Of Martyrs and Sages: Ch. 2

Of Martyrs
and Sages

I pity the man tolerant of tyranny. Those content with nothing deserve nothing.

Chapter 2

The Balance of Power

Argent let out a raspy cough before clearing his throat with an obnoxious hack into the tidy courtyard bushes. He wiped a small dribble of mucus that refused to release its firm grip on his bottom lip with the back of his left hand, and inserted a messily rolled cigarette into his mouth.

Sunder averted his eyes. “Disgusting,” he mumbled with a furrowed nose.

“What? Princess don’t like seein’ a man spit? Fuck off,” Argent smirked.

“You know…” Sunder reached out and snatched the unlit cigarette from the High Inquisitor’s lips. “You wouldn’t sound like a dying old bastard if you’d just breathe clean air for a change.” He dropped the small stick onto the ground and crushed it under his enormous boot.

Argent shot a quick glare at his partner. Sunder quickly shot it down with a stern look of his own.

“I’ll work on it, mate,” Argent replied with much less vigor in his voice than he was used to showing in public. “So…” he muttered. “Any idea what Marrique called us in for?”

Sunder shrugged. “You know how the Chaplain is. Only one who knows what goes on in his head is Heru’ himself, and it’s not like we can just waltz into the depths of the citadel to have a chat.”

“Ambrosia was talking about you, ya know...” Argent grunted as he bent over and took a seat on an uncomfortable stone cathedral bench.

“When you were stationed up in Mount Sanoe a couple o’ weeks ago.”

“Yeah? What did she say?”

Argent yawned as he impatiently tapped his heel repeatedly. “Something about how she missed you, and, Hell if I know; ask her yourself, mate.”

“Would if I could. Hard to talk to somebody that isn’t here. Where are they, anyways?” Sunder sighed.

The tapping of Argent’s foot began to increase slightly. “Well, Ambrose said she had to make a little stop before she got here. I’d imagine she’d be on her way by now, eh?”

Sunder nodded. “And the other?”

“Bah, Blight wanted another round at the pub. I told her that we had to be here at a specific time. Now here we are sittin’ around with our thumbs up our asses doin’ a whole lot of nothin’ in the garden.” Argent rose from his seat and rubbed his eyes with his thumb and index finger. “Kinda wishin’ I’d stayed and had that last drink after all.”

“The girl can hold her ale, that’s for sure,” Sunder chuckled.

Argent shook his head. “Aye, a little too well.”

“Well…” Sunder shrugged. “As long as it doesn’t interfere with her duties. If one of us looks like a fool, then we all do.” He gazed towards the direction of the cathedral’s main entryway, half expecting to see someone walk through the doors. “Our purpose demands a certain level of respect. We can’t afford to lose any of it, you know?”

“Shit, I don’t think I’ve seen her arrows fly faster and truer than after she’s knocked back a few, mate,” Argent laughed. “Trust me, Blight ‘aint gonna make you look bad. Count on it.”

The two High Inquisitors jumped at the sound of brisk footsteps clomping along the cobblestone passage leading up to the courtyard’s East entrance. They were fairly dainty, and reverberated gently down the stone halls. After each step the distinct tell-tale clangs of ring mail quickly followed.

Sunder smiled wryly. “Those steps sound sober.” He raised his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as he squinted to the East. “You’re late, Ambrose!” he shouted with a hint of playful optimism.

Ambrosia rounded the corner and nearly collapsed onto the cold cathedral bench, gasping in an attempt to catch her breath. The long run from the Sanc’tu town square had taken its toll, and the bulky High Inquisitor armor did not make the trip an easy one. Her sturdy halberd provided a necessary crutch to lean on while she recuperated.

A tall, elegant, fair-skinned woman with silky black hair that curled slightly at the ends, the inquisitor’s outward beauty did well to mask her stellar battle prowess. Ambrosia, easily the most gifted tactician of the four, consistently proved that to underestimate her dedication to the Revenant cause meant almost certain impalement at the end of her infamous pike.

“I’m not late, am I?” she panted.

