Sorore generally tried to ignore the wet cold morning as she was collected by the paladins and escorted into a large hall. Some of her attention returned to her as fire was kindled and food was introduced.
Lillian, poor thing, was attempting to prepare food with whatever horrible injury that was still bothering her. All at once, Aya took the knife, and demanded that she cook. Sorore thought that a little uncouth, although she surmised that it was out of concern for the paladin. When the cheese and bread were delivered, they had been artfully arranged on the wooden serving slates.
She wolfed it down gratefully, the tumult of the day had drained any respects to courtesy or etiquette. Her brother did much the same, and in that moment, a passing glance might’ve found it hard to distinguish the two of them. Aya for her part, made some polite nothing of an excuse and wandered off elsewhere, promising that she’d not leave the building.
It was mere moments before Niche spoke quietly to Lillian. Despite their attempt at surreptitiousness, both Sorore and Frare’s ears pricked up to hear the conversation.
“She’s going to see the mage,” he said, the notes of contempt in his voice not mitigated by its low volume.
“Why?” Lillian said, “I’ve warned her not to.”
“We should’ve dispatched him as soon as we met him. What in the world is Naia thinking?”
“Or at the very least, not invite him into our council, let alone let him lead us into that Lost-forsaken place.”
Lillian seemed to shudder, at exactly which state of their unexpected journey it was in response to, Sorore was not sure of. Still, she entirely sympathised with the response.
“Speaking of, do you know where we are?” Niche said.
“It’s a small town, along the borders of the Alonshaze. I remember the bridge and the small river. Albion, I think. We passed through it perhaps… a month ago?”
Niche took a moment and the memory seemed to click into place for him.
“Yes. Yes. I remember. We were here for naught but a couple hours. Why has he brought us here?”
“Who can say?” Lillian said, “But wherever he chose to lead us, there’s trouble around the corner.”
The two sat in a brooding silence, apparently unaware that the twins were listening in.
“At the moment, I’m not even concerned about him,” Niche finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we here, Lillian?” he said, almost accusing in tone, “the roads here are infested with all kinds of magical creatures. Sending a small regiment across the continent, to siege a lonely castle perhaps inhabited by nothing but a rumour. With the Bequeathed in tow?”
Lillian said nothing, but took another bite from her larder.
“You know something. You all but admitted as much in that other village. What is it? Why has the Choir sent us here?”
Lillian seemed torn, chewing slowly and deliberately before swallowing loudly.
“I know you may not like me, Lillian. I had cause to doubt you, and I didn’t always believe that a woman could serve the same as a man.”
The remark drew a cold glare, and was followed by a quick dithering from Niche.
“But, you have put all my concerns to rest. I am lesser than you, in skill and nobility. So, I ask you, as a fellow Seeker, what are we doing here?”
Lillian once more said nothing, staring into the fires. After what felt like an eternity, she sighed, looked around, and dropped her voice to the edges of hearing.
“I don’t know anything for sure. All I have are suspicions, and scraps from my father and brother.”
Niche was listening intensely, as were the twins, straining to pick up anything that they could.
“Well,” she began, “they’ve been at the meetings of the Council of Purity, and apparently, there was a special delegation that went to the church and met with the Choir.”
“What? Who?” Niche whispered.
“I don’t know. All I know for sure was that it wasn’t my house, and none of the younger lords. If my father knew who exactly, he didn’t share. But, my brother was speaking in his cups, and I happened to overhear that the Triarch of Faith had suggested a-”
She stopped abruptly. It took Sorore a moment to realise that it was because she was staring directly at her and Frare.
“My lady,” Lillian said slowly, perhaps wondering just how much she’d overheard, “did you have enough to eat?”
Sorore had enough shame to redden, Frare didn’t. At least, not until she took his ear in his hand.
“That’s enough,” Lillian said, “I think that we’ve spoken rashly and I-”
She had risen to make whatever point she wanted and in the process had used the limp left arm to push herself up. She nearly doubled over, face blanching, muscle in the neck leaping into definition as she sucked in air. It took her well over a minute to straighten, face covered with sweat as she grimaced.
“Lillian-” Sorore began, feeling an absurd guilt over her injury, as if it was her fault.
“Go to the healer,” Frare said, in a tone that would brook no argument, “the one that came with the mage.”
Lillian looked aghast at that prospect, but before she could offer a retort, Frare stepped in.
