Chapter IV

“Who's there?” Grigori called out down the road. He could hear the sound of hooves upon the road around the bend, as well as the sound of wooden wheels grinding in the gravel. He was being followed. It was high noon, and the sunlight peeked through the branches of the trees, with the dust in the air making the beams of light to appear like translucent, yellow curtains hanging from the boughs. Grigori kept the palm of his bandaged hand on the hilt of his short sword. It had been many years since anyone had tried to kill him, but he wanted to be ready, in case his good fortune had finally run out. With how many people he'd tortured during his years as an inquisitor, and with the fact that he'd betrayed and abandoned the Inquisition, he figured it was only a matter of time before someone tried to kill him again. Only a matter of time before someone succeeded.

“It's me, Duke Jachai.” After a moment the Duke rode into view, with his bodyguards and a carriage, likely where his wife was riding, closely behind.

“My lord,” Grigori said, giving the duke a bow from horseback.

“Are you traveling by yourself?” Duke Jachai asked.

“I gave my bodyguards and servants the day off,” Grigori said, his voice as flat and cold as ever. “Yes, I'm traveling alone. What do you want?”

“I want you to come back to Nihilus with me,” Duke Jachai said.

Grigori shook his head. “As much as I approve of your work there overall, I can't say I like the fact that you've allowed the Inquisition so much power there. As you know, I have a bit of a history with them. If they see me again they're likely to try to kill me.”

“I doubt it. They're under my rule there. It is by my will that they are even allowed in Nihilus, I can send them back to Kolob any time I want, or even have them all executed if they defy me. If I tell them you are not to be harmed they will not harm you.”

“You don't know them,” Grigori said, “Back when King Hadar was alive they tried to kill me, even when I was under his protection. They nearly started a war just to kill me, one traitor was enough reason for them to risk that much.”

“They were only brave enough to attempt that because Arx was already at war with Nihilus, and most of our soldiers were occupied. If we were able to bring down our full wrath upon them back then...”

“They still would have done it,” Grigori said, “I grew up with these people. They're more than willing...even anxious to die for their cause.”

“But as you know they will do anything to protect their gospel,” Duke Jachai said. “They're willing to die, but only if their message lives on. The current Grand Inquisitor, Father Lamech, knows full well that if he betrays me in any way I will destroy every last copy of their holy texts. He's seen how I deal with my enemies, he knows I don't make idle threats.”

“At best that will give him a little pause.”

“It's been enough to keep him in line so far,” said Duke Jachai. “I also told him his people are not to proselytize while they are in my lands. If you know them then you know they typically wouldn't miss a chance to do that, yet I haven't heard a single complaint of any inquisitors trying to convert anyone. They're focusing on doing the job I brought them to Nihilus to do; rooting out demon-worshipers.”

Grigori shrugged, “I guess that is pretty impressive...” It was true, the Inquisition never missed a chance to spread word of the “True Way.” If they were indeed keeping their beliefs to themselves it indicated that they were more loyal to Jachai than Grigori would have ever expected them to be.

“Grigori, I need you there with me. You were one of the best inquisitors when you were there, you have a true talent for getting people to talk, and we need to root out all of the rebels. This man they call 'Therion's Heir?' He needs to be stopped! Every day he roams free more Nihilites flock to his cause, they want to see the son of the worst tyrant in their history on the throne! If they succeed in taking back their country then in a generation they'll be invading Arx and murdering our people again! Help me prevent that from ever happening, Grigori. Help me avenge King Hadar!”

“You have inquisitors already to help you do that,” said Grigori. “Why would you need me?”

“You can help me keep an eye on the inquisitors. You worked with them, you know how they think you know their secrets. If they do start making my life difficult you can help me end them. Besides, I want an inquisitor by my side I can trust.”

“I'm not an inquisitor.”

“But you have their skills.”

“I suppose I do. Agreed, then. I'll go with you to Nihilus.”

At that same moment, in the Duchy of Nihilus, Ardal and Caiaphas cut their way through scrub brush and thorns. Their sleeves and pant-legs were torn, and their faces, arms, and legs were all covered in small cuts. “Move carefully,” Caiaphas said, “Some of these thorns are shaped like hooks, as you might have noticed. If one of those sinks into your skin you'll have quite the time getting free again.”

“We really have to go this way?”

“You wanted to see Deidra, my friend, this is the way.”

“There's no path already cut?”

“No, there isn't,” Caiaphas said, taking a moment to stop and catch his rest. “She regrows the thorn-bushes every time her visitors leave. It's a good way for her to stay hidden.”

“Regrows the thorns? I thought she was a soothsayer, not a...”

“She was a soothsayer. Since then she's gone through some...changes.” Caiaphas continued cutting through the thorns and branches.

More and more Ardal began to see it, a small, gray windmill, visible between the branches. The closer they got the more excited he got, and he pushed past Caiaphas, trying to get there faster. His flesh tore, and his blood dripped into the soil, but he barely seemed to notice. Even when one of the hook thorns dug into his shoulder and tore off a piece of his skin he barely seemed to notice it.

