright of the Order of Dedivia, the very woman the knights on guard duty had just been speaking of. She looked ordinary enough, and a small man in a yellow cassock walked beside the horse, face shrouded by his hood in a poor impression of a monk. This "bane of recruits everywhere" was dressed lightly in a short armored skirt and brown leather boots, with a thin silver ring binding her tousled blonde hair. Her ample breasts, barely covered by a tiny chainmail bra, swung in sync with the horse's steps. The sight of her took even my breath away.

  "Those things can do some serious acrobatics," Donut whispered lustfully.

  "Warriors!" the woman commanded, without dismounting her horse. "Report, and quickly!"

  "Captain!" the guard named Mitt responded, his face covered in sweat. With a gulp, he stepped towards her and puffed out his chest. "During our time here—"

  "Ah, I see." The woman jumped to the floor, and approached the warrior a little too closely.

  "You're new, aren't you?"

  "Yes, earl!" they replied sharply.

  "Then this evening you are to report to my office for your training. You—" she turned to the second warrior and pointed at her yellow-robed companion. "Conduct Brother Squirrel to Father Sebastian. He is expected. And I will guard this gate with your friend in the meantime."

  Envy flashed ever so briefly in the eyes of the second paladin, but he went to the door and opened it ever so slightly, only just allowing us in. We followed Mordred's companion to the temple's inner chambers.

  Our guide proceeded forward without so much as turning around. He obviously thought that his friend was now alone in the corridor with a woman whose behavior was not exactly that you might expect from the proud captain of an illustrious order. Or perhaps the young knight was daydreaming about the possibilities of their "training" later that evening.

  "Brother Squirrel" dissolved into thin air as soon as we crossed the threshold, but the knight led us further on, never looking behind him. Disastrously careless. We passed a row of massive tombstones. Of course there were tombstones—what else would the hall underneath a temple hold? We ascended a wide staircase at the end of the hall, into a massive cathedral space. I gasped in admiration. Hundreds of stained glass windows, dozens of intricate columns. Ornate benches, sculptures. Even an average person would be impressed, never mind a dumb artist. I fell in love with the wonder of it all. The murals on the wall were unparalleled in their beauty. Along the right wall of the temple was the famous relief, and the workers were just finishing their restoration. I could make out in the display a woman with an unearthly beauty pouring the contents of a pitcher into a chalice held by a tall, muscular hero of a man. She was so lovely, and he was so stern and heroic. All this visible from three hundred feet away.

  "Grand Champion! Master Squirrel is here for you!" the knight leading us announced, turning around and looking for the man he had just led into the temple. Our veil of invisibility disappeared at that moment.

  The hall fell completely silent. Six paladins stood at each of the nearby pillars, in full armor. They turned to face us. Level 400. These were the guardians of the temple, and this was my chance to save the situation. I stepped forward and pulled the molten amulet from my bag to show it to the man standing at the altar.

  "You know, they're about to, uh..." Donut's whisper in the channel was tremulous. "He won't believe us."

  For once, I agree with him, my wife suddenly chimed in, chuckling. But if that sanctimonious bastard doesn't kill you right here and now, I promise to be nice to you for a day.

  I chuckled. Agreed. At last, a day without ridicule.

  The gray-cloaked figure turned slowly to face me.

  "Hello, Sebastian," I said calmly, offering the amulet. "One of your champions proved a traitor and has been aided by one of the Twice Cursed Gods. Here is proof."

  "A demon?" He looked deeply into my eyes, his figure rippling in space. A strong, white-haired man wearing a beige habit.

  "Do you really think I could believe the words of a demon who has just entered the holy of holies by his own deception?"

  The knights standing around raised their hammers and moved towards me.

  "Tainted one! You dare think I would believe that my brother betrayed our order?" Scorn dripped from the champion's voice. He nodded. "Kill him!"

  Blocking the sweeping blow of an immense hammer, I Jumped toward a column, reducing the number of directions the enemies could come from.

  "No, Roman!" Donut screamed into the channel.

  The second paladin's hammer knocked a piece of the pillar to the floor—the piece behind where my head had just been.

  The temple shuddered.

  The knight that attacked me jumped aside as one of his comrades took his place.

  But then a massive tremor coursed through the floor. And another. And another.

  Armageddon stampeded through the temple. Four columns to the right cracked and began to buckle, and the workers fled the relief as it crashed deafeningly to the floor. More rumbling, more dust, more cracks, spreading across the floor this time...

  "Stop!" the champion yelled. He turned to me in shock.

  "Who... who are you?" he rasped.

  Chapter 12

  I looked at the rocks lying around and shrugged. This was quite the video message to Sebastian from his Big Boss Upstairs.

  "Stand aside!" the grand champion commanded, his palm stretched out before him. But the paladins had no plans to attack, their faces showing a mix of amazement and a childish kind of insult.

  It wasn't every day they were ordered not to kill a demon, I reckoned.

