John Carr - Siege of Tarr-Hostigos

She was changing the bandages on the stump of a man's arm when someone banged on the door to the street, loud enough to be heard over the din outside and the cries of the wounded inside. One of the house women looked through the peephole. Then she unbarred the door and jumped aside, with a look on her face that brought every fit man in the room to his feet.

Two of Styphon's Own Guardsmen strode in, their red cloaks flapping dramatically. Behind them came a tall man in a white robe. Two more of Styphon's Red Hand followed their white-robed charge inside, and then stood flanking the door. Sirna saw hostile glances flicking over the Guardsmen's clean clothing and silvered armor.

At least Holy Investigator Roxthar looked as if he'd worked today, and worked hard. His long hollow-cheeked face was coated with dust and soot and his robes were bloodstained and frayed. He reminded Sirna of a Fourth Level Christian representation of the Devil.

For a moment she wondered if Kalvan was the only cross-time hitchhiker on Styphon's House Subsector. Then she remembered the file on the Kalvan Control Time-Line equivalents to the major Archpriests. On one group of time-lines, possibly the beginning of a new paratime belt, Arch-priest Roxthar was purging Styphon's House almost as spectacularly as he was here. On several others he'd died mysteriously, doubtless courtesy of one of Archpriest Anaxthenes' handy little vials. On the rest Roxthar was ignored, or shunned by the rest of the Inner Circle.

Phidestros struggled to a sitting position and raised a hand in greeting. "Welcome, Your Holiness. Today Galzar's Hall is filled to bursting, but the first and vilest of the Daemon's nests has at last been burned out."

Roxthar nodded, as though acknowledging a remark about the weather, and then looked around the room. His nostrils flared.

"So this den of flesh-selling has served as the Captain-General's nest. I wondered why we had so often lacked your esteemed company at the Palace."

From the Grand Captain-General's face, Sirna knew his patience was strained nearly to the breaking point.

"I must admit, Your Holiness, that I much prefer the cries of honest passion in this house to the constant uproar in former Prince Ptosphes' Palace basement. No offense meant, of course. Let Styphon's Will Be Done!"

Roxthar's face paled. "Do not presume, Captain-General, or you may yet find yourself enjoying the hospitality of my Investigators."

"I also suspect they might find a soldier too much work, after so many women and children."

Roxthar's gray eyes turned into steel ball bearings. "Enough of this babble. We have the God of Gods to serve today. The Daemon Kalvan has fled, with the remnants of his host. The land he left behind is tainted with the evil he wrought; the servants of his devils lurk everywhere. Let the Investigation of Styphon finish its work, then we can attend to lesser duties."

It was just as well Roxthar didn't smile. If he had, Sirna knew she would have laughed out loud, hoping to wake up on the other side of the abyss between her and the sane reality of Home Time Line, where people didn't blow up castles in wars over non-existent gods. Instead she bit her lip and unwound the last strip of bandage, then stood up to take the sterilized fresh dressing from the soldier holding the basin.

The movement drew Roxthar's eyes. Sirna felt their hard, unclean gaze on her all the time she was binding on the dressing, emptying the water into the slop bucket and putting the old bandages into the empty basin to be returned to the cauldrons boiling in the kitchen. She was proud that her hands didn't tremble once.

At last there was nothing more to do except stand up and face the Investigator. He was now smiling, an expression to which his gaunt features hardly lent themselves. Sirna decided that she much preferred him expressionless.

"Those bandages have been boiled to drive out the fester-devils, have they not?"

"That is so, Your Holiness." Sirna was relieved that she'd kept all traces of a tremor out of her voice.

"That is knowledge given by the servant of demons, Kalvan, you know."

You're not afraid of death anymore, Sirna reminded herself. Besides, Roxthar won't spare a heretic even if she goes down on the floor and kisses his feet. Do as you please and at least you can hope to go out with dignity, like Ptosphes.

"That is so, Your Holiness. Yet the new compounding of fireseed was also brought by Kalvan. With the blessing of Styphon's holy priests, the new fireseed has been used in the guns of Styphon's Grand Host to smite Styphon's enemies. Is it not possible that the knowledge of smiting the fester-devils may also be used to aid Styphon's cause?"

Roxthar's vices did not include being at a loss for words. "This may be so. Yet I see no priests of Styphon's House here, to bless your work so that it may drive out devils and demons instead of letting them in. Also, it is too soon to tell what may come of this day's work. Not all demons leap forth at the wave of their servants' hands. Some bide their time."

If it weren't that her life was at stake, Sirna would have believed this conversation about demons and their servants totally absurd. "In your own words, Your Holiness-that may be so. Yet I have been healing the men of the Iron Band since the siege began. In all of them, the wounds are cleaner than they would have been without my work. Ask the Captain-General or the men themselves!

"As for there being no priest here-today there were many wounded and few hands to heal them. Should I have let men who shed their blood for Styphon die, their wounds stinking and festering, because there is no priest to bless work that I know is wholesome and good? If I did that, then you would have good cause to bring me before the Investigation. I think what I have done is good service to the God of Gods, and I will pray for his blessing and also for his mercy on you if you falsely accuse me."

She knew that the last sentences must have been audible on the street outside, from the way the door guards were looking behind them. Roxthar's smile froze, and then he shrugged.

"As Styphon Wills It. I only know what I must do in his service and also pray for his mercy if I misjudge what that is. You must come with us before the Investigation and hope that witnesses may be found in your behalf."

Sirna knew that her last moment was close at hand, and also that she was going to spend it as a woman of this time-line rather than as a scholar of First Level. Her right hand was at waist level, closing around the hilt of a non-existent dagger and she'd shifted her footing to open the distance between her and Roxthar. One of the Temple Guards stepped forward- and stopped a yard from Sirna, as a dozen mercenaries drew entirely real swords and daggers. Two more armed with halberds appeared on the stairway and a third in the door to the hall, with a pistol.

"Archpriest Roxthar," Phidestros said, in a tone that reminded Sirna of a baron she'd once heard sentencing a poacher. "There is nothing but truth in what this woman says. This I swear, by Styphon God of Gods and Galzar Wolfhead, by Yirtta Allmother and by Tranth who blesses the hands of the craftsman. My men will swear the same."

"How many of them?"

"As many as needed to make it unlawful for this woman to go before the Investigation, and ten more besides. The Iron Band knows good healing when it sees it."

One of the Temple Guardsmen started to draw his pistol at Phidestros' tone. An imperative and slightly frantic gesture from Roxthar stopped him. The Archpriest's good sense clearly extended to recognizing when he saw a situation where one false move would leave him and his guards dead on the floor and the Investigation of Styphon's enemies in chaos.

"We value your judgment and honor you for your good work in the Holy Investigation," Phidestros went on, as big a lie as Sirna had ever heard anyone deliver with a straight face. "Therefore we will also swear to watch this woman day and night, and bring word to the Investigation of any evil effects from her healing."