“You’re of no use to any of us, not even yourself, if you’re getting up gasping. Go see the healer. What is she going to do to you, when a hundred men surround her?”
“My lord Frare, you don’t understand what is-” said Niche.
Frare, in his queer mood, did not suffer him to finish.
“What I understand is that you’ve said a lot about the mage, and so far he helped us defeat monsters, showed us a secret path through the wood, and got us farther in a day than we could’ve hoped in a matter of weeks.”
Both of the paladins seemed completely taken aback at the sudden vivacity of his opposition. Even Sorore had only seen this a handful of times in their lives. It was one of his ‘gifts’ or so she’d like to think, periods of unshakable, bullheaded confidence. Such was its power, Sorore felt inclined to agree that Lillian should chance the healer.
But Lillian had conviction to match whatever Frare was offering.
“No,” she said, her face grim, “I will wait till one of our nurses can help.”
“That’s stupid and you know it,” Frare said, crossing his arms.
Sorore gasped and grasped for his ear, but he moved aside and stared into Lillian’s eyes. For the first time, she seemed to possess a genuine glint of anger at his defiance.
“Lord Frare, I will speak plainly.”
Frare nodded, as if allowing a servant to go ahead with a plea. Sorore solidified her conviction that she would teach him a lesson in manners today.
“You are young, and lack all understanding of the threats that mages present. The reason why is because you have not grown up with them. Neither did I when I was raised. But I learned. If you had any knowledge of the crimes they had committed, the horrors they visited upon the bodies and minds of honest men and women in the past.”
“That was then, and this is now,” Frare said.
“Mages are dangerous. What will it take for you to realise it? Must he hurt one of us directly? Hurt me? Hurt your sister?”
That did it - Frare faltered, just for a moment. Lillian, seeing her moment of opportunity, pressed on.
“If you had read what I read, seen what I have seen, you would easily understand why I choose to avoid such folk. Even if that wasn’t the case, my status is my own, as are my decisions. I serve, but I keep my own counsel. I would ask you to respect that.”
Niche gently touched her arm, to no avail. She stood, her iron eyes boring into Frare, who wilted and sat down, muttering. They were so wrapped up in this interaction, that no one saw Aya, who had been standing at the edge of their group for several moments.
“Um,” she said, and shrank back as both Frare and Lillian snapped around to her.
“Lady Aya,” Lillian said heavily.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said with a brittle humour, “how was the food?”
“All the better for what you did to it,” said Sorore, glad of the change of subject.
The rest of the company nodded assent.
“Well, that’s good. Do they cook often in Angorrah? I mean, they must, right?” she said.
The laughter around the firepit was genuine this time.
“Yes,” said Niche, “yes we do cook, my lady.”
“Well, great,” she said, almost as if that was a long held question she’d had, “well…”
Then came a series of expressions that were not quite easy to place. Sorore thought she saw guilt, anxiety, and possibly some embarrassment. Finally, it hardened into resolve as Aya came forward, and gently laid a hand on Lillian’s shoulder.
“I know you’ve just had a debate about it,” she said gently, “but look around you.”
She gestured across the room at the various groups of soldiers.
“Forgive me my lady, but I don’t see what you want me to,” said Lillian, shifting her shoulders away from the hand.
“Really? How many of these men were injured, and now are back up?”
Lillian looked around, and seemed to grasp whatever the girl was suggesting.
“My lady I-”
“Lillian, please. For us. For you. Don’t give up help, especially when it’s helped everyone around you. They don’t mean us harm, and now they’re healing us, faster than your own healers, I think.”
Lillian sunk down onto the bench, looking older and more tired than before.
“What do you want me to do?” she said.
“Come with me, and get that arm fixed,” Aya said, barely above a whisper.
The struggle was plain on Lillian's face, but finally, whether it was the pain or the exhaustion or the kind words of Aya, she relented. She let Aya lead her to the partition of the room, cut off by curtains. A few minutes later, she returned, standing straighter, with an arm in a linen sling. Aya trailed behind her, and sat in silence by Sorore.
“Niche. If you would be so kind, take the first watch. I think I need some sleep,” she said.
Niche nodded and Lillian passed into the shadowy depths of the house to lay down.
“Thank you,” Frare said to Aya, rekindling Sorore’s anger at his discourtesy.
