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Max wrote:
The night was so cold that the shuddering grog could hear the clink of the mail he wore adding to the rattling of his teeth. Rubbing together his numb hands, he glanced at the jewels that lighted the sky.... they looked so much more distant than usual, leaving him so completely alone to curse the chill wind that tonight seemed to howl words in his ears that he didn't understand. Damn them, sleeping in their warm beds, when he was, once again, charged with the night-watch duty. Then he almost jumped when he felt on his shoulder the hand of the fellow grog come to relieve him, and he headed hastily towards the shelter of the caverns, half-pitying his replacement as he saw him drawing closer his cape, preparing as best he could to brave the cold night, and the ominous wailing of the wind.
Now at last for a good sleep, he thought, but was interrupted by his rumbling stomach. He could go to see if perhaps there was something left in the kitchen to eat, feeling as he went wave upon wave of resentment, for the wizards that with all their "magicks" still insisted in having him keeping watch, resentment for the captain that vented his frustrations on the grogs assigning them to useless tasks, and resentment for the other grogs that, he couldn't understand why, always ended up leaving the most undesirable tasks to him, being so stupid to let them frame him every damn time. To Hell with them all, he was grumbling when he came to pass outside the cavern that was used as cellar. What the hell, he thought, I could have a sip to warm a bit up, so he entered. The cavern was full of large barrels full of the watered-down wine they were treated to by the cook, that, he was sure by looking at his reddish nose, surely kept the best for himself. Then he saw a neat row of smaller barrels in a corner, and he realized that they surely contained the amber-coloured nectar the wizards drank regularly, often in front of him and the other grogs... Now it could be the right time to taste it, he thought, looking around to make sure he was alone. He could imagine the delicate taste of the wine on his lips... but he knew that his position at Malinbois was already so bad, and he definitely knew better than making it worse by getting caught drinking the wizards' wine...
It was as good, no, better than he imagined, and he felt repaid for the long hours of cold he suffered before. He almost giggled in the silent corridors, as he hurried to his bed. That's for the humiliations he suffered since his coming here at this den of madmen, the maddest of all being those cloaked figures that prided themselves in calling each other-- what was the word-- "Maggees"? in their strange language, just for the sake of making him feel ignorant, anyway with all their spooky powers they still needed him to stay on guard in the night, with all their magics somebody came and drank their prized wine, and it was good, damn! He really felt like dancing, slightly inebriated by the wine he quaffed, running on tip-toes towards the quarters where he and the other grogs slept. The rank odour of sweat and iron brought him down to earth, however, and he was again no more than a grog, no more than the other ones... and something in the back of his head berated him "but you wanted to be more, right? And you did something you shouldn't, right?", and it spoke with the same scornful tone the captain used when there was bad news on the way for them. And with the voice came the doubts. Why was there no one at the cellar to prevent people like him from drinking what they shouldn't? Was perhaps the wine - magicked? - so that they could tell who drank it? No, no! He felt SO stupid, so miserable. How could he have thought that nobody would have noticed it? And he ran back towards the cellar, in the desperate hope of erasing any sign of his passage; and another voice spoke in his head, of how a wizard of them once tracked down a fugitive just with one of her hairs the wizard found on the floor, and that it would be the same for him. Oh God have mercy on me, they will punish me, he could imagine the wizards wording a sentence in their strange language, and then his body dropping dead to the floor, or would they make an example of him, something worse than death, perhaps they will change his legs into stone and will leave him in the cellar as a warning to others, or - And above the sound of his own pounding heart he heard voices reverberating over the cave walls and - steel boots? THEY GOT ME! just in front of him, and he started crying as a child, dropping the sword and shield, running towards the cellar whence the sounds came, hoping for mercy. Oh please lords spare me, I'll do everything you please, everything, but please don't punish me - And then he turned the last corner.
And he saw THEM, dozens of them, fully armoured and with the red cross on the white surcoat. And nonetheless he could see the barrels of the cellar - THROUGH THEM, and their hollow gaze locking on him. The leader roaring in a voice from Beyond: "VIVE DIEU!" The others, joining him in the charge: "SAINT AMOUR!" And as they charged THROUGH him, the last thing he heard was his own chilling scream of horror, as his sanity fled with his breath.
I wrote:
The following morning had dawned bright and crisp about an hour earlier, and Callidus strode purposefully across the courtyard towards the North Tower, back from the kitchens where he had just filled his stomach with a hearty breakfast. As he did so, a single toll from the tower's bell issued forth, echoing back across the yard from the sturdy inner wall. Callidus stopped momentarily, cocking his head to one side, listening for further tolls. When none came, Callidus nodded slightly to himself and continued onwards. Entering his chambers on the ground floor, he was greeted by Alfonse, bleary-eyed. Callidus noted the hurried fashion in which the husky young man had clothed, and smiled slightly to himself. "Good morning, my boy. There will be a Council Meeting shortly, so I daresay I shan't be needing you until thisafternoon." He paused. "If you're short of something to do, you can polish the Engine if you like - it's looking a little grimy at the moment." The young man only nodded his assent - in all the years of his apprenticeship his reticence had still not been cured. Walking into the secure chamber which housed the stores of Vis, Callidus wondered idly to himself if the boy was yet prepared for entry into the Order. Closing the door behind him, the room was momentarily shrouded in blackness, before a small pinprick of light slowly bloomed into life, casting shadows across the myriad of containers and strange objects stacked meticulously across the shelves. Picking up a sheaf of parchments from the nearest shelf, Callidus' beady eyes flicked across the room as he begun his daily check.
