Marsheila Rockwell - Legacy of the Wolves

But that would not be today.

Bellowing with a rage he’d been holding in check for five long years, Andri brought his sword down in a mighty arc that cleaved Maellas’s skull in two, spraying pink and gray matter everywhere. As the werewolf’s dead body slumped atop Irulan’s, Andri tossed his sword aside. He heaved the cleric’s corpse off Irulan, then knelt down next to her and gathered her up into his arms. As the light faded from her brown eyes, she looked up at him and smiled.

“Proud … of you,” she whispered, then her eyelids fluttered closed, as if she were simply asleep, and Andri crushed her to him, hot tears coursing down his cheeks.

Mol, Eyre 16, 998 YK

Greddark watched as Andri tethered a fine gray stallion to the post and entered the small teahouse. It looked like the paladin had finally gotten his mount. Apparently, in Andri’s black-and-white world, killing a Bishop was less sinful than killing your parents-or at least more easily forgiven.

Greddark raised his hand in greeting, and the paladin nodded, crossing the room and taking the seat opposite him. Greddark summoned the waitress and ordered another cup of Silverleaf. Though this was supposedly one of the best tearooms in Flamekeep, neither the tea nor the service was as good as in Sigilstar. But what the shop lacked in amenities, it made up for with an atmosphere of studied serenity. And, frankly, after the events of the last few days, he could use a little relaxation.

Xanin’s men had broken through the doors shortly after Maellas’s death and the shifters who still lived had been taken into custody. Andri had been able to heal the worst of Irulan’s injuries, and she’d been taken to the House Jorasco enclave to recuperate. Xanin had cleared Andri of all charges and revoked the edict exiling them from the city. He had, however, suggested that Andri might like to go back to Flamekeep sooner rather than later, and the paladin had been more than happy to take his advice. Greddark had offered to accompany him back to Flamekeep. He needed to report to Dzarro anyway, and the information he had for the older dwarf was best told in person.

As he’d expected, the news that the murders had been committed by a high-ranking member of the Church, but one that was acting alone, was a tale neither Dzarro nor Queen Diani wanted to hear. It wasn’t a tale he particularly wanted to tell, either, once the effects of the Mark of Justice had begun to kick in, but Diani’s wizards had been able to lift the curse before any of the damage became permanent. And since Andri had elicited a promise from him not to reveal the existence of the Burnt Woods werewolf pack or the Silver Circle, Greddark had precious little else to offer, though the young queen did express an interest in the activities of the Arulduskan Throneholders. In the end, though, her compensation had been generous, even if remorse had compelled him to have half of it sent anonymously to Zoden’s mother. The lad had been bright, if overeager, and his poems hadn’t been half bad. Perhaps Lady ir’Marktaros would use the funds to set up a scholarship in her son’s name at the local bard’s college. Or perhaps she’d follow in her estranged husband’s footsteps and gamble it all away. Either way, Greddark’s guilt would be assuaged.

“Did your meeting go well?” Andri asked, sipping from his own steaming cup. The paladin had exchanged his armor for a brilliant white tabard and gray leather pants, though he still wore his father’s sword. Greddark imagined he probably slept with the thing.

“As well as could be expected.” Andri had figured out that Greddark’s true employer was higher up the Throneholder chain than Zoden, but if he suspected how high up, he was keeping it to himself. “Yours?”

“The same.” Andri had had to make his own report to the Keeper of the Flame and the Diet of Cardinals, something he’d been more than a little concerned about. But apparently the greater good of ridding the Church of a murderous-and embarrassing-canker had outweighed the evils of consorting with necromancers, defying a Bishop’s edict, and raising a weapon against a superior. Either that, or the Keeper’s favor had protected Andri from any punishment other than what the paladin would heap on himself-not even Jaela Daran could shield him from that.

“The Cardinals were very … lenient. Especially since I couldn’t tell them the one thing they really wanted to know.”

“Which was?”

Andri frowned, his forehead creasing with residual frustration. “Why. I mean, I realize that Maellas needed the other werewolves for his potion, and I even understand him hating Pater for infecting him. But surely he could have come up with some other way to draw the pack out? Why did he have to kill all those people? I just don’t understand how he could go from being such a good man to such an evil one. His prejudices aside, he was a good Bishop. It doesn’t make any sense.”

Greddark sloshed the dregs about in the bottom of his cup, considering. “Well, I’ve been thinking about that. I had a chance to visit with my wizard friend when the rail stopped in Sigilstar. He speculates that it was a side effect of the potion-that by using it to suppress his lycanthropic nature, Maellas was actually losing his ability to control himself whenever he did change and reverting back to the way he was immediately after he was infected, before his own better nature had a chance to reassert itself. Basically, the longer he used the potion, the more evil he became, but because of the effects of the spell, that evil only became apparent when he changed. He probably wasn’t even aware of it himself when he was in his humanoid form. Except maybe near the end.”

Andri looked thoughtful. Finally he nodded. “That would explain why he wanted me to kill him. He realized the monster he had become, and knew his only redemption lay in sacrificing himself.”

Or he just didn’t relish the idea of burning at the stake, Greddark thought, but he held his peace. Let the paladin believe Maellas had repented at the last-the boy could use a happy ending. And who was he to say that Andri was wrong? Stranger things had happened, some of them just since he’d taken this case.

“How is Irulan?” he asked.

The paladin had intended to contact her via speaking stone once he finished with the Diet. Greddark wondered if that conversation had been any more pleasant.

“She is well. The healers say she should be back to hunting and tracking in another day or so. And Javi is recovering from his burns, albeit back in the dungeons. Hopefully his stay will be a little shorter this time.”

Greddark didn’t know quite how to broach the next subject.

“About Javi … you know Irulan-”

“I know,” the paladin said quietly, not looking at him. Maellas’s execution was supposed to have been a secret, but Javi Silverclaw and the other newly-freed shifters had known exactly where to find them, and how to bypass the guards along the way. It didn’t take an inquisitive to figure out that Irulan must have been the one who tipped them off. Apparently, the Mark of Justice only prevented them from revealing Maellas’s identity, not where he was going to be. Either that, or Irulan had judged the payout to be worth the pain.

“Maybe it was an accident, a slip of the tongue. She couldn’t have known-”

“No.” Andri shook his head. When he looked up at the dwarf, his brown eyes sparkled. “She knew.”

Greddark felt sorry for the young paladin. It was obvious he cared for the shifter woman, and just as obvious that her treachery had wounded him deeply, perhaps beyond hope of repair. But Greddark could understand why Irulan had done it-ultimately, she didn’t trust the Church to see justice done. And it was that lack of faith in the Church Andri served that hurt him the most. In the paladin’s eyes, she hadn’t just betrayed him, she’d done something far worse-betrayed the Flame. It was an egregious sin, one that fledging feelings would be hard-pressed to conquer.