Fourteen
The Tabernacle, Myst City
In the confession chambers of the central rectory Umbra sat impatiently, bound not by ropes but by a promise to Marin to endure the monotonous formality.
A minister had recited every passage of the Purist Bible a dozen times over, thousands of pages of rules, virtues, theology and parables.
If Umbra didn't hate The Maker before, he definitely did now. The aged minister had been deliberately pausing and slowing his pace to irk the frustrated maleficus.
Marin had pleaded with the First Cleric to forego public lashings and instead have Umbra 'enlightened' to the virtue of The Tabernacle.
Even so, Umbra was losing his patience, his precious little time wasted by a petty priest.
"Continuamus" vero libro XIV Confessionum cap. XXXVIII 'de sacramentis' the priest announced with a smirk and continued in his monotonous tone.
Umbra groaned, banging his head on the desk repeatedly.
"Factor meus pastor; non deero. in pascuis virentibus me collocavit. Eduxit me super aquas. Super aquam refectionis educavit me. Deduxit me super semitas iustitiae propter nomen suum. Si ambulavero in valle umbrae mortis, non timebo mala, quoniam tu mecum es. virga tua et baculus tuus, ipsa me consolata sunt. Parasti in conspectu meo mensam coram inimicis meis; oleo caput meum unges; calix meus inebrians quam praeclarus est! Sed et benignitas et misericordia subsequentur me omnibus diebus vitae meae, et inhabitabo in Crystal civitate in aeternum." The priest continued at an infuriatingly slow pace.
Suddenly the torture was interrupted by an unexpected visitor.
A wiry and stern holy man entered the chambers. But this one was different.
Instead of the modest robes of a Tabernacle priest the man wore more fanciful silk robes, gemmed rings on each spidery finger and a golden pendant around his neck, his hair slicked back.
"Inquisitor Benedictus, to what do we owe this honor?" the priest inquired meekly.
"The First Cleric appointed me to take over from here," the inquisitor lied.
After a mild protest from the priest, he took his ten-pound book and departed.
What now? Umbra rolled his eyes, as the inquisitor took a seat opposite him.
Umbra had heard passing mentions of inquisitors from Lady Crow, she labelled them as 'Zealous, arrogant Tabernacle Scum' responsible for the death of many maleficae after staged trials.
"Can I help you, inquisitor?" Umbra asked dismissively.
After a contemplative moment Benedictus spoke. "I come in peace, young one."
Umbra was dumbstruck, expecting verbal abuse instead.
"You will find we have a lot in common, son," the inquisitor continued.
The holy man's overfamiliar tone irked Umbra. "I seriously doubt that, Purist," he scoffed, crossing his arms.
"Hear me out," Benedictus insisted, forcing a smile.
Umbra rolled his eyes and peered into the inquisitor's thoughts. He was a nobleman born into opulence, using his position to further the goals of the greedy Medici family. He had dangerous ambitions.
"You want a promotion and more wealth," Umbra mused.
Benedictus smirked, well aware of Umbra's maleficae abilities, he made no efforts to hide his intentions.
"Very good. Did you learn that trick living in the wilds? From... a teacher, I assume," Benedictus pried, grinning to reveal a gold tooth.
"Yeah, her name is Lady Crow, do you want me to draw you a map?" Umbra replied nonchalantly. He couldn't care less what happened to his old teacher now. He leaned back in his chair.
Instead, the inquisitor twirled his pendant in his fingers, a set of golden chains restrained Umbra.
Umbra squirmed, surprised by the strength of the inquisitor's holy magic, he was completely fixed in place.
"Sit awhile, will you?" Benedictus sneered. With a gesture of the inquisitor's finger the chains were dispelled.
"Enough playing around. I instead have a lucrative business opportunity for you," the inquisitor whispered across the table.
Umbra was listening now. "Speak Medici," he beckoned.
"Support me in my play for leadership of The Tabernacle... I think having me as First Cleric and dear ally would be... most advantageous to you," the inquisitor continued.
"Why should I care who runs The Tabernacle?" Umbra dismissed him.
Benedictus took a deep breath. A maleficus with integrity?
"How does absolution of your sins and a more, beneficial position in the afterlife sound?" the inquisitor had spotted the demonic brand on Umbra's hand knowing immediately how to leverage him.
Umbra froze. It wasn't an escape from death, but it was at least a kinder destination. Is it even possible he wondered as Benedictus' eyes lit up in delight.
"But how exactly will killing the First Cleric get me out of Hell?" Umbra was perplexed by the irony. If he was being honest, he wasn't even sure the First Cleric had such power of the afterlife.
Benedictus knocked on the door calling in the jailor. "Take him to the dungeons, he needs some time to consider his future,"
In the main Hallway...
The serenity of the Tabernacle did much to still Gladius' restless mind at times, but there were some nights where sleep evaded him and his thoughts returned to his youth.
It had been almost a decade since the Golden Sun Order had marched north. In those days there was close to a hundred devout knights in the order. At a time, it was a large army, and the strongest soldiers of the human kingdoms.
Back then Gladius was a young squire with a fiery confidence that would often earn him a scalding from his lord, Sir Renault.