“What were you thinking?” she hissed, “Frare Usai, insulting a paladin? Our protector! How could you?”
“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to ins-”
“When she wakes up, you are going to go on your knees and apologise!” she said, turning away.
“Now wait-
“That’s enough,” Niche said, “lord Frare, perhaps it would be best for you to apologise, and for Lillian to do so also. You meant no ill, and neither did she. It will not do to have bad blood between us, least not on the road.”
Frare and Sorore both nodded in tandem, though Niche’s words did not diminish her fury.
“I don’t understand,” Aya protested, “he’s done nothing but help. Why do you hate him?”
Niche’s face screwed up at the question, suggesting that the conversation had long worn out its welcome. Then he loosened, and brought out a small booklet, with a well worn spine, from somewhere beneath his armour. After thumbing to the page he desired, he cleared his throat and began.
“Ten trees, crowned with snow, and ten guards, crowned with silver, and ten stars, shining overhead.
A roar, a scream, a frightening shout, and up went the trees, crowned now with blazing crimson.
And blood laid around their roots, and entrails in their bowes, and silver was drowned in carrion.
Such was the night of the burning tree, where mages and apostates joined hand-in-hand, and claimed life and limb, till their fires were extinguished.
And worst of all, when ash and cinder had been cleared, the Exile on the Mount, the most holy of holies, lay bare, its conjoinment broken.”
Before any of them could offer a response, he held up his hand, rifled through the pages, and began again:
“On the subject of sorcery. It is a marring, an aberration. It was magic that cast us out of the place that was promised. It was magic that chased us across the seas, and out of the skies, and through the earth. It was magic and its wielders that waited for us in the dark when we grew weak and hungry.
So, I say unto you, suffer not the mage or his creations. It is unwise and unjust and spits upon the memories of us who suffered in turn.”
He closed the book and looked at the children.
“That is two selections of a body of scripture, some of which only the trusted have access to. Numerous examples exist. Bloodshed, burnings, blasphemy. The underlying message is clear - do not trust mages, regardless if they be friend or foe.”
“And,” he said, cutting off Aya, “consider yourself lucky, lady Aya. You’re under the protection of people who understand magic as a dangerous tool, rather than an evil inherent to itself. Perhaps it is true that this ‘Efrain’ is ‘good’, or at least as good as any mage can be. There are those, even of this company, that might not have tolerated his presence, regardless of what help he brought.”
Sorore nodded emphatically, remembering Dalia Sphrent, who rarely spoke to the twins. She had gone off by herself, something about ‘not waiting for the danger to find her’. She had also always seemed suspicious of everyone and everything, even the trees and wind. For all Sorore’s discomfort, that had at least seemed right, in lands so far from the protection of Angorrah.
Aya had swallowed whatever words she was going to offer, and now sat in thought. Niche sat back and sighed, passing a hand over his face. Sorore could see that he was exhausted, although she was certain he’d never admit it. It was at this moment that she also noticed that there was a change in the room, with the ordinary milling about replaced by quick, purposeful action.
Not long after she noticed that, a young aid came up beside Niche and whispered something. Immediately the exhaustion fell away as his face hardened. He sat up straighter and looked at the children.
“Do you have all your belongings with you?” he said.
“What we didn’t leave in the carriage, yes, I think,” said Frare.
“Right,” he said, “best be ready to get up. I don’t think we’ll stay in this town for much longer, now that we’re close to the Alonshaze.”
“What?” said Sorore, “but we just arrived!”
“No rest for the wicked. Besides,” he said, with a tired smile, “we’ll be safer if we get up into the pass.”
That was at least some comfort. The mountain fort they'd camped at for over three days had warm braziers and decent beds. Niche left them to go wake Lillian, and Sorore turned to Aya. The girl’s face was noticeably pale, even in the warm light of the fire.
“What’s wrong?” Sorore said.
“You can’t feel the cold?”
Sorore started and for the first time, felt the small icy pangs against her ribs. It was on the edge of her mind, barely even a sensation, and yet it was definitely there.
“That’s why we have to move,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “they’re here.”
Lillian and Niche by that time had come back to the fireside.
“Is it true?” said Sorore, “have those things come back?”
“What?,” said Lillian, blinking bleary eyes, “What are you-”
At almost the same time, the two paladin’s heads snapped to the south.
“What?” whispered Lillian, “how-?”
