Chapter 2: Introductions
Cyrin was not quite sure exactly what he expected when he rounded the corner and entered the Cathedral proper. Perhaps a perpetrator or two, restrained just enough to make things safe but with just enough remaining freedom to keep things interesting. Perhaps the lamentations or clothes-rending of new widows. Perhaps even the endlessly amusing huffing and spluttering of frightened city administrators confronting irritated military leaders.
He was fairly sure, though, that he had not expected the scene of such a recent atrocity – and atrocity it had been, for his nostrils were immediately accosted by the rich scent of fresh blood the moment he rounded the corner – to be so fresh and yet with the purported victims to be so… matter-of-fact. The voices within the room were muted, almost polite, and while several individuals spoke animatedly, there was certainly no clothes-rending or spluttering. Cyrin was almost disappointed.
A body lay splayed in front of the altar, clearly left where he had fallen, though in fairness, judging by the heavy scent of blood which permeated the Cathedral, he had not fallen more than thirty minutes earlier. Judging by the unnatural angle of the head to the body, the unfortunate victim had been close to decapitated… and the stroke had befallen him precisely where he stood, directly before the altar. Interesting. There were bloody footprints leading away from the body but these were certainly not made by the same person who inflicted the fatal blow; someone had investigated the body – in an alley, he would have thought that the victims pockets had been looted for coins but 'investigated' was likely a more appropriate term in the current circumstances – and stepped into the growing red pool.
A fair-skinned high priestess – or rather, Cyrin noted as a pair of medics fluttered around the bloodied, ripped sleeve of her robes, a priestess made all the more pale by significant blood loss – spoke heatedly with the archbishop just outside range of the pooling blood, her voice soft but clearly intense. She was gesturing animatedly with her one good arm toward a younger priestess who stood the characteristic two steps behind her and the archbishop was responding with a combination of empathy and weariness. The younger priestess, much smaller than even the rather diminutive high priestess, stood at a cool parade rest behind her, her chin tilted upwards slightly and her gaze unwavering, clearly within earshot of a conversation obviously about her and just as clearly trying not to care. She seemed too young to be actually successful in the latter, Cyrin noted, but she certainly was putting on quite an convincing front.
He drew his eyes away from the members of cloth. Two other clearly lifeless bodies lay on the floor, both much farther from the altar, and judging from the noxious fluid oozing from the piles of ravaged flesh and the rank stench of decomposition clouding above them, Cyrin was fairly certain that the best those unfortunate two had managed before their latest demise had been undeath. He knelt down next to the closest body, careful to avoid the fetid pools surrounding it, and ignored the soft gagging sound behind him that likely came from an unprepared Dieter.
He observed the body from head to toe – or rather, what remained of the former; the victim had apparently become very well acquainted with a large and powerful blunt object in her last moments – then reached out and carefully folded a gore-soaked piece of fabric away from the victim's thick leather belt, holding it out of the way with a single finger. Two small, leather scabbards were secured to opposite sides of the belt, each bearing runic symbols along the length of the scabbard and converging in identical metal chapes with similarly intricate etchings. He frowned, glanced at the other body, observed the scabbards for another moment, then abruptly moved to the second body.
At the second body, he wasted no time in a full examination, instead going directly to the belt. His touch was careful and his movements deliberate – he had no desire to corrupt any information a more skilled observer than he could glean from the body – and his eyes narrowed slightly as he exposed a second set of runed scabbards.
"What do you see?"
Cyrin's head shot up at the mild question and he was met with the piercing, one-eyed gaze of a powerfully built, dark-haired man. He wore heavy armor, engraved with emblems denoting service in the wars, service to Stormwind, and service in the Silver Hand, and a heavy hammer hung within easy reach at his side. A heavy swath of cloth was haphazardly tied around his left elbow, between the heavy plating protecting his upper and lower arms, and a few small trickles of blood were evident in the small area of skin that was covered neither by armor nor by the cloth. Cyrin was not convinced that the obviously hurried bandaging attempt was helping quite as much as the man, whom he suspected to be Lord Shadowbreaker himself, might need it to.
However, the man had not initiated introductions, nor had he requested medical opinions. Cyrin gave his answer succinctly as he rose to his feet: "Forsaken, sir. Cult of the Forgotten Shadow." He paused. "Armor and daggers suggest Lightslayers."
The paladin looked at him with his single eye. "But?" he prompted.
