Chapter One Hundred and Thirteen - 113
The clouds thinned late in the day and a warm, buttery sun slathered itself over the citizens of Haarwatch. While the common folk bustled to and fro, attending to their trade or craft, the nobility of the hill attended midweek service.
A cathedral was situated only doors away from the Eyrie. It was centralized in a way that emphasized its importance to the local nobility and high ranking Guilders both. It rose many stories tall, as big as any Noble House's Manse, built of pale, glistening stone that shimmered in the sudden sunlight. The rain that had plagued the city for the past two days had ceased quickly and quietly. Distant rumblings became more distant still as far off in the sky, wild winds drove the weather away.
"Praised be the Pathless," murmured Sela with her eyes closed. A shaft of warm summer sun had pierced the stained-glass windows and sent coruscating patches of multi-colored light across several pews. "Only the true god would break such a storm apart. I worried I would not be able to hear the Honored Priest's sermon over the thunder."
"Indeed," said Vess as noncommittally as she could manage. She peered into the sunlight, trying to sense past the glare. "Why did it head west though? Doesn't the weather usually sweep to the east?"
"Shh," came a harsh whisper from the pew ahead. An elderly woman, Matriarch Evona Rakis gave her a brief but intense stink-eye before turning forward once again.
Vess attempted to trade glances with Sela, but the diminutive heir to the House of Mour had shrunken down into her elaborate gown. The girl was deathly afraid of scandal; to her, nothing was worse than the disapproving glare of an elder. Vess sighed instead, softly as she could.
The priest of the Pathless' sermon continued, uninterrupted by their momentary discussion. He was railing on about strength and unity, but the ducal heir mostly let it wash over her. The last thing she cared to hear was the moralizing of another Heirocratic puppet. She did not often attend these services, claiming the ducal privilege of a private altar. Mostly it was to avoid interaction with the local nobility, who were as rabid social climbers as anyone in Pax'Vrell. Perhaps more so, being on the outskirts of the nation and far from any seat of power.
Often Vess would be accosted by whispers and sycophants the moment she left the relatively isolated Eyrie. The Guilders kept the deference to a minimum, but that was usually due to their insistence on strength over station. Their regard for her was for her relatively high Skill levels, young age, and powerful father who ranked among the top twenty in the Heirocracy. Duke Dayne cast a long shadow.
Considering all that, Vess was having trouble reminding herself why she had left the quiet of her isolation.
Siva grant me patience, she intoned, looking up at the resplendent mosaic that dominated the ceiling. It was an expansive depiction of the Pathless standing guard over the mountains and river valleys of the Continent, His body composed of shining light. Behind and around Him were amorphous forms shaped from darkened glass and tile, beings that were both horrible to look at and gruesomely destroyed. It was a common scene, the defining scene that brought the Pathless into reluctant power. When all the gods left, the Pathless remained to safeguard the world against calamity. Vess had often wondered whether the darkened figures were the gods or said calamity, but no priest had been able to give her a satisfactory answer.
Vess was well versed on many things, but the intricacies of the ancient Revelation of the Pathless were always relegated to the priesthood itself. Joining that priesthood for a passing curiosity was never a consideration for her. The Daynes had always made a public showing of worshiping the Pathless, but privately they were devotees of the Old Gods. Very privately. In a nation controlled by the prime servant of the Pathless it was unwise to do anything else.
"Ahem."
Without looking, she felt the weight of the Hand's regard on her. Darius Reed's Perception was almost a physical thing, an effect she'd experienced only a few times before, and always from those who had Tempered themselves well passed Humanity's limits. Darius himself was close by, near enough that he dissuaded most from approaching her but far enough away that Vess could at least imagine she was autonomous. He hadn't left her truly along since the "incident," as the Hand kept referring to it. "For your own good," he had said, that hard stare of his unwavering.
She looked back down at the priest and didn't turn toward the Hand. Still, she could feel his dissatisfaction with her behavior, which, according to him, had been growing only more reckless as the days went on. Vess only snorted in annoyance, earning her yet another aghast look from Lady Rakis before her. She managed a contrite smile before the foul woman turned back around.
House Rakis was ancient and had once placed a Heirophant upon the Primarch Seat; coupled with the old bat's age and disdain, it was hardly suprising she'd risk censure for something so slight. Vess could have pressed the issue, but doing so was both below her and an effort in fruitless pride. The young woman had nothing to gain, and would rather pretend none of these petty nobles existed at all.
Vess' senses, limited by her level, could still sense Darius' stoic regard. Then it was gone, no doubt turned outward to look for possible threats in the crowd. They were surrounded by the peerage and high ranking Guilders and still he acted the faithful, deadly hound. The man never stopped, a statue made real, stoic and disapproving; no wonder her father thought so highly of him.
"...so we raise our hands and thank Him, for all his benevolence and mercy. He who did not run or fall, who stood in the Breach. For all of us."
Vess carefully watched the nobles around her as the priest droned on, many of them holding expression of contemplation, surly repose, or even worshipful joy. The last was rarer, but the heiress could see quite a few bathing in the light of the windows and words of the priest.
"We must stand fast to the High Laws the Pathless set down for us. Seek strength, for it is only with our own power that we can rise above this world and mold it to our will. Seek order, for without structure even the strongest among us would fall. And seek purity, above all else, for the stain of the Lost Gods must not be allowed to spread or else their tragic weakness becomes our own."
