Requiem for a Fallen God--Ch. 3, 4, 5

3

Grayson had worked hard and late into the night trying to figure out how to get into contact with the Order member, but he had thought of nothing. He finally gave up and slumped against the wall of a nearby alleyway, as he had done for the last three nights. He didn’t know where to even begin. He knew the man would be working with the City Guard, but that wasn’t nearly enough information to go on. There was no way he would be able to find out anything more from the guards themselves. Even getting info that the man was in the Earthenholm had been nothing but luck. This matter would be top secret under normal circumstances, but Grayson had heard rumors that war would soon engulf the Province. There was no way the guards would be willing to let information this important into the wrong hands. It would be considered treason.
Grayson had just about fallen asleep when he heard a scream. He instinctively jumped up from his resting place and pulled his dagger from its sheath. He rushed into the street and the scene before him caused his entire body to go numb. In the dark silhouettes cast by the moon, a man laid on the ground. The man cried out again in pain, but before Grayson could help him he noticed another man standing over the first. The second man stood motionless, arms outstretched and looking upward as if challenging the heavens themselves. His face was obscured by the black cloak that covered most of his body. The man turned his attention back to the young man lying on the ground, and pulled back the sleeve that covered his right hand. It was difficult to make out in the dim light, but Grayson could just barely see a tattoo of sorts on the man’s bare arm, just above the wrist. It gleamed on his skin, and a glow of light seemed to emanate from it, in the shape of a fiery cross. He stared again into the sky as the man below him whimpered. After a few moments the standing man sighed, then chuckled.
“It seems the gods do not care for us. Their attentions have turned elsewhere.” The standing man said with a low, almost raspy voice. There was an obvious tinge of guilt in his tone. “Forgive me for what I am about to do. I swear to you that I do this not out of anger or pleasure, but out of necessity. May Sagmort welcome you into his kingdom with open arms.” He pulled a dagger from beneath his cloak and held it to the man’s neck. Grayson watched in horror as the blade slid across bare skin, unleashing a stream of crimson. The cloaked man pulled the knife away and laid his tattooed arm against the fresh wound. The tattoo began to glow bright red, and the blood was drawn from the wound to the tattoo as if pulled by some unseen and unnatural force. The screams of the man tore at Grayson’s soul until finally the scene before him disappeared.
Grayson dreamed again of ashes, and death cries, and the smell of burning bodies both dead and still living. He followed a familiar voice out of the alleyway where he had remained hidden, hoping to find someone that had not yet fallen prey to the soldiers. There were bodies in the streets, but he steeled himself and looked for movement, for any sign of the owner of the voice that had called out to him. Then he saw it. Staring up at him were the eyes of Nyrim, the son of a local baker. He knelt by Nyrim and checked for breathing, just as he had seen the adults do countless times to the bodies that lay in the street. He knew the answer before he held the hand in front of the boy’s mouth. It was too late for him. He felt like he should be crying, like he should be shedding tears for the boy who had been his friend for so long, but the tears never came. He had already shed all of the tears he could.
The ashes left just as quickly as they had come, and Grayson returned to the present once again. In his trance, he had stepped out of the alley and into the street, and was now face to face with the murderer. The murderer looked up from the dying man and noticed Grayson standing before him, dagger drawn. A smile formed on the man’s lips.
“Do not worry, child,” he whispered. “His suffering is over. His soul rests with the lord of the dead. Do not be afraid. Soon your time will come as well. And all will be still. As it is meant to be. I will set you free as well. I promise you.”
The cloaked man stepped away from the blood-drained body of the man who had just minutes ago been alive and well. Grayson recognized the dead man now; he was the man who had sold him the jerky and bread that morning. The Imperean man who had cheated him to pocket a few extra Silvers had just died before his eyes. He didn’t know what to do, or how to react. He looked up from the body just in time to see the murderer round the corner onto the next street. He should have run. He should have gotten as far away as possible and hid. He should never have become involved. But somehow he felt compelled to follow the murderer, and his feet began to move before he could stop them.



