Cariline looked at the book warily as she read on about the events of the long past. She had become an acolyte of Grim but she was also the wife of Grim. It was so confusing. Acolyte was supposed to be waiting for the Grim to come and take them to be the next wife. How was it fair that she as already a wife of Grim, the only damn actual wife, had to be just an acolyte?
The candle sputtered beside her as the night wore on. She was supposed to have this book completed by sunrise and then be in the morning rites with Isobelle. The life in the Temple had consisted of very long nights, even longer days, and very little sleep. It had started to wear on her body, that and the pregnancy. The rituals were tedious at best and hard to memorize. For the longest part of her life, she had tried to avoid the Temple so she had not observed most of the traditions that went on within these cold stone walls. The ritual of passing being the shortest. It required placing the dead body before the Gate and releasing the soul to the reaper. To have such an honor was rare under normal circumstance but the days of late, it had become the norm. Before the uprising, the Reapers were responsible for souls who died with no one to tend them or for those outside the jurisdiction of the Temple. Now, the Reapers in and around Tharpe had been overrun with the dead. All Rites of Passing were now performed in the Temple. These and others were foreign, complex for Cariline to memorize.
Cariline focused once more on the text and read on, practicing the ritual of the dead. This one allowed for a necromancer to remove a soul, temporarily, during the Curse of the Reaper. It was very taxing but Isobelle said one day, especially in the world they lived in today, she might very well need it. There was no one to actually practice it on but she kept saying to words over and over. Suddenly she felt a rush and a tug in her stomach. Cariline looked down and a tiny glow appeared before her and she screamed with all her lungs.
The monk looked up from his work to see his master walk by. Today they were not copying books but instead, they were practicing a new form of sorcery. His Master had made contact with the Mother, the original. The Purpose she brought and she power she possessed was unheard of and now she begged to be resurrected. The monk felt the surge again, stronger this time, and another flame spurt shot from his hand. The monk's hand shook inside his sleeve as another one of his friends fell over in exhaustion.
That brother was lucky, many of the other had been disintegrated from the power of the Mother's love. The Master said that the Mother only wanted the strongest of them and they were to continue until only those who were living were left. Their numbers had started at thirty and now they numbered five. He was one of two left awake but his strength was starting to wane. He built the energy once more and let his new Mother's love released again, this time in a cool-mist to relieve his brow. His shaved head glistened with sweat and his blue eyes were growing dim. His last brother fell and his heart cried out to his new Mother as he cried. A lightning storm broke out around him, cracking the stone, sending stones flying high into the night sky.
As the storm subsided, the Master came and laid a knowing hand on his shoulder.
"Am I the one?" The monk as in a shaking tenor.
The Master nodded silently and bowed to the Father of the Void.
Thomas and Faldo snuck quietly back through the forest towards the camp where the army sat silently in the night. The search for their General had taken precedent. Damon damn near killed his cousin the morning when she was discovered missing, Thomas's men dragging the enraged Grim respectfully off the frightened Sergeant. After the little man had soothed his temper, he sent the battered Sergeant into Doldrom with grim news while Damon started tracking his wife. That had been three days ago.
"If Order falls.." came a harsh whisper in the darkness out ahead of them. Thomas squinted in the moonlight trying to make out which scout had found them out. He and Faldo had been moving quietly enough but without the aid of sorcery. The big man did not know if they had a Sorcerer with them and did not wish to expose them by using the Power of Chaos. Even using just a sliver of power could be sensed by someone with the proper knowledge.
"Then the Grim dies." Faldo returned solemnly in a hushed whisper. A shadow approached and slowly took the form of the new Grim. His sharp features casting angular, black shadows in the moonlight. Damon nodded to the pair motioning them forward, toward the shadow of a lurking oak. The warm wind of the approaching summer air blew through the leaves above, rustling them gently. It would be a pleasant night, had it not been for the fact one of their dear friends was missing.
Damon leaned back against the rough, mossy bark of the oak and looked expectantly at the pair.
"It doesn't look great Damon" Faldo began, "they are backed up into a U like crevice, around fifty of them, armed to the teeth. There is only one way in. On the backside of the crevice, is the river, so there is no going around it. The U is around half a league in length and they have watch-fires lit all the way down."
Damon reached up with his thin fingers and massaged his temples gently. The strain of the past few weeks was starting to weigh on him. The explosion on Thomas was unjust, just pressure from a boiling pot, and his cousin just happened to lift the lid. For the past three days, every time he saw his cousin, Damon felt guilt for the beating. This was something of a novelty for him. He and Thomas did not exactly have a warm past and he should feel utter joy for the broken nose and blackened eye, not remorse. He shook his head again to clear it and focus once more on the problem. Damon turned his attention to his cousin. Thomas had become a fine commander since the Battle of Tharpe and Damon trusted his instinct.
"What do you think cousin? How do we get Jen back safely?" Damon asked softly.
