-1King of Shadows, Queen of Light
English is not my native language. I appreciate any constructive corrections. It really helps me to get better, so please feel free to leave a review. Thanks for all of those who have already done so—you guys are great!
There is some language in these chapters occasionally; nothing really serious, but be warned if you are offended by such things.
For this chapter the following songs were played, lending inspiration: Tristan and Ywaine from Ilan Eshkeri's soundtrackfor the lovely movie Stardust; Movement V from Vangelis' El Greco; and the medieval hymns Salve Virgo/Splendens Ceptigera from Llibre Vermell by Sarband and Gloria from one of the best Gregorian chant collections out there, The Best of the Benedictine Monks of St. Michael's.
And the usual wishful thinking: I strongly regret that I do not own any of the main characters, especially a certain paladin… The Pendwyr girl is entirely my fault, though. J
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Glory
The dawn was nearly upon us by the time Casavir and I got out of Nasher's study.
"I definitely have the feeling that I'll be busy in the next few days." I stretched a bit. I wasn't actually sore or stiff from the armor; there were times, after all, when I slept in it, even. It just… felt good to be out of that meeting, that chair, that room. I was looking forward to getting some sleep.
My human side snickered and added, 'And yes, it feels good to know that he watched you stretch, too, right?'
'Shut up, self.' I told firmly to myself, trying to project the 'I am walking one step above the floor I am so aloof and detached' feel while avoiding looking at any of the guards on the corridors. I really shouldn't have had thoughts like that between fighting a bunch of thugs in a ransacked mansion, debriefing the ruler of Neverwinter about things learned in said mansion, listening to him strategizing with Nevalle and Ophala about possible ramifications of same news and finally coming to a decision and issuing orders that included mine as well as one sworn to Neverwinter's service.
"Not only you, my lady." His voice sounded hollow; as I glanced at him, I could see that his aura was almost dampened down to a small blue shimmer directly over his skin. "I'm afraid we all will have our plates full."
I stopped in the middle of an empty hallway, all of a sudden seized by a powerful feeling of dread. Did I miss a wound he received while we were in that basement, or was this some effect of a stray spell from Old Scab's pet sorcerer?
"You… feel tired. Are you all right?" I grabbed his arm and searched his face for any sign of pain, cursing myself for not even thinking about this earlier. "Are you in pain?"
"I am…" I was reasonably sure that sentence started out as 'I am fine, my lady', but something made him not to finish it that way. "I am not injured, no, but… I could, indeed, use some rest. You are very… perceptive, my lady."
"That stupid spell makes it even worse, believe me." I shook my head, noticing the deep shadows under his eyes. "You might be able to hide it from everyone else, but I bet you didn't get much sleep lately."
"Not since your trial started." He returned my concerned gaze calmly.
"What…what do you mean?" Of course I knew he was worried about me, but that simple acknowledgement, coming from him, meant that he probably spent entire nights awake and at prayer.
"I couldn't bear the thought of possibly losing you… one way or the other." he said, stepping closer. He had to answer with the full truth. Paladins never lie and always answer questions directed to them.
"One way or… another." I said slowly, trying to keep the tremble out of my voice, rather unsuccessfully. Gods, I thought, how can he make me feel so… The expression Amie used, borrowed from one of her favorite romances, sprang into my mind unbidden, 'tormented by the sweet pain of love…', and shook my body with the truth of it.
It made me afraid, mail shirt, sword, divine power and all, more than any of the horrors I've faced since I left West Harbor. I wasn't sure about this fragile thing; I just wanted to keep it, hold it close, and not to lose it in the tumultuous times that were coming.
And because of that, I tried for a lighter tone.
"Being skewered by Lorne would be one way. The other…?"
It didn't work; that tremble in my voice betrayed me, just like, I was sure, he was able to sense all the emotions storming across my aura.