4

Morning light bathed the inside of the barracks, and Jonah woke still tired after the events of the last night. There was a murderer in the city, and he had no leads to go on, no clues, and no witnesses. He knew deep down that the only way the murderer could be caught was if there was another victim. That fact had torn at his mind until late into the night. He hated to see anyone die, let alone innocent civilians. War had been one thing, but this…this was different. He never got used to these cases. He gathered his things, and walked from the barracks to the mess hall to give his address to the gathering City Watch.
He grabbed his redsteel blade from his pack. The blade was a dark red, almost the color of blood, and the handle was a golden yellow. Redsteel blades were known as the finest swords in the modern world. He was familiar with the mindset of the common guard. Their respect was not something to be given away freely. He had to earn it. The sword would be proof enough of his station. If there was any question as to his identity, that blade would erase all doubt.
He reached the doors of the hall, and pushed them open. For a few moments, the noise was almost unbearable. The guards were enjoying the little time they had left before their shifts the only way they knew how; by partying and drinking until the bell tolled noon and their shift began. The room reeked of alcohol and sweat not unlike the barracks he had just left. He cringed internally at the sight. He wasn’t against drinking. At one time he had been able to hold his own with the best of them. But there was a time and a place for that, and this was neither.
As Jonah’s metal boots clanged against the stone floor, one by one the guards took notice. As each second passed, the room grew quieter until not a sound was audible. Some shrugged him off as a joke, the kind that Richmond would play on unsuspecting guards that were a bit too liquored up for afternoon duties. Most, however, gave him the respect his position assured him. Some, Jonah noticed with amusement, even stood and saluted. Jonah couldn’t tell if these men were doing this out of true respect, or in a petty attempt to gain favor with him. Either way, he was more than flattered. He walked through the hall until he reached the front table, where Richmond and the other watch captains were seated. He turned to face the guards and waited until the last of the commotion died down. Then he spoke.
“Good morning, City Watch of Earthenholm,” Jonah said. “I’m sure you all know why I am here by now—“
“Is it about the mead I ordered?” A voice yelled from the crowd. “If so, I could use another pint, lass.”
“Ah, Gale! I thought I recognized you!” Jonah said sarcastically. “Richmond pointed you out to me yesterday. If any more mead comes in I’ll make sure you’re the first to know. You have my word on it.”
“Damn straight!” the voice yelled back. Everyone chuckled. Once the voices had died down, Jonah started again.
“As I was saying, you all know why I’m here. There have been several murders, all fitting the same description and same cause of death within the confines of this very city. Not one witness has come forward, no evidence has been found to indicate an identity of the murderer, and the people are starting to panic. Last week the Order was contacted with the details surrounding the case, and I was sent to investigate. As of now, the few clues that we do have point to a Cleric.” The crowd hushed at the mention of the Clerics. He knew where this was going.
“I’m sure you are all aware what this means to us. The Clerics are extremely powerful, and extremely dangerous. By him showing up here, in this city, it means he managed to evade even the Order itself. This isn’t anything new, however.” He continued. “It does happen. Sometimes we have some weeds that are never pulled, some stains that are never cleaned, until it’s too late. We watch our people closely, but sometimes it’s not enough. It’s our fault, and we take full responsibility for what has occurred here. We are here to make amends, not to prolong the suffering. I will do everything in my power to make sure this murderer is brought to justice.
“As I’m sure you all know, the Order is a religious organization. We are dedicated to protecting the Clerics, who were chosen to represent the gods’ wills here in this realm. These Clerics are given powers that can be used to either harm or heal this world. Creation and destruction are always matched equally. This is very important, so the Clerics themselves must follow a very strict set of guidelines. They cannot harm another human being unless they are called upon to do so by the gods themselves. They cannot sacrifice any blood but their own for the blessings of the gods they represent. Most importantly, they cannot take the lives of another human being, or their own lives are forfeit. If any of these laws are broken, it falls on the Order to hunt down the rouge Cleric and make them answer for their crimes. And I swear I will do so, on the good will of the Order.”
The door at the end of the hall creaked open, and a lone guard ran through the doors and up to the front table. She and Richmond talked for a few seconds, and Richmond rose to make an announcement.
“I’m afraid we have to cut this meeting short,” said the captain. “Another body was just found off an alley in the market district. Jonah, come on, we’re going now. Maybe we’ll catch the culprit before he can get away.”



