Raimond’s eyes swept across the underground chamber as he and his eclectic band of newfangled companions took a delectable moment or three to catch their breaths and bask in the glory of the splendid triumph they had all just achieved. He wore his most dazzling of smiles as his gaze briefly lingered on each member of the group.
The Shielder duo—consisting of Allyssa Astrey, with her spirited personality, and Shin Thornthon, poised and with an inquiring mind—boasted a delightful contrast that harmonised beautifully. Their undeniable bond was evident as Allyssa fussed and scolded her partner for his carelessness while simultaneously helping him treat the minor scrapes that remained after Raimond’s healing magic had worked its wonders.
The pair radiated a youthful energy and vigor that Raimond was certain would carry them far in life, as long as they managed to avoid crossing paths with any vexed dragons or the like. The Shields Guild was a beacon of good in the empire in many ways, but its members were not always known for their circumspection.
Beside them, the enigmatic white-haired fellow known only as ‘Fynn’ sat on the stone floor, his eyes closed in a meditative trance. The youth’s current demeanor was a rather stark juxtaposition to the ferocity and intensity he had displayed earlier in combat. He gave Raimond the impression of a lurking predator, embodying both the natural innocence and ruthlessness of a wild beast.
Raimond had heard tales of the tribe that had made the Whitdown Mountains their home for generations, coexisting alongside the empire in an extraordinary feat of relative harmony, but he had never thought he’d have the opportunity to meet one of their members in the flesh. He considered himself exceptionally fortunate for having done so.
Leaning against the wall next to Fynn was perhaps the most captivating of the group—if Raimond could say so himself—and a woman much of the same cloth as him. Rosa drank water from a flask like a person parched for three days, holding the receptacle above her head to let the liquid wash her skin of the sweat and grime from their previous encounter.
Raimond found himself rather intrigued by the woman, not only for her delightful personality and the fact that she was a wonderful conversationalist. He was also intrigued by her curious blend of magic. Minstrels were common enough throughout the empire’s cozy hamlets and bustling cities, but those practiced in the arts of bardic charms were rare north of the Luicean Isles. Among those he had met, while they had all been without a doubt pleasant encounters in their own right, Rosalina Hale seemed to have a special quality of her own.
Last, but certainly not least, Raimond’s gaze settled on the proverbial heart of this group, the fervid-yet-wintry Baroness Scarlett Hartford. The red-haired woman appeared much as weary as her companions after dealing with the infused Auranthial left behind by the venerable Deacon Donovan Emberwood. Yet, that did not diminish the dignified aura she exuded as she crossed her arms before her chest, casting a sharp and discerning gaze over the others.
Though Raimond still considered himself a fresh, budding bachelor in the prime of his life—he was still a youthful thirty-three—he had lived long enough to encounter his fair share of remarkable figures over the years. While not all were as uniquely fascinating and entertaining as the Baroness, individuals of her calibre were not as rare as one might expect.
Or perhaps they were, but it was a kind of rarity akin to finding a four-leaf clover in a vast field. A pleasant surprise when stumbled upon, but if one continued their exploration long enough, they were bound to discover more.
Even with that said, Raimond couldn’t deny that he had observed qualities in the noblewoman that were singular to her. Just as each clover could possess its own distinct pattern, the Baroness held a captivating enigma where that pattern took the shape of fiery flames amid a flurry of ice and snow, all centered around a tiny bud of what could perhaps signify a possible fifth leaf.
To one such as Raimond, who found nothing more beautiful and brilliant than the hidden potential within each person, what he had witnessed in the Baroness was an allure that set the very embers in his heart ablaze with ardour.
During their first encounter at the Light Fest in Elystead, he immediately sensed that she was not your typical noble. Even his dear compatriot, Livvi Knottley—whose intuition and acumen Raimond held in high regard—had been surprised by the woman at the time, despite ostensibly having known her since childhood.
The stories he had heard of the Baroness after that and her actions during the Providing Ceremony confirmed his initial impressions, and subsequent encounters had only solidified his belief.
But it wasn’t until today, after having been afforded the almost serendipitous opportunity to accompany the Baroness and her group on this fascinating excursion, that he could form a clearer picture of the woman’s true character.
Many questions remained unanswered, and numerous mysteries still intrigued him, but he believed himself to now understand enough of her character, though the motivations behind some of her actions still eluded him. The single most significant mystery of all was perhaps the one she kept closest to her chest and the one that intrigued him the most: whom, exactly, were all these recent exploits of hers for?
He was well-informed of the many curious trips and discoveries she had made of late, as were, he imagined, several other notable figures in the empire. This included some of her dealings with the mage towers, a major auction house in Elystead, and newly forged relations with the Withersworth family in Autumnwell.
It all painted the picture of a noblewoman who had somehow acquired valuable information in several noteworthy areas and was determined to leverage it swiftly and efficiently to increase her wealth and influence. While she did so in a fashion that was slightly unorthodox for a member of the aristocracy, it aligned quite closely with the nobility’s general goal of personal and hierarchical advancement.
However, what Raimond saw was something more far-reaching. He perceived not a noble lady simply aiming to increase her own power, but a woman preparing herself, caring little for what others made of her actions. Whether this determination was fueled by confidence or ignorance was harder to discern, but he leaned towards the former. She possessed access to knowledge and resources that astounded even him in some ways, and he had no doubt that she was keenly aware of the brewing storms beneath the empire’s surface.
As a result, the burning question that most ignited Raimond’s curiosity and concern was which side of the coming conflict she would align herself with.
Though he wished to banish the idea, Raimond wasn’t so naive as to entertain the notion that every noble possessed a heart filled with pure intentions and unwavering dedication to the empire, ready to relinquish both wealth and life to protect it. It was a lamentable fact, but reality painted a different picture. While certain nobles, such as Duke Tyndall and Marchioness Thackeray, were paragons in their own right in that regard, even their steadfast loyalty had its issues, and the empire bore a tapestry of historical and contemporary complexities that heralded perilous times ahead.
The Baroness turned her gaze towards him, and Raimond offered one of his most resplendent smiles. In return, she gave him a stout nod before diverting her attention to the rest of the chamber again, seemingly getting lost in thought.
Indeed, he would have liked for his interactions with the Baroness today to have convinced him of her good-natured intentions for the empire at large, but he could not be fully convinced of that. For though he held a deep respect for the woman and how she treated her subordinates, and he recognized that many of the more unsavory rumors surrounding her character were either unfounded or no longer entirely accurate, he had also seen signs that aligned with his fears.
Scarlett Hartford was not a woman who flinched in the face of adversity, nor did she budge from her chosen path, even for those who might be called her allies. Raimond observed no hesitation in her when it came to doing what she considered necessary, a quality that could be a double-edged sword.
The Baroness’ motive for visiting this shrine today went beyond the mere acquisition and tracking of ancient relics, a task she had seemingly undertaken at many other historically significant locations. Nor did her presence here center around research related to Deacon Emberwood and the three figures who had once been the man’s disciples, as she claimed. Or, at least, not solely. While Raimond’s understanding of the true underlying purpose of today’s expedition remained incomplete, he was certain the Baroness had grander aspirations within these hallowed walls.
And she viewed the Followers as an impediment obstructing her path to achieve that goal.
Raimond wondered what lengths she might have gone to get her way had he not been as obliging as he had been? Would she have been content with what she obtained, or would she have devised an alternate strategy to ensure her success? The answer, once more, pivoted on the axis of her motivations.
