17 Prayers Unanswered

THE IMPERIAL CHURCH cast a shadow across the gathering worshipers, as paytors stood outside welcoming the arrivals. It was a feast day for the martyred Paladin Augustus who had also been a marshal in the Actaeon Guard five hundred years ago. Augustus had helped foil a rebellion against the Imperator Maximillian, but perished as a result.

The religious side of things held no interest for Sarscha; she had too much on her mind. However, it would have been considered a sacrilege if she did not attend.

As she stepped inside the church, entering as though a simple worshiper and not the leader of the imperium, she wondered why she felt the way she did. After all, many had turned to the divine for answers, beseeching the angels for help. Why hadn’t she?

Perhaps it is because as a child, she reasoned, the angels never answered my prayers, and as an adult I came to know an angel, before he died. As wondrous as angels were, they were not divine. Besides, Raziel was deceased, though perhaps his angelic soul lived on. She didn’t know for certain, but if they could die, then ...

‘Ah,’ uttered Benedict, who sat in the row behind her, as she took her seat. It was one of the few times anyone else in the imperium could sit with the imperatrix or imperator, and be on equal terms before the divine. ‘It is good to see you are feeling better. I hope whatever it was, wasn’t overly taxing? You seemed in such distress before. We have all been worried sick.’

‘A tonic, to see you up and well, imperatrix,’ said another paladin seated to Benedict’s left, his words punctuated with an unctuous smile. Another female paladin just stared at her, with no expression at all.

Stifling a shudder, she didn’t respond to their inquiries, deciding that anything she said might be seen by them as encouragement. That’s the last thing this lot need.

She’d finally gotten the upper hand on the paladins, who no longer controlled all the finances as they once had. However, they still wielded significant power and had a lot of financial interests abroad, which she couldn’t get at. Although, some of that must have vanished considering the rampaging conquests of Astra Dar.

‘It’s all these undead, I’m telling you.’ Sarscha recognised that voice as belonging to Lucius Aidarius. She had thought his companion Polius Augustus had been worse, but wasn’t so sure anymore. She wondered if Aidarius was simply trying to make up for his companion’s absence. It certainly sounded like it. ‘The city is full of ’em, and what’s more, so is our imperium. They’re everywhere practising their dark magics in dark corners. Is it any wonder there’s all these strange goings-on and what-not?’

‘The virals wouldn’t do that to us,’ chided another voice. ‘Why would they harm us when they’re here to protect us, you ignorant old fool? Don’t you know anything?’

‘Well, I never said they were doing it on purpose,’ Lucius conceded, ‘but you can’t tell me it’s all a coincidence. I never believed in those, and I’m too old to start now.’

Angels carved from stone looked down at Sarscha from high above. She didn’t like the feeling, when she entered these buildings, of being watched and judged. Not that everybody else wasn’t judging her, but at least they had more right to.

The three paytors – there were always three, but she couldn’t remember the reason what with having little interest in religious matters – took their positions at the stone altar. They raised their hands and began their sonorous sermon, which was half-spoken, half-chanted in ancient Icarthian, and with half the words unintelligible.

The church-goers tried to ignore the several dozen green-cloaked imperial guards on either side, likely attempting to find peace and perhaps answers. She had only attended to be seen to do so, and to show a calm front amid a growing storm.

‘Always do what they expect,’ her father had once told her, although she had then believed he’d been speaking about the soldiers under her command, ‘because then when you need to do the unexpected, they’ll be more likely to accept it. As a leader, you need to fulfil their expectations before you can confound them. They must first learn to trust in you.’

Artorius was not in attendance, and she glanced to her left and right. She was alone, despite the church being full of people. It was fitting, she supposed.

There were no viral mages in the church, although she felt there should be. Unfortunately, people’s acceptance of the undead had not reached such a level yet, and besides, Tezcat had them all out in their clots hunting down whatever menace was killing people in the city.

Later she would reflect that she should have known things would go bad. After everything she’d been through, why had she not seen it coming?

