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They did not come with the crack of dawn, as would have better suited a story. In politics as in war, timing was everything, and so they waited for their moment.
Two hours after dawn proved enough time for Madouris to not only wake up and shake off the winter chill enough to being the day’s business, but more crucially, for the papers to be in circulation. The Imperial Herald, like its competitors, went to print well before the sun rose, and by the time most of the city had finished breakfast, the news on the page had fully ascended to rumors carried on thousands of voices.
A stalemate had held across the Empire for all of the previous day as tensions had risen further. The Throne had postponed its intended seizure of Chuch assets to avoid provoking outright riots from the protesters chanting in favor of both factions in front of cathedrals and government offices. The Archpope had put out no further public statement, but posted Holy Legionaries in front of churches—both armored ceremonial guards and newer, grim-faced men and women in white coats with shield charms and battlestaves. Imperial soldiers had likewise appeared in front of government buildings and at city gates, but were kept carefully away from protest sites, instead standing by at discreet distances with battlemages ready to teleport at need. The Tirasian Dynasty had learned back in Theasia’s day that a show of force was the fastest way to turn a protest into a riot.
For the moment the peace held. The tension was constantly rising, between citizens, between political factions, and over all from the unseen threat of more necro-drakes. One way or another, soon enough, this would break, but all of the preceding day it had held.
Then the morning began with Carter Long’s second historic interview with the Black Wreath, both validating and contradicting Archpope Justinian’s account of the demon attack on Tiraas. And just when the people had had time to chew on this, but just before it escalated to further chaos, they made their move.
Crowds parted, then swirled along in their wake as they rode through the streets of the city at a brisk trot. Even had all three not been recognizable by sight—and for many people, only the silver armor of the Hand of Avei distinguished them from any other trio of young adults—the horses were unmistakable. A white, barrel-chested colossus of a draft horse armored to match his mistress; a sunny-coated mare wearing an elven-style saddle blanket who gleamed even in the cloudy winter morning as if lit by the sun itself; an eerie black steed with smoke for a mane and tail, fire in her eyes, and legs that seemed not even to touch the ground.
They made their way from the gates of Madouri Manor straight through the crowded heart of the city, giving ample time for warning of their arrival to precede them, and gathering up an audience. By the time the paladins reined their divine steeds to a halt before the towering cathedral of Madouris, the stage was fully set for the coming confrontation.
Forewarned, the Holy Legion had fully assembled—at least, as many of their strained numbers as could be spared from the Archpope’s forces concentrated in Tiraas. There were enough of them, barely, to form a complete line across the great double arches which housed the cathedral’s doors, positioned atop a broad flight of marble stairs.
The crowd murmured, coming to a halt at a respectful distance behind the paladins as they all three brought their mounts to a stop in the square at the foot of those steps. Above, the soldiers stood at attention, tense but not raising weapons.
Alone, while the other two sat their saddles, Tobias Caine dismounted. He let Roiyary’s reins hang loose; the mare whickered gently and nuzzled him once with her nose, then stood peacefully still alongside her compatriots as he stepped away.
He climbed the wide steps in silence, a picture of serenity under thousands of eyes, and came to a stop before the line of soldiers.
“I need to speak with the archdeacon,” he said, calm as a sunrise. “I’m afraid it is urgent.”
The captain of the assembled Legionaries drew in a deep breath, visibly steeling himself, before answering.
“You are denied entry to this holy ground, Hand of Omnu. You, and both of your…companions. Your hostile posture toward this Church is known, and we must assume your intentions are ignoble.”
“We are all of us neck-deep in hostility,” Toby said frankly. He made no effort to project, but also not to lower his voice; the conversation was not clearly audible across the whole square, but his friends below and at least the front few ranks of onlookers were treated to a sufficient understanding of the exchange. “Please believe that my hope is to assuage it, not add to it. I hope we can take this opportunity to recognize that we are more alike than we are different, and handle our business with reason and compromise. My business, right now, is with the archdeacon. You have my word before Omnu that I will offer no harm on this sacred ground unless absolutely forced to, and even then, the utter minimum I am able.”
“You do not have business with the archdeacon, sir,” the soldier said woodenly. He hesitated, his expression shifting slightly, and let out a soft sigh, lowering his voice. “Young man, I appreciate what you’re trying to do. Truly, I do. I have orders, however—and all of us signed up for a sacred calling. We stand for what we believe, and principles aren’t subject to compromise.”
Toby sighed quietly, himself, breath misting on the morning air. “Otherwise, they are not principles.”
“Just so,” the captain replied with a slight nod.
