Simeon walked slowly through the darkened hallway, discarding the invokations of stealth and speed that he had been wearing since he left the Strength. He was unarmed and unadorned, as the relics of the Cult would have too readily marked him as a scion of Morgan. His clothes were plain, and he wore no emblems around his neck or at his wrists. One of the most powerful men in the city of Ash looked like little more than a shopkeep, caught in the bad part of town.
The hallway opened into a tall central room, a domed space off which various arched doorways led. Light came from a scattering of frictionlamps around the room, flickering under minimal power. A second-level terrace overlooked the main room. The floor here was a mosaic of tiny earthen tiles, but so many of the pieces were shattered that the picture was lost. Simeon scuffed his foot across the fragments, frowning. He looked around the room, then drew something from his pocket. A pendant. He held it aloft and incanted something under his breath. A pulse rippled through the air, and the shadows shifted.
'We are here, Simeon of Morgan. There is no need to shout.'
The voice came from the terrace. Simeon turned to face the speaker, though he couldn't see him. He kept the pendant held high.
'I didn't want to meet like this, Malachi. There are too many eyes.'
'Our eyes, Elder? Or your own?'
'Both. Come out, Healer.'
A shadow detached itself from an archway and passed between two lamps. The man was trim and proper, white armor laced with gold and linen. He wore the armor well, a man accustomed to fighting as well as parade. A brace of daggers twinkled at his belt, and his gauntlets glowed with the subtle power of the Healer's icons. His face was smooth and young, though his eyes looked like the eyes of a doll. His lips were too big. Golden hair cascaded across his shoulders. His icons marked him as a High Elector of the Cult of Alexander. It was Nathaniel, who had early on been put in charge of the defense of the monastery, and whom the Elders had kicked out.
'Is this better, Warrior? Both of us in the light.'
Simeon took a step back, breathing a curse. 'I have had business with you, Elector, and put you aside. I am used to dealing with Malachi, of the House of Sutures. Where is he?'
'This matter has been elevated, as have I. I am in charge of this investigation now. The Council of Blood is deeply concerned about the possibility of their brothers of Morgan acting behind their backs, and have asked me to take a hand to it. So, tell me.' He leaned against the railing. 'What news, Elder?'
'They are not acting behind your back so much as acting in their own interest. You must understand their-'
'They are hiding an abomination of Amon. That was your report, no? That is why you came to us originally?'
'I came to Malachi because we are old friends, and things are getting out of hand. Your involvement is unwelcome.'
'My involvement is at the behest of the godking, Elder. Now, tell me, what is happening in the House of Morgan that you would call such an urgent meeting with your friend?'
Simeon looked nervously around the room, then settled into himself.
'They have tasked the Paladin to retrieve the girl in your care. The Amonite. They believe she will be able to help them interpret the artifact.'
'And why don't they get another Amonite? There are plenty.'
'They do not wish to alert Alexander to their purpose. They wish the artifact be kept a secret.'
'Mm.' Nathaniel paced the terrace slowly, hands behind his back. 'And the Paladin? How does she intend to retrieve this Amonite?'
'I don't know. We give her a loose leash.'
'You should tighten it. There are enough troubles in the city without a Morganite kicking in doors and starting fights on the monotrain.'
'She was attacked. The Fratriarch was kidnapped!'
'Regardless.' He stopped and looked down at Simeon. 'Control her.'
'Two things, Elector. One, it doesn't work like that. She doesn't work like that. Two, you must remember that I am an Elder of Morgan. I will not be taking orders from your Cult, godking or no. I am here as a courtesy, because I think things have gone off the tracks.'
The Elector stared at him with a dead face, then entertained the briefest of smiles. 'Of course. Forgive me. I so rarely meet another of my standing. So this… Paladin. She will attack the Spear and save the young girl?'
'Perhaps. Your best hope is to hide her. A Paladin of Morgan is not something to be fought.'
'We have our defenses. I am shocked that one of your Cult would seriously consider attacking the throne of the godking.' The Elector flipped his hand in the air, as though dismissing a cloudy day. 'Strange times.'
'She would, if that is the only way for her to protect her Fratriarch. And your defenses? They are the defenses of a Healer. The Warrior will find her way through.'
The slightest of smiles again, and then the Elector continued pacing.
'Of course. Additional precautions shall be taken. Any insight on what happened to Elias? I assume you are running your own investigations.'
'I… I think Eva may believe that it was an inside job. That he was betrayed by one of our own.'
'Really? You should be careful, then, Elder, sneaking out of the Strength for shady meetings with the scions of Alexander. Does she suspect us, then? You lot are always blaming someone for your troubles.'
'Excuse me?'
'Oh, for the decline of your order, the loss of your Fratriarch. Like when you threw my detachment of guards out of the Strength. A wise and deeply considered move, I am sure.'
Simeon flushed and clenched his fists. The Elector was a much younger man, but he wasn't familiar with the fury of Morgan. Either that, or he was suicidal.
'I came here for your own good, Elector. For the good of the Fraterdom. If you'd rather take your chances with the Paladin, or the Amonite, then you are free to do so. But there is no cause to insult me.'
'Insult you? No, no. That was not my intention.' He paused again and leaned lightly against the rail. 'We will take care of the girl. She will tell no secrets, either to Alexander or any of his children. And as far as chances go, I think you will find that we are not prone to taking them at all. Leash this one.'
A shadow darted out from one of the passageways around the central room, skipping over the shattered mosaic and striking the Elder before he could raise his old hands. The shadow resolved into a man, bound in gray with an iron mask across his face, crudely molded to give the impression of a nose, eyes, a mouth. These features twitched as he attacked, as though laughing. He held a knife in each hand; wide, flat blades that flashed across the Elder's chest with such speed. Simeon gasped and stumbled back, then invoked a weak shield that could not hold long against such an assault. As the Elector looked on, another half-dozen figures entered the room from various doors and hidden chambers, closing on the old man. They were all similarly dressed, and all bore the icon of the Betrayer.
* * *
I intervened.
I had used a lot of energy keeping up with Elder Simeon. I was tired. My reserves were ragged from three days on the hunt. It had been like a long, running battle, a battle fought more in retreat than advance. So when I saw that first knife go into Simeon's chest and draw back with the Elder's blood all over its blade, I felt a moment of fatigued vertigo. Hadn't been preparing for a battle. I was like a scout who found herself too far behind enemy lines, suddenly thrust into the fight, without hope of relief. Desperately in need of relief.
But the Cult of Morgan was out of reserves. There were no more armored columns of Paladins waiting in the barracks, no more legions of initiates of the Blade and Bullet filling the training grounds with the noise of their practice. The battle was joined, and there was me. There was only me.
I drew my sword, incanted a scant few invokations of armor and strength, then drove my blade through the skylight I had perched beside and leapt to the Elder's aid. I hadn't been there for the Fratriarch. This was a doomed battle, but I would be there for Simeon. And then there would be none to take my place, but this is what warriors