(later...)
Callidus, now robed in formal attire, and clutching his weighty Talisman, emerged from the staircase and into the vastness of the central cavern which opened out in front of him. The Bell of Ibyn, as ever, loomed large from the ceiling. Approaching the Council Table, he noted that most of the Magi had already gathered. Salamandrus stood brooding darkly in the corner, masked. Marcus lounged expansively in his seat with the remnants of breakfast in front of him, chatting with Saeed who stood beside him. Imanitos was leaning on the back of the Chairman's seat and whispering into Fionn's ear, who bore a sly expression. Their eyes were cast in the direction of Odette, who sat primly at the other end of the table, in conversation with Madeleine. Reaching his seat, Callidus gave Imanitos a distinctly frosty look, and took up his customary position beside the Chairman. After a few minutes of idle discussion around the table, Serina entered at last, followed by a hulking stranger. All eyes turned expectantly in their direction...
Richard wrote:
Fionn leant back in his Chair and surveyed the council cavern, it was perhaps the largest gathering of Magi for a long time, since the Crusades maybe. Even Odette had turned up, despite her ordeals recently, she still winced when she bent down to sit. All the Senior Magi had sat down bar one, Odette and Callidus to one side of Fionn, Marcus on the other side. Serinas' chair was the only vacant one, No doubt hoping to make a dramatic entrance with the one everyone was waiting to meet. Imanitos moved to stand next to the other Junior Magi, returning Callidus' stare with an impudent grin, although there was a noticeable space around Salamandrus. A lull in conversation announced the entrance of Serina and her guest, all eyes turned, surreptitiously or openly, towards the ominous presence following her.
Serina stalked around the table to her place and sat down, obviously pleased with all the intrigue caused, and several quiet conversations broke out. The stranger, Holernes, stood impassively ignoring the Junior Magi, who stood behind him, and waited for the council to speak.
Fionn looked around the cavern, all were present who had motions to put forward and he could see nothing amiss in the chamber. He quickly formed a wooden gavel, and banged it on the wooden disk on the table. The talking subsided and expectant eyes turned to the Chairman. "This council meeting of the Covenant of Malinbois is brought to order according to the charter of Malinbois. The first item is from Serina I believe." Fionn looked at Serina, who nodded in agreement. "Very well, you may speak"...
Graham wrote:
"As you know we had two visitors yesterday. One of them, Holernes the Traveller of house Ex-Miscellanea, wishes to speak to the council. He has an interesting proposition for the council. Now I will let Holernes weave his tale."
Max wrote:
As Holernes stood in the vast cavern that housed the Council, he had to admit to himself that his mind just wasn't into what he was doing. He hadn't been able to catch sleep in the small bed until late, and when he was almost passing off, a scream from Heinrich's chamber made him jump out of the bed and almost rip off the oaken door, just to find him lying on the floor - that was nothing new actually - hearing him rambling some nonsense about the ghosts; Holernes knew that the Aegis of Malinbois would keep them away while they stayed there, so he dismissed what Heinrich said as a bad dream, put the door on again, and headed back to bed. Now he felt as though he overlooked something dangerously important, but there were at least a dozen Magi around him, and so whatever had to happen, it would have to wait until the Council was over. So, determined to make the best impression he could, Holernes introduced himself to the Council in the traditional way, asking formal permission to join the assembled Magi, filling the empty cavern with his resounding voice: "Ego, Holernes filius quondam Argatonis Beneventani, Ex Miscellanea ex traditione incepta a Pralixa filia quondam Tytali, peto a fratribus Ordinis Hermis ut me adsciscant in eorum Concilium."
Fionn stood, knowing that he had to reply with the traditional sentence of welcome, but it had been so long since he needed to speak it- that for a moment the words failed him, and he felt the urging stare of Madeleine, obviously pleased that, for a time, the right protocol was to be used. Then, clearing his throat to gain another precious moment, he answered in the way the Quaesitor expected: "In nomine traditionis sodalitatis acceptae a Duodecim Principibus, ego invito te ad Concilium."
Now Holernes lumbered forward towards the empty chair just opposite the Chairman, approaching it from the left, as his status of Ex Miscellanea dictated; had he belonged to any of the other Houses named after a Founder, he would have rightfully sat down coming from the right; well, he really knew that it wasn't important which way he came, but his Pater taught him that proper behaviour was important, especially when there were Quaesitoris around.
It looked that Argatone was right. In fact, Madeleine was trying hard not to let a pleased smile mar her usual mask of detachment, but she found the task easier when she put a snorting Imanitos back on line with one of her universally-feared cold stares. In fact, this foreigner had something strange - and vaguely familiar - in his rugged lineaments and his sky-blue eyes... His way of talking... The smile he wore now... "Mistress Serina told me the Council thirsts for news and information. Well, here you have one of the best storytellers around, if you care to listen..."
(elsewhere in the caverns...)