Shadowbreaker, Cyrin decided. "The Cathedral of Light in the center of an Alliance stronghold is an unusually high-profile target for a Lightslayer," he said, "particularly for a target outside of the Scarlet Crusade. The objective appears to have been an assassination – " and here he gestured to the fallen brother lying in front of the altar – "but of a strangely low-ranked individual. But mostly…" He glanced between the two bodies again. "Lightslayers always operate alone."
Shadowbreaker nodded, his face impassive. Cyrin could not tell if the paladin thought he was correct or, if he did, whether or not he was impressed. "Your name, paladin?" he asked instead.
"Captain Alaric Cyrin of the Theramore Guard, sir," Cyrin answered promptly. "With Lieutenant Bowen Dieter."
Shadowbreaker acknowledged their names with a slight nod, then turned away from them as he scanned the room. He made eye contact first with two paladins speaking with each other near the altar, then the high priestess and the archibishop, and finally an elderly man robed in the unmistakable red robes of the Scarlet Crusade. He gestured for them to join him.
"Duthorian Rall and Katherine the Pure, paladins in service of the Light," Stormbreaker said of the first two arrivals, adding as the others arrived, "His Excellency Archbishop Benedictus. Laurena, High Priestess of the Light. Brother Crowley, Emissary of the Scarlet Crusade. Ladies and gentlemen, Captain Cyrin and Lieutenant Dieter of the Theramore Guard."
If the new arrivals found it odd that their very notable ranks be diluted by the presence of mere military men from a politically discordant stronghold an ocean away, they gave no indication. Cyrin attempted to do the same with a bit more success than Dieter; the lieutenant's discomfiture at his proximity to Brother Crowley, though, was palpable.
"The Captain has just provided me with his opinions regarding our guests," Shadowbreaker continued almost conversationally. "He believes we are looking at the work of two Lightslayers from the Forgotten Shadow."
Both Duthorian Rall and Katherine looked at Cyrin with far more interest this time around, and though Rall's face remained impassive, an expression of approval crossed Katherine's golden face. Rall abruptly handed him a dagger, hilt first.
The hilt, heavily jeweled, bore the unmistakable seal of the Cult of the Forgotten Shadow, much like the runed scabbard it had come from. Cyrin set his jaw and passed the dagger to Dieter for his viewing.
"Both carried them," Katherine said. She had a sweet, almost whimsical voice, Cyrin thought to himself, which even the gravity of their discussion could not disguise.
"Captain Cyrin brought up several salient points which bear further discussion," Shadowbreaker continued, his voice still mild. "The first: Lightslayers have never been known to pursue targets in areas as visible and high-profile as this. The second: The objective was clearly an assassination but of an unusually low-ranking individual. The third: Lightslayers operate alone. Brother Crowley, if you would address points one and two."
Cyrin, armed with years of presuppositions about the Scarlet Crusade as colored by his tutelage in the Silver Hand, had assumed Crowley to be an erratic creature, youthful and fiery and unpredictable and prone to unreasonable excess in all aspects of his being. He could not speak to the last point – for all he knew, he thought to himself with a hint of wicked humor, the rather stooped, staid man stepping forward regularly had a battalion of nubile gnomes dancing nude around his dinner table – but he was clearly mistaken on several others. Crowley was by no means a young man; he was older than Cyrin and the fiery red of his hair, framing a well worn face, was beginning to show the slightest hint of encroaching gray. He was serene, his movements the same strange combination of meticulous and effortless that characterized most members of the cloth that Cyrin had met, and his robes were immaculately pressed, their colors vivid.
In short, he did not seem the least bit unhinged and certainly not to the degree as his chosen affiliation might otherwise indicate. Either he was desperately in need of reevaluating his own prejudices, Cyrin thought to himself, or Crowley subscribed to the most insidious flavor of instability. His eyes narrowed slightly.
"The… victim… was Brother Ticrea," Crowley said without preamble. His voice had the faintest gravel of intruding age but was otherwise both soft and unassuming. "Brother Ticrea – or more correctly, Inquisitor Gregor Ticrea - was a member of the Scarlet Crusade. He operated primarily as a liaison between otherwise isolated Crusade forces, including emissaries, such as myself."
Cyrin noted with a flash of disappointment the complete lack of response from both the Archbishop and the High Priestess; between the blood loss and the sudden, meticulous blankness covering her features, he might have mistaken Laurena for carefully chiseled marble. No doubt that the pair had been informed previously of the "Brother"'s affiliations. Cyrin could imagine Benedictus preparing to send a sorrowful missive announcing the Brother's demise to his fictitious home abbey only to be stopped by a suddenly helpful Crowley; surely Crowley would have realized that it would be far better to announce the Brother's true identity immediately rather than to wait for the backlash later and to find himself unexpectedly in the bowels of a den surrounded by angry lions asking for explanations. A shame though; Cyrin suspected that Laurena's initial reaction to the news had been quite entertaining.