“By the same token exactly,” he said ruefully, “I had to ask.”
The man adjusted his fingers where they gripped his battlestaff. “I’m not too proud to admit I wish I could’ve met you halfway, Mr. Caine.” He glanced past him at the other two paladins waiting patiently below.
“Me, too,” Toby agreed. “But we make do as best we can with what we’re given. May Omnu’s light shine upon you, sir. For as long as any of us have left.”
The captain inclined his head faintly, saying nothing further. With a last regretful look, Toby turned away and descended the steps in the same stately glide.
Murmuring rose throughout the square from the still-growing crowd of onlookers, quite a few of whom were carrying signs castigating the Church or Justinian in particular. For the moment, though, the people kept back, content to watch.
He wasn’t even at the bottom when Trissiny moved; she didn’t even dismount, simply heeling Arjen forward. The divine horse stepped nimbly up the cathedral stairs despite his enormous hooves, passing Toby on the way down.
In the few seconds it took her to ride to the top, the murmuring of the crowd rose in both pitch and intensity, and the soldiers awaiting shifted into a defensive posture, leveling weapons and activating shield charms.
“Don’t bother,” the captain said before Trissiny could speak. “You three made your point at Calderaas. After the Hand of Omnu asks politely, the Hand of Avei comes to force us to move aside. Right?”
“That was your chance to move aside,” she retorted in a carrying voice. Arjen snorted and aggressively pawed at the stone platform, flattening his ears, but gave his rider no reason to rein him back yet. “Toby believes deeply in giving people a chance to see reason. As much as I admire that about him, I have my own doctrines concerning soldiers in the service of a mass-murdering lunatic. The lot of you are now under arrest. If you throw down your weapons now, I will personally guarantee lenient treatment.”
All of the Holy Legionaries had scowled at her oblique accusation against their Archpope, but not a one flinched, nor so much as looked uncertain. At worst, they were grimly resigned. The captain opened his mouth, then paused, glancing past her at another disturbance from the square.
Accompanied by a fresh wave of crowd noise as the civilian onlookers were carefully displaced, a column of soldiers in House Madouri crimson and gray were marching into the square. Gabriel sat calmly astride Whisper, Toby now holding Roiyary’s bridle, neither of them moving as the household troops came abreast of them.
Grimly setting his jaw, the Holy Legion captain braced his feet and leveled his battlestaff at Trissiny, thumbing its lock. A glow ignited along its runic engravings, the tip humming with destruction ready to be unleashed. To his left and right, fellow white-coated Legionaries followed suit, while the four honor guards braced their pikes, positioning themselves to shove her bodily off the stairs. Arjen snorted and stomped one hoof, not giving an inch.
“We,” the captain stated flatly, “serve a higher calling.”
Light flared from the top of the steps, a divine aura igniting with the intensity of the sun as golden wings extended from behind the Hand of Avei.
She drew her sword.
“Mine’s bigger.”
What had been a prayer service had become a huddled mass of refugees alarmingly quickly. Things had been trending in that direction from the very beginning; it was only the most faithful who had come to pray together in the cathedral at a time like this—hence the very small crowd dwarfed by the cavernous sanctuary—and they had already endured taunts and imprecations from the protesters outside just to get in.
But then, just minutes ago, the warning had come, the doors had been shut and barred with the Holy Legionaries taking up a defensive posture outside, and in the ensuing ominous quiet, tension had grown rapidly.
Its sudden release came as the opposite of a relief. Thunderclaps sounded from directly outside the doors, flashes of blue and gold light illuminating their cracks, and a cacophony of crashes and thumps ensued. More than one parishoner screamed; most huddled together, a few beginning to weep.
The Archdeacon of the cathedral had already descended from the pulpit, attempting to project calm as she paced down the central aisle between pews. Most of the worshipers had gathered near the front, and she deliberately placed herself beyond them—between them and whatever was about to come through those doors.
The lights had ceased to flash and there were no more explosions of magic, but scuffling and thumps continued to the ominous accompaniment of shouts.
Then came a particularly deafening crack of a battlestaff firing, followed by a powerful thump directly against the doors that shook them in their housing.
After that, for a few seconds, quiet. The Archdeacon made herself breathe evenly; behind her was only tension and soft crying.
The doors shivered, rattling against the bar as someone tried to pull them open from outside. That the cathedral’s doors even had a bar was an unusual artifact of Madouris’s long and complicated history. Now, it bought only seconds.
Golden light blazed through every crack as the intensity of divine magic burning outside caused a faint musical chiming right at the upper boundary of human hearing. Then a single glowing blade flashed through the narrow crack between the doors, slicing through the thick wooden bar as if it wasn’t there. It tumbled to the floor in two pieces, and the cathedral door was pulled open.