“The church. Now,” Niche growled, reaching for the straps of his armour.
The knights had obviously taken notice, looking around in confusion and anxiety. Some of them were already beginning to move with grim purpose. Sorore’s hand was taken by Aya as they were led out into the cobbled street. It was warm, covered in sweat, but comforting, despite it shaking in hers. The troop began to march up and onwards, past rows of misty buildings, and toward the crest of the hill.
At the top was a surprisingly large church, hewn of stone at the peak of the hill. On three sides, it fell away into a wooded gully, and the side that faced the lower street was cordoned off with a high outer wall. Sorore vaguely remembered passing by the construction when they had been last in the village.
Once more, as she approached the arch entrance, she was struck by just how old the stonework was. Well older than most of the houses in the village, if she was any judge, and yet it was so smooth, and so dark. The joints barely stood out at all - the wall could’ve been carved out of a single, massive rock, and she would’ve barely been able to tell.
Past the walls were a small garden of sorts, formed around what must’ve been the village graveyard. Beyond that was the church, tall, dark, and long - sporting narrow slits for windows and a huge set of what looked to be iron-lined doors.
At the sight, Sorore felt a measure of comfort - this was a strong place. Like the fortress overlooking the pass through the Alonshaze. At the same time, however, there was something strange and unnatural, woven into the very stones. Sorore lacked the words to describe the sensation that permeated the pews and wings of the church.
The men milled about, and soon they were joined by various men and women in the village, milling about and whispering. Soon, on the dais, one of Naia’s captains stood up, and motioned for silence. The crowd watched with a strange incuriosity, as Niche joined him up near the altar.
“My good people,” the captain began, “we apologise for disturbing you. Surely, you’d rather be tilling in the fields, making preparations for the harvest. However, we have reason to believe that your village is under threat.”
There was silence.
“We ask of you to share in the defence that shall be taking place, in this church. And if my words do not convince you, then perhaps the words of the church shall.”
Niche began to awkwardly perform some half-hearted salutation, before being interrupted by a cry from the crowd.
“What manner of things shall we be defending our homes from?” came a voice, almost… lazy?
Both the captain and Niche hesitated before answering. In that time, from a side door, emerged the black-coated mage, who made for the dais as well, and answered for them as he walked.
“Awful things. Things that will kill everyone in this village, without consideration for age or vitreousness or wealth.”
He was joined by the female knight that was always at Naia’s side, who invited some nervous glances from the soldiery.
“We have two,” he continued, his voice growing, “two days until help can ride down from the Alonshaze. In that time, I have no doubt that the monsters from the fog will attack. Why they haven’t already is not something I know. Until then, we’ll have to hold out.”
Niche said nothing, only narrowed his eyes and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. The captain on the dais nodded to Damafelce.
“The commander’s orders?” he said, quietly, to which she nodded.
The captain stepped down from the dais, and was replaced by Damafelce, who promptly reaffirmed his words. She added that if any should possess experience in war, siegecraft, or smithing, they should step forward to help. Several did, although their movements seemed sluggish and ill-motivated. Still, they were welcomed into the fold and quickly, they and the knights were sent scurrying to tasks.
Niche returned back to their side evidently annoyed by the interruption. On his heels came the mage, who was greeted with glares by the paladins.
“War makes strange bedfellows,” he said, dismissively, “now, there’s something I would like your help with.”
“What?” said Lillian darkly.
“A matter of identification,” he said, “as you can imagine, I don’t spend much time in church basements. Something is there, something that might prove either a boon or a disaster, either way, it needs to be dealt with. Preferably before we start fighting.”
If he was bothered by the glowering he got in response, he didn’t show it.
“Or, you could go into battle with unknown foes, who outnumber you, at a disadvantage. Your choice.”
“We get it,” Lillian snapped, “I’ll go. Niche has spent more time in your presence than he would wish.”
Niche watched the two reproachfully as they disappeared through the same side door.
“Now, let’s go find a place to sit and prepare,” he said at last, leading them toward the altar.
Sorore followed, but found, unexplainably, that she was drawn toward the side door. Not to follow the mage, or Lillian, or even some basic level of curiosity.
It was the stone that called to her, to descend deeper and deeper into the depths of this place. Quickly, she slipped away from the group, walked between the columns and passed the door.
