Soldiers of Ruin, Page 2

  “Alright, let’s try something a little different,” Kinsey suggested, giving Criosa a nod. She apparently understood his meaning, and reached into a pouch on her belt to withdraw a handful of fine dust. With a few whispered words, she tossed the dust into the air before her floor and then promptly vanished.

  A slap on his rump startled Aiden, who whirled around to face his unseen opponent, but saw nothing except the empty confines of the large practice area. The faint sound of Criosa giggling drifted past his ears, so he quickly swung his practice blade, which cut ineffectually through empty air.

  “How is this a fair fight?” Aiden asked of Kinsey, who watched with detached calm.

  “Our adversaries have used magic on more than one occasion,” the spymaster pointed out as Criosa whacked Aiden on the arm with the flat of her blade. “You’ve shown a natural talent for the art, not to mention a few tricks up your sleeve, so I want to see what else you can do. Surprise me.”

  While he was speaking, Aiden was focusing elsewhere in an attempt to find subtle shifts in the air around him that might give away Criosa’s location. He saw nothing, but it did give him an idea.

  As Kinsey said, Aiden had learned weeks ago that he had some latent talent for sorcery, although he could only manage the most basic of applications, such as conjuring a force shield or shifting his vision, to enable him to see the aura that surrounds people and things empowered with magic. He used this now, hoping that it would enable him to see the elusive Criosa via the aura of her incantation, but that failed to produce any result.

  With the application of willpower, Aiden was able to shift his vision a little further than usual, allowing him to perceive the room around him in different ways. The colours around him changed as he concentrated, showing as subtle reds and brilliant greens before settling on a dim shade of blue.

  Although very distracting, this little experiment did have one benefit — roughly ten yards in front of him was the dark grey silhouette of the young woman, standing at ease in the sure knowledge that she was invisible to Aiden.

  Suppressing a triumphant grin, Aiden crept forward, keeping his attention elsewhere while heading a few yards to her right. When he was close enough, he surprised the princess by looking straight at her and tapping her on the shoulder with his wooden sword.

  “How did you manage that?” she exclaimed, her silhouette shifting to the muted blue of the background, indicating she was now visible once more. Aiden let the focus of his vision dissipate and felt a momentary dizziness.

  “Sayana taught me a little sorcery back at Bracksford,” Aiden answered, lowering his training sword. “I figured it might be useful and with a little adjustment, it served to reveal your presence. And yes, now I have a headache coming on.”

  “You do not disappoint, Mister Wainwright,” Kinsey said with a hint of approval, exchanging a glance with Criosa. “I had expected something far less subtle, such as that ring you used against me recently.”

  “I uh, actually lost it shortly after the battle at the senate,” Aiden replied uncomfortably, referring to the brutal fight to stop a bunch of assassins from slaughtering the city’s government. The ring had proven to be very useful and he lamented its loss, though he didn’t want to let on how annoyed he was with himself for losing such a precious item. “I doubt it had much power left in it anyway.”

  “Well, you did just fine without it, sir,” Kinsey said as the sound of approaching footsteps echoed along the stone walls. From the doorway to the barracks came Malcolm Hodges, the castle’s castellan. He was a man of unremarkable appearance, with dark eyes and gray hair, dressed in fine clothing.

  “I’m sorry to intrude, but I require Her Highness for some less exciting duties around the castle. Also, I have a note passed to me by a representative of the University of the Arcane, addressed to you, Mister Wainwright.” He passed a folded piece of paper to Aiden, who opened it curiously. It was from Dean Desmond Foster, who requested his presence in his laboratory in the tower.

  “Thank you,” Aiden replied thoughtfully, wondering what the cranky old wizard wanted with him.

  “Will you be departing in the morning?” Kinsey asked of Aiden.

  “Yes, at first light,” he confirmed.

  “Then I wish you good fortune on your journey,” the spymaster said, offering his hand for Aiden to shake. “I hope you’ve managed to absorb some of today’s lessons, as they might well save your life.”