She lessened the blaze of her aura as she came, but it took the luminous eagle wings another few seconds to fade. Trissiny Avelea sheathed her blade immediately, reaching into a belt pouch as she strode directly down the central aisle.
“How dare you,” the Archdeacon barked, planting her feet in the paladin’s path and refusing to yield an inch. “You presume to call yourself a servant of a goddess, but do not honor the sanctuary of a holy place?”
“I’m afraid this place is no longer able to offer sanctuary,” Trissiny replied, holding out the object she had just retrieved from her pocket: a folded sheet of parchment bearing the seal of House Madouri. “If anyone here feels the need to claim sanctuary, I’ll see to it they’re escorted to a Pantheon temple of their choice.”
The Archdeacon had immediately snatched the paper and unfolded it; at the first sight of the words printed there, her eyes widened, then narrowed in anger. “This is— No. You do not have the authority to do this!”
“House Madouri and its Duchess are subject to the laws of this Empire,” Trissiny stated. Behind her, Gabriel had entered and was pacing languidly down the aisle, peering about at the buttresses and stained glass windows. “If you have any complaints about her actions, you may pursue them through the courts like any citizen.”
“So the paladins of the Pantheon serve as lackeys for the Houses now,” the Archdeacon retorted, baring her teeth. “Or is it only the ones you personally know from school?”
Trissiny’s stern expression did not alter by an iota. “All systems are corrupt.”
The Archdeacon blinked in surprise.
“It is my opinion, knowing her personally as I do,” Trissiny continued, “that Duchess Ravana has good intentions and desires the best for her people. It is also my opinion that anyone with her kind of power is trustworthy only so long as someone is looking over their shoulder. I realize my entrance has given you a…very different impression, but that was due to your actions, not mine. I am here, intervening in this, to make sure House Madouri does not exert excessive authority here. Or excessive force.”
Gabriel ambled up behind her and came to a stop, planting the butt of his scythe against the floor with a thunk that echoed through the sanctuary. Behind them, Toby had finally entered and was making his way toward the group.
“By proclamation of the Duchess,” Trissiny said, raising her voice, “due to the harm done by Archpope Justinian to the people of the Empire and Tiraan Province, all possessions and property of the Universal Church of the Pantheon within the domain of said province are hereby seized by House Madouri. Any personnel answering to said institution will be taken into custody.”
She had to raise her voice further as the assembled citizens began to shout in anger and dismay. Trissiny, fortunately, had very good lungs.
“These properties will be jointly administered by the organized faiths of Avei, Omnu, and Vidius until such time as Justinian is removed from office, and then returned immediately to the Church. They will not become the property of House Madouri. Everyone all right out there?” she added more quietly to Toby, letting the crowd clamor.
“I set a broken bone and a dislocated shoulder,” he replied. “A few of them look concussed. Lord-Captain Arivani has taken them into custody; I made sure they were going directly to a proper healer before any kind of detention. Thank you for holding back, Triss.”
“If I’d held back, someone would be dead,” she said with a grimace. “It’s a lot harder to disable an enemy without harming them, as I should think you would know.”
“Then I appreciate it even more,” he said, smiling.
“And I,” the Archdeacon added grudgingly. “It’s a cruel sort of mercy, but even that much is to be appreciated. Shall I expect the same treatment?”
“That depends on you,” said Trissiny.
She was a woman in her later middle years, her face only slightly lined but her hair gone entirely white and a faint stoop beginning to intrude on her posture. Now, though, the Archdeacon of the cathedral straightened her spine fully, staring implacably at them. She folded her hands at her waist, narrowed her eyes, and ignited a divine shield around herself, forming a golden bubble of solid light between the paladins and the parishoners huddling behind her.
“I will not begrudge you your convictions,” she stated. “Do not underestimate mine. I am content to be judged by history.”
Trissiny placed a hand on the pommel of her sword. “You have to know—”
“Triss.” Toby gently touched her shoulder. “Please. Let me handle this.”
“You may all feel free to do what you need to,” the older woman stated. “I will not submit to injustice or brute force within my own church, not while I stand for righteousness, and the well-being of my people.”