Sorore generally tried to ignore the wet cold morning as she was collected by the paladins and escorted into a large hall. Some of her attention returned to her as fire was kindled and food was introduced.
Lillian, poor thing, was attempting to prepare food with whatever horrible injury that was still bothering her. All at once, Aya took the knife, and demanded that she cook. Sorore thought that a little uncouth, although she surmised that it was out of concern for the paladin. When the cheese and bread were delivered, they had been artfully arranged on the wooden serving slates.
She wolfed it down gratefully, the tumult of the day had drained any respects to courtesy or etiquette. Her brother did much the same, and in that moment, a passing glance might’ve found it hard to distinguish the two of them. Aya for her part, made some polite nothing of an excuse and wandered off elsewhere, promising that she’d not leave the building.
It was mere moments before Niche spoke quietly to Lillian. Despite their attempt at surreptitiousness, both Sorore and Frare’s ears pricked up to hear the conversation.
“She’s going to see the mage,” he said, the notes of contempt in his voice not mitigated by its low volume.
“Why?” Lillian said, “I’ve warned her not to.”
“We should’ve dispatched him as soon as we met him. What in the world is Naia thinking?”
“Or at the very least, not invite him into our council, let alone let him lead us into that Lost-forsaken place.”
Lillian seemed to shudder, at exactly which state of their unexpected journey it was in response to, Sorore was not sure of. Still, she entirely sympathised with the response.
“Speaking of, do you know where we are?” Niche said.
“It’s a small town, along the borders of the Alonshaze. I remember the bridge and the small river. Albion, I think. We passed through it perhaps… a month ago?”
Niche took a moment and the memory seemed to click into place for him.
“Yes. Yes. I remember. We were here for naught but a couple hours. Why has he brought us here?”
“Who can say?” Lillian said, “But wherever he chose to lead us, there’s trouble around the corner.”
The two sat in a brooding silence, apparently unaware that the twins were listening in.
“At the moment, I’m not even concerned about him,” Niche finally said.
“What do you mean?”
“Why are we here, Lillian?” he said, almost accusing in tone, “the roads here are infested with all kinds of magical creatures. Sending a small regiment across the continent, to siege a lonely castle perhaps inhabited by nothing but a rumour. With the Bequeathed in tow?”
Lillian said nothing, but took another bite from her larder.
“You know something. You all but admitted as much in that other village. What is it? Why has the Choir sent us here?”
Lillian seemed torn, chewing slowly and deliberately before swallowing loudly.
“I know you may not like me, Lillian. I had cause to doubt you, and I didn’t always believe that a woman could serve the same as a man.”
The remark drew a cold glare, and was followed by a quick dithering from Niche.
“But, you have put all my concerns to rest. I am lesser than you, in skill and nobility. So, I ask you, as a fellow Seeker, what are we doing here?”
Lillian once more said nothing, staring into the fires. After what felt like an eternity, she sighed, looked around, and dropped her voice to the edges of hearing.
“I don’t know anything for sure. All I have are suspicions, and scraps from my father and brother.”
Niche was listening intensely, as were the twins, straining to pick up anything that they could.
“Well,” she began, “they’ve been at the meetings of the Council of Purity, and apparently, there was a special delegation that went to the church and met with the Choir.”
“What? Who?” Niche whispered.
“I don’t know. All I know for sure was that it wasn’t my house, and none of the younger lords. If my father knew who exactly, he didn’t share. But, my brother was speaking in his cups, and I happened to overhear that the Triarch of Faith had suggested a-”
She stopped abruptly. It took Sorore a moment to realise that it was because she was staring directly at her and Frare.
“My lady,” Lillian said slowly, perhaps wondering just how much she’d overheard, “did you have enough to eat?”
Sorore had enough shame to redden, Frare didn’t. At least, not until she took his ear in his hand.
“That’s enough,” Lillian said, “I think that we’ve spoken rashly and I-”
She had risen to make whatever point she wanted and in the process had used the limp left arm to push herself up. She nearly doubled over, face blanching, muscle in the neck leaping into definition as she sucked in air. It took her well over a minute to straighten, face covered with sweat as she grimaced.
“Lillian-” Sorore began, feeling an absurd guilt over her injury, as if it was her fault.
“Go to the healer,” Frare said, in a tone that would brook no argument, “the one that came with the mage.”
Lillian looked aghast at that prospect, but before she could offer a retort, Frare stepped in.