  "Who are you?" the champion repeated, taking half a dozen steps towards me and examining my face.

  He was of average height, about six feet tall, and fifty years old at the most. His eyes were gray and sat close together above his square chin and below the profound patches of baldness on his scalp. He looked like your average merchant, but the text above his head announced a level of 530, with three billion HP. He was Master Sebastian, Grand Champion of the Order of Impending Dawn.

  "Prince Krian of Craedia, emissary of Overlord Ahriman and the King of Erantia. At your service, Grand Champion!" I lay my hand on the hilt of my sword, which still rested in its shea
th, and nodded a greeting to the head of the Fellowship of the Untainted. "The followers of Syrat had made a nest on my land. And it was your man who stood at the head of the minions of the Twice Cursed God." I stretched out to Sebastian a molten silver disc with a sword and bowl etched on it. "Here is proof of the man's treason!"

  The champion took the amulet proceeded to examine it carefully. Within a moment, his gaze hardened.

  "What did he do?" Sebastian inquired in the mortified silence filling the temple.

  He had difficulty speaking, that much was clear.

  "He cast gerdards on the province," I said. "Ulrich had misread the prophecy, thinking that we were the bigger evil. I had to destroy him, and the plague disappeared along with him. Celphata treated the residents."

  That sent the champion's eyebrows through the ceiling. "The goddess mingled in the affairs of mortals?"

  Go on, then, my wife interjected. Tell him your tales!

  Don't you remember what you promised me five minutes ago?

  Lita snorted.You should know better than to take a woman's words literally. Come on, tell him!

  I didn't mind—in fact, I rather enjoyed this part—so I proceeded to display, one by one, the marks of all the essences I'd collected thus far, then basked in the awe this effected.

  "It was Celphata who asked me to destroy the evil in my princedom. Now the minions of Syrat are gone, and her temple stands on my land. By the way, the goddess' high priestess will soon visit Erantia. She came out of Demon Grounds with me."

  You've completed the quest: The Truth About Champion Ulrich.

  Your reputation has increased! Members of the Order of the Impending Dawn relate to you with respect.

  The paladins which had attacked me just a few minutes before now looked utterly dejected. The workers attending to the broken bas-relief looked as though they had forgotten how to breathe. Donut, meanwhile, bore the widest of smiles, like a kid whose dad just showed up and gave the bully a serious beatdown. Then, there was my wife. Apparently, her constant link to me had boosted her humanity, as she was now openly amused at the expression of this old enemy. The fellowship had been founded in ancient times precisely in order to combat the creatures of the Netherworld, after all.

  But the Grand Champion knew how to pull a punch. The emotions that flickered on his face were gone in an instant. He nodded, looked around slowly at the disorder filling the temple, and then returned his gaze to me.

  "You are the first of the new arrivals to surprise me, two-lived. So, explain to me then, what brings a demon prince marked by the gods to our humble abode? What is the treachery of my paladin to you? Did you think that the envoy's badge Ahriman issued to you would keep you from our aggression? You could have instead calmly demanded an audience with Rayan the Wise! Why risk coming to me?"

  Idiot, I groaned to myself.

  Maybe you're being too harsh there, Jaelitte snickered, but only a little.

  Shut up.

  How the hell could one be so stupid? But it couldn't be helped, I supposed.

  "Father Sebastian—may I call you that?" The Grand Champion nodded. "I believed that the information I have would be of greatest interest to you, first and foremost."

  "Well?" Sebastian looked at the people around him in the temple, then turned back to me. "The floor is yours, prince. Speak."

  "Roman, I got a blessing from them," Donut whispered into the channel. "Now me and my sisters are... well, I'll tell you later. It's your turn to talk."

  "Here." I pulled a key out of my inventory and offered it to Sebastian. "Teiran gathers an army of undead in the tomb of Arkam. They are unaffected by the magic of the departed god, it seems. Commander Kan suggested that Erantia might soon be attacked from without by Vill. The undead have disappeared from the border, and Celphata has suffered a defeat in the Gray Frontier. Now the Twice Cursed God is stronger than ever before."

  The champion's voice drew down to a whisper. "Are you sure about all of this?"

  "Yes. It's why I'm here."

  Silence gripped the hall. By now, the paladins and workers had turned into wax statues. Even Donut's smile had disappeared.

  Sebastian looked at the workers restoring the bas-relief. "Get back to work, and you heard none of this, do you understand? We'll pay you double for your silence." He gestured me towards an ascending stairway. "Come with me, prince. We have many things to discuss."

  We took the soft-carpeted marble staircase up to the second floor, then walked along long, echoing corridors past square beds of pleasant-smelling plants and huge paintings depicting feats of renown performed by human kings. One after another, in a great panorama of war, death, and victory. Myrt was the god of military valor after all, among other things, so the display made sense.