Heinrich was sitting on his bed, head bowed towards the floor, hands joined as if in prayer. Prayer? Which God would ever answer, or just hear, my prayers?, he mournfully thought as he parted his hands in a fit of anger. That foolish Holernes! and foolish and miserable him, when he believed that staying for a day or two in one of these... Covenants? would stop his men from coming to him in the night, to ask him to lead them towards Jerusalem, as the Lord commanded. As I did, so many years ago, and see what it brought me, smashing his fist into the rough wall to take away the searing pain of the memories. "So be it, Heinrich Von Bautzen..." NOOOOOOOOOO!!! No, No, NOOOOO!!!!!, as he rained the wall with blows, until he collapsed from exhaustion. Then, while he was on his knees, he could see through tear-swollen eyes the blood on his hands slowly seeping back into the already-healing bruises.
(meanwhile, outside on the battlements...)
The captain paced back and forth, obviously furious, rythming his stride with curses. When he realized that he was about to repeat himself (a rare event, given the large number of obscenities he knew) he stopped abruptly in front of the young sentry, who winced as if his gaze had actually hit him. "Now, say that again. what did you see?" "A-actually, m-m-... my ca- captain, I saw him go-go-going, no, run-ning to-to-to----" "DAMN IT, JACQUES! I HATE IT WHEN YOU STUTTER!" Braeble yelled with all the voice he could summon no more than two inches away from Jacques' face, who was having serious trouble not losing control of his bowels. Then, after stopping his hand that was moving of its own accord to strangle the trembling grog and taking it instead to his stubbly chin, the captain turned to the forest. "To the village, right?" "Yes, sir", Jacques exhaled.
Braeble's gaze followed the path leading to the small eerie village. Then, after a few moments of brooding (and several itches of his chin) he spoke: "Well, we're after him, damn it. Get a pair of horses."
I wrote:
The small spheres of light in the ceiling cast the shadows of the assorted Magi across the cavern floor, motionless except for that of Holernes, whose lips moved in time with the deep, measured cadences of his voice. The reverie around the table was broken by a commotion in one corner. One of the guards stepped aside to admit a excited youth, who breathlessly ran across the cavern. His sandy hair and simple linen tunic identified him as a Julliacan.
Mark wrote:
"My Lords!" he gasps. "My great-grandmother sent me here, and I have come with all haste. She has had a vision that she commanded me to recite to you." The young man is trembling with exhaustion, and Marcus calls for a stool, while crossing the chamber himself to speak to the boy. The ponderous bulk of the magus quivers as he leans down to the boy. With a wave of his hand the wine jug and a beaker lifts from the table and moves swiftly to Marcus, who pours a measure and hands it to the youth. "Now lad, take it easy. perhaps you'd better tell us what Clarissa has to say." The boy's face goes vacant and he settles into a light trance, easily and effortlessly, unusual for a mundane. When he speaks, his voice seems far away, and has an unusual timbre to it.
"...A horde of animals, wolves walk with deer, and beside are bears and rabbits, boars and hare... They wear armour, like warriors of Rome, and march behind a white dove towards a fortified city... behind them crawls a snake of emerald hue... the snake winds its way through the legs of the frenzied animals to the front... it joins another smaller snake made of dark crystal into the city... the animals assault the walls... the dove and the snakes fight each other... the city is razed down and nothing alive, not the animals that are not animals, nor the defenders with multicoloured faces... a mysterious figure climbs up out of the ruins... the dove and the bigger snake follow it out of sight... left behind is only red death."
The boy slumps in his seat, sweat pouring off him like rain. Marcus sees to it that he is taken to a bed by some grogs, and then returns to his seat at the council chamber. As he passes Holernes he is heard to mutter "If I wanted bloody riddles, I'd have joined House Criamon. Why can't seers talk plainly..." He continues to grumble to himself for a moment, before silence falls upon the room.
I wrote:
After a moment or two of quiet contemplation, Serina cleared her throat and looked questioningly towards the Chairman. Fionn nodded. "You may speak."
Graham wrote:
"I have heard disturbing rumours of strange goings on in the covenant. A grog running off screaming towards the village babbling something about crusaders. Braeble has gone after him with orders to bring him to the council."
"You said that is why you are heading to Italy, is it not? To study from the ghosts. Perhaps you should start from the beginning, and tell us why the ghosts are following you and Heinrich."
Max wrote:
The question of Serina had the effect of a peal of thunder on the gathered Magi; even Marcus, still on the way back to his seat, stopped halfway to shoot a quizzical look at the big Ex-Miscellanean. All of the elder Magi remembered the ordeal Malinbois suffered at the hands of the ghosts called forth by a vengeful druid of ages past... and the terrible price it had to pay, both in lives and in scars on the spirits of those who survived. As if they were one, their gazes fixed on the big Magus named Holernes, who instinctively let his callous hand grasp the sturdy staff that rested on his leg and tensed, sensing the building tension in the Council. Then, after taking a deep breath, he warily answers: "It is true, brothers. Heinrich and I are on the way towards northern Italia, where there is a city in which every year a ghostly army gathers and heads towards the Holy Land. As Malinbois was on the way, we thought to stop here to rest ourselves before daring the Alps, but I never said anything about ghosts following me - I wish they did, so I would spare myself a lot of trouble and a long journey to Italy!" The rigged-up joke failed to make the Magi smile.
After a moment of cold silence, Serina spoke again. "Indeed. I think this would render your amicus useless, wouldn't it?"