“Late? No, you’re right on time to jack shit,” Argent replied with an annoyed scowl. “Oye, this is seriously pissing me off.”

Ambrosia sighed and folded her arms with a noticeable hint of irritation. “They say patience is a virtue, you know.”

Argent lazily stretched and proceeded to wander towards the doorway that connected the cathedral to the set of halls that led to the main citadel. “Patience is for those who ‘aint strong enough to take what they want, Ambrose,” he grunted. “Blight’s here, by the way. ‘Bout damn time, too.”

Sunder looked towards the empty doorway with confusion while Ambrosia scouted the entrance to the Eastern gate.

“How do you know?” Sunder asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Yeah, how the Hell did you know?” a voice from the roof of the cathedral echoed down, catching Sunder and Ambrosia off guard.

Argent grinned. “Because, dumbass, you may be able to hide from sight, but it ‘aint hard to smell the booze in the air.”

Blight nimbly hopped from the ledge with an elegant front flip, and landed flawlessly in the grass. “Damn, is it really that bad? I swear I only had a few…”

The group shared a hearty laugh as Argent covered his face with the palm of his hand. “A few… my ass,” he smirked.

“The meeting should be starting soon…” Sunder smiled at Ambrosia, “…now that we’re all here.”

A strategic gaze into the opposite direction did well to hide the sudden emergence of her embarrassingly rosy cheeks. Ambrosia couldn’t help but awkwardly feel like the fellow inquisitors could somehow sense her emotions skyrocket despite her usually stern, straightforward front.

Argent perked up as his ears caught a slight clicking noise from the other side of the wooden cathedral door. “Damn, finally!” he announced before reaching out and hastily swinging it open. “C’mon. Let’s get this over with, yeah?”

The dimly lit hallways that led to the main citadel were a marvel of architectural genius. The archways along each passageway were adorned with carefully polished granite carvings and the citadel, much like the city of Sanc’tu itself, required constant careful maintenance in order to display the power and poise of the Revenant cause.

“You’d think they’d increase the light in here. It’s not like there’s an award for looking especially ominous or anything,” Blight shuddered. “I mean, it’s not like we don’t have enough energy to power this entire damned city. We’re not some poor horde of savages, you know?” she whined.

Argent grinned. “Oye, big bad Blighty still afraid of th’dark? Really?” he mocked.

Blight glared intensely despite the fact that the low levels of visibility made her scowl irrelevant. “Wanna play that game, huh? Do ya, champ? Two words…” she simpered.

“Don’t. I ‘aint messin’ around with ya, don’t go there,” he pleaded.

Ambrosia glanced at Blight, and gave a devious smile. “Sewer rats,” she whispered with a sadistic tone.

Argent cringed and let out a nervous chuckle. “Oye, seriously. Cut the shit.”

Blight leaned in close and proceeded to wriggle her fingernails slightly up the back of Argent’s neck. “Dozens of disease-ridden little vermin crawling up your back. Their cold feet stamping bacteria on every inch of your body. No, don’t move. One wrong move…” she viciously pinched his skin hard with her fingernails, “and you’re as good as dead!” she cackled.

“Piss off!” Argent yelped with a frantic jump in a vain attempt to get away from Blight’s torment.

Sunder shook his head. “Kids, please. Save the horseplay for when we get home, yeah?”

Ambrosia giggled under her breath as the four inquisitors passed another set of granite archways that detoured off to the right. They could always tell when the citadel was beginning to draw near courtesy of a barely noticeable humming sound that seemed to grow and vibrate underfoot. The circuits from within the walls softly and silently whirred with currents of electricity that flowed from the generators in the citadel depths.

“Ah, here we are,” Sunder mumbled, carefully jostling the small Revenant insignia from the breastplate of his armor and promptly inserting it into a similarly shaped engraving on the right side of the massive door.

After a moment of silence the gigantic door began to rumble and, after a series of obnoxious clicks from the gears inside, slowly eased open from the point in the middle of the frame. The inquisitor reclaimed his insignia from the slot and proceeded to enter the spacious room of the citadel’s foyer.