  I was still amused by the amazement on the faces of the armored guards. No surprise after the loud rumble downstairs followed by the grand champion rushing off accompanied by a blue-eyed demon—I had ditched my combat form, of course—and a diminutive, frail-looking rogue. We were obviously not the most frequent guests of the Holy of Holies of the Temple of the Blessed Myrt. I found myself ruminating on why Myrt was called the Blessed, rather than thinking about the conversation at hand. I had never seen Myrt, of course, but judging by the paintings along the wall, this god would be more aptly named the Terrible or the Vengeful. I concluded that there were more parallels between the beliefs of this world and those of the former one than I had realized.

  I occasionally squinted at Donut as we walked. He gaped at everything around him, like Aladdin after accidentally walking into the sultan's treasury or the cave of wonders. Or Abu, more like it. The thief's professional interest had been piqued. I doubted he had ever been here. I made a mental note to ask him later about the emerald those asshole bandits had demanded from him. And about why he had suddenly concluded that his sisters were safe. After all, the now-deceased Ort had clearly been hinting at something.

  The office looked like it was not only Sebastian's workspace but also his living space. Alas, it was nothing like the sultan's rooms from Aladdin. Spacious and furnished with rustic oak furniture, it sported a dozen paintings along its walls, a small altar in the far corner, and books. Lots of books. Thick volumes covered with cracking leather, mithril clasps, and golden corners. Worn parchment scrolls bearing ancient chronicles illuminated with intricate patterns and held in glowing, magically-sealed tubes. The books were everywhere: in rolling cabinets, on custom stands, hanging from wall-mounted shelves. They even covered the broad rough oaken table at which Sebastian invited us to sit.

  Though "rough" was a bit too hasty a judgment. It was organic. Whatever master had carved it had taken great care with each and every crack and bulge. The wooden chairs were surprisingly comfortable. A man of Sebastian's stature could obtain whatever he wanted, and I certainly was not about to complain.

  An excruciatingly modest maidservant placed cups of a steaming herbal concoction before us, along with bowls of some sweets, and left the room. Sebastian cleared several books from the table, sat opposite us on a high-backed chair, resting his chin on his hands, and froze.

  We sat silent for no more than a minute, until his thoughts brought him to a nod. Taking a small sip from his cup, he spoke with a low voice.

  "Try it. This herbal infusion was brought to us six months ago, straight from the Great Forest. I recall that you two-lived have are more accustomed to tea and coffee, but this is just as good. It's a pity that our supplies are coming to an end, but if the undead have left the borders, we will not have trouble obtaining more."

  Sebastian waited for us to try the drink, which turned out to be like ginger tea. One of my good friends in the old world had loved ginger tea. He smiled like a benevolent grandfather, cocked his head slightly, and addressed me.

  "You spoke of knight-commander Kan."

  "Yes. I believe we have the same man in mind." I placed my teacup back on the table and reflexively reached for my pipe. I waited for his nod of approval befor
e lighting up. "The knights and mages who left for the Demon Grounds three centuries ago at the king's command fulfilled their mission, after all." I exhaled the smoke, shrugged, and focused on a deep crack in the table. "But not all of them survived. Monsieur Altus, Champion Lars, and about two-thirds of the troops accompanying them remained there in the Cursed Princedom, which is now under my rule."

  "And how did you end up there? Although..." Sebastian leaned back in his chair, crossed his arms, and shook his head. "You've got some kind of strange spell over you, sure, but now that you've unveiled my eyes, I understand why the Caëntine Relief collapsed again. The black demon of the Prophecy. The Dreamer."

  The champion rose from the table and approached a podium with an open book lying atop it. He flipped through a few pages, sighed, and sat back down.

  "I want to hear everything," he uttered, voice barely more than a whisper. "Everything that threatens my land. Forgive me that I did not see at once who you were."

  "No problem," I smiled. "We were counting on a reception like the one you gave."

  "So, tell me everything, demon," the champion implored with a bitter grin. "We have plenty of time. We will be served dinner and wine, and if one night is not long enough, I will provide you with a room in this temple wing."

  It took all of three hours to tell my story. By the end, the moon already gazed into the window, and a cool evening breeze stirred the curtains, but besides that rustling there was no sound coming in from outside. Either a spell of silence was cast on this room or the temple inhabitants were remarkably quiet. Perhaps both. Donut sat in silence, only moving to pensively raise his silver fork and goblet to slice up the eel-like dinner fish and drink the strong red wine, or occasionally to examine the paintings hanging on the wall. Sebastian made no move to touch the food as he listened intently to my story, only interrupting to ask questions here and there. Judging by his questions, he was absorbing every last detail, as if a dozen note takers with tape recorders labored away in his head. Noting the color with which the runes in the tomb of Erast the Great had glowed, the arrangement of the rooms in the refuge of Urgam the disavowed, the exact features of the face of the disavowed and his henchman, what Teiran had looked like in the meeting with Rynec. At the end of my story, Sebastian twice asked me to tell him the exact terms of the quest I had received. He then drained his yet-untouched glass in a single gulp, stepped over to the window, and stayed there, looking outside with his arms crossed.