It began with one of the paytors stuttering through his sermon, the other paytors frowning at him. Then he began to shiver as though there was a terrible draught. Murmuring erupted from the gathered worshipers, and then the first screams. Two people in the pews also began to behave oddly, with a third collapsing. Their skin had begun to turn black as had the paytor’s.

The imperatrix rushed to her feet, and her guards immediately moved to surround her, shoving people out of their way, which only added to the fear and mayhem as far as Sarscha was concerned. My life is not worth more than theirs, damn it!

Everyone was on their feet now, shoving towards the exits, of which there were only two. It soon became clear to Sarscha that no one would be exiting anywhere. The doors slammed shut as more worshipers collapsed, the rest hammering at the thick oak, shouting and crying for help.

Her soldiers urged her back, and led her another way to the only other exit, but two of the greencloaks in the lead stopped dead in their tracks. Their swords clattered to the stone floor, their hands reaching for their own throats.

The captain, a woman named Lazar, bellowed orders, and the others backed away from their stricken companions. Lazar then began to order more of them away from Sarscha, no doubt fearing others might become stricken.

A soldier named Morla remained near the imperatrix, sword shaking in her fist. Agrippa’s wife. The woman looked terrified, and Sarscha found she couldn’t blame her.

‘Imperatrix,’ Lazar said in an oddly calm voice, considering the nature of what was occurring, ‘you need to find a way out of here, alone.’

‘Certainly, so long as alone means with the rest of you, and as many people as we can save.’

Lazar gave her an exasperated look, breaking that calm façade for a moment. ‘Any one of us can catch whatever this is, and it’s spreading fast. Your only chance is to go, now!’

Sarscha threw up her hands, taking in the chaos surrounding them. ‘Where do you suggest I go, captain?’

‘Some of these old churches have tunnels beneath—’ Lazar’s voice broke off as she turned, her face going pale. ‘Is that smoke?’

Sarscha spotted the glow of flames from a corner spring up, and then from another as though by magic. Of course, she knew that was exactly what this all was. Dark magic.

Then she spotted the old woman, alone in the centre of the church, hands cradling an overlarge tome wrapped in chains, stroking its cover as though trying to keep it calm.

Creed stared back, and gave her that wicked smile just as before. She opened the book, the otherworldly chains and light clearly visible, and began to chant.

Grabbing Lazar, Sarscha pointed at Paladin Creed with a shaky hand. ‘Do you see her?’ she cried before descending into a fit of coughing. The smoke was getting worse.

‘See who, imperatrix?’

‘Paladin Creed, an old woman with a huge book in her hands. There are bloody chains coming out of the pages! How do you not see her?’

The captain squinted, and though there was a lot of smoke, she should have been able to spot the woman. Morla was twisting left and right, trying to see everything at once, in more danger of stabbing an innocent than anything else.

Lazar grabbed Sarscha by the arm, and half dragged her to the altar, being completely irreverent and professional about it. A good woman, Lazar, but this imperatrix still wasn’t used to being bundled off at the first sign of danger. She wanted to save these people.

Two other greencloaks were now shoving at the altar, but they couldn’t budge it.

‘I thought these damned places had secret tunnels,’ the captain snapped.

‘Not all of them, I’m afraid,’ said the one surviving paytor who was so white he was in stark contrast to his brethren whose blackened bodies still writhed on the floor.

Then one of the dead paytors began to get up. So too, did several of the fallen worshipers. It was clear to Sarscha they were indeed dead, and that Tezcat’s reports were accurate.

Morla was beside her, trying to look fierce despite her trembling. Sarscha grabbed the woman’s iron sword from her and swung at the first dead paytor who lurched towards them, decapitating the body. The corpse remained upright and moving, but she kicked it aside. Lazar took care of the other one.

The fires had spread by this time, the burning pews emitting a thick black smoke. It became harder to breathe, and they crouched by the altar as the screams grew louder. Through it all, Paladin Creed, who apparently only Sarscha could see, stood there chanting words from an evil grimoire.