The unthinkable happened that year. For months the Demon Lord, Mammon's legions had blockaded and laid siege to the mighty northern bastion- The Capital.
Their mighty walls had stood for close to a month under constant barrage of the Demonic Legion's fiery siege craft.
Sunrise City- in the far eastern mountains and Plateau City in the western desert were consumed at that time by political unrest, their armies busy in civil defense. They couldn't spare any soldiers to reinforce The Capital.
So, the remaining army of Myst City, the holy Knights of the Golden Sun Order were to face the Demonic Legion alone.
They marched north to defend their northern allies, whose own meager forces had been wiped out.
The most direct route north was through the sinister Wormwoods Forest that bordered Myst City to the north.
Wormwoods had always been tangled and untamed; and villages were few and far between.
That same year a mysterious plague had swept through many of the settlements killing hundreds and leaving only a fraction of fearful villagers behind. Witchcraft was suspected and many accused innocents were burned at the stake.
One witch burning was interrupted by their arrival.
He had watched with pride as Sir Renault ordered the innocent turned loose, he helped the poor woman escape her captors and explained the telltale signs of witchcraft that the woman simply did not have.
His master's fearsome authority scared the villagers straight and they dared not pursue the fleeing woman.
As the Golden Sun Order campaigned north through the nearly empty villages, their own ranks started to show symptoms of this plague of boils.
The blight quickly swept through the army camp as they pushed north.
Over just a few days on approach to The Capital their ranks were falling.
One day a knight would awaken covered in boils and vomiting endlessly, by the following day they were stone dead, just as the villagers had been.
Sir Renault refused to call off the campaign even though more than half of the order had died from the sickness. The weary survivors finally reached the grasslands surrounding The Capital.
The once-vibrant meadow was befouled by an unholy rot and had become an extension of the ashen wastelands known as The Deadlands further north-west.
The Deadlands were the domain of The Demonic Legion, all manner of foul monsters and The Domain of Azazel himself.
The thinly spread siege camps surrounding the walls were broken through by the Golden Sun Order with relative ease and they took refuge behind the walls of their northern allies to organize a counter-attack.
The Capital was starving; even the rats were being eaten. Even to this day, Gladius' stomach turned when he remembered the sight of a young sick girl hungrily consuming a dead dog.
Despite the added defense of the Golden Sun, the siege camps were rebuilt and demolitions were replaced. The city walls were breached just hours after they arrived. As they crowded to reinforce one blast-hole, another would shatter the wall in another section of the city.
Their numbers were spread too thin and Mammon's legions poured into the city like a swarm of locusts upon a corn field.
For the entire night, the order battled demons, trolls, ogres, maleficae and all manner of foul creatures, gradually falling to the endless waves.
Goblins with oil and torches burned the buildings while trapped citizens screamed and fled, trapped behind their own walls.
Even the Capital's Royal Family was massacred that night, butchered as they cowered in their palace. Their ancient lineage traceable back to The Twilight Wars was snuffed out.
Gladius met Robyn for the first time that fateful night. She was but a frightened young girl fleeing the flames. She hid under corpses in the local orphanage, children she had grown up with. She was one of the lucky few who managed to escape the city.
Even the honorable Sir Willem was murdered that night by a powerful maleficus right in front of his eyes. He could do little but watch his comrade slain before him while he struggled to hold off The Demonic Legion's minions.
Many of the survivors that fled would succumb to their grievous wounds on the roads returning to Myst City. Watching hapless victims dying slowly, their loved ones missing, changes a person.
Gladius often was the one with them in their last moments. Watching the life fade from their tear-filled eyes, victims to the evil of The Demonic Legion. He would never forget the injustice and despair.
After the failed campaign only Gladius, the disillusioned veterans and a few dying knights made up the ranks of the Golden Sun Order.
Within the decade that followed those knights would die off one by one, others gave up on violence and became monks, Gladius was the only active knight left. But he would never consign himself to accept helplessness.
He had committed himself to the Tabernacle to find peace in his life, but peace never lasted in Turbulus and his sword never stayed clean for long.
Alas his order was almost extinct.
But breaking tradition, Gladius recruited Fletcher, a ruffian facing the gallows renowned for his unmatched marksmanship. That was the best choice he ever made. Fletcher was like a brother to him now, and exactly what the order needed.
He was later recommended the young sorceress and ward of Astralode, Marin to join.
These two additions proved their skill a hundred times over and would keep the Golden Sun Order alive.
Gladius climbed from his modest bed. His room was little more than a bricked cell with a few candles, a painting of The Maker and a small shrine to pray at.
He liked the simplicity of a monk's life, but he felt he was only truly making a difference on the battlefield.
He wouldn't let the vulnerable suffer and personally trained Myst City's volunteer militia, far harder than perhaps they needed.
His encounter with the maleficus in The Capital had forever embittered him towards dark Sorcerers. He was even reluctant at first to have Marin join the Order but her kind nature won him over quickly.
And now his faith would be tested again, he found himself supporting Marin to exonerate a heretic.
Maker, give me patience.