Grayson trailed the man for a few minutes before the man disappeared from view completely. He stopped to grab his breath, and soon he came back to his senses. The fear of what he had witnessed hit him full-force. He collapsed, trembling in the streets. He had just watched a man bleed to death.
His mind wandered aimlessly, asking questions it did not want to know the answer to. Who was the murderer? What was the murderer? His mind finally stopped to rest on one single question that haunted him more than anything else: Did he see me? Yes, the man had seen him, even spoke to him. The man knew there was a witness. He saw Grayson’s face. Even in the dim light, the man could probably pick him out of a crowd by now. Suddenly the open streets didn’t feel nearly as comforting as they had once been. The alleys would be his shelter once again.
Grayson did not want to sleep, but nonetheless sleep found him. The ashes did not come that night. It was the first night in a long while where he actually slept. The dreamless sleep lasted late into the morning.



Jonah put on his plain black shirt, trousers, and brown boots. Over this, he strapped some of the surplus leather armor from the barracks and his sword belt. Over that, he wore his cloak. This was a time for discretion. If anyone found out who he was or who he worked for. It wouldn’t take long for the murderer to find out. If that happened, the murderer would move on, and the hunt would be suspended. More would die.
He had worked as an agent of the Order since his early twenties, after the incidents up north. They took him in when everyone else wanted him dead. The Order was the only force in the conflict willing to listen to reason. They were the only ones who tried to understand what he went through. They were the only ones who would forgive him.
Ever since then, his life had still consisted of wars and death, but without the moral headaches that plagued him during his time in Border Watch. He thanked the gods every day for that change. He was still haunted by some of the things he had done as a member of the Watch. He still had nightmares. But the nightmares had utterly destroyed Richmond. Richmond himself had never noticed, but it was true. He wasn’t the same man Jonah had known so long ago on the Northern Border. The way he carried himself, his words, and even the drinking was all different. The drink had once been a means of fun. Now it seemed to Jonah that the drink was more of a means of escape.
Richmond seemed tired. Tired of the fighting, tired of the bodies, but unlike Jonah he refused to give in to his morals. He chose to repress them. Jonah couldn’t help but respect that kind of selfless devotion to one’s cause, but ignoring ones morals was the easiest way to lose oneself. He would give his life in service to the Order, but when it came down to it he was still the same man he had always been. That was all that mattered to him.
Jonah met Richmond and a contingent of guards just outside of the barracks. Jonah counted roughly thirty men and women, all dressed head to toe in the dark brown leather uniforms of the City Guard. They were different from the other guards. They seemed more, what was the word? Disciplined. They were much more disciplined. These were the best that Earthenholm had to offer.
“Okay,” Richmond began. “Now that we are all here, let’s get down to business. We have thirty three guards, thirty five counting Jonah and me. We’ll split up into groups of five and surround the four blocks around the scene of the crime. Teams one through six will block off each side of the three streets leading into the area. Teams five and six will circle around to the North, three and one will take the South, two will take the West, and four will take the East. Team seven, which Jonah and I will lead, will walk in from the East and investigate. Nobody gets in or out unless Jonah or I say otherwise. Jonah has experience dealing with Clerics, so he’ll brief you on what to expect.”
All eyes turned on Jonah and he cleared his throat. “Before I begin, I must say that I am proud to be serving with all of you. The air around you…I know this duty couldn’t fall to a much more qualified group of soldiers. That being said, this will not be easy. We need to be extremely cautious in how we approach this. When on duty, act like you are on a normal patrol. Do not let your actions give away the magnitude of the situation. If anyone questions your presence, answer with caution but whatever you do, make sure that you do answer them. We don’t want to risk causing a panic.”
There’s already a body lying in the street, Jonah, I think it’s a bit too late for avoiding panic,” Richmond Countered. “But he does have a point. Never let on that this is anything more than a routine murder investigation. Your mannerisms should reflect that. That’s why you were chosen for this mission. You can get things done. Every mission I’ve ever handed you has been completed to the specifications asked of you. I expect this to be no different.”
“Well said,” Jonah began again. “As you reach your positions, watch for anything suspicious. Clerics have a seal on their left arm. It’s the source of their power. It absorbs any blood it touches as a sacrifice and allows the Cleric to use the power it grants them at a moment’s notice. If you see him, don’t let him touch the seal, or you’ll be dead before you can lay a finger on him. I wish I could tell you what the seal looks like, but it varies from god to god. I assure you, you will know it when you see it. There’s not much more I can tell you.”
“Okay, you have your orders. Move out!” Richmond yelled.