Holernes swallowed hard, and the other Council members mumbled something among themselves. Not one of them save Serina had seen the mysterious man named Heinrich, but the fact that she found Salamandrus amiable by comparison said enough. "Yes, my lady. If ghosts were to follow me I wouldn't need him as my guide. But I fail to see the point of your question." At this point, a concerned-looking Saeed whispered something into Id's ear, who pensively nodded.
"Just asking. But then tell me, what do you think of what the boy said?" Holernes understood that Serina would not let him go easily. The other Magi stopped their mumbling to look at Serina, who had straightened in her chair, leaning slightly towards Holernes, with the look of casual interest that always showed her determination to go to the bottom of something, and knew that she would not stop until she had been satisfied. Behind him, Madeleine joined her hands in front of her and noticed the unconscious twitches of the left hand of the hedge wizard, a clear sign of nervousness. Imanitos looked like he was counting the myriad globes that lit the cavern, though she was sure he wasn't losing a word of what was said; and almost at the other side of the cavern, she saw Salamandrus balling his bony fingers into fists so tightly that the knuckles turned white, trembling and looking at Holernes with a spark in his shifty eyes that might have easily been taken as hatred.
"I don't really know. Visions have the nasty habit of revealing their meaning only after what they foretell has occurred. And..." "Perhaps I can help you" Serina interrupted, raising a hand. "In the `Everchanging Book', one of those pathetic attempts at a book from Criamon, the Gifted are described as `the beings with multicoloured faces'. They are US." At this revelation, all of the Magi present started arguing at the same time, so loudly that Holernes had to bellow over the combined voices to make himself heard: "This explains everything and nothing at the same time! Even if we were the `multicoloured ones' of the vision, what would this mean? That we have to succumb to a bunch of animals?" The Magi were divided into two factions, Marcus and Callidus supporting Holernes' view; on the other side Serina, and to a lesser extent Odette, with Id who strode up behind Serina's seat and screamed his dissent. Meanwhile Fionn had given up trying to keep order, and sat meditatively at the head of the table, seemingly oblivious to the discord around him. Madeleine ran to his side, trying without success to calm down the angry participants, whilst Imanitos, behind, looked like he was savouring every moment of it, until Holernes, who obviously had had enough, rose to his feet and powerfully banged his staff on the council table: "I cannot believe this! You are charging me with the guilt of your own imagined destruction! We came here in peace and all I have back is suspicion and accusations by my own brothers of the Arts! And all this on account of a dream told by a boy!"
"LIAR!!!"
The one to speak was Salamandrus, stepping forth from the shadows at the back of the cavern, pointing an accusatory finger at Holernes; with a voice almost choked with hate, he hissed: "You, you and your accomplice have taken Satan within us, the Serpent, trying to get our souls, hoping to destroy us! Tell us, which reward will you have from your dark masters?"
That really was too much. Red-hot anger welled within Holernes, clouding his judgement, warping his rough visage into a fearsome mask, blood hammering in the veins of the neck, as he threw aside the heavy chair, striding toward his accusator. "You venomous masked critter, I'll teach you how to behave..."
Utter chaos ensued, erasing any remaining vestiges of order and dignity in the Council. Saeed and Id were batted aside with two wildly-swung backhand strokes from Holernes, who was lifting Salamandrus off the floor just using his left arm, aiming a huge fist at his mask whilst trying to prevent his eyes being gouged out by the thrashing Magus. Serina sat back in her chair watching the fight develop, a spell of blindness readied to stop the fight if needed. A smile crossed her lips. If Madeleine said the word she word kill Holernes with a single gesture and all that was his would be hers. Callidus raised his hands, ready to let fly with a Terram spell, but had to refrain as there was the risk of hitting Salamandrus. He watched as Marcus set off towards the struggling Magi, hoping to tackle Holernes to the ground before he popped out Salamandrus' head. Galian, quick as ever, beat him to it, but this burly Hopolite was in a quandry as to what to do. The Code does not cover physical assault sufficiently clearly. Instead, flexing his iron arm, Callidus grasped the gavel from the table to his left, and began banging it furiously, to no avail, until the handle broke, making the heavy head fly across the table missing Odette's delicate features by mere inches, who stared back at him with an offended look on her face, before diving under the table. Fionn's eyes were now closed, and his hands were folded patiently. Madeleine was at the side of Holernes, threatening dire consequences if he was not to stop, and Callidus watched with horror as a more pragmatic Imanitos was slipping a wicked-looking dagger out of his long sleeve preparing to rest it in their guest's back.
"Nice show you are offering. You are so loud that I heard you from Beyond."
Everyone froze at the hollow sound of the new voice, that drew sinister echoes from the recesses of the cavern. It belonged to a tall, aquiline man just beside the surprised Fionn, with lanky shoulder-length jet-black hair, wearing a fine robe of plain grey. Just a moment before there was no-one save the Chairman there.
With an amused look, the newcomer stepped towards the confused Holernes, by the most direct way - through the table. Neatly sidestepping Peregrine's lance, he stopped about ten feet away from Holernes, whose anger was subsiding, so that he let Salamandrus fall to the floor, where he crumpled like a rag doll gasping for air, and hastily picked up from the floor the staff he had dropped during the commotion. The big Magus studied the face of the stranger for a moment, his white bushy brows furrowed in concentration. "Damon! Damon la Mont! Is it you?" "Right you are, my big stupid fellow. Damon la Mont, Scholae Jerbitonis, and eighth Baron of Montrouge." "You are always the same" Holernes growled through clenched teeth. "Looks like your current status hasn't mitigated your rude manners. I shall remember to toast the one who separated you from your life." "Then you may start asking for wine, friend", Damon retorted, vigorously scratching his armpit. "You are among them. But as I wasn't really myself when it happened, I don't bear any grudge against them. See? I do even care to show up at Council!" he chuckles, as the Magi of Malinbois uneasily avoid the stares of surprised disbelief that Holernes shoots at them. "You ARE in league with this seeder of storms? Perhaps you don't know the kind of man he is?"