  “A fact of which I am keenly aware,” Aiden assured him, striding across the room to replace the wooden sword back on its rack. “You taught her well, castellan,” he added with a wry grin. “She’s more than a match for me.”

  “You are too kind, sir,” the court official replied, bowing slightly. “Fencing is more of a hobby for a man in my position, but I would gladly risk life and limb to protect the Kingdom, should the need arise.

  “I’ll do my best to find the sceptre and help end this war before that comes to pass,” Aiden responded, tapping the breastplate on his chest. “Thank you for the gift, Highness, and for spending the time to teach me.”

  “My pleasure,” Criosa said with a slight bow of her head.

  “I shall escort you from the castle,” Hodges said to Aiden. He followed the castle’s senior caretaker through a side door across the room, but turned to look behind him before he left.

  “Good luck, Aiden,” Criosa called, smiling fondly at him, looking radiant even in the dim light of the barracks. He waved at her, but as he walked down the passageway Aiden absently rubbed his hand where the magical ring had been and wondered how he could possibly have lost it.

  Chapter One

  Pacian Savidge admired the new ring on his finger, quietly pleased he’d managed to take it from Aiden during their last meeting without anyone noticing. Aiden had plenty of other magical tricks to draw upon, and Pacian was the one who found it in the first place, so he felt no shame about taking it back during their final hand-shake.

  Pacian was fairly sure he could figure out how to make it work, having recently overheard Aiden using the ring several times. Resolving to practice with it later, Pacian turned his attention to the main road just beyond the entrance to the alley where he stood. It was a chilly evening in Fairloch, a city still firmly in the grip of winter and though his “borrowed” brown robe allowed him to easily blend into the crowd, it wasn’t as thick as he would have liked.

  A slender woman dressed in a white robe walked along the snow-covered street, having just left the nearby castle. Her white hood was pulled over pale blond hair, but Pacian would have recognised her if she was wearing a burlap sack from head to toe. Nellise Sannemann was a woman of faith and conviction, who stood for everything Pacian cared little for, yet he wasn’t ashamed to admit he was in love with her.

  She looked around her as she walked, and Pacian’s breath caught in his throat as he caught sight of her golden eyes reflecting the nearby lantern light. The white hood of her robe framed the beautiful face and full lips as strands of her pale blond hair blew about in the cold wind.

  Pacian had never actually been in love before, having played fast and loose with the affections of women in his youth. Although very intuitive, he wasn’t sure Nellise understood the real depth of his feelings, and something within prevented him from telling her directly. If he was the sort of person given to introspection, this might have been a disturbing thought. As it was, Pacian simply found himself unable to speak of his affection aloud.

  He should have been out there on the street, walking alongside her, but recent events had seen him expelled from the association Aiden and Nellise had assembled, which annoyed Pacian to no end. They failed to understand that killing the traitorous Senator Johnson was necessary.

  Men such as he didn’t care for rules or laws about civil conduct — Johnson was trying to overthrow the government and knew he would not pay for his crimes if left to the decisions of the weak and cowardly people in power. Pacian had no compunctions about slitting his throat a
nd would do so again in a heartbeat, if it meant real justice could be served.

  Looking at Nellise, going about her work with full faith in the system, made Pacian all the more determined to protect her against those who do her harm. She passed him by noticing his presence, but before Pacian could mingle with other people on the street to follow, he noticed a robed man approaching her from the direction of the cathedral, the centre of the Church of Aielund which had taken issue with Nellise’s decisions of late.

  “Nellise Sannemann?” he called through the bitterly cold air. His hood was low over his face, with a greying beard visible beneath the cowl. His hands were clasped together before him in what Pacian thought of as the “classic monk look”, and although covered in his white robe, it was clear from his heavy steps that he was wearing armour underneath.

  “I am,” Nellise replied hesitantly, giving the approaching man an appraising glance.