“You’re of no use to any of us, not even yourself, if you’re getting up gasping. Go see the healer. What is she going to do to you, when a hundred men surround her?”
“My lord Frare, you don’t understand what is-” said Niche.
Frare, in his queer mood, did not suffer him to finish.
“What I understand is that you’ve said a lot about the mage, and so far he helped us defeat monsters, showed us a secret path through the wood, and got us farther in a day than we could’ve hoped in a matter of weeks.”
Both of the paladins seemed completely taken aback at the sudden vivacity of his opposition. Even Sorore had only seen this a handful of times in their lives. It was one of his ‘gifts’ or so she’d like to think, periods of unshakable, bullheaded confidence. Such was its power, Sorore felt inclined to agree that Lillian should chance the healer.
But Lillian had conviction to match whatever Frare was offering.
“No,” she said, her face grim, “I will wait till one of our nurses can help.”
“That’s stupid and you know it,” Frare said, crossing his arms.
Sorore gasped and grasped for his ear, but he moved aside and stared into Lillian’s eyes. For the first time, she seemed to possess a genuine glint of anger at his defiance.
“Lord Frare, I will speak plainly.”
Frare nodded, as if allowing a servant to go ahead with a plea. Sorore solidified her conviction that she would teach him a lesson in manners today.
“You are young, and lack all understanding of the threats that mages present. The reason why is because you have not grown up with them. Neither did I when I was raised. But I learned. If you had any knowledge of the crimes they had committed, the horrors they visited upon the bodies and minds of honest men and women in the past.”
“That was then, and this is now,” Frare said.
“Mages are dangerous. What will it take for you to realise it? Must he hurt one of us directly? Hurt me? Hurt your sister?”
That did it - Frare faltered, just for a moment. Lillian, seeing her moment of opportunity, pressed on.
“If you had read what I read, seen what I have seen, you would easily understand why I choose to avoid such folk. Even if that wasn’t the case, my status is my own, as are my decisions. I serve, but I keep my own counsel. I would ask you to respect that.”
Niche gently touched her arm, to no avail. She stood, her iron eyes boring into Frare, who wilted and sat down, muttering. They were so wrapped up in this interaction, that no one saw Aya, who had been standing at the edge of their group for several moments.
“Um,” she said, and shrank back as both Frare and Lillian snapped around to her.
“Lady Aya,” Lillian said heavily.
“Yes, it’s me,” she said with a brittle humour, “how was the food?”
“All the better for what you did to it,” said Sorore, glad of the change of subject.
The rest of the company nodded assent.
“Well, that’s good. Do they cook often in Angorrah? I mean, they must, right?” she said.
The laughter around the firepit was genuine this time.
“Yes,” said Niche, “yes we do cook, my lady.”
“Well, great,” she said, almost as if that was a long held question she’d had, “well…”
Then came a series of expressions that were not quite easy to place. Sorore thought she saw guilt, anxiety, and possibly some embarrassment. Finally, it hardened into resolve as Aya came forward, and gently laid a hand on Lillian’s shoulder.
“I know you’ve just had a debate about it,” she said gently, “but look around you.”
She gestured across the room at the various groups of soldiers.
“Forgive me my lady, but I don’t see what you want me to,” said Lillian, shifting her shoulders away from the hand.
“Really? How many of these men were injured, and now are back up?”
Lillian looked around, and seemed to grasp whatever the girl was suggesting.
“My lady I-”
“Lillian, please. For us. For you. Don’t give up help, especially when it’s helped everyone around you. They don’t mean us harm, and now they’re healing us, faster than your own healers, I think.”
Lillian sunk down onto the bench, looking older and more tired than before.
“What do you want me to do?” she said.
“Come with me, and get that arm fixed,” Aya said, barely above a whisper.
The struggle was plain on Lillian's face, but finally, whether it was the pain or the exhaustion or the kind words of Aya, she relented. She let Aya lead her to the partition of the room, cut off by curtains. A few minutes later, she returned, standing straighter, with an arm in a linen sling. Aya trailed behind her, and sat in silence by Sorore.
“Niche. If you would be so kind, take the first watch. I think I need some sleep,” she said.
Niche nodded and Lillian passed into the shadowy depths of the house to lay down.
“Thank you,” Frare said to Aya, rekindling Sorore’s anger at his discourtesy.