"We know enough of him," the Chairman interjected "and we arranged a pact of mutual benefit. Even our Quaesitor, Madeleine, found nothing wrong with it", and the petite young woman reluctantly nodded. Widening his arms in a gesture of peace and smiling sarcastically, the ghost spoke "It is true, my slow minded giant. And to show that I want to be at peace with you, I'll help you to come out of the tar pit you've stuck yourself into. Listen you all, you too, puny masked flea. The serpents that trouble you so much are nothing more than the sign of Mercury, our patron," - Callidus smacks his forehead - "so the vision that eludes you means one, or more, of these things: That a covenant fell, or will fall, under attack from unwitting beings lured there by the work of God, who will use them to wipe some more of us from his lands. But even with all the bloodshed, the Order will not fall, the final battle to be fought elsewhere, at another moment. That the battle outside the walls will be nothing more than a diversion from the real one that will raze, or has razed, that unfortunate Covenant from inside, where Mercury and the Christian God will fight each other. But don't worry, even if that Covenant falls the war won't be lost yet. Yet it would be wiser to choose well our friends and confidants, wouldn't it, Marcus?"; and with these words the figure of the dead mage shimmered and disappeared, leaving behind only the echoes of his irritating chuckle.
The cavern fell into silence, as everyone tried to make sense of what the ghostly advisor had said. Holernes stood in front of his overturned chair, still as if he was sculpted in cold stone, his visage an impenetrable mask like Salamandrus', who was only now un-surely regaining his footing, straightening and taking the dirt off the dark robes with the palm of his hands. The weathered magus knew when it was a case of speaking, and this was not. Marcus leant his considerable bulk towards Fionn, whispering something. The overly fat Magus was the only one who hadn't lost his cool moments ago, so Holernes felt no cause for worry. After a moment of contemplation Fionn stood. "The Council is suspended until this afternoon, so that it will have a chance to resume its activities with a cooler head. The Chairman advises the intervening Magi, with no exception, to be prepared for a more civil confrontation."
Mark wrote:
After asking permission to speak, Madeleine adds "And as for you, Holernes, The Code takes a dim view of Magi attacking others. Why else do we have the institution of Certamen? Why, if everyone was to do what you have just done..." With a disapproving glance from Marcus, who no doubt wanted his lunch, the Quaesitor curtailed her lecture. "Suffice it to say that I have already judged Marcus with the self-same crime," (Madeleine gains pleasure from the wince of embarrassment from the senior magus) "and he lost his apprentice. I will reserve judgement until this matter is over." She fixes him with a stare, under which he squirms like a rabbit caught by a weasel, and then walks off, hands clasped behind her back, and muttering to herself.
Max wrote:
Lost in grim thoughts, Holernes just nodded his assent and was among the first to leave. As the elder Magi stood to leave, Fionn spoke again: "An extraordinary council of the Senior Magi is called now."
Mark wrote:
As the magi file out of the Bell chamber, Marcus signals for each of the Senior Magi to remain behind. He ponderously elevates himself from his reinforced chair, and walks towards Fionn, dislodging Rubeta from his lap as he does so. The disgruntled familiar hisses loudly, assuming the stiff-legged threat posture of his kind. Marcus mutters an apology to the toad, then addresses the remaining magi through the Chair.
"My friends, I suggest we adjourn to somewhere more private. May I offer you all my hospitality? I have something I want to show you, anyhow." Nodding their assent, the assembled magi allow Marcus to lead them towards the spiral stairs that ascend to Marcus's basement laboratory. Rubeta, left behind by his forgetful master, puffs himself up in indignation, growing to the size of a dog as he does so. Then in two massive bounds, he has caught up with the magi; who, lost in thought do not notice his arrival.
"Mistress Serina?" The harsh unnatural voice of the familiar breaks Serina from her reverie. "Mistress Serina? Is Venator around? I think that the Master's suprise will please him, too. Athene's going. Please let Venator come too. Please?"
Richard wrote:
Fionn smiled bitterly, remembering his old familiar, and muttered a few words in Gaelic.
Graham wrote:
Serina closes her eyes for a few moments and is heard muttering. Her voice becomes raised. "I don't care if you're busy, this is important. No you can't. Fine, please yourself and don't complain about never being taken anywhere, it's your own damn fault."
"Venator is busy, my apologies" Serina says, regaining her composure.