“Deidra! It's Professor Ardal!” He called out.

“Quiet!” Caiaphas scolded him, “She might not be the only person who can hear you! And it's 'Queen Deidra.'”

Ardal ignored Caiaphas and ran to the door as soon as there was a clear line to it. In spite of all of the overgrowth leading to the windmill, the immediate area surrounding it was clear. Ardal threw open the door of the windmill and stepped inside, “Deidra!”

The sight inside made Ardal catch his breath and take a step back. His former student hadn't aged much, she still had the face of a girl of seventeen, maybe younger, but she had gone through other, drastic changes. As he looked at her it looked like she was only a head, floating above a torso clad in a black dress, which hovered over the ground. One of her hands was soft and beautiful as usual, but the other was a three-fingered talon, with long claws. Her eyes had turned completely black. Her hair was still platinum blonde and soft.

“A bear of glass enters my sanctuary,” Deidra said. Ardal could hear the same voice she'd had years ago, but he could also hear several other voices speaking in unison with her. One sounded like a high-pitched hiss. One sounded like a low-toned growl. Yet another sounded like a small child. “When your heart slows it's march, speak.”

Ardal had seen some very strange sights. As a professor at an academy that trained warlocks he'd seen his students conjure daemons of all shapes, sizes, and varieties, but there was a difference between seeing a daemon of the Void conjured before you and seeing a woman, once a student of his, now with a body so drastically altered by the daemons within her. She was one with the Void now, and the sight was one of terrifying but beautiful, sacred glory.

Ardal fell to his knees before Deidra, “My Queen, all of the stories about you have been true.”

“Only the stories that touched your ears,” Deidra said as she floated over to him. She placed her gentle, still human hand on his head, “But rise, and tell this vessel what brings you to my sanctuary.”

“I am sick, my Queen,” Ardal removed the glove from his hand and showed Deidra the place where crystals gathered on his skin. “They say there is no cure, unless the priests of Saklas, the God of the Agalmites, agree to heal you, and they only do that for their own followers.”

“You fear for your flesh? What of your spirit?” Deidra asked. Caiaphas finally caught up with Ardal and walked in the door.

“Please, tell me, Deidra, is there a cure? One that doesn't involve swearing myself to a false God?” Ardal asked.

“What?” Caiaphas shot Ardal an angry look, “You said you were coming along so that you could redeem yourself before you died, not so that you could seek a cure!”

“Something wrong with trying to get better, Caiaphas?” Ardal asked.

“No! Of course not! Just...why didn't you just tell me that was what you wanted?”

“The glass bear must make a choice,” Deidra said, “His flesh or his soul, what will he save? Six new moons will pass, he must make his choice by then, or it shall be made for him.”

“What? Six new moons? My flesh or my soul?” Ardal stammered, “You mean...I have six months to live?”

“Six in your vessel. Until the vessel becomes a feast. The glass bear may make other paths, though. How much does the glass bear hate the idol for cursing him so?”

“I hate him with all of my heart!” Ardal said, “I challenge you to find anyone who has ever hated him more!”

“Then another path will present itself to the glass bear,” Deidra said, “Until then, glass bear must make the most of his time. Vengeance upon the idol.”

“Vengeance?”

“Aye, the glass bear cannot tell us it doesn't want vengeance.”

“I do...but how would I go about getting vengeance on the God of the Agalmites? Do you propose I start digging until I reach him and then punch him in the face?”

“Your sarcasm is not appreciated,” said Caiaphas.

“The idol would have all your people be like his followers, who wear chains as if they were jewelry,” Deidra said. “The glass bear should do what he told the cloven-hand he would do, join our war.”

“Join the rebellion? Let's be honest, now, how much hope do we really have of victory?” Ardal asked. “Our people are under the constant, watchful eyes of the inquisitors, our armies were crushed sixteen years ago, people are even falling away from the faith in droves! How can we possibly win this war?”

“The stone mason's secrets will be her undoing, for the egg she hatched from was not of the martyr. A man who starves crows will shatter a glass of wine, starting a fire. The idolaters have many rocks, and soon they will squabble over every pebble. Thousands of whet stones used to answer a simple question of who owns a chair and the dirt upon which it sleeps. Two thirds of a family will stand on one side of the line, the other third on the other. Dirt and rocks will clatter against steel, even the questioning brethren will join the fray. Once the idolaters have broken themselves the moon will step in, reign over the dust, alongside the warrior born in ashes. Until then, we must do what we can to keep the faith alive.”

Ardal would be lying if he said he could understand even half of what Deidra was saying. He exchanged glances with Caiaphas, who looked equally confused by Deidra's words. This was the way with soothsayers, so Ardal heard. They saw the future and tapped into the infinite wisdom of the Void, but in so doing they often went mad and spoke in riddles. “Alright! Fine! What do you need me to do?”

“Instruct the larva.”