"You have to ask, my lady?" His gloved hand traced the almost invisible god-marks under my right eye, light as feather. "With the Even-Handed laying his claim on you again with His runes, right before you defended His justice, shining with His light there in the hall, you were, yet again, almost unbearably far away." He took my face between his hands, his blue eyes so close, so close… "Arrighan Pendwyr, my lady, you are, indeed, the best thing that ever has happened…"
It was just as bright, shiny and glorious as the first time, his kiss. My arms around his neck, fingers buried in his hair; I could feel how his hands trembled cradling my face even through his gloves. No spell, no compulsion this time, just the sweet simplicity of the two of us…
No thoughts either: the air was silver and blue and crimson, my head light and my pulse racing when we parted; barely taking a breath, I tugged his head down and our lips met again, more insistent this time. I felt myself melt against him, wanting to get closer, even closer…
"Armor..." I felt, rather than hear him murmur breathlessly against my mouth, and with that, the real world and some rational thought returned.
"Sorry." I mumbled, aware of the way the metal links pressed into my linen undershirt quite forcefully, and I knew that he must feel just as uncomfortable as I did. "That will be painful…"
Despite that, I didn't want to go; I kept close, settling on burying my face in the crook of his neck where his cloak covered the mail and keeping my hands on his shoulders, waiting for my heartbeat to stop racing. "Sorry…"
"Stop apologizing…" he whispered into my hair, sounding just as much out of air as I knew I did.
"Oh. Sorry." I said without thinking, and started giggling like a little girl a second later, once I realized how ridiculous it was. I felt his shoulder shaking under my palms as he chuckled, too.
I could have listened to his laughter for hours; but this was not the place and time--I understood.
"We better go." he said then, and I reluctantly let go with a sigh.
"A lot to do today." I agreed, pulling on my own gloves; it was chilly outside, most definitely. Winter was upon us, and just now, I was grateful for the cold wind on my face.
Nasher wanted to send some guards to escort us home; I smiled inwardly as I remembered Ophala leaning to his ear, softly explaining that two paladins of Tyr can probably take care of themselves now that the Arcane Brotherhood's threat has passed from over my head. Thus, it was only the two of us exiting between the guards as the gate and making our way to the Winged Wyvern Bridge and beyond. I had several pieces of paper with plans and lists drawn up on them in my belt pouch: results of the night's planning in Nasher's sitting room.
"So how do you think they'll react?" I asked after we walked for a while in silence. The quiet that grew between us was not uncomfortable: I learned it a while back that he and I could not talk at all for a long time without feeling the need to break the silence.
"I don't think Khelgar would relish the idea of attending a ball, even disguised as a bodyguard." he said quietly. Again, I asked him a direct question, and again, he provided his answer in a thoughtful and well-organized manner that reminded me of his years spent as aide to one of the Nine and a leader of men. "But he'll do it, for you, my lady. I imagine you won't have a problem with any of the others, albeit it's quite possible you need to have a word with Neeshka about proper behavior at the house of someone we are supposed to protect."
"No kidding." I smirked. "We already talked about it with Shandra when we were at Sir Grayson's… she thought Neeshka would have tossed the silverware faster than I could have finished my coffee. And as for Khelgar… I am sure he'll understand once we explain it to him. He's reasonable."
Which just goes to prove that even paladins can be wrong, and spectacularly so.
Khelgar was about as reasonable as the table which he pounded with his fists as we sat in Duncan's storage room later that day. After a couple of hours of sleep and a bath I was even more optimistic about this whole plan, and since Duncan thoughtfully provided coffee, I even managed to smile encouragingly as I finished summarizing the plans for the next couple of days of our lives.
"So what you are saying…"Elanee frowned, "…is that as soon as Lord Tavorick returns from Waterdeep, we essentially have to move in to his estate until, and possibly after, this ball?"
"Us and a squad of Greycloaks, yes." I nodded. "They will provide visible security but they might be a bit too conspicuous during the more, um, upscale events and areas."
"'Cause we'll blend right in." Neeshka smirked, touching a hand to her left horn. "What am I supposed to do, play a housemaid and take people's cloaks when visiting? Do I get one of those frilly aprons and little headdress thingies too?"