The Seargent looked surprised to be asked the question. He paced back and forth, across the forest floor a few times, arms crossed his chest, deep in thought. Finally, when Damon was almost at patience end, Thomas's soft, deep voice spoke.
"Did you sense any Sorcerer?" Thomas asked, raising an inquisitive brown eyebrow at Faldo. The big man shook his head once. "We have more than enough men to take the position by force but..."
"That might end up with Jen dead." Damon finished the statement and Thomas nodded in agreement. "So you are suggesting we do this with stealth instead."
"It is the only way I can see that we can do this and get Jen out but..."
"That looks like a trap for our wonderful in house Sorcerer." Faldo finished the Sergeant's statement with a sigh.
"Do you see any other reason for them to set this up?" Thomas asked.
"No," Faldo said frustrated, "They knew Damon would come in tow with his Sorcerer. That means they do have a sorcerer in their ranks dammit."
"Well, I guess that leaves option two out. Which leaves your third plan." Damon said with a sly grin.
"I can never get one over on you." His cousin said with a glare. Damon shrugged and waved for him to continue, "We need to have you and Faldo sneak around to the backside of the crevice and wait. I will bring our forces forward quietly. Before dawn, during the deadman's watch, we will do an attack on the front lines. As we attack we will send up a fire arrow to signal you, go then. Get Jen, with sorcery, and get out. Make the bastards choose between their lives or you. I know what they will choose."
Damon looked at his cousin approvingly, "When did you become such a ruthless commander?"
"The day I had to answer to a new Grim," Thomas said, rubbing at his broken nose.
Jen opened her one good eye when she heard fighting off in the distance. Her guard that stood near gripped his sword tight. She knew he had instructions to end her life if enemy forces got anywhere near her. The cloth gag had worn sores on either side of the mouth and the rawhide strips that bound her hands left her bleeding. There had been threats of rape from the footmen and even one attempt, but the leader Jebediaha, he drug that man behind a horse for the entire day. The gruesome remains remained in the middle of camp that night as a reminder to the rest of the group that the Matron had been accosted for a specific purpose.
Jen was beaten to a point when she was interrogated but continually, she was treated as a prisoner of war. She had demanded to know who captured her and why but had received nothing more than a fist for an answer. The Matron resigned herself to seeing Damon again only in death but now something was going on at the end of the ravine the raiders had camped in.
She tried to wiggle her body but moving brought lancing pain scouring through her wrist as the bindings cut deeper. Her guard turned his heavyset body slightly towards her, smiling, knowingly. His deep-set eyes, looked out around at the empty camp, his bearded chin nodding in approval.
"There ain't no Jebediaha to save that pretty little ass now, is there Matron?" He growled menacingly. He approached her, as she screams were muffled by the gag. His big hands worked feverishly at his sword belt, as his eyes coursed up and down her prostrate body. The sword fell to the side with a clank and was soon followed by the leather pants. Jen fought wildly to getaway across the rocky ground but made it inches before the man fell onto her violently.
He tore wildly at the fastening for her pants when his body went into convulsions and liquid starting pouring from around him. The guard went limp, collapsing onto her heavily, his stench gaging her. Her breath came is gasp as she sobbed in relief. The body rolled off of her and a familiar voice whispered to her.
"We are here Jen, we are here."
Jebadiaha walked sullenly into the Temple at Doldrom, knowing he was walking to his death. He had failed a First Circle Sorcerer and for that, there would be death. The halls echoed with the clicks of his heels as he walked forward, echoing, mocking his failure. The raider leader had lost most of his men, his ward, and now, he would lose this life. Unlike most that served Chaos, Jebadiaha still revered Order. That is why he would not let anyone touch the Matron. He questioned her, as instructed by the crazy bitch of a sorceress that currently reigned here, but as the head of a Temple, the Matron deserved respect due.311Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ1BHxcsooBU
He turned the last corner, squaring his broad shoulders. His crystal blue eyes reflected the torchlight and the blonde braids hung almost to his waist as he walked straight to the chair in the Hall of Judgement. Therese sat there, waiting for him, her apprentice sat off to the side, her green eyes downcast as a show of respect in the presence of an elder. Therese might be her superior but not his, he glared her straight in the eyes, unwavering. A smile tugged at her lips, amusement at the petty effort from such a mere little, insignificant, person.
"I don't see a Matron as we bargained," Therese said bluntly.
"And I told you that I can not defend against sorcery." He stated bluntly. Jebadiaha crossed his arms across his chest defiantly. "If you want me to beg for my life I won't. Nor will I make any excuses. I lost half my men, but I took twice that with me of theirs."
"Good, you are hired," The Sorceress said pleased.
Jebadiaha gave the woman a confused look, "What?"
"I need an able commander. You fit. You are now commander of the Doldrum army. Unless you like death?"
"Oh, what in Chaos have I got myself into. Alright, I will do it." Jebadiah put his hands up in a show of surrender.
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