Mark wrote:
The Magi reach Marcus' basement. The entrance chamber shows signs of his recent trip to the Holy Land. Oeric, the sergeant that accompanied him, proved to be an accomplished artist, and Marcus' walls are now adorned by his charcoal sketches of Rome, Avignon and Jerusalem. Marcus walks to the end of the hall, but instead of turning left into his meeting room, he turns right, into a blank wall. Muttering the words of a Muto spell, Marcus steps through the wall as it yields to him like soft mud. The sensation of passing through is unpleasant, but it is soon over. In the light of a freshly lit torch, Marcus smiles apologetically to Fionn. "Inspired by you, as you can see." The senior Magi stand in a tunnel, cut into the bedrock of Santare Hill. "I prepared this," the fat magus explains as they proceed down the gently sloping tunnel "when we were expanding the cave system. I snuck down in the middle of the night and closed off one of the side-passages from the main cavern, isolating a little cave all to myself. I didn't really do much with it, until I returned from Jerusalem. I had the idea from an old Lazar that I met in a Levantine Covenant. Most of them have a Sanctum Sanctorum, an inner sanctum in which they can cogitate upon the wonders of God." By now, the foot of the tunnel has been reached, and the cavern beyond stretches out before them.
It is as if the Muto Magus has transported a jungle down to the caverns. The air throngs with strange noises, and has the atmosphere of a calorium from a Roman bath-house. Thick foliage grows laviciously in the largish cave, and vines curl up the walls giving an illusion of greater size. This alien world is packed with animals, all of miniature stature - wild pigs the size of rabbits run beneath the trees, while multi-coloured birds flit from flower to flower like bees. Tiny otter-like predators stalk equally small deer through the forest glades. Marcus turns to the familiars "Make yourselves at home - there are many things for you to explore. Kill nothing though - I had the Devil's own job getting them here, and you would not believe what I had to give away to acquire them in the first place. You may still get the thrill of the chase though, and that's what is really important."
Turning to the Magi, he smiles. "If you would follow me - we're almost there." He leads them along a small path that winds its way through the trees to a small stone hut next to a pool. The hut is covered in a vine bearing vibrant red flowers. Ducking to avoid banging his head, the magus enters, and stands beaming, like a small child, with the delight of one proudly showing off his accomplishments. The single room within the hut is cosy. There are five well-stuffed easy chairs, and a low table bearing fine Venetian crystal glasses and a decanter. After offering everyone a drink, and accepting compliments over his accomplishment, Marcus clears his throat.
"My comrades, the time for small talk is over. This place is completely secure - no-one but ourselves even knows it exists, and what's more it is shrouded with magic. Feel free to speak your minds." The magus offers a plate of sweetmeats to Odette, and then to Serina. "I suspect another interpretation of Clarissa's vision. We have, do we not, half of a demons heart within our walls, as well as a number of other items of Infernal origin. We need to decide what is to be done about this Holernes."
Graham wrote:
"From the events that have occured" begins Serina, "many things have come to light. You may have noticed that the magical aura has again decreased. I wonder if it has anything to do with the dominion of the Friar's church? Perhaps it is not the ghosts of crusaders that are following Heinrich, but the ghosts of the many who were killed in the rockfall in the current crusade. It would explain a lot if the dominion is increasing at our own church."
I wrote:
Callidus cleared his throat. "I must admit that I am still confused by much of this," he begins slowly, "but surely the timing of this vision cannot be mere coincidence. Holernes must be involved somehow... In fact, I had at first thought that the serpents referred to him and his companion." He sips meditatively at his wine. "As for our aura, no I was not aware that it had waned recently - although if that is true, then it is news which troubles me greatly. However, I doubt if it has anything to do with the chapel - the Dominion there is highly localised - I would be more inclined to suspect Fitheach." He swills the remainder of the wine around his mouth briefly before gulping it down. Turning towards Marcus, he continues "But what are we to make of the dark serpent in the vision? I think you may have hit upon something Marcus, and I would be interested to hear your idea."
Richard wrote:
Fionn silently studied the debating Magi, his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. He raised his eyebrows as he caught Marcus' glance and then settled back into his chair and surveyed the surroundings, seemingly unaware of the continuing debate.
Max wrote:
The candle placed in the middle of the bench flickered gently, the tremulous light lapping at the shadows playing on the walls of the small, silent room, lighting the hands of Heinrich, seated at the other end, but unable to pierce the darkness that dwelt under the fold of his brown hood, hiding his features. Holernes noticed with apprehension the bruises on the knuckles. "You have done it again, haven't you?" As if he had been bitten or burnt by something, Heinrich hastily hid them in the folds of his cloak. "What I do to myself is of no importance". The harsh, tormented tone of his voice cut short the argument.
"I really cannot understand what happened to me at the meeting. I would have never used my strength to pound some sense into that Salamandrus, even though he badly needed it. Some sense I mean. It was..." - bringing his big hands before his face - "as if a red veil kept me from realizing what I was doing. Now I can understand what bulls feel when you wave something red in front of them."
Through the thick fingers, he saw Heinrich, at the other end of the table, stiffen for a moment. "I know that feeling."
"What do you think about the vision the boy related?"
"What do you think about the vision the boy related?", Heinrich parroted. "You know its meaning, and if you want to save your `brothers'" - Heinrich somberly marked the last word - "we have to leave now."
"You know what I mean", Holernes urged, leaning forward. A small movement and a faint metallic rustle from under Heinrich's cape froze him.
"You mean about the other serpent? Yes."
"And I cannot speak!" Holernes brought his fists to the table in impotence.
"You said there is one of those inquisitor wizards here. Tell her."
