Chapter 10 #2
The Majester General smiled with the smug happiness of a man who has completed a slight and unnecessary task and now thinks he should be complimented for it.
“Shall we toss for the marching order to pass through the door?” He arranged himself beside the door, parchment and charcoal in hand. Clearly he’d be marking this, too.
Perhaps, when all this was done, he’d turn in his notes to his superiors like a squire learning to figure. I had a sudden mental image of him looking exactly the same, but half as tall, scurrying from master to master trying to show his work. It was hard not to snort.
You’re such an irreverent thing. Had you any doubt as to why you ended up dead by your own hands after having been possessed by a demon — that’s how I’ll kill you, if you’re confused — you could look back on thoughts like this, little snack.
Really? The demon thought humor was damnable? How very interesting.
I was about to respond when I felt a tug on my sleeve.
The Seer was standing far too close, her pearly gaze just an inch from mine.
I tried to flinch away but she seized my arm and drew her mouth close to my ear.
The sound that came from it was like crackling leaves in the autumn. It was certainly not speech.
I shuddered. She could have been telling me my future step by step and I’d never know it when it was spoken in a tongue like that.
The Tongue, the voice in my head said smugly. I told you it was on the door, sweetmeat. She’s reading it to you. If she weren’t so haggard, mayhap I’d try to occupy her mortal vessel.
I didn’t like having ancient warnings read in their original languages by people who were standing far too close. I tried to shuffle a step to the side to regain my composure, but the Seer followed me. Annoyed, I swallowed the words that tried to bubble up and kept my eyes focused forward.
The High Saint made a chopping gesture with his hand. “I claim the right to lead the way. I arrived here first, and so it is mine for the taking. Draw as you like for those who come after, but we will not draw for first.”
The Prince Paladin opened his mouth, but then he looked to the Poisoned Saint, and when Adalbrand shook his head minutely, the Prince’s mouth shut with a click.
Good, the voice in my head said. Keep the dog close. Watch.
Whoever had just given that advice was right.
I may have been brave and determined to serve my order, but I had no need to present my back to these others.
All of them watched one another with steely gazes and stone faces, and if a knife were to come at me, it would be planted directly into my back.
Who knew what grudges these might bear to me — not personally, perhaps, but for the aspect I represented?
I had none of the information I needed about things at Saint Rauche’s Citadel.
For all I knew, the Vagabond Paladins had — at last — banded together and were now one, riding across every territory and stirring the people up to push higher than kings.
Or perhaps they waged wars and allowed the wicked to flourish.
How would I know? If any of it were true, I’d deserve the knife in the back these others might plant there.
I had not thought before about how our aspect’s wanderings left us vulnerable to a lack of information.
“Are there any objections to the High Saint leading the way?” the Majester General asked. And when no one spoke, he nodded to the man. “Then I grant him leave to enter the door first, and after him the Seer, and after her the Engineers, and after …”
He rattled on, but my mind wandered as I traced the edges of the door. It was set in the empty courtyard. A door from nothing to nothing. How the others thought it would lead somewhere was beyond my understanding.
Faith. They have faith that something is here. I think that perhaps I wasn’t very good at teaching you these large, demonstrative ways of having faith.
He’d taught me faith in important things, though. Faith when it really mattered. When you didn’t know what else to do. When the food was gone or the child was gasping for breath.
That’s the kind that counts. This kind … well, it’s not usually for us.
And was there something here behind the door?
So much more than you imagine, snackling. You’re going to love this next part — or at least, I will.
The High Saint stepped forward, made the sigil of the God across his body, and then reached for the door handle.
The door did not open.
He tugged harder. Either it was wedged or locked.
Hefertus cleared his throat. “If I may.”
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when they opened, they glowed with a faint light. He pressed his hand against the stone face of the door and even his large, tanned hand seemed fragile and temporary against that ancient rock.
“Blessings be upon this door.”
The door swung inward and our breath caught in our throats, for it did not show the courtyard on the other side of the door, but rather steps that led down to a wide landing with a railing.
From the center of the landing was an opening that must lead to more stairs, but from here it was hard to see much in the way of detail.
