Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

“I have no intention of disturbing His Excellency this evening, but I do need a room.”

“You’re going to stay there?” she asked, surprised.

“Why wouldn’t I? It’s common practice for visiting warriors of the faith to abide at the local house of worship.”

“Even when you’re investigating the owner of that house?”

“Bishop Maellas does not own the Cathedral,” he said, somewhat impatiently, then caught himself. It was a common enough view among the laity, and not the part of her question that truly needed addressing. He waited until the porters were finished with his trunk, paid each of them a sovereign, and asked the driver to wait for a moment. Then he turned back to Irulan, took her arm and guided her a few paces away from the carriage. She shook his hand off. “What?”

“Irulan, there’s one thing you need to understand before we go any further,” he said quietly, choosing his words with care. “I am here to investigate the murders, not the Bishop. So far, the only thing Bishop Maellas stands accused of is not liking shifters-which, while it is an unfortunate prejudice, especially in a leader of the Church, is not a crime.” He pitched his next words low, so they would travel no further than her ears. “Maligning the Bishop in public, however, is . I would suggest you refrain from doing so.”

Her eyes had been narrowing to brown slits as he spoke, and now her lip curled back to reveal sharp teeth.

“Are you even here to help me? Or are you just-”

“I’m trying to help you!” Andri broke in, frustrated. “I’m trying to keep you from landing in a cell next to your brother’s!”

Irulan stared at him for several long heartbeats, hands flexing, and Andri wondered for a moment if she was going to hit him. Then she took a deep, calming breath.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. It’s just … this is my brother’s life we’re talking about. It makes me a little … emotional.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “Peace?”

“Peace.” Andri nodded, relieved. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she had decided to hit him. He was glad he wouldn’t have to find out.

“I still don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay at the Cathedral. You could be putting yourself in danger. Why not come stay out at the shifter camp with me? It’s not glamorous, but the tents are clean and the food is good.” She glanced appraisingly at his silvercloth shirt and her lips twisted. “On second thought, there’s an inn not far from here that might be more to your taste.”

“Perhaps that’s best. I’ll meet with His Excellency in the morning, then-”

“You’ll meet with him? What about me?”

Her smile had disappeared, replaced once more by narrowed eyes and her habitual snarl.

“Bishop Maellas is already … unkindly disposed towards you. I think our investigation might be better served if he didn’t realize we were working together just yet.”

Irulan looked skeptical.

“You’re going to lie? You? A paladin?”

Andri shrugged.

“I am a defender of the Flame and a servant of its Keeper, and truth is but one of many weapons at my disposal. Sometimes it is most effective when kept sheathed.”

The inn was, in fact, rather garish for Andri’s taste, but as he followed the halfling host down the gold-leafed hall to his rooms, he had a feeling the shifter had been quite aware of that when she made her recommendation, and was having a bit of fun at his expense. Literally.

The Golden Galifar was owned and operated by House Ghallanda, and the source of its name was twofold-nothing here cost less than a galifar, and virtually everything was covered in gilt, from the walls to the furniture to the employees, whose cloth-of-gold uniforms could feed a small family of dwarves for a month. He was just grateful that the sun had already set. Even thinking of the blinding reflections that would be bouncing through this place come morning gave him a headache.

His trunk was already in the sitting room, along with a “light snack” consisting of three courses. A fire crackled in the fireplace, steam rose from a hot bath, and the bed had been turned down, all in the time it had taken him to let the room and climb two flights of stairs.

“Is there anything else you require, my lord?” the halfling asked, bowing low.

“This is more than adequate, thank you,” Andri replied, and meant it. He could have used the Cardinal’s letter to secure his rooms here, but he’d chosen to pay himself. He had no great qualms about using Riathan’s coin instead of his own, though he could easily afford the cost. Andri simply didn’t want anyone to know why he was here until he’d had a chance to speak to Bishop Maellas, and flashing a letter with the Diet crest on it was not exactly the best way to keep a low profile.

“Excellent.” The halfling straightened with a wide smile. “Breakfast is served in the main dining room beginning at dawn. Late risers may take advantage of our brunch at the tenth bell.”

“When is the first Mass of the Silver Flame celebrated at the Cathedral?”

“The seventh bell, but if I may suggest it, you may want to try to attend the sunrise service in Tira’s Chapel. It’s usually much less crowded, and Bishop Maellas himself presides on Wir.”

“Does he, indeed? Well,” Andri said, handing the helpful concierge a galifar, “I certainly don’t want to miss that.”

The Tira Miron Chapel faced the rising sun, so that the altar was bathed in the chromatic light of half a dozen silver-filigreed stained glass windows during the entire service, an effect that was no doubt meant to awe and inspire the laity. Andri merely found it distracting as he watched Bishop Maellas prepare for the final blessing. The Bishop’s white robes and white-blond hair were tinted with rainbow hues from the windows. Blues and purples slashed across his chest, green and yellow swirls covered the lower half of his face, and his eyes were painted a disconcerting crimson.

“May the light of the Silver Flame shine in your every deed and burn ever bright in your hearts,” the Bishop intoned, raising his hands in benediction.

The congregation, heads bowed, responded in kind.

“And may the Flame illuminate our path and ever guide us.”

Andri made the sign of the Flame and stood along with the others as Bishop Maellas processed out of the chapel. While the faithful filed out, most stopping to greet the Bishop or ask for his blessing on some small token of the faith, Andri hung back, watching the prelate interact with the people of Aruldusk as he waited for the small crowd to thin out.

Maellas was tall, almost as tall as Andri himself, and slender, even for an elf. His eyes, when not colored by the light from the windows, were a pale green. He smiled politely at each member of the congregation, allowing them to kiss his ring or exchanging a few words with some of the better-dressed patrons. Andri thought he looked distracted. Or bored.

Andri followed the last of the stragglers out of the chapel and waited his turn in line. The man ahead of him, a noble dressed in ridiculous shades of saffron and salmon, was asking about the latest shifter arrest. Andri edged closer so he could hear.

“… I just don’t understand, Your Excellency. Another shifter arrested, and still the murders continue! Are they reprisal killings, do you think?” The man didn’t wait for an answer, just prattled on while Maellas pretended to look interested. “By the Flame! At this rate, we’ll have to clap the whole lot of them in irons just to make sure they don’t get any ideas!”

“Oh, I hardly think it will come to that, Lord Drosin,” Maellas replied mildly. “Surely all shifters can’t be evil. Our revered Keeper, Jolan Sol, declared it so himself during the Purge.”