"Can't you understand?" Holernes despondently spoke, fixing his blue eyes into the darkness under the hood. "If there is something so strongly Diabolical here that she couldn't detect it by herself, she would never believe the word of a foreign magus she has to pass judgement on, and accused, unjustly as we know, of the same Crime - wait!" Holernes stopped, his mind retracing the events that occurred at the Council, head lowered, his lips barely moving. Heinrich patiently waited, sliding back the old broadsword he concealed into its sheath. Then the big Magus snapped back his head, sending the sparse white hair cascading onto his shoulders. With a low, grave tone he spoke: "They framed me."
(elsewhere...)
The young maiden hurriedly walked through the twisting maze of dimly-lit corridors that connected the caverns to each other, taking care not to spill the contents of the heavy basket she was carrying. At last, she was in front of the wooden door to the chamber of the guest wizard and his enigmatic friend. There had been a bit of a squabble among the serving maids to decide who was to be the one to bring the meal to the two visitors, a squabble fuelled both by the fear put in them by the tale of what happened by one of the grogs that guarded the entrance to the big cavern she swept so many times, and by the curiosity everybody felt. Eventually curiosity grew stronger than self- concern and she volunteered to bring them the abundant meal reserved for important visitors. She only had to knock, but halted her hand in mid-air, and instead neared her head to the wooden door trying to overhear something to gossip about, in payment for her trouble. She heard a deep, profound voice that no doubt belonged to the peasant-dressed wizard, the larger of the two, alternating with another, with a tinge of - torment? - that she felt digging through her heart, raising goose bumps on her skin in the process; but she couldn't make out what they could be speaking about from the harsh language she didn't know - or perhaps it was the door... As she leaned closer, she heard the second voice raise a sharp warning, and sounds, like stools falling to the floor, and the faint light seeping from under the door becoming dimmer. As she jumped back from the door, the deeper voice asked something in that strange language, immediately repeating the question in Provencal: "Who goes there?" "...just the meal, my lords...", the girl found her mouth answering without having actually wanted it. After a brief moment in which the only sound was the one of her own panting breath, the light grew reassuringly, and the door slowly swung open of its own accord, as the big Magus stepped from the table, staff firmly in his left hand, toward the maiden. "Give me that." The girl saw her chance, and stepped forward towards Holernes to give him the basket, trying to meet him while he was still in the room. She succeeded, and saw the other man standing frozen in the farthest corner of the room, where the light of the candle didn't reach. Holernes picked up the basket with his right hand, and tried to make it clear that they wanted to be left alone, gently shooing the maid towards the door. As she had the figure of the man called Heinrich obscured by the huge frame of the hulking Magus, she spoke "Mistress Madeleine wants to see Holernes `Esmissellinia' as soon as your lordship has finished eating." "Very well, I will go when I have finished", Holernes spoke, trying to sport a condescending smile as he pushed her towards the door. "She also commanded me to stay with you, and be your guide so that your lordship won't lose himself in the caverns", she added in desperation.
Holernes stopped, taking time to study the face of the unassuming maiden. By looking in her eyes, he had the sensation that the last statement was a lie. But he didn't want to try his luck any more than was needed, so he stepped back and motioned to an empty stool near the door. "Well, make yourself at ease. I like to enjoy my meal", as he took out the basket's content and arranged it at the opposite end of the table. A wizard setting up the table for a non-wizard? Wait till the others know! the girl thought, running her stare from the Magus, to the table, to the other man. As Holernes finished arranging the courses, he walked away from the table. Only then Heinrich left the corner. As he walked to his stool, he turned his head to look at the maiden from under his brown hood, and then to the Magus standing at the other end of the small room. Then he slowly removed his cape and hood, folding it neatly and resting it on the straw bed, revealing a powerfully-built man, with no more than thirtysome winters, with blonde hair and beard trimmed short. A heavy broadsword hung from a wide leather belt, and the chainmail sleeves of a hauberk peeked out from under a simple and rather ragged-looking white linen tunic. As he sat down to eat without appetite, the girl (who was straining her neck trying to get a better view, whilst pretending just to be stretching a bit) noticed that there must have been something sewn in the front of the tunic that had been torn away; straining farther, while Holernes considered distracting her attention somehow, she saw the familiar outline of the Cross of Our Lord. At that moment, the blond man stopped playing with his food, and she watched him raising his head in a painfully slow movement, letting her see his face clearly; but then he brought his gaze to lock onto hers. His eyes, oh, his eyes! She looked at the web of wrinkles that enclosed them, the way a spider spreads itself to plunge its prey into the abyss of the bottomless black pupils, and she found herself unable to move, entranced as the grey-rimmed pits sucked her soul into their void the way they sucked in the light of the flickering candle. And all the while, a dark fire burned in the back of her skull, as if the stranger was looking through her helpless eyes to something straight behind her - THROUGH her.
Something dark. Something terrible.
She felt her strength leaving her, and fainted, but Holernes was quick to catch her before she banged her head on the packed dirt floor. Heinrich immediately rose to his feet, instinctively moving to help, but had to sit back, a sad look on his face. "Don't worry, she is fine", Holernes reassured him. "Wake up girl... That's it. Perhaps you had better have some fresh air on the battlements, and don't worry, I will make my way to Mistress Madeleine", he smiled, "after I eat, of course. Take care" as he shoo-ed the wobbly girl outside. Seeing to it that she was going in the right direction, Holernes closed and bolted the door. He turned to look at Heinrich, who was still seated at the table, head again lowered. Holernes spoke, the lips wrinkled in disapproval. "Why did you have to scare her like that?"