5

Jonah, Richmond, and the other three soldiers in group seven walked briskly through the streets. It was still early morning, just fifteen minutes since the report of the body had come in. Fifteen minutes was a long time for a man to be on the run. Jonah had his doubts. He was sure it was already too late. The murderer had probably left the scene. He threw the doubt to the back of his mind and continued on.
Every street looked almost exactly the same, and soon Jonah lost track of where they were at. He voiced this oddity to Richmond, who nodded in agreement.
“Yeah that threw me off on my first time through Earthenholm, too,” said Richmond. “When the Impereans take over a new territory, they normally leave the cities intact. Everything is still used, and the people continue to live there. That didn’t happen here. Impereans sent troops through the city and demanded the King of Earthenholm swear loyalty to the Emperor of the Confederate. He refused. Earthenholm fought back until the Imperean troops were practically wiped out.
“The Confederate was furious. They sent an overwhelming force into Earthenholm in the second attack, and leveled the entire city. When Earthenhom finally surrendered, the Impereans rebuilt the entire capital as a sign of good will. And you know how we Impereans love our straight lines…” Jonah detected a slight bitterness in Richmond’s tone. Jonah didn’t blame him. It was hard to justify some of the actions of the Confederate, and doing so only caused headaches. The Capital Provice, the Province of Faranim, seemed to operate on its own set of morals at times. It was almost impossible to understand for a common man.
As the group neared the meeting point, it was clear that a commotion had already started.



Grayson woke at the sudden noise around him. People had arrived while he slept, he should have been more careful. He tried to leave quickly from the alley, hoping not to be spotted, and walked into the restless crowd in the streets hoping to blend in. He caught the eyes of a guard, who did a double take at the sight of him. Grayson didn’t understand why, unless—His left sleeve had rolled its way up his arm in his sleep, and the mark was clear as day. On his right wrist was the tattoo of an eye. The guard sprinted towards him, and Grayson ran in the opposite direction.
Grayson dodged around each person he came across, hoping to lose the guard behind him, but it was clear that it wouldn’t be enough. The guard was closing in fast. He was just a few yards from the end of the block, just a little further to go and he was free. Then he spotted them. Five more guards were lined across the street. He cursed in a foreign tongue and removed his dagger. The last thing he wanted to do was hurt anyone, but he hadn’t come this far to just give up. The guard behind him grabbed his right arm, and Grayson tossed the blade to his left hand and swung around, stabbing the man through the arm. He regretted doing so, but made sure that it was a clean cut that could be treated easily. Not that it made the man any less angry.
The five guards caught sight of the spectacle and rushed forward after him. Grayson tried to dodge them, but two pulled bows from their backs and expertly notched arrows. The other three surrounded him. He had nowhere to go. He dropped the dagger and surrendered. It was better than the alternative.



Jonah and Richmond rushed to the scene as team four restrained a young cloaked man. A dagger lay on the ground nearby, and a sixth guard stood nearby nursing a cut on his arm. Jonah watched as the guards pulled back the hood of the man, and was shocked at what he saw. The man was obviously from the North, possibly Duke or further. He had the pale skin of one who spent most of his time underground, and the unmistakable snow white hair and pale, ghostly eyes that passed through each member of the Northern tribes. What shocked Jonah the most, however, was the age of the man. He looked young. He couldn’t be any older than sixteen.
Jonah reached the scene first, and a guard that had elected himself leader stepped forward.
“We spotted him coming out of an alleyway not too long ago. He has a tattoo on his right arm, just like you described,” he said. “When we approached him, he tried to run. He stabbed one of team one’s men with a dagger. Looks pretty serious.”
“Let’s see that mark,” Jonah commanded. The guards pulled back the sleeve on the boy’s cloak and turned over his arm. The boy did not try to resist. It was as if he had given up. There was no mistaking the tattoo. He had seen all of the symbols the gods had granted to man, but this was not one he recognized. Whatever it was, it was not the mark of a Cleric. “It’s not him. He isn’t our suspect. Let the boy go.”
Richmond rushed up, panting from the run. “You will do no such thing. He evaded arrest, and he assaulted a guard. I’m afraid you’re out of your jurisdiction on this one, Jonah. I’ll take care of this trash from here.”
“You recognize him?” Jonah asked.
“Damn right I do! I can’t believe you’ve already forgotten what that mark means! We saw it all the time along the border, and I’ve dealt with enough work to know how dangerous it is. That eye, right there? That’s the mark of an Assassin, no doubt about it. And if I have my way, this boy’s not leaving this city alive.”