It was not often Raimond placed himself in a quandary quite like this one. Had any of his peers been in his position, he imagined they would have assumed a much more assertive approach with the Baroness, aiming to ascertain her allegiances. He suspected they might have come to regret it, eventually.
Once each member of the Baroness’ party had recuperated enough, the woman issued the command that they were leaving. Raimond had maintained his quiet while they waited to avoid being a nuisance, but he seized this opportunity to inquire about an earlier event he had that had left him captivatingly—and figuratively—charmed.
“Miss Hale, Baroness, if I may, I have a couple of queries that I would like to make.”
Both women shifted their attention to him.
“I suspect I already know their contents,” the Baroness said.
“That would not surprise me in the least.” With a flourish of his arm, Raimond gestured towards the other end of the chamber. There, an intricate interplay of dark and pale splotches on the stone floor showcased the remnants of the strange magic the duo had employed to counter Deacon Emberwood’s infused Auranthial’s grand spell earlier. “What manner of magic was it you displayed earlier? I do not believe I have ever witnessed anything quite like it, though I am grateful for the privilege of now having done so. Among the myriad genres of magic and various disciplines I am familiar with, I’ve not encountered such an enchanting spectacle in many moons.”
He had already been aware that the Baroness primarily relied on her own unique strain of magic. Her masterful command over pyrokinesis and hydrokinesis was awe-inspiring, to say the least, and there were most certainly a plethora of mages who would eat their robes if they witnessed the ease with which she appeared to practice the skill. While she claimed not to know any spells beyond that, Raimond harbored doubts about the reliability of that statement. It strained credulity, from what he knew.
However, even with her distinctive use of magic and enigmatic capabilities, Raimond grappled with how to classify what he had witnessed earlier. It bore similarities to certain spells and phenomena he was familiar with, yet he had observed none of the same techniques in use during the display.
“What you witnessed there was a fusion of my pyrokinesis and Miss Hale’s bardic charms,” the Baroness explained. “As you may have observed, it boasts some interesting attributes.”
Rosa offered an extravagant bow, punctuated by the tipping of an imaginary hat. “I invariably aim to infuse a dash of ‘interesting’ into everything I touch, thank you very much. Naturally, this ethos extends even to my esteemed employer’s more heated enterprises.”
The Baroness gave the woman a flat look, but Raimond nodded. “I find myself increasingly afflicted with envy for the exceptional individuals you surround yourself with, Baroness. It appears fate has bestowed upon you quite the blessing with the company you keep.”
That explanation aligned much with what he would have expected. While the carefree and often frivolous nature of bards tended to overshadow the significance of their charms as a discipline among mages and other magic practitioners, there were more comprehensive reasons behind the general disregard for bardic charms in the empire. It was a well-known fact that charms and their intricacies defied most understandings, and while mages were inquisitive by nature, rarely did they choose to spend time on seemingly futile pursuits when there were other things to study.
Raimond considered himself slightly more open-minded than most mages in that regard, but even he had to concede that the essence of what he had witnessed earlier remained a mystery to him as well. Although he had caught glimpses of the mana and composition of the Baroness’ magic, perceiving and comprehending the enigmatic echoes that the bard’s charm produced proved a feat beyond his reach.
“When did you both find the time to even practice and learn that thing?” Allyssa asked, joining their little group as Fynn and Shin exchanged a few words a short distance away. “I’ve never seen it before, but it was…breathtaking.”
Rosa grinned and gave a playful shrug. “Oh, you know. We managed to sneak in some training here and there.” The woman waggled her brows. “When you have a certain noblewoman looking over your shoulder all the time, it sometimes feels like one day stretches into three.”
Allyssa paused, her eyes widening slightly as if finding some hidden meaning in those words, and Raimond observed the subtle exchange. It seemed like there were even more mysteries that the Baroness was hiding.
“If we have sated your curiosity, Father Abraham, shall we make our departure?” the Baroness asked, her focus on Raimond.
He turned his attention to her and offered a warm smile. “Yes, let us, I say. I believe we have quite the thrilling tale to share with our resident shrine custodian and high priest upon our return.”
With that, the group moved over to the wall where they could climb back to the undercroft located under the Sunfire Shrine. Raimond waited until last before he began his ascent, casting a final contemplative glance at the vestiges of the Auranthial left behind by Deacon Emberwood centuries prior.
It was an unfortunate fate indeed that the man had been driven to such depths of anguish that he deemed it necessary to infuse an Auranthial with his essence. Raimond thought the fate of the existence the man had created needlessly cruel, suffering through centuries of uneventful waiting in a place such as this, yet he couldn’t help but admire the unyielding determination of the venerable deacon.
Scaling the passage above him, Raimond joined Baroness Hartford and the others in the undercroft, where an acolyte seemed to have been waiting for them. He instructed the acolyte to summon the shrine’s custodian.
The man arrived soon enough, wearing a tired expression as he crossed the underground chamber. One might have thought he had been the one navigating a centuries-old tomb replete with perilous constructs devised by a powerful deacon, though Raimond refrained from passing judgement.
He imagined there were few people who would greet the sudden arrival of an outsider, unearthing long-held secrets hidden beneath their noses for generations, with enthusiasm.
“What did you find?” Reverend Stanway asked, his attention first on Raimond before turning to the Baroness. “Were there any complications?”
“Nothing beyond our capabilities,” the woman answered in her characteristically curt tone.
“We stumbled upon several Auranthials left behind by Deacon Emberwood, as well as three memorials dedicated to what appears to have been his personal secular disciples,” Raimond said. “Fortunately, there was little damage to anything of importance, providing ample opportunity to explore what remains at your leisure.”
He had to admit that he was impressed by the care the Baroness’ group had shown in preserving even some of the seemingly insignificant sections of the tomb. Most of the damage their surroundings had suffered resulted from the spells launched by the Auranthials, which likely would have been inevitable even with a more extensive recovery party.
Reverend Stanway adopted a contemplative frown. “His secular disciples, you say?”
“That I did.” Raimond nodded. “Most of the relics left behind by the deacon remain undisturbed. I suggest you have someone catalog them for now, while you await the arrival of the Congregation’s Curators to assess them and determine the appropriate course of action.” Raimond showed the gold mask he had retrieved from the infused Auranthial’s remains. “I shall be requisitioning this on behalf of the Congregation and ensure it is brought where it belongs for now.”
The man’s eyes widened in rapt astonishment as he gazed upon the mask. “I-I understand…”
“We will now be taking our leave,” the Baroness declared as she walked past the Reverend, who took a brief moment to tear his eyes from the mask and direct them towards the noblewoman, who seemed to have relegated his presence to the back of her mind.
Raimond’s gaze followed her. While the Baroness and the shrine custodian hadn’t had the most auspicious of first encounters, he knew countless nobles who would have reveled in the opportunity to flaunt their achievement in the man’s face in a situation like this. However, it came as no surprise that Baroness Hartford didn’t bother. She seemed the type who cared little unless you truly offended her, such as Count Soames once had.
He offered his fellow priest a congenial smile. “It appears that I am left with little choice but to join them. They serve as my transportation, you see.”
He proceeded to walk past the man as he followed in the wake of the Baroness and her entourage as they exited the undercroft and made their way through the Sunfire Shrine’s corridors, emerging into the courtyard where the carriage they had arrived in still waited.
The return journey to Bridgespell proved an uneventful one. Regrettably, Raimond found himself short one conversational partner as Rosa seized the chance to doze off during the entire ride. Nonetheless, it provided an amusing spectacle to witness the winsome bard’s head repeatedly droop onto the Baroness’ shoulder, only to be persistently pushed away as the noblewoman shot her irked glances.