Heinrich didn't raise his head, but Holernes noticed he rolled his strong hands into fists. With a tone heavy with bitterness, he answered "She wanted something to gossip about. Now she has plenty, and perhaps we will be left in peace". He took a piece of bread and sat on the bed to eat it, leaving the table to Holernes.
The big Magus sat at the table and gave the plentiful food only a cursory glance. He was looking at Heinrich, who contented himself with that piece of bread, eating in silence. He felt pity for him, and once again wondered about the mysteries of the Mercy and Justice of God, and of His Wrath.
(at the village of Julliac...)
They had left their mounts at the edge of the forest and now they were approaching the eerie village by foot. The sky had the colour of lead, as thick, grey clouds choked the pale sun. Soon it would snow, Braeble thought, darkening as he mused about that. The joy to be found in snowball fights had left him long ago, along with his greenest years, but as he strode towards the huts, an idea for a more interesting game slowly blossomed in his head; he still hadn't a firm grasp of the rules that would regulate it, but he was sure that it would definitely involve a grog captain with heavy boots and a grog's head. He liked that rough concept.
Hurrying to get to the side of his superior, Jacques tried to get his attention: "Sir..."
"What", answered Braeble absently, without relenting his pace. He had a feeling that the sooner he got there for the first kick, the better.
Panting faintly, his breath exiting in small clouds from his mouth, Jacques spoke nervously: "Sir... there is something strange here today... don't you think so?"
"Julliac is strange at any time of the year, you bonehead. I can't see anything different today."
"That's it sir. I don't see anything... look around, there is no one to be seen, man or beast; not even those strange bees."
Braeble's consciousness slowly shifted from the careful trimming of the rules of his infant game to the outside world, whilst slowing down to a halt. He carefully scanned the area around the nearest huts, all grown like fungi in a Fey circle around the tall evergreen at the center of the village, whose leaves rustled a soft welcome to the approaching soldiers.
This is weird, Braeble agreed. He shot a stare of praise at the young sentinel, nodding, and then reprimanded himself for having dropped his guard; In these harsh days, he knew, a moment of distraction could mean death in a place other than Julliac.
"Do we try to enter the village by stealth, sir?"
After a brief pause, Braeble answered: "There is no point in it, son. That's not a fortress, but anyone would have no problems in spotting us, here in the open. Besides, no one in my knowledge has ever managed to surprise a Julliacan in his village, don't ask me why. I think they speak with the beasts. For sure, some ARE beasts."
Jacques swallowed, running his fingers through his dirty hair. He remembered the bear-man who stayed at the Covenant not long ago; he had never grown accustomed to it... him.
"Let's go ahead, boy. Maybe it's nothing at all, but until we get a grip on what is happening, keep your weapon ready, y'hear?"
"Yes, sir", mumbled Jacques, unclasping his cape to draw out his sword, but the captain stopped his hand before he could unsheathe it. "I said to keep it ready, not to get prepared to kill somebody, damn it. Just rest your hand on the pommel, like I do. And stay alert."
"Yes, sir."
The pair slowly followed the path till they got near the first hut. They had a strange shape, Braeble thought, as he followed the baked mud wall. Just like mushrooms, one alike to the others. He found the door, and impolitely entered. Jacques did the same with another hut.
After a few moments, Braeble exited. No one was to be found. He waited for Jacques to come out, but no one came. Then Braeble poked his head into the hut Jacques had entered, only to find it empty. "Jacques, come on. It's not time to play hide-and-seek", Braeble muttered.
But Jacques didn't answer.
"Jacques", he repeated, with a stronger voice. "Jacques, you fool, where are you?"
Silence.
The short winter day was coming to an end, in a couple of hours it would be dark. Braeble spat, cursed, and reflexively crossed himself, before unsheathing his weapon; there was something VERY wrong here, and he lamented not having brought more men with them; he wondered if old Oeric would have acted more prudently.
While moving towards the center of the village, sword at the ready as if a sudden attack was imminent, Braeble still didn't see anything alive; then he got past the innermost ring of huts, and he saw that all of the villagers were there under the evergreen, and Jacques as well. Braeble held a sigh of relief. He put away the weapon, and strode towards the villagers.
As he drew closer, he saw Jacques and the missing grog walking to the front of the group of men, women, and children. He grinned, and said "It's time to play..."
But then, the two grogs turned towards the villagers, who hadn't said a single word yet, and yelled orders in a language Braeble had never heard before.
Yet he could understand the words! They were military orders, and the peaceful peasants - men, women, everyone - were promptly arranging themselves in the most perfect infantry formation he had seen in a long time!
At that moment, something happened to him. He looked at himself, while the strange words still echoed in his ears, and he found his dirty cloak and patchy armour replaced by sturdy chainmail and the - familiar? - white surcoat emblazoned with the red cross of the Lord. And when he raised his gaze again, there were his crusading comrades under the merciless sun of the Holy Land, as the Holy rage engulfed him and the words modulated by his voice reverberated between sky and earth: "Soldiers, our commander Lord Heinrich Von Bautzen has been taken hostage by the heathens. We will brook no negotiations with the spurners of the true God! With the grace of the Lord upon us we will tear down the walls of the Holy City and free the Temple! VIVE DIEU!"
The voices of the Crusaders of Bautzen merged into a mighty hail:
"SAINT AMOUR!"