"And do you want to put me in a waiter's uniform, Little 'Un?" That was when Khelgar started to smack the table with his fist. Qara made a face and her fingers started too twitch, but the dwarf, as usual, paid no attention. "Well, lemme tell ya, that's the most fucked-up idea I've ever…"
"Actually, no." I said, standing up and looking at him with what I hoped was a stern expression. "Actually what I want you to do is come with us to the Temple of Justice for the noon service." As his muttering of Dwarven curses sputtered to a halt and his jet-black eyes widened in surprise, I continued. "I think you have something to talk about with Prior Hlam about the Trial of the Even-Handed he laid on you." I cut off whatever else he wanted to say with an uplifted hand, and looked around; I had everyone's attention, still. Good. The entire plan was spreading out in my head like a map to follow, still vivid after spending hours listening Nasher and his aides piecing it together, and I wouldn't have had anyone mess it up for me, not just yet.
"And I'd ask the rest of you to study the layout of the estate and the list of the residents and the invitees to the ball. We will receive further instructions, equipment and some opportunity to take a look at the place starting tomorrow." I shrugged. "Of course, like every other one of our previous assignments, this is also entirely optional for every one of you. I'd just need a definite yea or nay by breakfast time tomorrow, if you would." I pushed my chair back to the table and looked at Casavir. "If you would please get Marcus from the kitchen… I think this is the best time to take care of him as well." He dipped his head in assent and disappeared towards the common room, with a still fuming Khelgar in tow. It was time to fulfill what I promised to do and find a place for Marcus where he and his talents could be, at last, safe. Being accepted as an acolyte of the Even-Handed was something Casavir and I agreed would be the best solution for him—much better than being an orphaned kitchen boy at an inn.
"You sure sound better and better to bark out orders, holy girl." Bishop was thoughtfully eyeing me, rocking his chair back and forth next to the little stove in the corner where Karnwyr slept curled up. "Must come with being a squire and having the favor of both your god and his fancy-mannered servant you just sent to fetch a little boy like some common servant, eh?"
"I ask people, Bishop. There is a difference." I decided to, yet again, ignore the insinuation that was thick in his voice like poisoned honey. "Listen, I realize we often don't get along, but if you decide to help out in this particular case, I am sure something could be arranged to compensate you for your time and efforts. Lord Tavorick is a man of considerable means, I am told."
"Filthy rich, and too old to spend it all." Bishop sniffed. "Yeah, word gets around." His cold hazel eyes had a calculating look in them. "He'd be paying, you say?"
"I'd be willing to negotiate for compensation for your time at the same rate you received for your services when you tracked me down." I returned his look levelly. I heard about the amount he demanded from Sand and while I flinched at the sum, I was sure either Tavorick or Nasher's treasury could easily pay it. "Just like they should for all of those of my companions who are willing to sign up."
That was one of the times I was firm and resolute with Nasher last night. As paladins, Casavir and I were obligated to do this for merely the chance to do good, or for a monetary donation to the Temple, but my companions didn't have that luxury. I could certainly go to Hlam and the charity of the Temple if needed (and I had heard from Aevan years ago that traveling paladins on the quest of their god customarily depended on the various shrines for their cost of living, armor repairs, healing and gold for such mundane things as food and lodging on the road), but what would Elanee or Grobnar do, besides trying to sell whatever skills they had to have ends meet?
"So we all get paid this time." Bishop narrowed his eyes. "Which means this is just about the most dangerous thing you ever asked from us."
Perceptive, the arrogant ranger was, I had to give him that. But somehow I doubted if he was concerned abut the safety of anyone else.
"No one ever said you were stupid, Bishop." I gave him a wry smile. "So let me know by the morrow if you are interested in doing something more than downing ale and going into that old whorehouse called the Dead Duck, will you?"
"Thinking you can make me change my wicked ways, eh?" He shook his head, almost amused. "You'd be surprised how many women tried that, holy girl."
"Bishop, I am most definitely not one of your women." I said, exasperated. "And really, I know better than trying to proselytize to you. Or for anyone, for that matter." I added after a pause. I wasn't a cleric, it wasn't my place and if I couldn't convince anyone through my deeds that Tyr was worth serving, then really, what good I was as His Chosen? "I still don't know why you keep sticking around, unless you really want to eventually catch a good beating from Casavir."