In Rosa’s absence, Raimond instead capitalized on this opportunity to forge deeper connections with the two young Shielders and the laconic Fynn, engaging in casual conversation.
Upon reaching Bridgespell, their first destination was the expansive temple belonging to the Followers, nestled in the Emberwood Ward.
As the carriage pulled to a halt near the square leading to the temple, the Baroness cast a frosty look at the slumbering bard beside her before turning to the Shielders sitting to Raimond’s right. “Miss Astley, Mister Thornthon, the two of you may remain in the carriage along with Miss Hale, while Fynn and I go and meet with the high priest.”
“Alright,” Allyssa replied, and Shin nodded in agreement.
With that, the Baroness elegantly disembarked from the carriage, followed by Fynn, with Raimond being the last to step out.
As both of their gazes alighted upon him, he straightened his pristine white robes with one hand, the other maintaining a firm grip on the strap of a knapsack holding his personal effects.
He glanced at the Baroness’ appearance, then looked back into the carriage and at its current occupants. “If you’ll allow me to say, it appears that Miss Hale might not be the only one in need of some rest. After the day’s taxing ordeal, returning to your lodgings and indulging in some well-deserved respite might be a prudent course of action.”
“You don’t look that tired,” Allyssa’s voice floated from within the carriage as she leaned forward to peek at him through the open cabin door. “Don’t priests need breaks?”
“On the contrary, my friend. I am a staunch advocate of beauty sleep, lest I risk depriving people, and myself, of my lustrous presence.” Raimond chuckled. “And I can assure you that I, too, am rather fatigued, though it may not be too outwardly apparent.”
“I intend to rest once I conclude my talks with the high priest regarding today’s expedition,” the Baroness said behind him, and Raimond turned to her once more as the woman seemed to scrutinize him. “Will you be joining in the meeting?”
He shook his head. “I might visit the man later, but first, I will have to report to my superiors. They are the stringent sort.”
The woman’s gaze stayed on him for a prolonged beat, and Raimond found himself rather amused trying to decipher her thoughts. For a fleeting instant, he even considered the possibility that she knew the identity of his supposed ‘superiors’, although that seemed improbable.
Perhaps he was becoming a touch too drawn in by the enigmatic aura of certainty and prescience that the Baroness cultivated through her words and actions. He thought it somewhat unfair to suspect her solely because of that, even if there was a slight chance.
“Very well.” The Baroness eventually gave a curt nod in reply.
Raimond turned his attention back to those in the carriage cabin. “It has been a most enjoyable day, my transitory companions. Today has unfolded as a most gratifying interlude for myself, and I am certain that the future surely holds marvelous and splendid endeavours in store for both of you, Allyssa, Shin. I fervently hope circumstances align for us to rendezvous once more soon. Please, extend my most grateful adieus to our slumbering Miss Hale as well, and convey my appreciation for her delightful company.”
“Understood,” Shin said.
Allyssa let out a small chuckle. “I think she might not be thrilled to have slept through your goodbye, though.”
“Ah, but what can one do to resist the siren call of slumber when it beckons with gossamer threads of languor and lethargy into the realm of dreams?” Raimond offered a subtle bow. “While I would love to offer my farewells to a fellow connoisseur of life’s finer pleasures, I would be even more remiss to wake her from her repose. Yet, who knows? Mayhap fate will conspire to have our reunion be earlier than one might expect?”
“I believe that is enough for the goodbyes,” the Baroness interjected. The woman’s eyes passed over her retainers in the carriage. “We will return within the hour.”
With those words, she turned and headed towards the temple, accompanied by the ever-taciturn Fynn. Her demeanor showed very little concern for the scattered curious glances cast her way from the various onlookers in the square.
Offering one final smile to Allyssa and Shin, Raimond executed a graceful spin on his heel and hastened his stride to catch up with the noblewoman and her white-haired companion. As they reached the temple’s entrance, the Baroness cast a sidelong glance in his direction.
“What are your plans from here, Father Abraham?” she asked.
“Well, that is ever a question for me, Baroness. My superiors can be a fickle lot, so one never knows what expectations they might have or what they will request next. Should there be nothing of specific import, I will be returning to my role as a traveling priest, spreading the light and teachings of Ittar to those weary souls in need of his grace.”
“It appears your responsibilities within the Ecclesiastical Congregation of Sacraments are rather lax and undefined, Father. I was not even aware you were a member before today.”
“I confess, it is not often I am called upon for these types of ventures, and rarer still is the occasion when I am afforded the opportunity to do so alongside familiar faces.”
The Baroness briefly glanced at Fynn, who was observing the passing priests and townsfolk, before returning her attention forward. “I see. And these superiors of yours — are they the ones who oversee the Congregation’s matters?”
“In a manner, yes.” Raimond stepped aside to assist an older lady who had nearly stumbled on one of the steps. The lady thanked him, and he soon returned to the Baroness’ side. “The head of the Congregation is a stern woman who is perhaps best described as the embodiment of an arctic breeze surrounding the purest of hydrangeas. We share a unique rapport, you see — one built and cultivated on trust across years of shared toilings. There’s nothing quite like it.”
The Baroness leveled a long look at him. “…I am sure.”
They entered the temple, arriving inside the main vestibule. Raimond turned to the noblewoman and the young man next to him, smiling warmly. “This is where our paths will have to diverge, I’m afraid. As ever, a pleasure to meet you, Baroness, and you, my mystifying comrade of newfound camaraderie, Fynn.”
Fynn simply nodded in return. “I don’t really understand what you’re saying, but okay? Bye.”
Raimond was shocked to see what might have been the tiniest hint of a smile creep onto the Baroness’ face as she regarded him. “While your enthusiasm teeters on the level of being daunting, the sentiment is mutual. Until next we meet, Father Abraham.”
Raimond found his spirits rather enlivened at that. With a wink and the elegant brandishing of his hair, as it flowed over his shoulders, he executed a smooth turn and began his journey towards one of the hallways on the left side of the chamber.
The day’s proceedings had left him with a deep sense of accomplishment, though he did lament the absence of a pretext to enjoy some more time with the Baroness and her group. If only he weren’t certain that a member of the Dawnbringers would be sent to retrieve him if he dallied any longer, he might have dared to extend his little sojourn here in Bridgespell.
Navigating the temple’s corridors, Raimond passed the occasional priest or acolyte who offered him short greetings when they recognized the symbols emblazoned on his sleeves, marking his association with the Congregation. It had been some time since he last had the chance to wear these garments.
Eventually, he arrived at a secluded chamber nestled deep within the temple. These would be his temporary quarters while in Bridgespell, although it didn’t appear as if he would have much time to enjoy them.
Tossing his knapsack onto a modest bed tucked in the corner, he untied its top and extracted the gold mask inside, regarding it for a moment.
It had once been tradition among the deacons of the Quorum to inherit the veils of their predecessors. A blend of symbolism and practicality, perpetuating the lineage of the original ten deacons and the powerful relics in their possession. Over time, more and more of those veils had disappeared from the roster as deacons succumbed or went missing during times of tumult or upheaval. However, one particular veil’s whereabouts had remained an enigma since the tradition’s inception.
Now, they knew why. Deacon Emberwood had used his veil—the mask that marked his seat as a deacon—for infusement when forging that Auranthial. For the first time in over three centuries, it could now reclaim its place within the fold.
Raimond imagined it would have been a rather momentous and sentimental occasion if it had been presented to the Quorum a couple of centuries prior, when all the veils still remained. It lost some of its effect when there was only one other left.
