Andri hid a smile. Obviously, the dwarf was well on his way to a full recovery.
But they couldn’t afford to bring the stallion. His bulk would only hamper them if they needed to fight in close quarters, and despite Andri’s words to the contrary, he had no way of knowing exactly where they would appear within Aruldusk. Greddark finally agreed, grudgingly, and they began transferring necessary equipment from the saddle bags to their packs. Andri felt a momentary pang of guilt at the thought of leaving the horses to fend for themselves. Still, they were near the edge of the woods and, once out of the forest, they wouldn’t be far from Angwar Keep. The horses would have a good chance of survival. Probably better than their erstwhile riders did. But as long as Maellas was brought to justice, their individual fates were not important. The will of the Flame would be done, regardless of what happened to them. And that was how it should be.
They made their preparations quickly. The shifter damped the fire and Andri unchained Maellas from the tree, leading the unresisting priest to their staging area. As he neared, the horses whinnied nervously and moved to the other side of the clearing. The last vestiges of Maellas’s non-detection potion must be wearing off, making his nature apparent to the unhappy mounts.
Good, Andri thought. That would just make their job easier.
When all was in readiness, they gathered in a circle, Irulan and Greddark grasping Andri’s tabard while the paladin kept a firm grasp on Maellas. With his free hand, he unrolled the teleportation scroll and read it.
There was an odd lurching sensation, as if they were on a boat in the middle of rough seas, and then the trees and horses were gone, to be replaced by wooden walls, a desk, and three very surprised guards.
They weren’t just inside the gate. They were inside the gatehouse.
Andri drew Maellas’s silver dagger and held it to the priest’s throat, while Greddark and Irulan brandished their blades.
“Don’t,” Andri warned, as one of the guards-the inexperienced Hal-lunged for an alarm bell. “Or the Bishop’s death will be on your hands.”
Hal stopped in his tracks.
“Good. Now sit down,” Andri said to the other two, who obeyed after a bit of encouragement from his companions’ swords. “Hal, fetch your captain, and Bishop Xanin. Tell no one else we are here. And move quickly. If you are not back within a bell, we will kill Maellas, and then start on your friends. Now, go!”
Soon after the guard left, Andri heard a familiar carillon and had to suppress a groan. With everything that had happened in the last few days, he’d forgotten it was Sul, the Day of Cleansing. The odds of Hal getting anywhere near Xanin on such a holy day were so low, not even Greddark would bet on them.
He was still trying to decide how to get out of making good on his threat when Hal knocked on the door, barely a half bell later. The guard ushered in his captain and Ancillary Bishop Xanin, who was cloaked to disguise his identity. As they crowded into the small room, Andri wondered whether Hal had followed his other instructions as well. Half the garrison could be waiting for them outside. But it really didn’t matter-if they couldn’t convince Xanin of Maellas’s guilt, there was no way any of them were leaving the gatehouse alive.
Xanin threw his hood back and blanched when he saw Maellas. “It is you. We thought you’d gone on retreat.…” He trailed off, his eyes icing over as he looked from the bound prelate to Andri.
“What is the meaning of this, Aeyliros? Not only have you defied yet another official edict by returning here, but you have added the charges of kidnapping and assaulting a Bishop to your long list of sins! Have you abandoned your faith completely? Or just your wits? Not even the Keeper’s favor is going to get you out of this fix, boy.”
Andri couldn’t blame the priest. If someone had told him a month ago that he would soon be holding a knife to a Bishop’s throat after having been exiled from that same Bishop’s city, he would have thought they were mad. Was it any wonder Xanin was now questioning his sanity? He’d questioned it himself more than a few times since this whole affair began.
“Her Holiness charged me with apprehending the murderer who has terrorized Aruldusk over the course of this past year, Your Excellency,” he said, more calmly than he felt, “and that’s what I have done.”
Xanin’s blonde eyebrows fairly shot off his forehead. “Bishop Maellas?” he exclaimed. “You are insane.”
“Not at all. Our investigation revealed that the true murderer was not a shifter, or even a group of them, but a werewolf. Surely you would agree that is a far more plausible explanation?”
Xanin’s brows descended as his eyes narrowed. “Even if it is,” he replied, “what has that got to do with the Bishop?”
“Allow me to show you.” He looked at the captain, who had been following their exchange with interest. “Captain, would you hand your dagger to Master d’Kundarak, please?”
The soldier hesitated, looking to Xanin for direction. The Ancillary Bishop gave a curt nod. The captain withdrew his blade from the sheath strapped to his thigh and handed it to Greddark, hilt first. The dwarf then exchanged daggers with Andri, keeping the silver weapon firmly pointed at Maellas while Andri hefted the captain’s blade, a simple, non-magical dagger with a keen edge.
Then, before anyone could react, he spun and plunged the blade into Maellas’s naked chest.
Xanin cried out in horror, and the soldiers rushed forward, only to be held at bay by Irulan’s longsword and Greddark’s alchemy blade, which now burned with a bright yellow fire.
Andri withdrew the dagger while Maellas thrashed about, helpless in his silver chains. Silence descended in the small room as the wound closed of its own accord, leaving no blood-or indeed any sign at all that the elf had ever been injured.
“And now the silver dagger,” he said, switching blades once more with Greddark, while the dwarf kept his eyes on the guards and his sword at the ready.
Maellas began to struggle in earnest now, vainly pulling at his bonds and backing away from the paladin. But with Greddark’s flaming blade on one side and his own silver dagger on the other, there was nowhere for him to go, and he bumped hard into the wall after only a few steps.
Taking advantage of the elf’s momentary distraction, Andri darted forward and sliced the silver blade across Maellas’s forearm, just deep enough to draw blood. As the rich red liquid welled and began to drip on the wooden floor, Bishop Xanin gasped, and made the sign of the Flame, as did the soldiers.
“Flame forfend!” Xanin whispered, his face pale and his eyes huge. “This … this is some sorcery!” But he did not sound as if he believed it.
“Question him yourself, Your Excellency,” said Andri, “or better yet, call an Inquisitor. You will see that I am telling the truth. Maellas is a werewolf and a killer, guilty of at least twenty murders, and those are only the ones we know about. He has hidden within the very heart of the Church for over a hundred years, and no one realized his true nature. But now that his evil has been exposed, his sins cannot be allowed to tarnish the Silver Flame any further. As acting Bishop of Aruldusk, it is your responsibility to see justice done.”
Xanin drew himself up at that, his expression hardening. He turned to Hal. “Summon a carriage.” As the soldier sprinted away, Xanin gave the captain his orders. “You will transport Maellas to the Cathedral. Make sure that he is seen by no one.”
Andri noticed that Xanin was no longer referring to the elf by his title, and he realized that the Ancillary Bishop, for all his abrasiveness, was actually on their side. That, or the thought of succeeding Maellas was tempting enough that he was willing to take them at their word. For now.