Something hammered at the doors of the church, which had for some reason not caught fire, while almost everything else combustible had. They exploded inward, splinters flying and Tezcat Licolo sauntered in proud as you please, a clot of mages at her back. The viral girl immediately sent a dark billowing fog throughout the church’s interior, extinguishing the flames.

Sarscha had never felt as glad to see the undead. She wept with relief and oddly didn’t feel ashamed. It was now she realised how much the fear had taken hold in her. It was then she noticed the screaming had ceased.

All the dead worshipers had risen to their feet, including a dozen of Sarscha’s imperial guard, and had turned to face a grinning Tezcat Licolo.

Lazar grabbed Sarscha and shoved her back down behind the altar beside a shivering Morla just in time.

Magic exploded all around them, pieces of masonry and wood falling on them as the battle intensified. Sarscha decided to scream then, as the world around her went to hell. What she wouldn’t have given for a decent battle with normal human enemies facing her across a battlefield. Anything but this.

Something hurled into the side of the altar, and a head and arm flopped into view. Paladin Benedict stared up at her, eyes wide in a blackened visage, but he wasn’t moving anymore. He still wore that smug expression, frozen in death.

She didn’t know how long it continued for, huddled there with Lazar’s body shielding her, the church reduced to near ruins, dark magic crackling in the air. It was something she might have done herself once, shielding someone, and her estimation of the captain rose a few notches. A good soldier who might one day make a great marshal.

A voice spoke, and it was then she realised all had gone quiet. ‘It’s all safes enough now, I think.’

Sarscha raised her head, realising she’d been crouched into a ball. Magical battles weren’t like normal ones with swords, shields, and spears. There was nothing honest or real about them. All a mere mortal could do was curl up and pray for it to end.

The captain helped her up, and Sarscha blinked at the open sky above where a section of the roof had collapsed inward. Dust filtered down along with pieces of clothing. Whirling around, Sarscha sought out her nemesis, but all she saw was devastation, the former paladin gone.

‘It was Creed,’ she mumbled, taking in the bodies all tumbled up with broken smouldering wood and crumbled stone. The church was unsalvageable, one whole wall to the right missing. She had lost most of her conclave, and two thirds of the church paladins in one go.

‘I never saw her,’ said Tezcat, standing in her mage’s robes, brow furrowing. ‘Uh, sorry for the mess.’ She didn’t look sorry, and by her reputation a mess was what she usually enjoyed making. For once, Sarscha was glad she had.

The imperial marshal was picking his way across the rubble towards her, face pale. Another troop of greencloaks stood milling about outside, no doubt confused as to what had happened, or where the enemy was.

‘I’m fine, Art,’ she called stepping out into full view with Lazar glued to her side. ‘The captain here took great care of me like you said she would.’

The imperial marshal, however, ignored her and grabbed his wife Morla, checking her over. The woman still shook with fear, but to her credit pushed him away, giving the imperatrix a nod. Yes, she would do fine. Her first battle, and far nastier than Sarscha remembered of her own first time. She did feel a little slighted that Artorius didn’t bother to check her too, but mentally scolded herself for being silly.

Artorius glared about the ruin, as though there might be another enemy waiting. ‘I came as fast as I could, imperatrix. Someone reached me in the Pleth. I was hunting for any news on Creed at her old haunting grounds. She had several businesses there.’

Sarscha shook her head. ‘It doesn’t matter. She was here.’ When she saw Lazar give the imperial marshal a look, she added, ‘I know what I saw. Creed is behind this. It seems she only wants me to see her.’

‘I believes you,’ said Tezcat. ‘Actually, I founds somethin’ in the library.’ She fumbled in her robes and pulled out a piece of torn parchment.

The lone surviving paytor saw it and began to protest, but Sarscha held up one hand to forestall him. ‘I know, paytor, but Miss Licolo just saved our lives. I think we can forgive her ripping a passage out of an ancient book, no matter how sacred or valuable. After all, the end of the world is upon us.’