Still, he expected to receive some amusing reactions when he did present it to the others. It was a legendary artifact dating back to the founding of their order, after all. Old Gresham, in particular, would probably be exuberant over his seat finally regaining one of its ancient regalia after all this time. Alas, the task of coaxing a smile from the man was an exercise in futility.
With a wistful sigh, Raimond set the mask aside and turned his attention to another item he had extracted from his knapsack. A diminutive golden sphere with a mesmerizing silver gem at its core.
Using a handkerchief, he wiped away some of the dust that had collected on its surface—it was a priceless and irreplaceable relic only in possession of the Quorum’s ten deacons, and he would rather not anyone discover he sometimes kept it in a mundane knapsack—before infusing it with his mana.
The gem inside turned a shade of black as it was cloaked in a dark fog, and Raimond positioned the sphere on a small table next to the bed as he pulled out a chair to sit.
A few moments passed before the air above the sphere flickered, and the translucent visage of the top half of a woman adorned in a gold mask materialized. Onyx tresses cascaded down from the side of the mask, ending in an elegant tail over her left shoulder and the red robes she was wearing.
“Deacon Abram,” the woman’s voice carried an austere edge as her gaze seemed to pierce through Raimond, even through her mask. “Did you have fun evading your responsibilities while you embarked on your little escapade?”
He met her with his most charming of smiles. “Marvelously so! It is a pity, my dear Ava, that you weren’t present to partake in it as well. I dare say even you might have found it interesting. A future foray is in order, perhaps, where you can eschew your obligations and join me on a grand adventure reminiscent of the tales of old.”
“I don’t have time for your antics right now, Abram,” she replied without a hint of emotion, though Raimond suspected a hint of a smile hiding behind that veil of hers. Probably. Though the ‘Steelgaze Deacon’ Ava Solnate did not earn her nickname for nothing. “The others have lodged several complaints towards me for enabling your actions this time.”
“For which you have my unending gratitude.”
“Do not expect a repetition of it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
A brief silence enveloped them as neither spoke. Raimond yawned, stretching his limbs as he settled back in his chair. Why his body had decided that any years after his twenties were the time to grace him with niggling discomforts, like lingering soreness and petty aches after expending a more-than-noticeable amount of his mana, remained a mystery he had yet to solve.
“…So what did you find?” his charming colleague eventually inquired after an ample span of quietude had passed. “What was so important that it warranted the involvement of a deacon of the Quorum in the affairs of a mere baroness?”
Suppressing a burgeoning grin, Raimond cleared his throat. “I believe we are both aware that the ‘mere baroness’ you are referring to is a touch more than just that, though I suppose you can be forgiven for not having immersed yourself in the reports as thoroughly as yours truly.”
“I am aware that she was the one to recently uncover one of the Chalices of Canon, among other notable artifacts and locations. That does not excuse your involvement today. I could have dispatched any of my operatives to address the situation.”
Raimond raised a finger and wagged it. “Ah, but you see, mademoiselle, that is where you are wrong. It’s all about the details, my dear. And in that realm, I may, in fact, be considered something of a virtuoso, as I’m sure you know. It’s precisely why I supported High Priest Matthew’s endorsement of the Baroness’ request.”
“So you claim.”
He let out a low chuckle as he leaned to the side and picked up Deacon Emberwood’s mask from where he’d placed it on the bed. “Behold, the fruits of my labor! Me and my compatriots expended sweat and spilled blood to obtain this prize, so I expect you to be suitably impressed.”
The image of Deacon Solnate paused for a moment, her attention fixed on the artifact in his hands. “….Very well. It appears there may have been some merit to your words this time,” she admitted, though Raimond felt a bit more enthusiasm was warranted. Hopefully the others would have more engaging reactions.
“There were nine other relics left behind by the venerable Deacon as well,” he said. “For now, they remain in the shrine, but I am sure you can send over a Custodian to inspect them when you see fit.”
“I’ll have one sent over tomorrow.”
“Efficient as always, I see.”
“What more did you learn?” the woman asked.
Raimond knitted his brows in thought. “Hmm. That one is a bit more challenging to answer. There were a great deal of intriguing facets I observed today, but I believe it can all be effectively encapsulated in a single sentence.”
Deacon Solnate seemed to wait for him to continue as several seconds passed, but finally, he heard what might have been a small sigh through the invaluable communication artifact. “…And what is that?”
“I’m glad you asked!” he proclaimed, assuming a serious expression as he shifted his posture and leaned forward in his seat. “My deduction is thus: I suspect we have greatly underestimated the importance Baroness Scarlett Hartford might play in the future conflicts that will come.”
“You base this on her achievements up to this point, or your interactions with her during this excursion?”
“Both, but primarily the latter. She is a shrewd woman, but she is also unafraid to display many of her capabilities. Even so, while I say that, I speculate that what I have witnessed so far is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.”
“Then what do you suggest we do about her?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Raimond nodded his head. “For now, I believe that is the best course of action. We are yet to know her allies or her motives, and until we do, it is wisest not to poke the hornet’s nest. It would truly be a tragedy if we were to provoke a potential ally before we know more about her.”
“The others are unlikely to accept that stance should they hear your earlier assessment.”
A renewed smile graced Raimond’s features. “How fortunate I am that I can trust you not to so callously share a man’s lone confessions, am I not?”
The conjured image of his colleague gave him a long look. “…Was there anything further you had to say at the moment?”
“Hmm. Yes, perhaps. Have you heard tell of the empire’s new dragon slayer?”
“…What?”
Raimond chuckled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I do not believe the rumors have spread quite that far yet.”
“Are you still referring to Baroness Hartford?” Deacon Solnate asked.
“I am indeed.”
“She slew a dragon?”
“That is what some of the rumors suggest.”
“I am not interested in hearsay. I am asking for what you know, Raimond.”
“Ah. If so, then the answer is probably no.”
“Explain.”
Raimond brought a contemplative hand to his chin. “For now, it appears to mostly be a rumor local to Freybrook, but some of our fellow members of the cloth from there informed me that news had spread about the corpse of a deceased dragon appearing at Baroness Hartford’s mansion. How it got there and how the dragon met its end remain a mystery, but there were apparently several witnesses. I am sure I do not have to tell you how imaginative people can be.”
“Do we have any concrete information?”
“Some claim that Warley Godwin was the one responsible, and when I inquired with the Baroness’ entourage, they confirmed as much.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I’m not certain,” Raimond admitted. “From what I have seen, it wouldn’t be impossible for the Baroness and her group to take down a younger dragon, but I’m not optimistic about their chances.”
There was a short silence on the other end before Deacon Solnate nodded. “We’ll take this into consideration. Was that everything?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Then I will conclude our conversation here. The conclave with the Augur and the remaining deacons regarding the expanded defenses at the Sanctuary is starting soon. Do not expect me to provide excuses for your absence.” The woman moved as if to end their communication. “I expect a comprehensive report detailing today’s events to be delivered to me in writing by the end of the week.”
Raimond’s eyes widened. “Ah, wait, perhaps we can—”
The image dissolved as the obsidian gem inside the golden sphere reverted to its silver hue. Raimond sat there for a moment, realizing the looming threat that he had entirely overlooked when he first cajoled Ava into allowing him to temporarily return to his previous station.
In the years since his departure from the Ecclesiastical Congregation of Sacraments, he had never had to compile a report due to the relative freedom his current position and authority afforded him, and as such, he had almost entirely forgotten one of his most dreaded existences.
He had forgotten the paperwork.