“It’s clear that your people respect you greatly, Archdeacon Sharizedh,” Toby replied, his serenity a counterpoint to her rigid defiance. Behind him, armed House Madouri soldiers had begun to stream into the sanctuary, prompting further outcry from the citizens assembled still at the opposite end. “I think they’ll follow the example you set, here. If you want to make a point of offering resistance you know will be futile to an outcome you know is inevitable, well, a lot of the people behind you will, too. In fact, not just them, I should think. Newspapers have been all over this entire business from the beginning. An Archdeacon’s last stand—that story will spread. Just think how many unarmed, effectively helpless but still faithful followers of the Church will throw themselves against blades and staff fire and energy shields, if someone they trust and honor makes that the example.”
She raised one eyebrow, her expression wry and unimpressed.
“We’ve spent a lot of time lately,” Toby continued, still calm, “digging up the trail of Justinian’s actions, and dealing with the aftereffects of them. I’d like to think it gives me some perspective on his mindset, though much of it is still elusive to me. It’s enough, anyway, that I feel reasonably confident this is what he’d tell you to do.”
Gabriel and Trissiny both turned warning looks on him. Sharizedh tilted her head slightly in bemusement.
“Because, as generally ineffectual as it would be,” Toby went on in the same even tone, “as ultimately, strategically pointless…well, it would help a little. Just a bit. It’d make a very small impediment to his opponents, and all it would cost him is the blood and pain of his followers. And I am here to tell you, Archdeacon, Justinian does not care about that. He is after absolute power for himself, and all of us are either obstacles or tools, or if we are very unlucky, both. Every one of these people is just a piece on a game board to that man. Whatever they suffer is of no consequence, if it buys him another iota of fleeting advantage. You have pledged yourself to an amoral manipulator who will be mildly pleased if you persuade those who trust you to fling themselves against the barricades like so much living ammunition. Not appreciative; one does not thank a catapult stone. But…pleased.”
Archdeacon Sharizedh was staring fiercely at him now. Toby met her eyes with a kind, sad little smile, letting the pause stretch out.
“Prove me right,” he said at last. “Or don’t. It’s within your power to decide.”
She stared, narrowing her eyes further. When he said nothing more, she turned her head slightly, just enough to bring part of the crowd behind her into her peripheral vision. The watching parishoners had mostly fallen quiet now, staring with faces full of fear, anger, and indecision at the paladins and the Madouri soldiers who were now advancing on them all.
And then she sighed.
“I really hate that,” Sharizedh stated, returning her gaze to Toby. “I have dealt with a lot of Omnists over my long years, young man. Which means a lot of wishy-washy, intransigent vacillators. It’s only the rare, actually good pacifists who are so…manipulative.”
He inclined his head once in acknowledgment, saying nothing.
With a final grimace, the Archdeacon snuffed out her shield.
“Peace, please,” she implored, turning to face her flock. “Whatever befalls, this is still a sacred place. Let us keep it so.”
The soldier who stepped up to her carrying a pair of manacles spoke softly, almost diffidently. “Your pardon, ma’am. I need you to place your hands behind your back, please.”
“One of us has made a horrible mistake today,” she said to the paladins collectively, even as she complied. “It will be a relief if it turns out to be me. A relief…but a surprise. You children had better know what you’re doing.”
The inevitable confusion helped—the soldiers securing Church personnel throughout the cathedral while escorting civilians outside created plenty of distracting activity—but it still took them several minutes to shake off attention and find a chamber that was both private and close enough to the sanctuary for their purposes.
“This looks…adequate,” Gabriel said, peering around what seemed to be a prayer room while Toby carefully shut the heavy door. “As good as we’re going to find, anyway. Ariel, any snoops or hazards?”
“The expected haze of divine energy; the entire site is consecrated and ritual divine magic has clearly been performed here, regularly. There are no discernible eavesdroppers present, or scrying spells focused on this site. As far as I can detect, I should clarify. My abilities are not insignificant and there is little reason to expect a spot like this to have been trapped, but given this Justinian character’s apparent capabilities, true security may be impossible.”
“Paranoia is as much of a hazard as recklessness,” said Trissiny. “We’d better proceed.”
“Yep, agreed,” Gabriel said even as he set up a small device attached to a power crystal on the room’s small altar. “Still gonna set up this scrying baffler real quick. Thoroughness, and all.”
“Won’t that mess up the…y’know, any of the other stuff you need to do?” Toby asked.
“The really tricky project is fully self-contained and of course I set up the baffler on a frequency that won’t interfere with the beacons. C’mon, obviously I checked that before we came, I’m not an idiot.”
“You’re right, not offense,” Toby agreed. “Just…like you said. Thoroughness.”
Gabriel had been quickly laying out other pieces of small enchanting paraphernalia from his coat pockets, first putting down three objects not unlike ritual candles except made of glass and metal, delineating a triangular section of the floor. Then he produced a far more elaborate contraption out of its own padded case.