The layout of the structure harbored a quaint sense of urbane charm; every nook and cranny meticulously dusted, polished, and neatly organized. Though impressive in appearance, the true beauty of the anteroom was overshadowed by a sense of malevolence from a slightly green ambient light which emanated from the corners of the ceiling. In the middle of the floor a detailed circular glyph with four similar slightly raised pedestals became the focal point. Each High Inquisitor took their predetermined place within the edges of the engraving with little hesitation.

At the top of the balcony overlooking the foyer an elderly man in a lavishly decorated ceremonial garment stepped forth to greet his audience.

“Sunder, Argent, Ambrosia, Blight,” he joyfully stretched out his arms with a smile. “Heru’s most gifted children. Welcome back.”

The inquisitors slightly bowed their heads and raised their left hands in a half circle motion close to their chests, careful to keep their thumbs tucked and their fingers tightly straightened in an upward position. “Heru’ be praised,” they chanted in unison.

The old man nodded in appreciation and offered a salute of his own. “Argent,” he spoke up after a slight pause.

Argent looked up at the balcony and cleared his throat. “Yes, Chaplain Marrique?”

Marrique shook his head with closed eyes. “You have developed quite the reputation, have you not?” he remarked. “They call you an animal. The beast of Sanc’tu. Some go so far as to say nightmare's bringer. You’re aware of these allegations, yes?”

The inquisitor hesitated before giving a reluctant nod. “I- yes, I’ve heard…” he took a strategic pause, “…some stories.”

The chaplain sighed. “Blight!” he barked.

“Sir!” she yelped with a startled flinch.

“I trust the ale was good,” he remarked with a scowl.

Blight lowered her head in shame, her dangling auburn bangs slightly covering her eyes.

“Ambrosia…” he stroked his long beard with the tips of his index and middle fingers. “Did a bit of shopping today, did you?”

“Yes, sir… it took longer than I had initially planned. My apologies for running late, Chaplain.”

Marrique bowed his head with closed eyes. “This is not what we are about. This is not of the Revenant cause. I have seen the waters of prosperity, my children, and drank from its source. Heru’ guides my hand…” he swept the room with an abrupt gesture. “Allow me to guide yours.”

“If I may make a statement,” Sunder spoke up. “The people from the mountains up north seemed reluctant to have me. When I was a kid, Sanoe was such a friendly place. Why, after taking on the Revenant cause, am I consistently met with cowardice? They… feared my men. They feared me. They feared what we stood for. Why? Shouldn’t they have welcomed us?”

The Chaplain gazed into the distance in a sea of lost thought. “Argent…” he muttered. “You and your best men are to visit Sanoe.”

Sunder glanced over at Argent from across the room with noticeable concern in his eyes.

Marrique gently rested his hand on the balcony guardrail in front of him. “You are to deliver a message to the elders,” his lips formed a smile underneath a thick layer of straight, white facial hair. “Specifically Elder Caine. He was given ample time to assimilate. I now see that, if they are to prosper, it will be by our hand; not his. Sanoe will embrace the cause, Argent. Make certain of it.”

Argent nodded. “Aye, Chaplain.”

“Please,” Marrique added, “be privy, clean, and cover your tracks well, inquisitor. Should the people discover your intent…” he shot a quick glance that filled Argent with nervous anxiety, “… then I cannot help you. You will be in Heru’s hands, and judgment will be swift.”

“… Aye… Chaplain.”

The old holy man turned to his left and leisurely approached the carpeted staircase that connected the series of balconies to the foyer’s first floor. “It has been foreseen…” he mumbled, “… that the world we strived to create in Heru’s name will soon experience a new dawn…”

Marrique descended the stairs one cautious step at a time in order to keep from tripping over his draped pious garments. “We can no longer deny the winds of change, my crusaders, and I fear they may not blow favorably. More of our Revenant brothers and sisters have grown weary. I… cannot abide this questionable devotion in our upcoming crucible.”