Raimond’s eyes swept across the underground chamber as he and his eclectic band of newfangled companions took a delectable moment or three to catch their breaths and bask in the glory of the splendid triumph they had all just achieved. He wore his most dazzling of smiles as his gaze briefly lingered on each member of the group.
The Shielder duo—consisting of Allyssa Astrey, with her spirited personality, and Shin Thornthon, poised and with an inquiring mind—boasted a delightful contrast that harmonised beautifully. Their undeniable bond was evident as Allyssa fussed and scolded her partner for his carelessness while simultaneously helping him treat the minor scrapes that remained after Raimond’s healing magic had worked its wonders.
The pair radiated a youthful energy and vigor that Raimond was certain would carry them far in life, as long as they managed to avoid crossing paths with any vexed dragons or the like. The Shields Guild was a beacon of good in the empire in many ways, but its members were not always known for their circumspection.
Beside them, the enigmatic white-haired fellow known only as ‘Fynn’ sat on the stone floor, his eyes closed in a meditative trance. The youth’s current demeanor was a rather stark juxtaposition to the ferocity and intensity he had displayed earlier in combat. He gave Raimond the impression of a lurking predator, embodying both the natural innocence and ruthlessness of a wild beast.
Raimond had heard tales of the tribe that had made the Whitdown Mountains their home for generations, coexisting alongside the empire in an extraordinary feat of relative harmony, but he had never thought he’d have the opportunity to meet one of their members in the flesh. He considered himself exceptionally fortunate for having done so.
Leaning against the wall next to Fynn was perhaps the most captivating of the group—if Raimond could say so himself—and a woman much of the same cloth as him. Rosa drank water from a flask like a person parched for three days, holding the receptacle above her head to let the liquid wash her skin of the sweat and grime from their previous encounter.
Raimond found himself rather intrigued by the woman, not only for her delightful personality and the fact that she was a wonderful conversationalist. He was also intrigued by her curious blend of magic. Minstrels were common enough throughout the empire’s cozy hamlets and bustling cities, but those practiced in the arts of bardic charms were rare north of the Luicean Isles. Among those he had met, while they had all been without a doubt pleasant encounters in their own right, Rosalina Hale seemed to have a special quality of her own.
Last, but certainly not least, Raimond’s gaze settled on the proverbial heart of this group, the fervid-yet-wintry Baroness Scarlett Hartford. The red-haired woman appeared much as weary as her companions after dealing with the infused Auranthial left behind by the venerable Deacon Donovan Emberwood. Yet, that did not diminish the dignified aura she exuded as she crossed her arms before her chest, casting a sharp and discerning gaze over the others.
Though Raimond still considered himself a fresh, budding bachelor in the prime of his life—he was still a youthful thirty-three—he had lived long enough to encounter his fair share of remarkable figures over the years. While not all were as uniquely fascinating and entertaining as the Baroness, individuals of her calibre were not as rare as one might expect.
Or perhaps they were, but it was a kind of rarity akin to finding a four-leaf clover in a vast field. A pleasant surprise when stumbled upon, but if one continued their exploration long enough, they were bound to discover more.
Even with that said, Raimond couldn’t deny that he had observed qualities in the noblewoman that were singular to her. Just as each clover could possess its own distinct pattern, the Baroness held a captivating enigma where that pattern took the shape of fiery flames amid a flurry of ice and snow, all centered around a tiny bud of what could perhaps signify a possible fifth leaf.
To one such as Raimond, who found nothing more beautiful and brilliant than the hidden potential within each person, what he had witnessed in the Baroness was an allure that set the very embers in his heart ablaze with ardour.
During their first encounter at the Light Fest in Elystead, he immediately sensed that she was not your typical noble. Even his dear compatriot, Livvi Knottley—whose intuition and acumen Raimond held in high regard—had been surprised by the woman at the time, despite ostensibly having known her since childhood.
The stories he had heard of the Baroness after that and her actions during the Providing Ceremony confirmed his initial impressions, and subsequent encounters had only solidified his belief.
But it wasn’t until today, after having been afforded the almost serendipitous opportunity to accompany the Baroness and her group on this fascinating excursion, that he could form a clearer picture of the woman’s true character.
Many questions remained unanswered, and numerous mysteries still intrigued him, but he believed himself to now understand enough of her character, though the motivations behind some of her actions still eluded him. The single most significant mystery of all was perhaps the one she kept closest to her chest and the one that intrigued him the most: whom, exactly, were all these recent exploits of hers for?
He was well-informed of the many curious trips and discoveries she had made of late, as were, he imagined, several other notable figures in the empire. This included some of her dealings with the mage towers, a major auction house in Elystead, and newly forged relations with the Withersworth family in Autumnwell.
It all painted the picture of a noblewoman who had somehow acquired valuable information in several noteworthy areas and was determined to leverage it swiftly and efficiently to increase her wealth and influence. While she did so in a fashion that was slightly unorthodox for a member of the aristocracy, it aligned quite closely with the nobility’s general goal of personal and hierarchical advancement.
However, what Raimond saw was something more far-reaching. He perceived not a noble lady simply aiming to increase her own power, but a woman preparing herself, caring little for what others made of her actions. Whether this determination was fueled by confidence or ignorance was harder to discern, but he leaned towards the former. She possessed access to knowledge and resources that astounded even him in some ways, and he had no doubt that she was keenly aware of the brewing storms beneath the empire’s surface.
As a result, the burning question that most ignited Raimond’s curiosity and concern was which side of the coming conflict she would align herself with.
Though he wished to banish the idea, Raimond wasn’t so naive as to entertain the notion that every noble possessed a heart filled with pure intentions and unwavering dedication to the empire, ready to relinquish both wealth and life to protect it. It was a lamentable fact, but reality painted a different picture. While certain nobles, such as Duke Tyndall and Marchioness Thackeray, were paragons in their own right in that regard, even their steadfast loyalty had its issues, and the empire bore a tapestry of historical and contemporary complexities that heralded perilous times ahead.
The Baroness turned her gaze towards him, and Raimond offered one of his most resplendent smiles. In return, she gave him a stout nod before diverting her attention to the rest of the chamber again, seemingly getting lost in thought.
Indeed, he would have liked for his interactions with the Baroness today to have convinced him of her good-natured intentions for the empire at large, but he could not be fully convinced of that. For though he held a deep respect for the woman and how she treated her subordinates, and he recognized that many of the more unsavory rumors surrounding her character were either unfounded or no longer entirely accurate, he had also seen signs that aligned with his fears.
Scarlett Hartford was not a woman who flinched in the face of adversity, nor did she budge from her chosen path, even for those who might be called her allies. Raimond observed no hesitation in her when it came to doing what she considered necessary, a quality that could be a double-edged sword.
The Baroness’ motive for visiting this shrine today went beyond the mere acquisition and tracking of ancient relics, a task she had seemingly undertaken at many other historically significant locations. Nor did her presence here center around research related to Deacon Emberwood and the three figures who had once been the man’s disciples, as she claimed. Or, at least, not solely. While Raimond’s understanding of the true underlying purpose of today’s expedition remained incomplete, he was certain the Baroness had grander aspirations within these hallowed walls.
And she viewed the Followers as an impediment obstructing her path to achieve that goal.
Raimond wondered what lengths she might have gone to get her way had he not been as obliging as he had been? Would she have been content with what she obtained, or would she have devised an alternate strategy to ensure her success? The answer, once more, pivoted on the axis of her motivations.
It was not often Raimond placed himself in a quandary quite like this one. Had any of his peers been in his position, he imagined they would have assumed a much more assertive approach with the Baroness, aiming to ascertain her allegiances. He suspected they might have come to regret it, eventually.