“What were you thinking?” she hissed, “Frare Usai, insulting a paladin? Our protector! How could you?”
“I didn’t- I didn’t mean to ins-”
“When she wakes up, you are going to go on your knees and apologise!” she said, turning away.
“Now wait-
“That’s enough,” Niche said, “lord Frare, perhaps it would be best for you to apologise, and for Lillian to do so also. You meant no ill, and neither did she. It will not do to have bad blood between us, least not on the road.”
Frare and Sorore both nodded in tandem, though Niche’s words did not diminish her fury.
“I don’t understand,” Aya protested, “he’s done nothing but help. Why do you hate him?”
Niche’s face screwed up at the question, suggesting that the conversation had long worn out its welcome. Then he loosened, and brought out a small booklet, with a well worn spine, from somewhere beneath his armour. After thumbing to the page he desired, he cleared his throat and began.
“Ten trees, crowned with snow, and ten guards, crowned with silver, and ten stars, shining overhead.
A roar, a scream, a frightening shout, and up went the trees, crowned now with blazing crimson.
And blood laid around their roots, and entrails in their bowes, and silver was drowned in carrion.
Such was the night of the burning tree, where mages and apostates joined hand-in-hand, and claimed life and limb, till their fires were extinguished.
And worst of all, when ash and cinder had been cleared, the Exile on the Mount, the most holy of holies, lay bare, its conjoinment broken.”
Before any of them could offer a response, he held up his hand, rifled through the pages, and began again:
“On the subject of sorcery. It is a marring, an aberration. It was magic that cast us out of the place that was promised. It was magic that chased us across the seas, and out of the skies, and through the earth. It was magic and its wielders that waited for us in the dark when we grew weak and hungry.
So, I say unto you, suffer not the mage or his creations. It is unwise and unjust and spits upon the memories of us who suffered in turn.”
He closed the book and looked at the children.
“That is two selections of a body of scripture, some of which only the trusted have access to. Numerous examples exist. Bloodshed, burnings, blasphemy. The underlying message is clear - do not trust mages, regardless if they be friend or foe.”
“And,” he said, cutting off Aya, “consider yourself lucky, lady Aya. You’re under the protection of people who understand magic as a dangerous tool, rather than an evil inherent to itself. Perhaps it is true that this ‘Efrain’ is ‘good’, or at least as good as any mage can be. There are those, even of this company, that might not have tolerated his presence, regardless of what help he brought.”
Sorore nodded emphatically, remembering Dalia Sphrent, who rarely spoke to the twins. She had gone off by herself, something about ‘not waiting for the danger to find her’. She had also always seemed suspicious of everyone and everything, even the trees and wind. For all Sorore’s discomfort, that had at least seemed right, in lands so far from the protection of Angorrah.
Aya had swallowed whatever words she was going to offer, and now sat in thought. Niche sat back and sighed, passing a hand over his face. Sorore could see that he was exhausted, although she was certain he’d never admit it. It was at this moment that she also noticed that there was a change in the room, with the ordinary milling about replaced by quick, purposeful action.
Not long after she noticed that, a young aid came up beside Niche and whispered something. Immediately the exhaustion fell away as his face hardened. He sat up straighter and looked at the children.
“Do you have all your belongings with you?” he said.
“What we didn’t leave in the carriage, yes, I think,” said Frare.
“Right,” he said, “best be ready to get up. I don’t think we’ll stay in this town for much longer, now that we’re close to the Alonshaze.”
“What?” said Sorore, “but we just arrived!”
“No rest for the wicked. Besides,” he said, with a tired smile, “we’ll be safer if we get up into the pass.”
That was at least some comfort. The mountain fort they'd camped at for over three days had warm braziers and decent beds. Niche left them to go wake Lillian, and Sorore turned to Aya. The girl’s face was noticeably pale, even in the warm light of the fire.
“What’s wrong?” Sorore said.
“You can’t feel the cold?”
Sorore started and for the first time, felt the small icy pangs against her ribs. It was on the edge of her mind, barely even a sensation, and yet it was definitely there.
“That’s why we have to move,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, “they’re here.”
Lillian and Niche by that time had come back to the fireside.
“Is it true?” said Sorore, “have those things come back?”
“What?,” said Lillian, blinking bleary eyes, “What are you-”
At almost the same time, the two paladin’s heads snapped to the south.