Rall and Katherine, however, had apparently not had the same advance warning and Cyrin got more the response he expected from them. Katherine's perfect pink lips parted in an almost comical "O". Rall's expression though, dangerously dark and still darkening, had no such comedic elements.
"I notice that Inquisitor Ticrea wore the colors of the Light," Rall said tightly, his striking green eyes boring icily into Crowley. He stepped aside to allow Crowley a full view of the grotesque, blood-splattered scene in front of the altar, adding sardonically, "Though at the moment, Brother, the similarities between his colors and yours are much more striking."
Cyrin would have berated a lesser paladin under his command for such a breach of protocol, but Shadowbreaker didn't move. Katherine spoke next, directing her question to Shadowbreaker and Laurena in a clipped undertone as if Crowley were not present, "Security status?" Her voice was decidedly less whimsical this time.
Laurena pinched the bridge of her nose, eyes squeezed shut. "SI:7 has been notified, if that is your concern, Paladin," she said tiredly from behind her hand. Cyrin thought she too might have a musical voice, were it not strained with a combination of pain and frustration. "All clergy in the city have been sequestered pending evaluation and clearance, save the Archbishop and myself." She lowered her hand and fixed a sharp look on Shadowbreaker, adding in a tight voice, "SI:7 has yet to explain to me precisely what an 'evaluation' entails, Lord Shadowbreaker, and I feel the need to reiterate that the Church will not tolerate –"
"What about that one?"
Cyrin's arms were crossed in front of his chest and he indicated the target of his question with a nod of his head.
The young priestess Laurena and the Archbishop had been discussing rather loudly when Cyrin and Dieter had arrived had been standing otherwise unnoticed behind Laurena. Her head jerked up at Cyrin's question, a few dark tendrils of hair from the tight coil atop her head falling loose in the movement, and he caught a faint glimpse of startling gray eyes before she lowered her head once more into the characteristically modest stance required of young priestesses.
Laurena began to answer but Shadowbreaker said simply, "She has been cleared already." Laurena's mouth snapped shut though Cyrin noted the look she shot at Benedictus.
Interesting, Cyrin thought. He stared at the dark-haired priestess's lowered head for a moment longer, then turned his attention back to Shadowbreaker.
"Duthorian, you will assist the Archbishop and High Priestess as necessary with interim security procedures," Shadowbreaker continued smoothly. "General Jonathan and I will meet with Mathias after his investigations are complete and will provide clarification on our long-term approach. High Priestess, your people will not be mistreated in any way beyond this unfortunate sequestering; I have Mathias's assurances that this will be handled as quickly as possible and that your people will be afforded every comfort possible during this time. Brother Crowley, please continue."
Crowley continued as if Rall had not interrupted at all, "To address Captain Cyrin's second point, the assassination target was not unusually low-ranking. As an Inquisitor, Brother Ticrea was hardly at the higher echelons of Crusade leadership, but he was often entrusted with significant information in his movements between isolated units. The Crusade has lost individuals of similar position and importance to Forgotten Shadow assassins before."
"How many individuals of 'similar position and importance' does the Crusade employ?" Rall asked. He did not ask how many operated without the Crusade's colors as Ticrea did but the question was clear.
"I am not at liberty to say," Crowley said.
"You're not at liberty to-" Rall began heatedly.
Shadowbreaker held a hand up and Rall immediately lapsed into silence, though his green-eyed gaze remained fixed on Crowley. "Thank you, Brother, I believe that answers our question regarding the Captain's second point," he said with a gracious nod of his head. "That leaves, of course, the first and the third. Brother," and here he fixed his one-eyed gaze solely on Crowley, "is it your opinion that Inquisitor Ticrea was targeted for the position he held or the information he carried?"
Crowley opened his mouth slightly as if to speak then closed it again. He glanced around at the assemblage then said, "Both." After a seemingly interminable moment during which Shadowbreaker's gaze did not so much as waver, Crowley abruptly looked away. "Perhaps more the latter than the former."
"Perhaps?" Shadowbreaker repeated mildly.
