Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

Drosin harrumphed. “Begging Your Excellency’s pardon, but Keeper Sol just said they weren’t lycanthropes. Doesn’t mean they’re not killers.”

Maellas just smiled wanly as Drosin kissed his ring and strode off, muttering about “murderous shifters.”

Andri moved in to take the noble’s place. He bent to kiss the proffered ring, an ornate silver band set with a single, bright diamond. He was surprised to see the prelate’s finger blistering around the ring, and then he remembered-Bishop Maellas was said to be allergic to silver, yet he wore the traditional symbol of his office without complaint, virtuously offering his pain up to the Silver Flame as penance for the sins of all the Purified. Or perhaps the elf Bishop wore it as proof of his devotion to the Flame, for even after two centuries, some still doubted that one of the Aereni could be loyal to the Tenet of Purity. But Andri dismissed such aspersions out of hand. Race was no indicator of virtue, and by all accounts, Maellas was doing a better job of leading the faithful than many of his human counterparts.

Silver dust, which no amount of washing could ever completely remove, glittered around the elf’s fingernails, a sure sign that Maellas was still a working priest, despite his years as a prelate. The lingering traces of silverburn gave mute testimony to the many Masses over which he presided, as well as his own private rites. Though Andri knew that in this, at least, the Bishop chose practicality over piety. While the ceremonial powder used to make mundane fires burn with an argent hue was normally made with actual silver, Maellas and his staff used a special mix that utilized platinum instead. Doing so required special dispensation from the Diet of Cardinals, and the cost was high enough to make even him blink. Accordingly, an allergy to silver would have been enough to turn most seminarians away from the priesthood, but Maellas’s piety was such that he would not let the limitations of an imperfect body keep him from the path he had chosen. Andri found it hard to believe that so devout a follower of the Flame could truly be the scheming bigot Irulan had described, but that’s what he was here to ascertain.

Straightening, he saw the Bishop looking at his necklace, which had slipped out from under his collar. Andri touched the holy symbol reverently before tucking it back in his shirt, a movement that brought the elf’s pale eyes back up to his face.

“Your Excellency,” Andri said formally, “I bring you greetings from His Eminence, the Most Reverend Cardinal Riathan, and Her Holiness, the Keeper Jaela Daran.”

Maellas’s eyebrows shot up.

“Well met, indeed, sir paladin. Come, I was just about to break my fast with Ancillary Bishop Xanin. You must join us.”

“Aeyliros. Of course. I thought you looked familiar, and that would explain the claws. I knew your father well.”

Andri stiffened at the mention of his father, Alestair. He forced himself to relax. The Bishop was merely making polite conversation. And even if he wasn’t, and this was to be a skirmish of words, it would not do to hand the prelate arrows to loose against him this early in the fray.

“The claws, Your Excellency?”

Maellas took the last bite of a large flank steak, chewing the mouthful with obvious relish before swallowing. Xanin, a short blonde man with a perpetual frown, was watching the Bishop with a faint look of disgust. He’d refrained from eating, citing a large dinner the night before. Andri had limited himself to thrakel-spiced eggs and vedbread slathered with onion butter.

“They’re from a werewolf, yes? The same werewolf, Flame forgive me, that I sent your father to hunt nearly five years ago now. The same dread beast that infected him.”

Maellas put his fork down, and leaned over his plate, his face earnest and sorrowful.

“In many ways, Andri, it’s my fault your father died.”

Andri stilled, letting the wave of mingled grief and hatred wash over and through him, refusing to drown in it again. When it had passed, he replied, his tone short and inviting no further discussion on the matter.

“Forgive me, Your Excellency, but the blame for my father’s death lies solely on his shoulders, as does the blood of all those he took with him.”

“Of course, Andri,” Maellas said, pushing his plate away and wiping the corners of his mouth with a linen napkin before taking a delicate sip of tea. “Forgive me. I meant no offense.”

“I understand, Your Excellency. But I didn’t come here about my father.”

“Ah, yes. You mentioned a letter?”

Andri handed the letter over. Maellas read it and then passed it to Xanin without comment. Xanin scowled as he read the missive, muttering something under his breath and thrusting it back to Andri as though he’d touched something particularly repellent. He almost expected the Ancillary Bishop to wipe his hands with a napkin, but the blonde man refrained. When Andri folded the letter to replace it in his tabard, he noticed the corner was now smudged with silver.

“His Eminence has been made aware of the situation here in Aruldusk and has sent me to help track down the perpetrators. He asks that you share whatever information you may have gathered in the course of your investigation.”

Maellas gave him a bewildered smile. “I’m not sure I understand. The perpetrators have already been tracked down, and are currently awaiting trial.”

“Even for the latest murder?” He’d seen the front page of this morning’s Archives as he walked to Mass-SHIFTERS STRIKE AGAIN.

“Indeed. A shifter woman. She apparently had words with the victim in a local tavern shortly before the attack.”

“Odd that these murders are all being committed by shifters,” Andri said, careful to keep his tone offhand. “How is it that you are so certain of their guilt?”

“Well, there was one case where the main suspect was a human-a Throneholder, actually-but, otherwise, yes, the suspects have all been shifters. When the first murders occurred and seemed to be related, I feared that we might have some sort of demonic predator on our hands. So I spoke with Cardinal Riathan by means of a speaking stone and was given permission to lift the prohibition against necromancy in order to question the departed about their deaths. The victims all identified shifters. I’ve allowed no further speaking with the dead since then. Keeping their bodies from the fire also keeps their souls from their rightful place with the Flame.” He shuddered delicately. “It borders on sacrilege, and I would be remiss in my duty as spiritual leader of Aruldusk if I condoned such despicable practices, even to help apprehend a murderer.

“In any event, in each subsequent case there has been other evidence to support the arrest of a shifter, so such tactics were not needed. With the exception of the Throneholder, the murders appear to be the work of some subversive element within the shifter community. A shame, really, as it reflects badly on the entire shifter populace.”

“Have you uncovered a motive?” Andri leaned forward in spite of himself. From Irulan’s account, the only thing connecting the murders was their brutality and who was being accused of committing them. A motive linking all the killers had so far been glaringly absent.

The Bishop shook his head slightly. “No. More’s the pity. There is an ugly rumor going around that the murders are racially motivated, but I’ve done my best to squelch that before it gains too much momentum. That’s just the sort of narrow-mindedness that led to the Purge.”

Andri ignored that.

“Another shifter, you say?” At Maellas’s nod, he continued. “And you have proof of her guilt?”

It was Ancillary Bishop Xanin who answered, his voice as pinched as his face.