  “My name is Cedric Cain, Archon of the Holy Inquisitors, and I would ask that we speak in private,” he intoned with a deep, articulate voice. Glancing at Nellise, Pacian saw that she was tense, but unafraid of the man.

  “I am no longer a part of any order with the Church of Aielund,” Nellise answered evenly, “so I do not recognise your authority.”

  “My desire to talk with you is not a directive from the Church, Miss Sannemann,” the inquisitor elaborated. “Think of it as brotherly advice, if you will. We may speak in the cathedral.”

  Nellise hesitated, wary of his invitation but eventually nodded her head in compliance, and followed Cain towards the cathedral. Pacian left the shelter of the alley and followed at a discreet distance, keeping the hood of his robe low over his face as they passed through the gates of the city’s university, heading for the imposing presence of the cathedral. Other priests heading for the tall building wore similar robes to that which Pacian was wearing, so he figured he’d try his luck at listening in on Nellise’s conversation with the inquisitor.

  Pacian passed by a few other priests, bowing his head slightly in greeting but walking fast enough to make it seem he knew where he was going. When he reached the tall double door of the cathedral, he took a deep breath and went inside, continuing to stride purposefully down the centre aisle.

  It was a well-lit space, with candles and lanterns lighting the area well enough to navigate. The hour was late and the pews were empty, though priests could be seen here and there as they went about their duties. A few acolytes passed by him in the hall, offering him their assistance if needed, to which Pacian gave a curt shake of his head and pressed on. He had reached the halfway point of the great hall when he saw two robed individuals speaking together in a small alcove off to the side of the main thoroughfare — Nellise and Cain.

  Sidling closer without trying to make it appear he was sidling, Pacian eventually came within earshot of the two and sat down. He brought his hands together as if praying and focused on listening in to their conversation.

  “I understand it is your role within the hierarchy to actively monitor the clergy and their actions,” Nellise was whispering, “but your concern is unfounded as I feel my faith has been renewed of late, regardless of my expulsion from the ranks of the Resolute Heralds.”

  “The concern you speak of is not my own,” Cain corrected her. “Prelate Carver of the Royal Court brought you to my attention, after witnessing your continuing desire to blend our peaceful faith with some form of martial philosophy.”

  “I do as my conscience dictates,” Nellise hissed, dispensing with her usual calm. “It was made quite clear to me that my methods were frowned upon by the chapter, but as I am no longer with the Heralds, I feel free to pursue my own path. God answers my prayers, inquisitor — who are you to judge the rightness of my choices?”

  “My order was appointed to that very task by the His Holiness,” Cain informed her evenly, “and I perform my duty with all diligence. There was once an order of the Church that thought as you did, believing themselves right with God as they impugned the rights of those they deemed immoral or unworthy. They came to a bad end, Nellise, after destroying the lives of countless men and women.” Nellise crossed her arms as the inquisitor lectured her, clearly impatient and simmering with indignation.

  “I am well acquainted with the works of the Divine Templars,” Nellise muttered. “But you are omitting the political errors that permitted them to hold sway over public policy. Our government and church hierarchy are a far cry from those dark days, and one priestess with a desire to fight for the Kingdom in the name of Kylaris will not lead to the fall of civilisation.”

  “Understand, Nellise,” Cain whispered intently, leaning forward on his small chair, “that I cannot permit someone associated with this Church to walk the land, extolling the virtues of dealing with her problems using a crossbow, with God’s blessed sanction. I feel that your training has been perverted by the events of the last month, and you cling to your weaponry as an easy solution to problems that have arisen. Perhaps you need to spend a year or two with the Keepers of the Light, to relearn the true meaning of the faith.”

  “Given the events of recent weeks, I believe I am where I’m supposed to be, inquisitor,” Nellise responded evenly. “Locking myself away in a monastery is not going to help others, and that is the focus of my new calling. Princess Criosa herself has bestowed me with the authority to speak for the Crown on a mission of utmost urgency and I will not shirk my duties, nor do you have the right to interfere in matters of state.”

