“Out of the way,” she said irritably
“Drop your weapons!” she’d heard the lead soldier shout to someone beyond the illusory wall.
What her eyes took in when she stepped into the hidden room Alinda was not prepared for. Lenrik, lying limp and sickly in the arms of a bewildered half-elf. A blue-coated, blonde young woman, armed with a rapier and a purple-tinged dagger, both pointed at the White Lions. Behind them, a room draped with adornments, peculiar if not heretical. The Aerenal art was a mere oddity. She’d met many elves in her long life, but only those from warlike Valenar had ever troubled her.
But it was the taint of the necromancy which disturbed her most. The shelf of mummified heads offended her utterly-especially the recently decapitated human head. This place was consecrated ground. How dare anyone despoil the shrine of Aureon with such grisly trophies! On impulse, Alinda called to the Host to quell the chamber of its unholy aspect.
Soneste considered retaining her weapons, considered resisting this. Things needed sorting out. If everyone would just wait, she felt certain she could solve the puzzle of inconsistencies this secret chamber presented.
Then a strong female voice pushed away all other thoughts. “Dol Arrah, purge this corruption from our presence!”
For a moment, blinding white light flooded the chamber. The supplication was followed by a litany of words from an older woman, sounding more like a language of primal power than a wizard’s calculated chant. Soneste felt her muscles seize up preternaturally, her limbs overwhelmed with stiffening force.
One of the White Lions smacked her rapier blade with his axe, wrenching the weapon painfully from her frozen grip then plucked the dagger from her hand. Another of the Lions-Sergeant Bratta, whom she had questioned a few days ago-advanced on Tallis and struck him in the head with a mailed fist.
“That’s only the beginning, scum!” the man promised.
Soneste’s eyes remained on the woman. She found she could not tear them away from that fixed point even if she wanted to, constrained by magic. She deduced that this must be Prelate Roerith herself, the high priestess of the Cathedral. Her long silver hair hung loose, her dark eyes clouded by sudden grief. She moved beyond Soneste’s clear sight over to Lenrik, where the White Lions had taken hold of Tallis. The Karrn, a dusky shape in her periphery, made no attempt to resist.
“Blessed Boldrei,” the prelate intoned with great passion. “Cast your healing spirit upon this servant of your lord and husband.” More undecipherable, crooning words followed, and tiny points of bright light shone from the priestess’s fingertips as she laid them upon Lenrik’s shoulders and neck.
Anger coursed through her mind as Soneste saw a new figure moved from the blurred edges of her vision into the sharp center. Jotrem! Yet there was a measure of anxiety in his still-bruised face. He met her eyes.
Prelate Roerith’s words halted abruptly. She expected to hear the elf cough again as the healing power of the Sovereign Host had poured into him through the hands of one its greatest mortal servants. Instead, cold silence.
“He is dead,” she said, her voice lamented. For just that moment, Soneste was sure she saw relief flicker across Jotrem’s features.
Soneste’s mind spiraled inward. So much had happened too fast. Was this meant to frame Lenrik? Who but Lenrik himself could enter the undercroft of Aureon’s shrine and find this place?
She began to follow the path of events backwards more thoroughly-to return along the mystic avenues to that place in her mind where all images were stored, all words were memorized-when she heard her name spoken aloud. A question had been asked.
“An inquisitive from Breland,” Jotrem answered the priestess, “who came on her government’s behalf to investigate the murder of Gamnon ir’Daresh. The ambassador, Prelate Roerith, whose head was-”
“I know what happened,” the elderly woman said quietly, but her voice was steady, demanding. “And you?”
Soneste’s muscles were slowly easing from the magical grip. She was able to move her eyes again, so she watched as the prelate walked over to Tallis, where he was held by three White Lions. Soneste had never seen him look so defeated, not even after the death of Haedrun.
“You are Tallis? I am told my friend, Lenrik, was safeguarding you from the reach of the White Lions and from the Justice Ministry. My friend is dead now, presumably at your hands. Is this true?”
Whatever the truth of it, Tallis had known nothing of this room, nor the cause of Lenrik’s death. Someone had gotten to Lenrik first. Someone close by.
Tallis said nothing, merely stared at the floor like the lost soul he was.
Jotrem walked around the room, peering at its contents. She heard him rifle through the papers on one shelf then clear his throat. “Prelate Roerith, what we have found in this room demands explanation. I understand that, but time is of the essence. We will sort out the details later, and I will certainly call on you when we do. I must escort the criminal to Ministry headquarters. Please leave this chamber as we have found it, so we may-”
“It is blasphemous, Major,” she said, looking at the shelf of heads. “I will not tolerate the presence of these a moment longer.”
“I will send an associate of mine to investigate,” he said, “so that it may be quickly removed, but we must document these crimes, prelate, if you would see justice done. As for … your friend, I will summon an agent of-”
“Neither the corpse collectors nor any Cultists of Vol will set foot in the cathedral.” The prelate stroked the dead elf’s hair and closed his eyes for him. Soneste could see that the discoloration had vanished from his skin. The poison had been purged, but the prelate’s spell could not bring him back from death. “I will tend to Lenrik myself.”
“As you wish.” Jotrem nodded. He turned to Soneste. “Miss Otänsin, you may accompany us, if you wish. Out of respect for the King’s Citadel, you will not be arrested at this time, but you will answer for consorting with a wanted criminal.”
He turned to the guards. “Return Miss Otänsin her weapons.”
It didn’t add up. None of it. Soneste saw evidence to suggest that Lenrik had planned for Tallis to be the dupe but was betrayed in the end by a third, but that wasn’t right either. She knew she could solve this but needed some time and the freedom to do it. There was something about the whole scenario that felt … intentionally inaccurate?
When Jotrem led them out of the Cathedral, Soneste saw Aegis standing at the base of a statue. Thankfully, the older inquisitive hadn’t noticed him. She gestured discreetly for the warforged to stay away, praying he would understand and follow behind from a distance.
Soneste walked behind the squad of seven White Lions, where Tallis was prodded along between them. His wrists were manacled together. His weapons had been seized. Two guards flanked him and a third held a ceramic wand at his back, capped with a piece of amber.
Jotrem strode alongside the group rather than in the lead.
The Lions knew where they were going. Most criminals were brought to one of the barracks situated near the city’s major gates, where they were dealt swift release or punishment at the whim of the commanding officer. Men like Tallis, sought by higher powers, were claimed by the Justice Ministry directly. She’d heard that General Thauram himself wanted Tallis’s blood. This wouldn’t end well.
Her eyes flicked to Jotrem. His jaw was set, his expression exalted. Then she saw his hands at his sides, flexing constantly, the tremor of a nervous man. She’d expected trouble from the older inquisitive, but something had changed within him.