David Dalglish - Clash of Faiths

“Then I hope you deal with it better than you did that knight.”

Stinging words, and he regretted them immediately. Kalgan looked at him with sad eyes.

“Fair enough,” he said, shutting the door behind him before Jerico could apologize. He struck the wall with a fist, and once more wished the Citadel remained. If only he could return, be in the company and comfort of his brethren. They’d know what to do. They’d know what path was right.

Beth lingered outside when he stepped out.

“You’ll need a guide,” she said. “Kalgan says your horse is still here, and you can ride it back. Let me go with you.”

He almost said yes.

“Does your Ma know you’re here?”

Her guilty look was enough. Wanting no more reminders of Kren, the knight, or his injury, he took her by the shoulder and kissed her forehead.

“Stay here,” he said. “And be strong.”

Beth looked ready to cry, but she was made of sterner stuff than that.

“Goodbye, Jerico,” she said, hurrying away.

Jerico found his horse and followed the road for several hours, letting the agony of his knee and the wind through his hair pull him away from that last pained look she’d given him, just before turning to run.

The story had spread like wildfire throughout the North, and the ears of the gray sisters were always attentive.

“It might be him,” Claire had said the first time they heard it, sitting together in a crowded tavern at a cross-section of the main roads leading to the mountains.

“How could he be that stupid, though?” Valessa had asked. “Denouncing Karak to an entire crowd of gatherers? I don’t believe it.”

They’d headed for the Castle of the Yellow Rose just in case, for the drunk teller of the story had been adamant that the man remained there, imprisoned. On the way, they heard another telling, this one less embellished.

“A dark paladin with no flame,” Valessa said. “We’ve found him.”

“Perhaps Darius thought leading worship would restore his faith in the eyes of Karak,” Claire said as they rode.

“It doesn’t matter. No fire, no faith. Karak still wants him dead.”

“Do we go in unknown, or demand an audience with Sebastian?”

Valessa bit her lip.

“He’s in custody, and his punishment ours. We go, and reveal our nature to their lord. It’ll be his head if he tries to deny us our rightful prisoner.”

It’d been three days since the event, if the stories were to be believed. The wind was cold, the road hard and rocky, as they rode toward the castle. At the gates, two guards stopped them, demanding names and reasons for their visit.

“I’m Claire, and this is my sister Valessa,” Claire said, going with their standard cover. “As for our occupation, let’s just say you soldiers would greatly prefer…”

“No,” Valessa said, interrupting her. She leapt off the back of their horse, not worried that the guards drew their weapons. She threw back her hood and stood at her full height.

“I am Valessa, sister and servant of Karak, come from Mordeina to speak with your lord, Sebastian Hemman. Let us through, and escort us if you must. Our business is urgent, and we will not discuss it here.”

“Have you any proof of this?” asked one of the guards, seeming less impressed than the others.

“Proof?” Valessa asked, smiling at him.

“Valessa…” Claire warned, still astride her horse.

Valessa ignored her, and instead approached the doubting guard. Slipping her hand down her shirt, she pulled out a pendant from beneath her armor. It was the face of a lion, its mouth open, its teeth bared.

“You wonder if I serve Karak?” she asked. “If I am his powerful servant? Listen closely, dimwitted man, and I will speak to you your proof.”

Her gaze held him. There was a charm in her words, and power in her eyes. The others watched as she slipped beside him, ran a finger along his neck, and then brushed his ear with her lips. She took in a soft breath, and then unleashed the fury of Karak. It was not her voice that screamed, but that of the Lion. The others clenched their hands against their heads, but the guard stood still, his mouth open. Blood dripped down his neck, spilling from his ears. When the roar ended, he collapsed.

“He’ll live,” Valessa said as the others lifted their swords. “Though he’ll never hear from that ear again. Would anyone else like proof?”

They let the gray sisters through, along with an escort of six nervous soldiers. Inside the castle, they waited several minutes, until at last a knight came forward and gestured for them to follow. They came before Lord Sebastian Hemman sitting on his throne, soldiers at either side of him. Valessa snickered at the protection. So cute.

“Greetings, ladies of Karak,” Sebastian said, rising. “Consider me honored to have such revered guests come to my home. I hope the guards at the gate did not trouble you.”

“No trouble,” Valessa said, and Claire turned her head to hide her smile.

“I must confess, I’m not familiar with your Order. Are you paladins, or perhaps priestesses?”

“We are what we are, and that is none of your concern,” Claire said, her humor vanishing. “Know only that we speak for the Stronghold, and for Karak. Word has come to us of a prisoner, and we believe him one we have hunted for the past weeks.”

“Leave me,” Sebastian said to his soldiers, holding up a hand for the two women to pause. The soldiers began filing out, and none looked too happy with leaving their lord alone.

“No, Gregane,” he said, stopping one of the knights. “You stay.”

The burly knight stepped back, staying at the right hand of his lord.

“The man you seek,” Sebastian said when the rest were gone. “Would you care to tell me his name?”

The gray sisters exchanged a look, and Claire shrugged.

“Darius,” Valessa said. “His name is Darius, and he once hailed from the Stronghold.”

Sebastian stroked the hairs of his chin as he leaned back in his seat.

“Have you come to find him,” he asked, “or kill him?”

“Does it matter?” Claire asked.

“It does, for you see, I had a very strange visitor last night. His words of caution are… difficult to shake.”

Valessa felt her stomach tighten, and she did not miss Claire’s eyes narrowing in anger.

“This visitor,” Valessa asked, “was he a man with many faces, and eyes that burned like fire?”

Sebastian looked surprised, but he hid it well.

“He was. And he told me that while orders were initially given to execute Darius, circumstances have changed. He said I’d soon receive new orders from the Stronghold, signed by the hand of the High Enforcer.”

“Let me guess,” Claire interrupted. “Those new orders would hand Darius over to him, the prophet?”

Sebastian shrugged. “Something to that effect.”

Valessa bit down a curse. She turned to Claire and lowered her voice to a whisper.

“The commoners must never know of conflict between servants of Karak,” she whispered. “Do we dare challenge Velixar’s authority?”

“Sebastian is no commoner. Surely a lord understands that even servants must sometimes quarrel.”

“My ladies, if I may interrupt.” Sebastian smiled at them, and something opportunistic glinted in his eyes that made Valessa wary.

“What is it?” Claire asked, no pretense of politeness in her words.

“Now, for all I know, last night was just a strange dream, and gods are known to work in mysterious ways. Ashhur may have come in the guise of his enemy to save the life of a traitor, for example. To be prudent, I will wait some time for new orders, but until then, I know of another who is an enemy of Karak, whose death I think would benefit us all.”