“And what would we have done if he wasn’t here?” the Penitent Paladin whispered nervously to whoever was next to him.
What, indeed.
“Thank you, Prince Paladin,” the High Saint said acerbically, and before anything more could be said, he stepped promptly forward and froze in the doorway.
He struggled for a moment like a fly in a spider’s web, mouth opening and closing though no sound came forth.
I heard the Seer curse softly beside me, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from the sight of the High Saint affixed in place, his movements growing fainter as his energy faded.
So. That was why the demon kept telling me not to be first.
Confess! He must confess! The demon in my mind crowed. Or he will be trapped forever and time herself will slowly dissolve him in her wide mouth. I would not mind so much, except I think you’ll leave before I get to watch his despair ferment to a proper vintage.
I swallowed down a lump of bile, casting looks to either side to see if anyone else had noticed what was needed.
The Penitent Paladin began to pray aloud, using his beaded belt as a rosary. His prayers were fast and breathy, barely spoken so much as exhaled.
“He’s trapped,” the Majester General said, aghast. “What is the meaning of this? Prince Paladin? Did you do something wrong?”
The Prince Paladin simply raised a dark brow and shook his head.
It took me a full breath before I realized they all were thinking the same thing. They had not translated the words on the door. They had no idea what was required.
I spoke the words, clear and sharp so they would not be masked by the muffled cries of the High Saint or the prayers and oaths of the others.
“Confession Door. Speak your sins and gain entry.”
“Say that twice, little sister.” Sir Kodelai’s eyes were narrowed when they meet mine, as if he were challenging me. He rubbed a jaw more chiseled than the rock itself and just as crisscrossed with scars. Kingship had not been kind to him. Paladincy did not seem to have been much kinder.
“It’s a Confession Door,” I said, holding my chin high and trying to look confident. The demon had better not have lied to me. “You must speak your sin or be trapped.”
They call the devil the father of lies, you know. His children may not be fathers of lies but they are certainly sons. It would be good not to forget that, I think.
I agreed.
Even so, our demon captive seems to have this cat by the tail. If the paladin does not confess soon it may be too late.
“He needs to confess,” I said, worrying my lip between my teeth. “A sin of some kind.”
“How do you know that?” Sir Kodelai asked, stepping closer, hand on sword pommel, eyes locked on mine. Saints, he was touchy. Did he really think I had the power to trap a High Saint?
I swallow down the stab of fear that hooked under my breastplate — look, I’d fought him before, but he was powerful, and likely the others here would back his accusation, no matter how wild —as he took a second step forward.
I made myself refuse to be intimidated, extending my gauntleted hand to point to the open door.
“It’s written right there on the door frame.” My voice hardly quavered.
That’s right! Don’t back down! They may be grand and rich, but in the end, we all die the same way.
“No one can read that,” the Majester General said. “It’s in an ancient script lost to us. What manner of devilry gives you mastery over it?”
He slipped a step toward me, too. And now fear truly danced down the fibers of my frame, for what answer could I give? My knowledge did come from devilry in its purest form.
Yes, my sweetmeat, yes, my precious little tidbit. It’s my gift to you. As is their suspicion. As is the way knowledge begins to corrupt your delicate soul.
I sent a quick glance around me. I shouldn’t. It showed fear, and you should never show fear when surrounded by enemies, but I needed to assess the danger.
I can assess for you. One paladin stuck in a trap for the unwary — I did tell you not to be first. Two paladins accusatory. One paladin sympathetic. One paladin ironic. Delightful, all.
Who was sympathetic? I saw not a single look of support in the faces surrounding me.
Who do you think? I could feel his wink in my mind.
Brindle edged to my side, a silent shadow slinking in like a thief carrying goods to be fenced. He slid his furry side along my greave and then gave a very impressive doggy yawn, as if none of this was of any concern to him.
It really isn’t. If the faithful kill you, little treat, I’ll gobble your soul up as you’re dying and then I’ll hop to the next meal.
I’ll be sorry to have missed the show, though.
And your incompetence. It’s hard to find a truly pathetic person, and they really make the best objects of comedy.
I’ll be laughing over you for years to come.