Chapter One Hundred Thirty Five - 135
The soft scratch of a quill on parchment filled the room, competing with the smell of newly ground ink and aromatic lavel tea in the cramped space. Eliza DuFont finished a sentence with a flourish and sat back, a sigh on her lips as she regarded her office. While quite large, they were nothing compared to the Elders of Spirit, Mind, or even Body for all that the pig used it only to store his weaponry. It was, perhaps, only fair. Her personal power in relation to theirs was less, and their authority on Guild affairs was considerable. Only Fairbanks, that pompous git, could gainsay them without repercussions.
As the Elder of Acquisition, she had a say in the Council and on matters of import and export for the small city. That included the Verdant Pass and regions beyond, as well as the formerly unknowable Foglands. It was the last that should have sent her star rising in the Eyrie; the acquisition and distribution of resources of untold variety and potency? It was the dream she'd held when they had first assembled the original operation, the one that she thought dead when communication was lost with the outpost. It was ironically brought back to life by the damn Shieldwitch, a thorn in her side if there ever was one. The musclebound idiot had even cleared the eternal fog and dispelled a hefty warding illusion. The Foglands, and all the power it represented, had been within her reach.
And then the Inquisition had arrived.
The damnable Redcloaks had locked down their city while the Guild was still sending exploratory expeditions into the Foglands. Now, as the rate of monsters began to surge once more and the zealots barred her gates, Eliza's authority had been cut off at the knees.
"Tsk," she clucked. In her pique she had spilled a few drops of ink over the letter she was composing. With a flick of the wrist and flare of Mana, the parchment shot into the air and dissolved. She'd have to start over.
"What...a waste."
Eliza leaped to her feet, her inscribed gauntlets sparking with bright yellow Mana. In the same motion, she cast her senses around the room, washing the area with her power. She blinked, her fists faltering.
"Ilia? Siva's breath, what's happened to you?" Eliza gasped.
Before her, the shadows melted, dissolving into the battered form of her Sworn agent. Her leather armor was scuffed and torn, and her hair was wild beneath her hood. Blood dripped from somewhere on her person, pattering onto the polished floor.
"Something...something's done in my head," Ilia whispered. She stumbled forward, barely catching herself against Eliza's oversized desk. "It rose...the lie's opposite, the...."
Suddenly she was there, in front of Eliza, gripping the Elder by her gown. DuFont flinched, but didn't shake the Sworn's iron grip. She could only stare into eyes that looked all too Human, washed clean of the usual opaque whiteness.
"Sunrise. The sunrise did it," she hissed, and drool spilled from her mouth. "There's rats in the walls, DuFont."
"Unhand me, Ilia," Eliza snarled. "Or else I'll put paid to your morning. Good or ill."
Like a wilting flower, the assassin drooped, her hands going limp as she fell backwards. Eliza figured she'd have fallen to the ground had her rear not hit the Elder's desk. She appeared broken, somehow. Whoever had done this was strong, that was clear, and the thought of it sent a thrill of fear down DuFont's spine.
"I slipped out--through the black," Ilia's head had fallen onto her chest, and her tattered hood covered her features. "Barely-barely...it sang a...it clutches at me."
Eliza couldn't help it: she took a step back. But the Sworn wasn't finished.
"Sunrise has them. Has them in its grip and hidden. Held tight. The girl..." Ilia's quiet voice slithered out of her throat. Eliza regretted her retreat. Now she had to lean forward to hear, despite her Perception.
"Sunrise...? The Sunrise Quarter? The heiress is in...who has her?" Eliza asked, her heart racing. Perhaps this was a good thing, despite appearances. Perhaps this was leverage....
"Sharp--the sea. The sea," Ilia wheezed. "But I saw it. I saw him."
"Him? Who did you see?" Despite Ilia's unnerving condition, Eliza was growing tired of this. She hadn't paid to listen to a madwoman. "Who has the Dayne girl?"
A heat returned to the Sworn's muddy brown gaze as she turned it on the Elder, and Eliza flinched.
"Felix. The blue-eyed cockroach."
The waters roared in the large chamber beneath the city, filling the air with a fine mist that cooled the warm summer morning. Khorun Katan stared wordlessly around himself as four Inquisitors and two dozen Acolytes dredged the dark pool below the bridge, looking for evidence. Before him, two char marks stained the broken bridge, a structure that had been torn up in multiple places by the advent of clearly implacable forces. The Master Inquisitor knelt and ran his naked hand along the stone, the carbonized markings coming off against his skin like charcoal.