Crowley ran a hand over his face, the first sign of agitation that Cyrin had seen from the man, and abruptly thrust a sheet of parchment at Shadowbreaker, snapping, "Definitely, then." He rubbed his face again, gesturing with his free hand to the parchment. "Ticrea carried copies of that missive. He was likely tracked and killed for them."
Shadowbreaker's one eye scanned the contents of the parchment which could not have been particularly helpful as the brief glimpse Cyrin had gotten showed lines of encrypted text. "Not killed for them," he corrected. "The assassins obviously knew what they contained. I suspect they were more interested in making sure the missives did not reach you or any others along the Inquisitor's normal route." He fixed his gaze on Crowley again and Crowley sighed as if he knew the question about to be posed. "What are the contents of this missive, Brother?"
"I…" Crowley turned away with a jerk of his head. "I am not at liberty to say, Lord Shadowbreaker."
Shadowbreaker merely nodded. "Of course you are not," he said agreeably enough. "We are aware of how your leadership punishes disloyalty, Brother. An unfortunate policy. Lady Eris, if you please."
Cyrin felt his jaw drop and found he had no ability to stop it. He could see through the corner of his eye an expression of surprise flood Dieter's face – whether his surprise was in response to his normally stoic captain indulging in such an uncharacteristically open reaction or to the sudden announcement of a disturbingly familiar name, Cyrin did not know - and still found he had no recourse.
The dark-haired priestess strode forward from behind Laurena, all semblance of humility gone from her pose as she accepted the proffered parchment with her head held high. She was small in stature – surely the top of her head, even counting the tight coil of dark hair piled atop it, did not reach Cyrin's chin – but the set of her shoulders, the elegant tilt of an aristocratic chin, made her seem much taller. Her slender frame was wrapped in the unostentatious white fabric typical of followers of the Light but she no longer carried herself with the gentle, humble warmth of a follower. Her brilliant gray eyes swept quickly, coolly, expertly over the parchment.
Cyrin managed to snap his mouth shut, inwardly reproaching himself for the breach, but could not help but glance over his shoulder at Dieter. "Eris?" the lieutenant mouthed to him silently. Cyrin shook his head roughly and returned his attention to the parchment.
"You can't possibly –" Crowley began.
"It is possible that this was generated using a one-time pad, milord", the dark-haired priestess said after a moment, cleanly interrupting Crowley without so much as a glance in his direction, "but given the number of copies Brother Crowley mentioned and the disparate target sources to which the pad must have been dispersed some time previously, I find that unlikely. I suspect it was generated using Mystique." She scrutinized the parchment for a moment longer before looking up. "I am also fairly certain that unlike the vast majority of intercepts, it was not generated in the Scarlet Enclave."
Crowley stared at her, agape, sputtering, "How do you… How could you…?" His shoulders drooped then and he asked wearily, "You broke Mystique?"
"Your organization inevitably came up during Lady Eris's detailed studies of the Scourge, Brother, and no offense is meant, of course," Shadowbreaker said easily. "I must say, though, that I'm surprised you did not accept the invitation to General Abbendis's last birthday celebration. We've heard it was quite the party." He patted Crowley's astonished shoulder once, then turned back to Eris with a brusque, "Decrypt it."
Eris acknowledged the command with a brisk nod worthy of a soldier but she had barely turned away when Crowley's quiet voice stopped her: "Don't bother."
Crowley looked around at his audience for a moment then shook his head and turned away. "The missive was not encrypted in the Scarlet Enclave, Priestess, because the Enclave no longer exists." He gestured to the parchment with a jerk of his chin, a rather uncouth gesture given his normal poise, and didn't wait for the shock of his statement to settle in. "That missive describes in disturbingly terse detail the destruction of both New Avalon and Havenshire in the Plaguelands at the hands of the Scourge. The Crusade was massacred along with the townspeople."
Katherine's mouth dropped open into a tiny "o" once more, a positively understated response compared to Dieter's gaping maw. Cyrin shot Dieter a disproving glance before commenting, "Enough survived to send notice."
Crowley just shook his head silently, rubbing both hands over his face.
Shadowbreaker suddenly snatched the parchment from the priestess's hand, the first movement he had made that suggested something other than precise calculation and methodical control, and thrust it towards Crowley, demanding in a dangerously low voice, "Is this a plea for help, Brother, or a call to arms?"