Once each member of the Baroness’ party had recuperated enough, the woman issued the command that they were leaving. Raimond had maintained his quiet while they waited to avoid being a nuisance, but he seized this opportunity to inquire about an earlier event he had that had left him captivatingly—and figuratively—charmed.
“Miss Hale, Baroness, if I may, I have a couple of queries that I would like to make.”
Both women shifted their attention to him.
“I suspect I already know their contents,” the Baroness said.
“That would not surprise me in the least.” With a flourish of his arm, Raimond gestured towards the other end of the chamber. There, an intricate interplay of dark and pale splotches on the stone floor showcased the remnants of the strange magic the duo had employed to counter Deacon Emberwood’s infused Auranthial’s grand spell earlier. “What manner of magic was it you displayed earlier? I do not believe I have ever witnessed anything quite like it, though I am grateful for the privilege of now having done so. Among the myriad genres of magic and various disciplines I am familiar with, I’ve not encountered such an enchanting spectacle in many moons.”
He had already been aware that the Baroness primarily relied on her own unique strain of magic. Her masterful command over pyrokinesis and hydrokinesis was awe-inspiring, to say the least, and there were most certainly a plethora of mages who would eat their robes if they witnessed the ease with which she appeared to practice the skill. While she claimed not to know any spells beyond that, Raimond harbored doubts about the reliability of that statement. It strained credulity, from what he knew.
However, even with her distinctive use of magic and enigmatic capabilities, Raimond grappled with how to classify what he had witnessed earlier. It bore similarities to certain spells and phenomena he was familiar with, yet he had observed none of the same techniques in use during the display.
“What you witnessed there was a fusion of my pyrokinesis and Miss Hale’s bardic charms,” the Baroness explained. “As you may have observed, it boasts some interesting attributes.”
Rosa offered an extravagant bow, punctuated by the tipping of an imaginary hat. “I invariably aim to infuse a dash of ‘interesting’ into everything I touch, thank you very much. Naturally, this ethos extends even to my esteemed employer’s more heated enterprises.”
The Baroness gave the woman a flat look, but Raimond nodded. “I find myself increasingly afflicted with envy for the exceptional individuals you surround yourself with, Baroness. It appears fate has bestowed upon you quite the blessing with the company you keep.”
That explanation aligned much with what he would have expected. While the carefree and often frivolous nature of bards tended to overshadow the significance of their charms as a discipline among mages and other magic practitioners, there were more comprehensive reasons behind the general disregard for bardic charms in the empire. It was a well-known fact that charms and their intricacies defied most understandings, and while mages were inquisitive by nature, rarely did they choose to spend time on seemingly futile pursuits when there were other things to study.
Raimond considered himself slightly more open-minded than most mages in that regard, but even he had to concede that the essence of what he had witnessed earlier remained a mystery to him as well. Although he had caught glimpses of the mana and composition of the Baroness’ magic, perceiving and comprehending the enigmatic echoes that the bard’s charm produced proved a feat beyond his reach.
“When did you both find the time to even practice and learn that thing?” Allyssa asked, joining their little group as Fynn and Shin exchanged a few words a short distance away. “I’ve never seen it before, but it was…breathtaking.”
Rosa grinned and gave a playful shrug. “Oh, you know. We managed to sneak in some training here and there.” The woman waggled her brows. “When you have a certain noblewoman looking over your shoulder all the time, it sometimes feels like one day stretches into three.”
Allyssa paused, her eyes widening slightly as if finding some hidden meaning in those words, and Raimond observed the subtle exchange. It seemed like there were even more mysteries that the Baroness was hiding.
“If we have sated your curiosity, Father Abraham, shall we make our departure?” the Baroness asked, her focus on Raimond.
He turned his attention to her and offered a warm smile. “Yes, let us, I say. I believe we have quite the thrilling tale to share with our resident shrine custodian and high priest upon our return.”
With that, the group moved over to the wall where they could climb back to the undercroft located under the Sunfire Shrine. Raimond waited until last before he began his ascent, casting a final contemplative glance at the vestiges of the Auranthial left behind by Deacon Emberwood centuries prior.
It was an unfortunate fate indeed that the man had been driven to such depths of anguish that he deemed it necessary to infuse an Auranthial with his essence. Raimond thought the fate of the existence the man had created needlessly cruel, suffering through centuries of uneventful waiting in a place such as this, yet he couldn’t help but admire the unyielding determination of the venerable deacon.
Scaling the passage above him, Raimond joined Baroness Hartford and the others in the undercroft, where an acolyte seemed to have been waiting for them. He instructed the acolyte to summon the shrine’s custodian.
The man arrived soon enough, wearing a tired expression as he crossed the underground chamber. One might have thought he had been the one navigating a centuries-old tomb replete with perilous constructs devised by a powerful deacon, though Raimond refrained from passing judgement.
He imagined there were few people who would greet the sudden arrival of an outsider, unearthing long-held secrets hidden beneath their noses for generations, with enthusiasm.
“What did you find?” Reverend Stanway asked, his attention first on Raimond before turning to the Baroness. “Were there any complications?”
“Nothing beyond our capabilities,” the woman answered in her characteristically curt tone.
“We stumbled upon several Auranthials left behind by Deacon Emberwood, as well as three memorials dedicated to what appears to have been his personal secular disciples,” Raimond said. “Fortunately, there was little damage to anything of importance, providing ample opportunity to explore what remains at your leisure.”
He had to admit that he was impressed by the care the Baroness’ group had shown in preserving even some of the seemingly insignificant sections of the tomb. Most of the damage their surroundings had suffered resulted from the spells launched by the Auranthials, which likely would have been inevitable even with a more extensive recovery party.
Reverend Stanway adopted a contemplative frown. “His secular disciples, you say?”
“That I did.” Raimond nodded. “Most of the relics left behind by the deacon remain undisturbed. I suggest you have someone catalog them for now, while you await the arrival of the Congregation’s Curators to assess them and determine the appropriate course of action.” Raimond showed the gold mask he had retrieved from the infused Auranthial’s remains. “I shall be requisitioning this on behalf of the Congregation and ensure it is brought where it belongs for now.”
The man’s eyes widened in rapt astonishment as he gazed upon the mask. “I-I understand…”
“We will now be taking our leave,” the Baroness declared as she walked past the Reverend, who took a brief moment to tear his eyes from the mask and direct them towards the noblewoman, who seemed to have relegated his presence to the back of her mind.
Raimond’s gaze followed her. While the Baroness and the shrine custodian hadn’t had the most auspicious of first encounters, he knew countless nobles who would have reveled in the opportunity to flaunt their achievement in the man’s face in a situation like this. However, it came as no surprise that Baroness Hartford didn’t bother. She seemed the type who cared little unless you truly offended her, such as Count Soames once had.
He offered his fellow priest a congenial smile. “It appears that I am left with little choice but to join them. They serve as my transportation, you see.”
He proceeded to walk past the man as he followed in the wake of the Baroness and her entourage as they exited the undercroft and made their way through the Sunfire Shrine’s corridors, emerging into the courtyard where the carriage they had arrived in still waited.
The return journey to Bridgespell proved an uneventful one. Regrettably, Raimond found himself short one conversational partner as Rosa seized the chance to doze off during the entire ride. Nonetheless, it provided an amusing spectacle to witness the winsome bard’s head repeatedly droop onto the Baroness’ shoulder, only to be persistently pushed away as the noblewoman shot her irked glances.
