Gracious One
When he was a boy the city had seemed sprawling, filled with nooks and crannies he could hide in when his mother walked home from market. Only once he’d lost her in the throng of people, but once was enough to convince him to never do it again – his father had made expectations of obedience clear.
Cresting Tallow’s Hill above Midora, Prelate Tolver Marcus had to chuckle. The few dirty streets of the town hardly seemed so complex from horseback, their crooked angles and double-back dead ends laughable when compared with other, more modern jewels of the Empire.
“Prelate,” a red-robed minion rode up beside Tolver, head bowed. “May I ask why we have detoured to this foul place?” The man’s mouth was turned up in a sneer; most of those who entered the low clergy were Southerners and had nothing but disdain for the so-called cities of the north. Though Mellor was a capable assistant – and one constantly scheming to take Tovler’s position – his prejudices were varied and virulent.
“A Saint was born here some years ago, minion,” Tolver said sharply. He wasn’t a Saint yet, but with any luck the Church would soon recognize its greatest son. Fourteen years serving the poor and disenfranchised had yielded more conversions than had been seen in a century, and the Hierarchy was beginning to take notice. Unfortunately, a number of loose ends still existed in Midora, ends that had to be tied up before a clever minion found and used them to advance their own career.
“Of course, my Lord,” Mellor said, dropping his head even further. “The High One works in even the most barren of lands.”
“A word of caution,” Tolver said brightly as his procession made its way to the guarded gate. “I would watch my words if I were you – these Northerners are unpredictable people. The wrong word and you might see that quick tongue of yours in the hands of Berserker. You’d make quite the noise, I think.”
Mellor drew in a sharp breath and then dropped his horse to the back of the pack; he was a spineless whelp if ever one existed, but clever enough to make use of anything he found out of place. A quick prayer to the High One for good fortune as they approached the gate was all Tolver could spare – he had to concentrate on making sure his purpose was achieved, and swiftly. The longer he tarried, the greater chance someone might recognize his heritage. Though decades in the South had tanned his skin and bleached his hair, certain features – a broad nose and sharp chin in particular – might pique the interest of an elder.
The guards stepped aside as Church colors were raised. While they were permitted to ask delegations of the Hierarchy their purpose, they were not entitled to an answer. A man had dashed out from one of the wooden towers alongside the gate – gold knots at his shoulders marked him as the guard-captain.
“Well met, your Grace,” the captain said in a quavering voice as Tolver crossed the city threshold. “Welcome to Midora. May I inquire as to your business?”
“Well met,” Tolver said in return, quickly sketching the High One’s sigil with one hand. “And thank you. Our business here is to minister and ensure the spiritual needs of your people are being met. Your citizens look well-fed,” he squinted at dirty children playing in a side-street, pushing down memories of his own dusty past, “but the nourishment of their souls is in question.”
“O…o…of course.” The captain stuttered. “We are humbled by your kindness. May I show you to the inn?” It was clear he’d rather do anything else, but at least he had the good sense to make the proper offers.
“No thank you, Captain,” Tolver said with a smile. “I’m confident we can find it on our own. Besides, I’d hate to take you away from your work.”
“Thank – thank you my Lord.” The Captain managed a jerky bow before Tolver swept past him and into the city. Into memory.
***
“I am not sure why I have been called here, your Grace. Perhaps you can enlighten me?” The woman’s voice held no fear, and while her words were appropriately contrite, it was clear she was displeased.
“I will ask the questions, Lady” Tolver said sharply. “We have been examining town records, ensuring that bloodlines remain pure and the High One is properly venerated. They state you had a husband - now dead - and have a son unaccounted for. Where is he?”
“I have no idea,” she said flatly. The lie was clear in her tone; even without the gifts Tolver’s faith provided, that much was obvious.
“Are you certain?” He asked, standing and moving to room’s small window. Beyond its dirty glass the night-merchants and thieves of Midora were coming alive, wavering lights flaring into existence as the sound of revelry floated skyward. “You may wish to reconsider your answer – the penalty for lying to an official of the Hierarchy is death.”
“I have no idea,” the woman said again, tone flat. “He ran off after his fifteenth naming and never returned.”
“That must have grieved you terribly, Lady.”
“Of course, your Grace. We searched desperately for him, but to no avail.”
“Really?” His tone was incredulous. “You are certain that you did not smile and laugh at his disappearance, that his father did not remark ‘good riddance to such a poor son’?”
“Your Grace!” On her feet, the woman’s face was red, a familiar crimson that brought wave after wave of sorrow crashing back onto Tolver’s soul. “Town records would show no such thing – who has been telling you such things?”
“No one, mother –“ he turned from the window, ignoring the tears that ran. “I used my own memory to call up what was seen and what was heard.”
“Tolly!” She cried, stepping forward, but a quick push sent her stumbling back, and the cermonial dagger at Tolver’s belt came easily to hand.
“I am not your Tolly any longer, mother.” He grated out the words. “And I cannot allow your memory to ruin my chances of further advancement in the Order.”
“Son,” she begged, “please – my death will see you undone!”
He turned the dagger-point on himself, scoring deep marks along his arms. The High One had suggested an alternative to death, one that might reap even greater benefits. Blood and power flowed – he had little time to act.
- D
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