“Okay, moment of truth,” he muttered, flicking two switches to activate its power source and then hastily backing away. The thing did not fall to the floor once he’d released it, instead hovering unevenly at roughly chest height while its glass fittings ignited with an arcane blue glow, one by one.
Then, with a faint blue sparkle in the air similar to the aftereffect of a teleportation spell, a second Trissiny appeared where the device had been.
“Ugh,” the first Trissiny said, grimacing.
“May the Goddess watch over you,” her doppelganger intoned. The voice was mostly accurate, but subtly scratchy, much more like the imperfect quality of a modern music disc than the resonant overtones of Ariel’s voice.
“It talks?!” Trissiny exclaimed, taking a step backward.
“The state of the art moves fast these days,” Gabriel said with a grin. “It’s been a couple years since the ones we used on the night of the hellgate; this’ll last a lot longer, has tangible substance if touched, it’s harder to disrupt, and yes, it talks.”
“I sense evil here,” the second Trissiny growled, placing a hand on her sword and peering around with a scowl.
“It, uh, it doesn’t talk convincingly,” Gabriel admitted. “Just repeats a few canned phrases. I’ve programmed it to follow me, but… We can’t let it actually interact with anyone. It will not be…persuasive.”
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem,” said Toby. “Letting it be seen from a distance is what the plan requires anyway. So long as whatever watcher Justinian puts on this cathedral sees Trissiny here, we’re golden.”
“Right, yeah. That’s the good news: this will fool a scrying spell much more easily than an actual person up close.” Gabriel turned to Trissiny, holding up another small device, little more than a button attached to a power crystal. “Beacons are set up, they’ll compensate for any likely interference and your man’ll be able to home in as soon as we send the signal. You wanna do the honors?”
“Just push the button, Gabe, we’re on an unforgiving schedule.”
“I sense evil here.”
“You…programmed in these little…catchphrases, didn’t you?” the original said suspiciously while he clicked the button, causing the crystal to glow softly. “So help me, Gabriel, if this thing says anything about punchbowls…”
“I’m not gonna stand here and deny that I was tempted,” he replied, grinning broadly. “But this is serious business. That one I filed away for future prank purposes.”
“May the Goddess watch over you.”
“Let’s hope,” she muttered.
A faint whine at the edge of hearing was accompanied by midair sparks and an accumulation of static, and then with a sharp pop, Longshot McGraw appeared in the middle of the three arcane beacons.”
“Report!” Trissiny barked.
“I sense evil here.”
“Uh…damn, that’s uncanny,” the old mage admitted, glancing between the two Trissinys. “Everything’s set up and ready to go, boss lady, we’re just waitin’ on you. Soon as we get back to base we can move out. There’s been one rather disruptive development since you left us yesterday, but it should be the opposite of a problem. I think.”
“How disruptive?” she demanded.
“I sense evil here.”
“Well, not quite that disruptive. Had an old friend suddenly pop into Camp Eagle, then weasel and bully her way right into the heart of our highly sensitive operation and decide she was gonna help. Which sounds bad, I won’t deny, but all things considered I strongly advise lettin’ her pitch in.”
“Who would—” Trissiny cut herself off, clapping a hand over her eyes. “…Kuriwa.”
“The Captain and Mr. K both vouched for ‘er, General. So do I, if that counts for anything.”
“Right, well, guess I’ll go deal with that first,” she growled. “Let’s move out. Guys…be careful.”
“We’ve got the easy job,” Toby said seriously. “You be carefuler.”
“And since we all know you won’t,” Gabriel added, “kick some ass for us.”
She gave them a final smirk, and then with another flash they were gone.
“Right,” Gabriel said more briskly, “let me just get all this shit packed away and then we’ll go make a spectacle of ourselves.”
“Carefully,” Toby agreed, “from a safe distance. As long as we don’t appear to be in a hurry, just making our way to Ravana’s carriage should be visible enough. People might wonder why we didn’t take the horses again, but it’s not a dead giveaway. And let’s face it, this plan was never going to be perfect.”
“May the Goddess watch over you.”
“Did you really only teach it two phrases?” Toby added in exasperation.
“Hey, you build a fake paladin out of spare parts in one night if you think it’s so damn easy. I had a hard enough time making the real one sit still to give me a voice sample to work from. All right, Trissn’t, let’s go. Heel, girl.”
Toby had already turned toward the door, but at that stopped, turning back to stare wide-eyed at his friend.
“What?” Gabriel shrugged. “I have to call her something.”
“Do you, though?”
“I sense evil here.”
The Gods are Bastards 