The priest paused, his dark eyes and sweating brow furrowed in a paroxysm of concern. "The Trackless One, omnipotent and unknowable, ordained that these Laws be followed, or all else would fall into desolation. Think on that, when next you train, or manage your holdings, or do one of the thousand pieces of governance that has been entrusted to you. You, all of you, are the Strength, Order, and Purity that the Pathless seeks. The chosen who have risen above the dross of this mortal coil.
"Let us commune a moment with He Who Walks Unseen. Orestai."
"Orestai," intoned the crowd in response, and everyone bent their neck and closed their eyes.
Ironically, for a church that prided itself on exceptionalism and individual merit had a very formalized protocol during worship. First came opening hymns, followed by a ritual quietude before various priestly lectures, and now the communion with His Spirit.
A great deal of structure for a god intent on letting the masses fend for themselves. Vess barely suppressed her eyeroll. Once the communion was over, the priest continued to speak about the High Laws.
"...Their importance is greater than ever, for the monstrous have invaded Haarwatch. They have breached the Wall and may do so again." A few of the Guilders in attendance shifted uncomfortably, and she saw Elder Latvere frown impressively. That surprised her.
"Indeed, you are a shining example of the talent our Guild needs to foster more often," Teine grinned. "If only all new recruits were as gifted as you."
Vess waved away the praise with a laugh. "You are doing terrible things for my ego, Elders. In fact, I have found myself at a bit of an impasse in training. I am looking for some more bite to push myself. Were I allowed, I would love to enter the Foglands again and test myself anew."
"An impossibility at this time, unfortunately," said DuFont. "While I am confident you are strong, the Duke would not allow such a thing...again."
Vess felt her smile sour at the mention of her father, but she pressed on. "And I understand that. Truly I do. Going against the Duke's specific orders...I would not wish that on anyone." She lingered a moment there, letting them marinate in the truth of her position. "So I have instead come to ask to help with your hunt for this murderer in Haarwatch. The Butcher, I believe the locals are calling him."
Teine and DuFont exchanged a strange look, and Vess felt a thrill of excitement as she continued. "I had overheard a few Guilders just today claiming this Butcher had murdered yet another unfortunately soul. This time in the Dust Quarter."
"Which Guilders did you hear this from?" DuFont asked, her eyebrow quirked.
Vess simply shrugged with a single shoulder. "A couple Tin Ranks, though I did not get their names." She wasn't about to admit that her sources came from the servants, lest they cut off her access in some way. "Were they right? Was there another murder?"
"The hunt for the so-called 'Butcher' is ongoing, your Grace, and we are not entirely at leave to discuss it. In fact, it has grown more complicated as the Inquisition has put their hands on the reins as well," Elder Teine shrugged his narrow shoulders, emphasizing his immaculate white and silver robes. "At this point, I am not even sure I could involve you. That is, providing young Master Reed would allow it."
Teine's eyes flicked back toward the cathedral's exit, but Vess didn't follow his gaze. By now the place had mostly emptied, so she knew it would just invite the Hand to come closer. She didn't have much time.
"Tch. I truly wished to be out among the people again," Vess sighed, perhaps a touch dramatically. She would have killed for a true Acting Skill. "Ever since the breach I have lamented the fact that I have been stuck training atop the Eyrie when I could be protecting Haarwatch's people."
Vess made to leave, but pressed her hand against her chest and turned back. This was it. The move. "What about the Domain, then? It should have plenty of challenges for my level and Temper."
And it would be the perfect excuse to leave the Eyrie on a consistant basis. Darius would have no reason to impede her departures, and she could meet up once again with Harn, Evie, and Atar. Perhaps even Felix. Without her knowing, a blush crept across her cheeks.
"The Domain has been temporarily closed to all, your Grace," Teine's face was once again apologetic, nearly perfectly so. He bowed his head in sorrow.
"Closed?" That caught her by surprise. "How? Why?"
"Any good Domain must be maintained. While normally we could manage this in stages, the disrepair had gotten out of hand during the last few months. Until the sigaldry around the perimeter is repaired, none may enter."
"When shall that be?" Vess found a whine in her voice that she didn't have to fake. This was not going well.
"It is a delicate process, your Grace," explained Elder Teine. "We are making the attempt but expect it to last the next few months."
"Months?" Vess goggled, now not acting at all.
"It is a delicate process, repairing a Domain. Had we not been so distracted by the changes in the Foglands, perhaps it could have been avoided."
"Blast and bother," she cursed, then blushed. "Pardon my tongue, but I was looking forward to varying up my routines."
"Think nothing of it, your Grace," Elder Teine bowed, then glanced behind her again. "If you'll excuse me, we are expected elsewhere. As, I imagine, are you."
"I will think on what we can do for you, your Grace," promised DuFont before walking after Teine.
Vess followed them with her eyes and saw Darius Reed striding toward her, his face as stern as always. Before he could reach her, she huffed and swept past him with a swirl of her skirts. "Let us leave, Darius. I am thinking a nice repose in the parlor is called for."
Perhaps if she was lucky, she could find that servant boy again. If she couldn't get out of the Eyrie, she could do with a few more script-ciphers.
Without missing a beat, the Hand turned and followed after.