"Initiate Creel had two Acolytes with him," Inquisitor Maldis informed him, standing slightly to his right. "We show no other sign of their bodies. They could have been taken as hostages, or--"
"Sound the Echo," Katan ordered.
"Aye, sir," Maldis snapped a smart salute and took a step back. Sheets of pale, unattributed Mana poured from the man in waves, soaking the charred markings before them. Soon after, a spike of music flared across the chamber, a divinely harmonious chord that shook the air itself with its majesty. Katan, so close to its epicenter, closed his eyes a brief moment to bask in the sensation. It was a uniquely uplifting experience, utilizing their god-given abilities in this way, an exultation of the Spirit.
We praise your hidden word, Lord Pathless. Let your holy music show us the Truth.
"An Empyrean Arrow?" Maldis gasped.
"He was killed by one of our own?" Another Inquisitor hissed, outraged.
"No," Kata declared with a guttural snarl. "It was...corrupted."
The four Inquisitors looked again and scowled, almost as one. "I see it, blue flashes among the shaft. And the gold isn't right. It's not light Mana. Not the purity of the Pathless at all. How?"
Katan didn't answer, instead chasing down options through his impressively Tempered Mind. Scenarios and potential threats whisked by his consciousness, categorized and filed away within seconds but all for naught. The Master Inquisitor knew of no extant force or individual who could use their divine techniques; Skills that had been passed down to their order alone.
It is a mercy, culling this town, Katan bared his teeth at the shadowy figure. If we catch the head of whatever serpent this one belongs to, a blight shall have been eradicated.
Outside the Inviolate Order, none should hold such power.
Unless...
Katan flexed his abilities again, enhancing the frozen image, pouring more and more of himself into the working, until the vaulted chamber was awash in a transcendent choral paean. The world quivered as the tempo rose, the enigmatic beat of the Shining Realm thrumming through them all in a mad dash.
He could feel the Inquisitors as they looked on in worship and reverent awe. Were he able to spare the effort, Katan would have admonished them. None of them were divine, or worthy of such awe. They were but Vessels for the Truth.
The form resolved itself, built before their eyes from swirling blue smoke and fire. It formed the shape of a man, without armor or weapon, just simple clothes. The man appeared powerfully built, but details were sparse. Little else could be inferred, for a rustling spike of dissonance trailed the man's form, disrupting the clarity of the True God's message.
Katan felt the strain on his considerable resources, and moved forward quickly. He pivoted around the man, and looked him in the face. Twin spots of ghostly blue fire blazed in the man's eye sockets, deadly and filled with a terrible, hungry rage.
"The Fiend," Katan murmured.
Before the others could gasp in alarm, the base of the burning man's neck ripped open and the image degraded completely.
The inquisitors fell forward with pained cries, and even Katan felt the sting of the backlash. The divine forces of the world shook through him, muddling his senses and perhaps his thoughts as well. How else could he account for the fact that he had seen, however briefly, rows of jagged teeth in the man's neck?
Unless...No, that way lies madness...
"Increase patrols in the Dust and Crafters Quarters. Push through the Wall and Sunrise districts as well. We must find this creature," Katan locked eyes with his subordinates. "Before it is too late."
The Inquisitors saluted, fist to chest, before flowing out toward the Acolytes. With so many heretics gathered up, the plan was moving apace and it freed up even more of his soldiers to hunt down this 'Blue-Eyed Fiend.' Which was fortunate, as the man's bizarre but powerful advancement was a threat to everything they hoped to accomplish.
It is no mistake that the Fiend was down here, attending that profane meeting, Katan wanted to spit, but decorum reined him in. He must be allied with the choristers and whatever those foul, heathens dared to plot.
They had caught most of the leaders, thankfully. Each of them would be put to the question, naturally, but the servants of the dead gods were hardy. Tough to break. Perhaps if they--
"Sir! Master Inquisitor, sir!"
Katan looked up to see an extremely nervous Acolyte saluting before him. They trembled so hard their armor practically rattled, and despite his dour mood, the hint of a smile played across the Master Inquisitor's face.
"Proceed, my child."
"There is a Guild Elder here to see you, sir." The Acolyte's face flushed and the words fairly tumbled from their mouth. Katan frowned.
"Which one?" he asked.
"She said her name was DuFont, sir," the Acolyte swallowed. "She claimed to have evidence of the...of the Blue Eyed Fiend, sir."
Khorun Katan, Master Inquisitor of the Inviolate Order, bared his teeth.