Tezcat blinked once, glancing at the paytor. ‘Um, I weres in a hurry, sorry. Another mage tolds me about what were happenin’ here, you see, and I came as fast as I could.’

‘Go on, Cat,’ Artorius said, still eyeing his wife. ‘What did you find out?’

She unfolded the wrinkled piece of old hide and squinted at the faded lettering. ‘Well, at first, I thoughts mayhap it were nothin’, as it talks about the Book o’ Souls, but you said it were the Book o’ Chains, right?’

Sarscha nodded. Another part of the roof gave way, and Lazar touched Sarscha’s arm. ‘I think we’d be safer discussing this outside.’

Of course, this necessitated their stepping over the bodies, many visible in the rubble. She spotted poor old Lucius Aidarius, his stick broken in half. As they vacated the now thoroughly ruined church, there were others clambering over the rubble looking for survivors. The imperial marshal spotted soldiers among them, and began shouting more instructions.

The other virals had gone back outside waiting for Tezcat.

The girl was pursing her lips as they moved away from the church, a host of people now trying to remove rubble and recover bodies. The edict had gone out across the city and beyond; all dead were to be burned on pyres until further notice. It had resulted in several plumes of smoke rising from different quarters, including outside the city walls.

‘It says something here,’ said Tezcat, once again glaring at the piece of parchment as though everything was its fault, ‘about somes sort o’ trinity.’ She glanced up at them and shrugged. ‘I has been studyin’ like Lyrin used tell me to, and I’s been learnin’ my ancient Icarthian. I thinks this is from over two thousand years ago.’

‘And you ripped it out?’ asked Artorius rejoining them.

Sarscha waved a hand at him. ‘We’ve been over all that. Go on, Cat. What did you learn?’

‘Well, looks like the Shathra Stone, and the Aura Crystal or Aura like what’s it’s called now, and the Book o’ Chains are all pieces o’ the Spectrum.’

Artorius looked a little lost, but Sarscha had listened to enough of Threadfin’s nattering to know a little. ‘The first angel, Volcanus, he used the first soul shard, the Crystal Sword, and damaged a part of the Spectrum by cutting away those pieces.’

Tezcat nodded vigorously. ‘Yep, and it looks like the third piece is the Book o’ Chains, what we all thought were the White Daemoni. I bets Creed used the Book o’ Chains and has given up her soul to it. Mayhap that’s why you sees her, but we doesn’t.’

‘Then she could well be behind all this.’

Tezcat nodded. ‘Tartaros is usin’ her to creates mayhem, but sounds like she’s got somethin’ personal against you.’

Sarscha groaned. ‘Well, I didn’t die when she wanted me to, and I did take all of her gold and spend it.’

‘More likely,’ said Artorius his wife Morla at his side, ‘she wants to rid the imperium of its leader.’

‘Oh, wow,’ muttered Lazar, scratching at a slight wound on her neck. She must have gotten it inside with all the flying, and falling pieces of church. ‘None of this sounds good.’

‘Would Threadfin know about this trinity of power?’ asked Sarscha, but Tezcat shook her head. ‘Then my dearest Cat, you must get word to him one way or another. Fast as you can. Every bit of information could prove vital in his fight against the sorceress.’

The viral stuffed the fragment of parchment in her robes, and then vanished in a welter of black vapour, startling the imperial marshal, and earning a gasp from Lazar. Morla gave a squeak.

‘Don’t worry,’ said Sarscha, rubbing at her temples with the beginnings of a headache coming on, ‘you get used to it after a while. Wait until she starts popping out of thin air when you’re doing something ... private.’

To be honest, she felt weary. Always, she’d felt invigorated after a battle no matter if her muscles ached and if she’d borne wounds. Never had she felt as she did now, haunted, and alone.

Artorius met her eyes, and she could see he knew the truth of it. She was about to suggest they retire to the palace and find some respite, though for Art there would be little of that, when fresh screams erupted. They were distant and wailing like the world had ended.

Well, thought Sarscha, perhaps it hasn’t ended yet, but I think it’s well on its way.