"At least you are honest about it." He leaned back on his chair, busy lighting his pipe. He somehow seemed oddly relaxed, and that sent faint warning signs to that part of me that was pure instincts and feelings. "But then, what with those marks about you, no wonder."
"Oh." I shook my head, remembering how he shrank from my gaze the morning of the Trial. "Listen, you really were a total ass that morning, Bishop. I won't say I am sorry because I am not; you insulted not only my god, but a good man who…"
"Yeah, sure." He shrugged. "You are who you are, holy girl. Your god is swift to judge, but then again, so are all gods." His hazel eyes glinted. "And I'll do you a favor and not start a discussion about His Lordship just now." He suddenly leaned forward and I felt one finger touch the runes under my eyes before I could do anything about it. "I wonder, though: did these hurt?"
"What?" I willed myself not to shrink back from his touch, despite the flare of revulsion that rang through my body, leaving the same sickly sweet taste in my mouth as every time I felt something dark and evil close by. "Did what hurt?"
"They look like they were etched into your skin. Was it done by fire, acid or knife?"
"Bishop…"It slowly dawned on me just what he meant and finally allowed myself to step back. "Those were not made. They… they are a part of me." I struggled with explaining just how the god-marks can appear—by Tyr's blind eyes, I barely knew anything about it either, not having the opportunity to really delve into their mysteries myself. "No one tortured me for hours to make me look like this…" I shuddered at the thought.
"Hm." He stood up in one smooth motion, again faster than I expected. "I see I assumed too much about how far your pet wizard or His Righteousness would have gone to protect you at your trial. Never mind, holy girl. "A strange smile spread on his lips. " I should have known, of course: acid spreads too fast, you can't have those straight lines; fire, even magical fire, tends to be uncontrollable for such fine job, and knife-marks might pucker up. Divine mumbo-jumbo, huh? Pretty impressive." The smile got a bit wider, exposing white canines, and growing almost feral. "Still, I wonder if it hurt."
With that, he turned and left me standing there to ponder just how exactly he learned about the effects of acid spread over skin or how puckering of knife-marks can be unsuitable for certain jobs. And I really didn't want to dwell on that long, because if I did, I might just have walked after him and pounded the answers out of his hide with my own blade. It made me feel unclean, decidedly.
"Was he troubling you?" Elanee touched my shoulder, causing me to wrench myself back to reality. Her eyes were concerned. "Are you all right?"
"Fine." I sighed. "He was just his usual charming self, never mind." I fought the urge to run upstairs and scrub my face clean from his touch. "Thank you, El."
"We didn't get a chance to talk much, but…" she stopped and searched my face with that gaze I learned to identify as her motherly one. "Of course you can count on me with this latest mission of yours. "She vaguely waved a hand to where Neeshka and Qara were studying the meticulously drawn maps of Tavorick's estate, Grobnar's curly head popping up between them time to time. " And those three as well, I can vouch for. It's an adventure for them, an opportunity to shine. "She sighed, reminding me again that despite her youthful appearance, amongst my companions only Sand was older than her. "They are young and eager to show what they know… especially to you."
"I am not sure I merit such devotion." I said, feeling vaguely embarrassed.
She patted my arm with that motherly air about her in full swirl.
"You'll have to get used to it, child." Her serene expression turned into something mischievous. "Darmon says even Nevalle said some nice things about you lately. And that man is hard to please."
"I am touched." I said dryly and she giggled: a most un-Elanee-like sound. "Listen, El, I need to ask a favor. " I took her arm and turned towards the door, lowering my voice. " I really have to go and spend time at the Temple, but… I …" My voice faltered as I considered how to phrase this. "El, if you… say, suppose you were to go out with Darmon somewhere, um…for a dinner…what would be appropriate to wear?"
I felt myself flush bright crimson as she regarded me with a mildly amused expression on her face.
"Hm." She said thoughtfully. "And when would this theoretical dinner take place, Arrighan?"
