False Covenant

hand on his white-robed shoulder.

Flames hissed and spat, footsteps and hoofbeats slunk through the windows from the street outside, and Renard took occasional sips from the bottle he'd commandeered. Beyond these, however, no sounds interrupted Sicard's grief. After several moments of respectful silence (or near silence), however, Julien finally said, “Your Eminence…”

The bishop raised a flushed and tear-streaked face.

“I'm so sorry, but I fear that time is rather a precious commodity at the moment.” When Sicard nodded, he continued, “I'm just wondering, how did you pull off your, um, false haunting? As you yourself said, a few mundane thugs in frightening dress wouldn't have been enough on their own…”

“No, no, you're right.” Sicard cleared his throat, sucked in a last, wet sniff, and straightened in his chair. “The practice of magic isn't part of priestly training,” he said. “We gain certain advantages due to our communion with the divine-particular insight, the occasional portent, and abnormal luck in certain ventures if the gods approve of our actions-but nothing that the layman would recognize as sorcery.

“We do, however, learn about magic. Not how to cast spells, but their history, how to recognize them. Normally, this is so we can discover the presence of hostile witchcraft or other dangers, but for those of us willing to take the time, and with sufficient discipline, it does give us a leg up on learning certain magics of our own.”

He stopped, frowning slightly at the array of expressions before him. “Not all magic is forbidden by Church doctrine, you know. Only spells that are directly harmful, or that call on unnatural beings who are not servants of the gods themselves.”

“We understand, Your Eminence,” Julien assured him. “Nobody was questioning you.”

Which was patently false, of course, but they all chose to let it go.

“Anyway,” Sicard continued after another few breaths, “one of the spells I'd come across and actually mastered involves briefly linking two individuals on a semispiritual level. It allows them to not only coordinate their efforts and their awareness, but to share a portion of their skills and physical acumen with one another. Strength, endurance, nimbleness, and so forth. I've used it mostly to aid my priests and assistants in performing particularly long or complicated religious observances.”

“Good gods,” Renard breathed. “What a pair of thieves-or Guardsmen, or duelists, or soldiers,” he added swiftly in response to an array of glowers, “could do with that sort of spell! How have such magics not already been claimed for military use?”

Sicard smiled shallowly. “I haven't been precisely open about the fact that I have this spell, save with my most trusted associates.” He absently patted Ferrand's hand. “I chose to use it so my ‘phantoms’ could coordinate from a distance, appear to be the same creature in two places, and so they could perform feats of climbing and agility that no normal person could accomplish unaided. I figured that, along with the proper theatrics, would be enough to create the desired illusion. But I never expected them to need it for genuine combat, and honestly, I'm uncertain of its military applicability. It takes many minutes to perform, so it can't be invoked swiftly or in emergencies, and it doesn't last long. Further, the recipients share in their discomfort as well.”

Widdershins nodded in understanding, remembering how one man had fallen from his perch in agony when she'd stabbed the other.

“I've never seen anyone severely injured, let alone slain, when under the spell's effects, so I can't say for certain what would happen to his partner, but I can't imagine it would be anything pleasant.”

“Still,” Julien insisted, “it seems we ought to be able to find some use for it. It's not as though we have a lot of options, and we haven't done so well against Iruoch as is…”

“I assure you,” Sicard said, “even two men drawing on each other's strengths wouldn't make an appreciable difference against that creature.”

“Two normal people, no,” Igraine said thoughtfully, chewing on a thumbnail. “But what about two of her?”

Widdershins squirmed in her chair and looked about ready to bolt. “I'm not sure what you-”

“Widdershins,” Igraine said in what was, from her, a surprisingly gentle tone, “I think we're past that now, don't you? Everyone here has heard tales of your unusual abilities, and we saw them ourselves back at the church. I've told you long before that I can sense something off about you, and I'd be surprised if His Eminence hadn't as well.”

Sicard nodded.

“We need to know what our resources are,” the priestess continued, “if we're to have any chance at all.”

Widdershins shifted and again felt herself tense, as if to run. She cast her gaze at Robin, but the girl could only stare back, as uncertain as Widdershins herself.

“Olgun?” she whispered desperately.

Even he didn't know. She could feel it from him immediately. He wasn't sure what she should tell them, had no idea how Sicard's magics might interact with his own.

But she felt something from him, as well. Trust. Olgun trusted her. Whatever she decided, he'd support.

Widdershins sighed, and leaned forward in her chair. “I…” She realized her voice was shaking, and held out a hand toward Renard. Without having to ask what she meant, he slapped the bottle into her waiting palm. Widdershins took a few loud swigs, ignoring the trickle of alcohol running down her chin. “I'm sorry,” she said then. “I've told almost nobody the whole story, and…” She cast about helplessly. “I'm not going to demand oaths in the gods' names or anything. I just need…I need to know that you won't tell anyone. None of you. Please.”

Renard and Robin-though the girl knew most of what was to come already-nodded instantly. More slowly, Igraine, Sicard, Ferrand, and Julien followed. Only Paschal hesitated. “What if…?”

The major coughed once, and the constable nodded. “Yes. All right.”

“His name is Olgun,” Widdershins said-and with those words, it felt as though one weight had lifted from her shoulders, to be replaced by a second. “He's-well, he was-a god of the northmen. Not part of the Pact. I worship him, and he…he protects me, as best he can. He works with me. He's…” She smiled, knowing how this would sound. “He's my friend.”

Olgun beamed at her.

“Don't let it go to your head. You're annoying sometimes, too.” And then she couldn't help but laugh, not at Olgun's response, but at the looks she was getting. “I know I sound crazy, but…”

“No,” Igraine said, seemingly unaware that she was shaking her head as though she would never, could never, stop. “No, I believe you. Now that I know what I'm sensing, it's so clear.”

“To me as well,” Sicard added. “But I don't understand. No god should be granting that much power to any one person. How powerful is this Olgun?”

“He's not, really,” Widdershins admitted. “He's just more focused. I…I'm his only worshipper.”

The bishop, the monk, and the priestess all rocked back as though struck. “I've never even heard of such a thing!” Sicard gasped. “This is astonishing!”

“How could it even happen?” Brother Ferrand demanded. “To any god, let alone a northern deity who should have no presence here at all?”

Widdershins took a deep breath; if any revelation would cause her problems, it was the one yet to come. It wouldn't mean anything to most of the others, but to the Guardsmen in their midst…

Robin crept forward and took Widdershins's hand. The thief smiled at her, and bulled ahead.

“Olgun's worship was brought to Davillon by an explorer,” she told them. “There were-there were a number of us, for a while. The others…” She cleared her throat, blinked away a few tears before they could form. “The others were slaughtered a few years ago. Only I survived.”

Julien went abruptly pale, his hands clenching on the arms of his chair. He's put it all together….

“Your Eminence?” Igraine asked. “How does that change things?”

“I honestly don't know,” the bishop replied. “It depends on so many factors. When Olgun grants her his power, is he changing her, or the world around her? Will the spell even serve as a proper