In Rosa’s absence, Raimond instead capitalized on this opportunity to forge deeper connections with the two young Shielders and the laconic Fynn, engaging in casual conversation.
Upon reaching Bridgespell, their first destination was the expansive temple belonging to the Followers, nestled in the Emberwood Ward.
As the carriage pulled to a halt near the square leading to the temple, the Baroness cast a frosty look at the slumbering bard beside her before turning to the Shielders sitting to Raimond’s right. “Miss Astley, Mister Thornthon, the two of you may remain in the carriage along with Miss Hale, while Fynn and I go and meet with the high priest.”
“Alright,” Allyssa replied, and Shin nodded in agreement.
With that, the Baroness elegantly disembarked from the carriage, followed by Fynn, with Raimond being the last to step out.
As both of their gazes alighted upon him, he straightened his pristine white robes with one hand, the other maintaining a firm grip on the strap of a knapsack holding his personal effects.
He glanced at the Baroness’ appearance, then looked back into the carriage and at its current occupants. “If you’ll allow me to say, it appears that Miss Hale might not be the only one in need of some rest. After the day’s taxing ordeal, returning to your lodgings and indulging in some well-deserved respite might be a prudent course of action.”
“You don’t look that tired,” Allyssa’s voice floated from within the carriage as she leaned forward to peek at him through the open cabin door. “Don’t priests need breaks?”
“On the contrary, my friend. I am a staunch advocate of beauty sleep, lest I risk depriving people, and myself, of my lustrous presence.” Raimond chuckled. “And I can assure you that I, too, am rather fatigued, though it may not be too outwardly apparent.”
“I intend to rest once I conclude my talks with the high priest regarding today’s expedition,” the Baroness said behind him, and Raimond turned to her once more as the woman seemed to scrutinize him. “Will you be joining in the meeting?”
He shook his head. “I might visit the man later, but first, I will have to report to my superiors. They are the stringent sort.”
The woman’s gaze stayed on him for a prolonged beat, and Raimond found himself rather amused trying to decipher her thoughts. For a fleeting instant, he even considered the possibility that she knew the identity of his supposed ‘superiors’, although that seemed improbable.
Perhaps he was becoming a touch too drawn in by the enigmatic aura of certainty and prescience that the Baroness cultivated through her words and actions. He thought it somewhat unfair to suspect her solely because of that, even if there was a slight chance.
“Very well.” The Baroness eventually gave a curt nod in reply.
Raimond turned his attention back to those in the carriage cabin. “It has been a most enjoyable day, my transitory companions. Today has unfolded as a most gratifying interlude for myself, and I am certain that the future surely holds marvelous and splendid endeavours in store for both of you, Allyssa, Shin. I fervently hope circumstances align for us to rendezvous once more soon. Please, extend my most grateful adieus to our slumbering Miss Hale as well, and convey my appreciation for her delightful company.”
“Understood,” Shin said.
Allyssa let out a small chuckle. “I think she might not be thrilled to have slept through your goodbye, though.”
“Ah, but what can one do to resist the siren call of slumber when it beckons with gossamer threads of languor and lethargy into the realm of dreams?” Raimond offered a subtle bow. “While I would love to offer my farewells to a fellow connoisseur of life’s finer pleasures, I would be even more remiss to wake her from her repose. Yet, who knows? Mayhap fate will conspire to have our reunion be earlier than one might expect?”
“I believe that is enough for the goodbyes,” the Baroness interjected. The woman’s eyes passed over her retainers in the carriage. “We will return within the hour.”
With those words, she turned and headed towards the temple, accompanied by the ever-taciturn Fynn. Her demeanor showed very little concern for the scattered curious glances cast her way from the various onlookers in the square.
Offering one final smile to Allyssa and Shin, Raimond executed a graceful spin on his heel and hastened his stride to catch up with the noblewoman and her white-haired companion. As they reached the temple’s entrance, the Baroness cast a sidelong glance in his direction.
“What are your plans from here, Father Abraham?” she asked.
“Well, that is ever a question for me, Baroness. My superiors can be a fickle lot, so one never knows what expectations they might have or what they will request next. Should there be nothing of specific import, I will be returning to my role as a traveling priest, spreading the light and teachings of Ittar to those weary souls in need of his grace.”
“It appears your responsibilities within the Ecclesiastical Congregation of Sacraments are rather lax and undefined, Father. I was not even aware you were a member before today.”
“I confess, it is not often I am called upon for these types of ventures, and rarer still is the occasion when I am afforded the opportunity to do so alongside familiar faces.”
The Baroness briefly glanced at Fynn, who was observing the passing priests and townsfolk, before returning her attention forward. “I see. And these superiors of yours — are they the ones who oversee the Congregation’s matters?”
“In a manner, yes.” Raimond stepped aside to assist an older lady who had nearly stumbled on one of the steps. The lady thanked him, and he soon returned to the Baroness’ side. “The head of the Congregation is a stern woman who is perhaps best described as the embodiment of an arctic breeze surrounding the purest of hydrangeas. We share a unique rapport, you see — one built and cultivated on trust across years of shared toilings. There’s nothing quite like it.”
The Baroness leveled a long look at him. “…I am sure.”
They entered the temple, arriving inside the main vestibule. Raimond turned to the noblewoman and the young man next to him, smiling warmly. “This is where our paths will have to diverge, I’m afraid. As ever, a pleasure to meet you, Baroness, and you, my mystifying comrade of newfound camaraderie, Fynn.”
Fynn simply nodded in return. “I don’t really understand what you’re saying, but okay? Bye.”
Raimond was shocked to see what might have been the tiniest hint of a smile creep onto the Baroness’ face as she regarded him. “While your enthusiasm teeters on the level of being daunting, the sentiment is mutual. Until next we meet, Father Abraham.”
Raimond found his spirits rather enlivened at that. With a wink and the elegant brandishing of his hair, as it flowed over his shoulders, he executed a smooth turn and began his journey towards one of the hallways on the left side of the chamber.
The day’s proceedings had left him with a deep sense of accomplishment, though he did lament the absence of a pretext to enjoy some more time with the Baroness and her group. If only he weren’t certain that a member of the Dawnbringers would be sent to retrieve him if he dallied any longer, he might have dared to extend his little sojourn here in Bridgespell.
Navigating the temple’s corridors, Raimond passed the occasional priest or acolyte who offered him short greetings when they recognized the symbols emblazoned on his sleeves, marking his association with the Congregation. It had been some time since he last had the chance to wear these garments.
Eventually, he arrived at a secluded chamber nestled deep within the temple. These would be his temporary quarters while in Bridgespell, although it didn’t appear as if he would have much time to enjoy them.
Tossing his knapsack onto a modest bed tucked in the corner, he untied its top and extracted the gold mask inside, regarding it for a moment.
It had once been tradition among the deacons of the Quorum to inherit the veils of their predecessors. A blend of symbolism and practicality, perpetuating the lineage of the original ten deacons and the powerful relics in their possession. Over time, more and more of those veils had disappeared from the roster as deacons succumbed or went missing during times of tumult or upheaval. However, one particular veil’s whereabouts had remained an enigma since the tradition’s inception.
Now, they knew why. Deacon Emberwood had used his veil—the mask that marked his seat as a deacon—for infusement when forging that Auranthial. For the first time in over three centuries, it could now reclaim its place within the fold.
Raimond imagined it would have been a rather momentous and sentimental occasion if it had been presented to the Quorum a couple of centuries prior, when all the veils still remained. It lost some of its effect when there was only one other left.