"Um, tonight? " I offered, deciding on studying the toes of my boots. "At the Mask? I am kind of desperate, here..." I felt absurdly silly; here I was dressed for the Temple in my best outfit including a lace-cuffed shirt, hair braided up, nails scrubbed and all, and I was asking about what to wear for a dinner…
Well, not just any dinner. A dinner with Casavir, my human side snickered. Hopefully it will be much different from your first one. I could physically feel the celestial half of me sigh exasperatedly.
"It sure looks like it." Her eyes were dancing. "I will see what I can do. Fortunately, I am going to meet Darmon in an hour or so, and I think he's much better versed in such niceties than I." Her delicate copper cheeks flushed a bit. "We are having a…lunch, I suppose?"
I chuckled all the way to the common room, feeling oddly relieved. I was confident that she'd have an answer to that question; we conquered worse impossibilities before. From the way she furrowed her brows in thought when I left her after a quick hug, I knew she took this challenge up quite readily.
We arrived to the Temple early. The noontime service at the Halls of Justice I never attended before—usually my various duties only permitted visiting either the dawn or the evensong rituals. The Hammer at Highsun on the first day of the month of Nightal when it also was the Feast of the Seeing Justice was celebrated in front of a rather large congregation. I didn't quite realize just what an important time this was (just goes to show that at heart I was still a country bumpkin) until the four of us entered through the high gate and I beheld the scores of blue banners strewn along the walls, the garlands of cedarwood and oak, the hundreds of white candles illuminating the vast space with their flickering light... We were about to take a pew in the very back like I usually did, but were prevented by a rather excited acolyte who bid us to follow him to the sacristy where Prior Hlam and High Justiciar Oleff were preparing themselves for the service, donning the brilliant blue and Tyrran purple robes of the god.
Oleff took a swift look at us, and his thin mouth set into a determined line of one used to command and knowing exactly what to do.
"Let me see." he said dryly, motioning for the acolyte with his gloved hand to stay. "I need you, Chosen and you, young Korranos, to be in the front side pew in about five minutes for the service." I'm afraid I gaped at him: the front side pew was reserved as the place of honor, and I've never even dreamed about sitting there. "Kindly close your mouth, child; we have some visiting brothers and sisters from Waterdeep for this holy day and, as the Lord Nasher could not attend today, I trust you two understand the importance of your presence. I would have sent a runner for you had you not shown up, but I suspected you would remember, son." He nodded towards Casavir, who bowed his head.
I trust you two understand the importance of your presence. I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders. A public appearance with the newly returned son of one of the oldest Houses, with me as the servant of the Even-Handed so spectacularly cleaned of Luskan's allegations. No doubt Oleff and Hlam, as the two leaders of Tyr's church in Neverwinter, had long discussions about this, and the significance of being presented in such way to both the congregation and the visiting clergy was not lost on us. I caught Casavir's eye, and to my surprise and relief I saw the same slightly bemused expression in them as I remembered him wearing last night as Nevalle and Nasher fussing over some details of Tavorick's ball and appropriate attire for us that needed to be prepared. All we missed is eye-rolling, really; I had to visibly restrain myself, but could not resist a sly wink in his direction, and the corner of his mouth turning upwards at that. I breathed a silent sigh of relief: we were in perfect agreement about this, then. All I had to do is just treat this as I always did: a service to the god and immerse myself in His power as the ceremony went on, and we should be fine. I knew Casavir would be by my side, and that made it all easier.
Oleff now turned his attention to Khelgar, while the two assistant priests surged forward, grabbing our cloaks and replacing them with brilliant blue-purple ones, with the god's symbol worked on their shoulders and backs in gold thread. I was vaguely aware of how my aura hummed with power as the fabric touched my shoulders; the god's magic was clearly woven into those golden threads.
"And for you, Master Khelgar, supplicant of the Maimed One…" His grey eyes regarded him for long seconds as Khelgar stood there unflinching, only the small shuffling of his feet betraying his nervousness. "I'll let Prior Hlam talk to you after the service, if it is still your wish to serve Our Lord. I know about the quests set in front of you, and I can tell that you completed them all." His thin lips formed a surprisingly gentle smile. "Especially the last one—there was hardly anyone in the Halls who didn't hear you professing how you felt the injustice in her trial by combat." He indicated me with his hand. "You had been His Chosen's faithful companion for the longest time; if it is still your heart's wish, the Even-Handed offers you a place in His service."