A suddenly animated Crowley swept his arm up, roughly pushing the parchment away. "Have you known the Crusade to beg for help, to herald a gutless flight from the frontlines to factions unable – unwilling – to take up the battle themselves?" he hissed back. "A call to arms, Lord Shadowbreaker, one your own people seem unwilling to make." Naked disdain crossed his aging features. "Oh, you discuss the possibility in your endless meetings. You debate the wisdom of such a move in your incessant strategic assessments. You define and redefine what constitutes an acceptable wartime loss as you sit behind your white walls and sip your perfectly aged wines. All while warm blood floods a ravenous, plagued land, while innocents can only hope in vain for a long and agonizing death rather than a far worse fate." He swept a disgusted gaze over the gathering. "The Crusade has taken the bold stance your emasculated leaders will not: the High General is leading what remains of our forces to face the Lich King himself."
Shadowbreaker nodded matter-of-factly, wiping an errant fleck of spittle from his cheek. "Thank you, Brother Crowley," he said blandly, rolling the parchment up with three flicks of his wrist and handing it back to the dark-haired priestess. He turned back to the others and if he noticed their shock at the brother's outburst – and surely he must have, Cyrin thought, given Dieter's wide-eyed gaze and the way Duthorian Rall's hand hovered ominously over the hilt of his hammer – he ignored it handily. "Archbishop, High Priestess, I believe that Brother Crowley is ready to join the rest of the city's clergy in their isolation. I'm sure he would appreciate your escort." The High Priestess's blue eyes flicked toward Eris, but Shadowbreaker added without a glance at her, "Lady Eris will remain for a few moments longer."
Cyrin watched as Laurena shot the Archbishop another sharp glance – interesting, that – before gesturing with an elegant wave of her pale hand for a now deflated, slump-shouldered Crowley to move ahead of her. Crowley, pliable and docile in the discomfited wake of his outburst, made no argument but after a moment, turned back to Shadowbreaker. A series of emotions flitted across his aging features – a flicker of vehemence, a pang of remorse, a flash of distress, a cloud of sorrow – and his lips opened, closed, then opened again as if he could not find the words to keep up.
Shadowbreaker shook his head. "Go with the Light, Brother," he said almost gently.
The man, shoulders slumped, turned away with the two golden forms of Benedictus and Laurena flanking him. He hardly looked a threat, his suddenly aged frame seeming almost frail when compared to Benedictus's far more powerful form, but Cyrin watched warily as they walked slowly away.
The dark-haired priestess stood motionless at Shadowbreaker's elbow, but her gray eyes had narrowed slightly as she too watched the trio move away. She voiced Cyrin's concern before he could: "If there is to be a security breach, Lord Shadowbreaker, it will be before the Brother is sequestered under Master Shaw."
"Archbishop Benedictus is a suitable escort," Shadowbreaker replied.
"I speak not of his health, Lord Shadowbreaker, nor of Crowley's," Eris snapped, her voice cold. Cyrin raised an eyebrow. "It was irresponsible to let Crowley know we've broken Mystique. Now a single look to one of his myriad invisible confederates within the city walls could mean losing a valuable edge."
Shadowbreaker patted her arm, seemingly oblivious to her the chill in her tone, and said with a hint of humor, "I'll be sure to let Jonathan know the faith you have in his security." He turned away from her then, saying in a quite businesslike tone, "Katherine, assist Duthorian as necessary in developing and implementing our interim security procedures. We will have additional information and resources after my meeting with Mathias." He fixed his one-eyed gazed on Cyrin. "Captain, what is your status?"
"On call as necessary, sir, but on hold otherwise," Cyrin said. "Brother Karman of Theramore sent us to continue our training with you. General Marcus has given us leave to -"
"Excellent," interrupted Shadowbreaker with a nod. "Then you and Lieutenant Dieter will escort Lady Eris to Light's Hope Chapel in the morning. She will brief you on the details before your departure."
"Of course, sir, but –" Cyrin began.
"My lord, I hardly need an escort for such a –" Eris began.
"Lady Eris, we will reconvene in two hours to discuss the details," Shadowbreaker said, smoothly overriding them. "Captain, Lieutenant, I highly suggest the accommodations at the Gilded Rose. Thank you all."
He nodded to each of them in turn and without another word, strode out of the Cathedral.
Cyrin blinked once, twice, before exchanging a bemused glanced with Dieter. The lieutenant shrugged.
He glanced up to find Eris's cool, discriminating gaze sliding over him but before he could say a word, she said, "Meet me at the front gates at sunrise. I will brief you on the way." She turned on her heel and walked away, the Crusade's missive in her hand.
Cyrin paused, speechless.
"Welcome to Stormwind," snorted Duthorian Rall.