Still, he expected to receive some amusing reactions when he did present it to the others. It was a legendary artifact dating back to the founding of their order, after all. Old Gresham, in particular, would probably be exuberant over his seat finally regaining one of its ancient regalia after all this time. Alas, the task of coaxing a smile from the man was an exercise in futility.
With a wistful sigh, Raimond set the mask aside and turned his attention to another item he had extracted from his knapsack. A diminutive golden sphere with a mesmerizing silver gem at its core.
Using a handkerchief, he wiped away some of the dust that had collected on its surface—it was a priceless and irreplaceable relic only in possession of the Quorum’s ten deacons, and he would rather not anyone discover he sometimes kept it in a mundane knapsack—before infusing it with his mana.
The gem inside turned a shade of black as it was cloaked in a dark fog, and Raimond positioned the sphere on a small table next to the bed as he pulled out a chair to sit.
A few moments passed before the air above the sphere flickered, and the translucent visage of the top half of a woman adorned in a gold mask materialized. Onyx tresses cascaded down from the side of the mask, ending in an elegant tail over her left shoulder and the red robes she was wearing.
“Deacon Abram,” the woman’s voice carried an austere edge as her gaze seemed to pierce through Raimond, even through her mask. “Did you have fun evading your responsibilities while you embarked on your little escapade?”
He met her with his most charming of smiles. “Marvelously so! It is a pity, my dear Ava, that you weren’t present to partake in it as well. I dare say even you might have found it interesting. A future foray is in order, perhaps, where you can eschew your obligations and join me on a grand adventure reminiscent of the tales of old.”
“I don’t have time for your antics right now, Abram,” she replied without a hint of emotion, though Raimond suspected a hint of a smile hiding behind that veil of hers. Probably. Though the ‘Steelgaze Deacon’ Ava Solnate did not earn her nickname for nothing. “The others have lodged several complaints towards me for enabling your actions this time.”
“For which you have my unending gratitude.”
“Do not expect a repetition of it.”
“I wouldn’t dare.”
A brief silence enveloped them as neither spoke. Raimond yawned, stretching his limbs as he settled back in his chair. Why his body had decided that any years after his twenties were the time to grace him with niggling discomforts, like lingering soreness and petty aches after expending a more-than-noticeable amount of his mana, remained a mystery he had yet to solve.
“…So what did you find?” his charming colleague eventually inquired after an ample span of quietude had passed. “What was so important that it warranted the involvement of a deacon of the Quorum in the affairs of a mere baroness?”
Suppressing a burgeoning grin, Raimond cleared his throat. “I believe we are both aware that the ‘mere baroness’ you are referring to is a touch more than just that, though I suppose you can be forgiven for not having immersed yourself in the reports as thoroughly as yours truly.”
“I am aware that she was the one to recently uncover one of the Chalices of Canon, among other notable artifacts and locations. That does not excuse your involvement today. I could have dispatched any of my operatives to address the situation.”
Raimond raised a finger and wagged it. “Ah, but you see, mademoiselle, that is where you are wrong. It’s all about the details, my dear. And in that realm, I may, in fact, be considered something of a virtuoso, as I’m sure you know. It’s precisely why I supported High Priest Matthew’s endorsement of the Baroness’ request.”
“So you claim.”
He let out a low chuckle as he leaned to the side and picked up Deacon Emberwood’s mask from where he’d placed it on the bed. “Behold, the fruits of my labor! Me and my compatriots expended sweat and spilled blood to obtain this prize, so I expect you to be suitably impressed.”
The image of Deacon Solnate paused for a moment, her attention fixed on the artifact in his hands. “….Very well. It appears there may have been some merit to your words this time,” she admitted, though Raimond felt a bit more enthusiasm was warranted. Hopefully the others would have more engaging reactions.
“There were nine other relics left behind by the venerable Deacon as well,” he said. “For now, they remain in the shrine, but I am sure you can send over a Custodian to inspect them when you see fit.”
“I’ll have one sent over tomorrow.”
“Efficient as always, I see.”
“What more did you learn?” the woman asked.
Raimond knitted his brows in thought. “Hmm. That one is a bit more challenging to answer. There were a great deal of intriguing facets I observed today, but I believe it can all be effectively encapsulated in a single sentence.”
Deacon Solnate seemed to wait for him to continue as several seconds passed, but finally, he heard what might have been a small sigh through the invaluable communication artifact. “…And what is that?”
“I’m glad you asked!” he proclaimed, assuming a serious expression as he shifted his posture and leaned forward in his seat. “My deduction is thus: I suspect we have greatly underestimated the importance Baroness Scarlett Hartford might play in the future conflicts that will come.”
“You base this on her achievements up to this point, or your interactions with her during this excursion?”
“Both, but primarily the latter. She is a shrewd woman, but she is also unafraid to display many of her capabilities. Even so, while I say that, I speculate that what I have witnessed so far is only the tip of the proverbial iceberg.”
“Then what do you suggest we do about her?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
Raimond nodded his head. “For now, I believe that is the best course of action. We are yet to know her allies or her motives, and until we do, it is wisest not to poke the hornet’s nest. It would truly be a tragedy if we were to provoke a potential ally before we know more about her.”
“The others are unlikely to accept that stance should they hear your earlier assessment.”
A renewed smile graced Raimond’s features. “How fortunate I am that I can trust you not to so callously share a man’s lone confessions, am I not?”
The conjured image of his colleague gave him a long look. “…Was there anything further you had to say at the moment?”
“Hmm. Yes, perhaps. Have you heard tell of the empire’s new dragon slayer?”
“…What?”
Raimond chuckled. “No, I suppose you wouldn’t. I do not believe the rumors have spread quite that far yet.”
“Are you still referring to Baroness Hartford?” Deacon Solnate asked.
“I am indeed.”
“She slew a dragon?”
“That is what some of the rumors suggest.”
“I am not interested in hearsay. I am asking for what you know, Raimond.”
“Ah. If so, then the answer is probably no.”
“Explain.”
Raimond brought a contemplative hand to his chin. “For now, it appears to mostly be a rumor local to Freybrook, but some of our fellow members of the cloth from there informed me that news had spread about the corpse of a deceased dragon appearing at Baroness Hartford’s mansion. How it got there and how the dragon met its end remain a mystery, but there were apparently several witnesses. I am sure I do not have to tell you how imaginative people can be.”
“Do we have any concrete information?”
“Some claim that Warley Godwin was the one responsible, and when I inquired with the Baroness’ entourage, they confirmed as much.”
“Do you believe them?”
“I’m not certain,” Raimond admitted. “From what I have seen, it wouldn’t be impossible for the Baroness and her group to take down a younger dragon, but I’m not optimistic about their chances.”
There was a short silence on the other end before Deacon Solnate nodded. “We’ll take this into consideration. Was that everything?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Then I will conclude our conversation here. The conclave with the Augur and the remaining deacons regarding the expanded defenses at the Sanctuary is starting soon. Do not expect me to provide excuses for your absence.” The woman moved as if to end their communication. “I expect a comprehensive report detailing today’s events to be delivered to me in writing by the end of the week.”
Raimond’s eyes widened. “Ah, wait, perhaps we can—”
The image dissolved as the obsidian gem inside the golden sphere reverted to its silver hue. Raimond sat there for a moment, realizing the looming threat that he had entirely overlooked when he first cajoled Ava into allowing him to temporarily return to his previous station.
In the years since his departure from the Ecclesiastical Congregation of Sacraments, he had never had to compile a report due to the relative freedom his current position and authority afforded him, and as such, he had almost entirely forgotten one of his most dreaded existences.
He had forgotten the paperwork.