"Thank you, Yer Honor." Khelgar said gruffly, bowing. "I would like that." I could see the eagerness in his eyes, the same that was blazing there when he first talked to me about his desire to become a fighting monk of the Maimed One, but his time it was tempered with the changes his three quests brought forth in him. I grinned and felt my eyes moisten with tears of joy a bit—his long road, it seemed, has brought him to a safe harbor.
"And now…" I could hear the caution in Oleff's voice and he looked at Marcus, silently standing there next to Khelgar, looking back at the High Justiciar with his strange, pale eyes, "…now about the orphan who can See and has visions. Do you wish to stay with us and study the ways of the Even-Handed, child?"
"They aren't really visions... it's more like seeing something with another set of eyes, from a different angle." Marcus answered on his clear, high voice, still holding onto my hand the way he did all the way from the Flagon. "When I was little, it used to make me feel sick, and I'd have to close one set of eyes or the other." He looked at Oleff. "And yes, I'll stay here. That is what I have to do. He told me the Halls of Justice will be my home one day." The way he said that reminded me of what he told me when I found him at the bottom of that dreadful well in Ember: "It was important. He told me. You will know when the time comes."
"Hedid." Oleff cocked his head to one side. "I shall like to talk to you in private, young Marcus, before too long. For now, you will have lodgings and meals at the Acolyte House."
"I shall come and see you often." I said quietly as he carefully hugged me for one more time as I bent down to kiss his forehead.
"I won't forget you." he said seriously. "We didn't talk much after the trial, and I know you need to go now, but….there is something you need to know." Once again, it struck me how much older he sounded than his scrawny little child's body.
"Yes, Marcus?" I crouched down in front of him; I never liked to talk to children standing up, it was too intimidating, I always thought, what with my height the armor I wore more often that not.
"I should have told you right after your trial and the fight, but there was no chance. Maybe you can use this later." He shrugged. "That woman, Torio... she acted mean, but she was really just trapped and frightened. The big one, too... the one who killed all the people in Ember. Both of them were scared, and they didn't know what to do, so they pretended to be cruel. They pretended for so long that they forgot how to stop."
I swallowed.
"You mean Lorne, right?" I asked. That was still painful; I knew I didn't retain any scars on my face from the blow he dealt, but the wound caused by his words in the arena still pulsed with pain every time I remembered.
"Yes. The one who came from your village." He took a deep breath and for a second his eyes unfocused, as if he was trying to put something into words that was hard to express. "Some people get stuck on things from the past. They go over and over them in their minds, and it's easy for someone like me to see. Whenever I looked at Lorne, I saw a Fair… a Harvest Fair, I think?"
I nodded, wordlessly, I knew now what he was talking about. I heard it from Georg Redfell, leader of the West Harbor militia just before my last Harvest Fair started: the tale of Lorne and Cormick.
"He lost a fight there, years ago, and he wouldn't let that memory go. That's how he saw himself... as the boy who lost the fight." Marcus' hand squeezed mine: this was important, very important for some reason I had to figure out soon. "That's how memories are. The ones that stick in your mind... they come to define you."
"Thank you." I shook my head, trying to get it clear so I will remember his words.
"There is one more thing…"He leaned to my ear and whispered into it, the words coming almost jumbled. He was clearly troubled by this. "I must tell you this, too. When I look at you…with the Sight…You're getting... harder and harder to see. It's like you're falling into a void, a great blind maw, and it's going to devour you, no matter how you try to stop it." He took a deep breath. "I don't know much else, but… keep him close, okay?" He nodded towards Casavir, pleading in his eyes.
"I don't think that will be a problem." The words came to my lips before I could think about it, and first I was horrified. But the smile that appeared on Marcus' face, clear and radiant and happy, let me know that I said the right thing, the only thing that would make this child Seer calm down about this last vision he had and which, I knew, I will have to ponder once the service was over.