  “It is not my intention to stand in the way of your mission, Nellise,” Cain said, backing down. “I am simply advising you to consider the ultimate destination of the road you now walk. We are not so different, you and I, for we both serve as guardians of the faith. If you do not feel service with the Keepers is a realistic option, you should consider joining my order, where you will be better able to carry the duel burdens of warrior and priest.” Nellise was silent for a long moment, and Pacian silently shouted at her to slap him in the face and walk away.

  “Your order is tasked with policing the faith, sometimes to a fault,” Nellise intoned quietly, as if thinking aloud. “If I am forced to choose, then that would be my choice, though it goes against the calling of my heart.”

  “Think on this, over the coming weeks,” Cain advised, leaning back casually. “Though you have a difficult choice to make, it need not be made now. If the Crown has called you to service, then go you must. Remember, though, that the Divine Templars once had the same epiphany as you and ended up a twisted shadow of their former glory, as power ate away at their souls. Do not make the same mistake, Nellise, or I will come for you personally.”

  She did not speak as Cain stood and left the small alcove, heading further into the cathedral proper. Pacian was hesitant to glance over at the beautiful cleric in case she found out he heard everything, though part of him ached to go over there and reassure her. Another part of him, however, was filled with a cold rage and had something else in mind.

  In the past few weeks, as he and Nellise had become better acquainted, she had been gently guiding his actions in the hope of making him a better person. He had been aware of it, of course, but she had a certain way about her that made it difficult to refuse. When push came to shove, though, Pacian had found her to be dangerously naïve, and had taken it upon himself to show her the error of her ways.

  It was an ongoing argument between the two that had increased with intensity as they ran into greater challenges, but following the horrifying events at the hands of akoran savages to the south, Pacian had silently declared it a victory for his way of thinking, and indeed, she had come to see the short-sightedness of her position as well. Even though something had happened in the past couple of days to change her mind, Pacian knew he was still in the right, and nobody was going to push around his Nellise.

  Nobody.

  A plain, locked door at the end of the great hall blocked his way. Cain had travelled through here, so that’s where Pacian was heade
d, too. Flipping out a set of lock-picks from his sleeve, he quickly opened the door and proceeded inside.

  A long, narrow hall curved around to his right, with numerous doors leading off at regular intervals. He hadn’t seen which one the inquisitor had entered, so he would have to check each one in sequence. A pair of robed acolytes walking towards him gave him pause, however, and he instead chose to continue on past so they couldn’t see him breaking into their rooms. As he was about to pass, he was stopped by a plain, homely man with bad hair.

  “You aren’t supposed to be back here, sir,” he advised calmly. “Can I be of assistance?”

  “Yes, I’m looking for Archon Cain’s chamber,” Pacian asked smoothly. “He asked me to meet him there, though I seem to be lost. Can you point the way?”

  “It’s the third door on your left,” the helpful acolyte answered, pointing down the hall. “May I ask your business with the inquisitor?”

  “To be honest, I’m not entirely sure myself, but he said it was a matter of utmost secrecy, and I’m not one to question authority,” Pacian lied, hoping he didn’t sound sarcastic.

  “Ah, well, we’d better not let you keep the Inquisitor waiting,” the acolyte hedged, nervously licking his lips. Pacian took note of the effect Cain’s name had on the common priests, then slipped past without another word. Arriving at the correct door, Pacian checked to make sure the acolytes had moved on and then slowly twisted the handle. He felt some resistance, indicating it was locked, and once more fetched his lock-picks.

  It was a painstaking process manipulating the lock without making any noise, and took all of Pacian’s skill to accomplish. Eventually the mechanism give way and he slowly turned the handle, mindful that the inquisitor could be waiting for him on the other side. Easing the door inwards on well-oiled hinges, Pacian silently stepped inside the dimly lit room and saw the robed figure of a man sitting at a desk, intently scribbling notes with a quill.