The Chaplain caressed a glimmering silver pendant that dangled from his neck with his wrinkled, bony right hand. “Andule, Monterra, Tred’an, La Jeng, Sanoe,” he sternly furrowed his brow, “all once devout; now slipping into putrescence. I have faith… that they can find salvation, and therein see the light of redemption. This is to be your priority. This is to be your…” he paused with the slightest hint of a wry smile, “… your new purpose in life.”

“Yes, Chaplain,” the inquisitors replied in concurrence.

Sunder’s eyes drifted down to his feet with a concealed exhale of disapproval. His eyelids clamped in an attempt to stifle an outburst in the presence of the holy.

Marrique spoke sternly with an intimidating grin; his arms raised high into the air. “Purge! Let those who contribute nothing face retribution!” he preached loudly. “They must awaken to the visions of Heru’ once again, and we shall rejoice! Heru’ be praised!” he bellowed, causing the room to reverberate with the echo of his thunderous sermon.

“Heru’ be praised!” Ambrosia, Argent, and Blight loudly replied with tremendous vigor.

Sunder’s fists clenched at his sides as he remained silent.

“Why?!” he blurted, promptly silencing the room and quelling the energy which coursed through the citadel. “You’ve yet to answer my question, Chaplain, sir. Why does everybody constantly hide from us every time we venture outside the walls of Sanc’tu? Why is violence always our only solution? The teachings tell us to give up what isn’t needed…” he took a deep breath, “…well, I don’t think the people need fear!”

Ambrosia gazed at Sunder with intense worry. “Please…don’t,” she uttered softly with a look of startled, benevolent concern.

Chaplain Marrique glanced at Sunder vehemently before curling his crooked lip into a benign smile. “Such a comment… from you, Sunder? I must admit, I am perplexed by your words. You… have given this much thought, have you?”

The inquisitor nodded slightly with a fixed gaze on Marrique.

“I see… Sunder, Heru’ demands the utmost support from his chosen Revenants. When you took up the cause, you made your choice. I trust you understand the necessity of each High Inquisitor’s loyalty. Pray, tell me what you would have me do then in this… complicated position?” the old man asked with a calm tone.

Sunder paused for a moment. “I don’t know…” he began, “I don’t know what goes through the minds of our people… I don’t know what goes through the minds of the Verboten… I don’t even know what our own Revenant vindicators think…” Sunder closed his eyes tightly, “… but I do know that motivation through fear will NOT support the Revenant cause!” he roared.

The Chaplain’s smile faded into a stern glare. “Argent, Ambrosia, Blight… Sunder… you are all dismissed. Your orders will be delivered exactly one week from now. I suggest you spend that time reflecting upon what we stand for…” Marrique’s cold eyes fixated directly on Sunder, “… and what we fight for.”

With a final farewell salute from the four inquisitors, the meeting was adjourned. The Chaplain turned and walked across the room towards the direction of the foyer’s east hallway.

Argent approached the enormous front door and abruptly inserted his insignia into the engraving. The massive wooden frame lumbered open and, with a slight glance of annoyed disapproval at Sunder, the inquisitor briskly made his exit followed closely by Blight.

“Why did you do that?” Ambrosia muttered softly, still standing on her designated pedestal. “You can’t do that!” she shouted. “Never never never do that! Idiot,” she snarled. “Dumbass!”

Sunder shook his head. “I… just had to know.”

“Why?! Why why why?” she cried out with noticeably crimson hues developing on her cheeks.

“He never did answer my question…” Sunder remarked with a frustrated deep breath.

Ambrosia shook her head and stormed towards the doorway. Before walking through, she stopped and hesitated for a moment. “You know… things aren’t always as terrible as you make them out to be. The rest of us are happy. Our people are happy. You could be happy too.”

Sunder paused. “You know, Ambrose, the Verboten that we’ve been hunting also seemed happy …” he folded his arms, “…before we started killing them.”

Ambrosia could feel an unfamiliar warmth stream down her pale face in the darkness of the hallway. She raised her fingers to her cheek and wiped the rogue droplet before it could fall from her chin.

“Y’know… for someone so suddenly against fighting,” she glanced back at Sunder from the dimly lit passageway, “…you’re starting quite the war for yourself…”