"Oh, good." he mouthed, sounding like the young boy he really was, and he gave me a last, decidedly boyish little wave of hand before the grey-clad acolyte led him out of the sacristy. I barely had time to straighten before one of the assistant priests was by my side again, offering me a set of ceremonial gloves—one black, one white, and started murmuring helpful instructions about how the service will go while I was pulling those on.
"We'll manage." Casavir dismissed the priest with a nod and a sweep of hand that was at once impeccably courteous and bore no argument. "Thank you, Father."
"As if I've never been to…"I grumbled, smoothing down the wide collar of the cloak. I felt a bit irritated over being treated like a village idiot who has no idea what to do during a religious service and had to be explained when to sit down and when to stand up, but I checked myself, remembering that no one here actually meant harm—they were just all a bit excited and on the edge for some reason. I figured it was probably the visiting clergy from Waterdeep.
"Wait." I whispered to Casavir, my voice considerably softer than it would have been a second ago because of that realization. I saw a bit of lint on his shoulder and picked it off carefully. "There." I turned and looked at Oleff and Hlam, who both watched us with a strange expression on their face. "I think we are ready."
"And I definitely have to talk to you two after the service." Oleff said slowly, not taking his grey eyes off me. I felt oddly warm first: was he probing me with his Sight? Or –and my blood run like winter rivers all of a sudden—was he picking up on the effects of my inadvertent spell?
Probably both, I thought grimly, trying to chase the thought out of my head while the two of us filed out of the sacristy and headed towards our newly designated places, preceded by one of the assistant priests. I didn't feel like being lectured by the head cleric of Tyr about what I've done… but it was inevitable, and however much I attempted to push this from my mind, I knew from the very moment I felt that rush of power the ritual woke in me, that it was coming. I could only hope that what little I knew about Oleff was right and he wouldn't be stern and unyielding on us—especially on Casavir, who, really, bore the smaller weight in this.
I was very much aware of all the eyes on us and the whispers that rose as we took our seats, arranging our cloaks in careful folds draped over the side of the pew. Casavir on the right, I on the left; we probably made quite a picture. It amused me vaguely, that arrangement; despite the fact that both of us should have been able to get to our weapons easily, Casavir unselfconsciously maneuvered me into the place of the lady, yet again.
I guess if anyone is crazy enough to attack a Tyrran temple at high noon, he will just have to protect me. I suppressed a smile; it really wouldn't do to smirk right in front of His altar, after all. And, just then, the service began, with the sound of Tyr's gong struck by two priests from the side, and the procession of the clergy and the opening hymn sung from the choir to the sound of the organ took my mind off all mundane things.
It is hard to put it in words, how it felt, that very first service I attended since Tyr Chose me. I suppose it was a gift from Him, that I could completely shut off everything around me and immerse myself in His worship--Aevan, my teacher, from the very beginnings of my education emphasized the importance of discipline of the mind, since it was critical for both fighting skills and using divine magic. So even though I never attended Hammer at Highsun before, especially combined with the Feast of Seeing Justice, I had no difficulties following the service. The feeling, though, was much different from all that went previously: a definite sensation of some kind of shimmering silver cloud that gradually grew thicker and thicker around me, combined with the gentle beating of large feathery wings in my ears. As the exalted music and the singing of the choir rose higher and higher, I sang the responsorial, bent my knee, stood and sat, bowed my head and beat my chest in perfect harmony with the others, and yet, all the while I knew that while I was there in body, there was something in me that took flight, soaring above the congregation, up and away, longing to join a different choir and a different song that it will always strain for but never obtain in the mortal form it was constrained in.
I didn't contemplate my celestial heritage very often, even though lately I had ample proof that I had more than enough of that sphere's blood in me through my unknown father. But when the final chords of Glory to Thee Most High, the closing hymn of the service, died down and the last shimmering of the god's gigantic war hammer, conjured as an illusion by the clergy disappeared, I lifted my head from my clasped hands and looked at Casavir--and by the widening of his eyes and the utter reverence that settled on his face I knew that the god's marks were in full glow on my face again for everyone to see, including the full plate-clad Waterdeep delegation sitting right behind us.