“What?” whispered Lillian, “how-?”
“The church. Now,” Niche growled, reaching for the straps of his armour.
The knights had obviously taken notice, looking around in confusion and anxiety. Some of them were already beginning to move with grim purpose. Sorore’s hand was taken by Aya as they were led out into the cobbled street. It was warm, covered in sweat, but comforting, despite it shaking in hers. The troop began to march up and onwards, past rows of misty buildings, and toward the crest of the hill.
At the top was a surprisingly large church, hewn of stone at the peak of the hill. On three sides, it fell away into a wooded gully, and the side that faced the lower street was cordoned off with a high outer wall. Sorore vaguely remembered passing by the construction when they had been last in the village.
Once more, as she approached the arch entrance, she was struck by just how old the stonework was. Well older than most of the houses in the village, if she was any judge, and yet it was so smooth, and so dark. The joints barely stood out at all - the wall could’ve been carved out of a single, massive rock, and she would’ve barely been able to tell.
Past the walls were a small garden of sorts, formed around what must’ve been the village graveyard. Beyond that was the church, tall, dark, and long - sporting narrow slits for windows and a huge set of what looked to be iron-lined doors.
At the sight, Sorore felt a measure of comfort - this was a strong place. Like the fortress overlooking the pass through the Alonshaze. At the same time, however, there was something strange and unnatural, woven into the very stones. Sorore lacked the words to describe the sensation that permeated the pews and wings of the church.
The men milled about, and soon they were joined by various men and women in the village, milling about and whispering. Soon, on the dais, one of Naia’s captains stood up, and motioned for silence. The crowd watched with a strange incuriosity, as Niche joined him up near the altar.
“My good people,” the captain began, “we apologise for disturbing you. Surely, you’d rather be tilling in the fields, making preparations for the harvest. However, we have reason to believe that your village is under threat.”
There was silence.
“We ask of you to share in the defence that shall be taking place, in this church. And if my words do not convince you, then perhaps the words of the church shall.”
Niche began to awkwardly perform some half-hearted salutation, before being interrupted by a cry from the crowd.
“What manner of things shall we be defending our homes from?” came a voice, almost… lazy?
Both the captain and Niche hesitated before answering. In that time, from a side door, emerged the black-coated mage, who made for the dais as well, and answered for them as he walked.
“Awful things. Things that will kill everyone in this village, without consideration for age or vitreousness or wealth.”
He was joined by the female knight that was always at Naia’s side, who invited some nervous glances from the soldiery.
“We have two,” he continued, his voice growing, “two days until help can ride down from the Alonshaze. In that time, I have no doubt that the monsters from the fog will attack. Why they haven’t already is not something I know. Until then, we’ll have to hold out.”
Niche said nothing, only narrowed his eyes and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. The captain on the dais nodded to Damafelce.
“The commander’s orders?” he said, quietly, to which she nodded.
The captain stepped down from the dais, and was replaced by Damafelce, who promptly reaffirmed his words. She added that if any should possess experience in war, siegecraft, or smithing, they should step forward to help. Several did, although their movements seemed sluggish and ill-motivated. Still, they were welcomed into the fold and quickly, they and the knights were sent scurrying to tasks.
Niche returned back to their side evidently annoyed by the interruption. On his heels came the mage, who was greeted with glares by the paladins.
“War makes strange bedfellows,” he said, dismissively, “now, there’s something I would like your help with.”
“What?” said Lillian darkly.
“A matter of identification,” he said, “as you can imagine, I don’t spend much time in church basements. Something is there, something that might prove either a boon or a disaster, either way, it needs to be dealt with. Preferably before we start fighting.”
If he was bothered by the glowering he got in response, he didn’t show it.
“Or, you could go into battle with unknown foes, who outnumber you, at a disadvantage. Your choice.”
“We get it,” Lillian snapped, “I’ll go. Niche has spent more time in your presence than he would wish.”
Niche watched the two reproachfully as they disappeared through the same side door.
“Now, let’s go find a place to sit and prepare,” he said at last, leading them toward the altar.
Sorore followed, but found, unexplainably, that she was drawn toward the side door. Not to follow the mage, or Lillian, or even some basic level of curiosity.
It was the stone that called to her, to descend deeper and deeper into the depths of this place. Quickly, she slipped away from the group, walked between the columns and passed the door.
