The whole village was gathered to hear his words. Some listened with eyes wide with awe and adoration, others with indifference, and there plenty who regarded Sulyvahn with suspicion and scorn. For Sulyvahn, these latter few were of no consequence. What mattered was that they heard his words. Friend or foe, they would speak with others of the message of the mysterious preacher from the north, and so his influence would be disseminated.
He stood beneath the boughs of a birch tree on a hillock in the center of the hamlet. His sermon was the same he had preached since leaving the Boreal Valley: He spoke of the power and the blessings of the Deep. They were words devised by Aldrich, though Sulyvahn had seen fit to mold them into something more palatable to the minds of these simple peasants.
"The Deep welcomes all into is embrace," he said in a strong, loud voice. "It does not judge nor does it condemn you as unworthy. For all have their place in the Deep. Its coolness is a shelter and its depths a refuge from the cruelties of the age. I, once an outcast and rogue, have found my purpose in it, and now I beseech you all to seek the Deep and taste of its goodness."
"We are but a simple people!" one man shouted out. "We are not even fit to enter holy Anor Londo! Why should this Deep permit such brazenness?"
Sulyvahn's voice was solemn. "All are equal in the Deep."
Which was true, in its way. Aldrich and his inner circle regarded all people's flesh as fit for consumption, caring not for status or age or origin. In truth, Sulyvahn was glad to be far away from the self-proclaimed prophet. His fanaticism had proved a taxing thing to endure. Sulyvahn had learned as much of Aldrich's philosophy as he could stand, and then departed to spread the word across Lordran. It had proven simple enough to persuade the prophet to allow him to embark on a "missionary journey." Aldrich was eager to bring as many into the fold as possible to share in his ecstasies in the darkness.
Sulyvahn could not deny, however grudgingly, that Aldrich had a certain bestial charisma and a keen enough mind to keep his more esoteric depravities concealed from the heathens and the newly converted. Such rituals were fit only for those truly committed to the Deep. Many of Sulyvahn's own followers, mercenaries and treasure hunters who had come to the Boreal Valley seeking loot, not salvation, had been swayed by Aldrich's gleeful conviction. But they had not been initiated into Aldrich's secret mysteries when Sulyvahn took them with him on his journey. He would not lead a band of cannibals.
And, of course, he needed an extra sword arm now and again for those who reacted to his words with more than hostile words.
"You put on a show of holiness," a woman accused, "but you are filled with blasphemy! You subvert the teachings of the gods! How can you call yourself a preacher when you teach naught but lies?"
Sulyvahn had heard this argument before, dozens of times. He bowed his head and assumed a posture of humility. "I do not ask any to accept my words with doubt or fear in their hearts. I ask only that you listen to that which has been revealed to me by the Prophet. The Deep accepts, but not all have the readiness to be accepted."
"Can it save us from the Darksign?" another asked.
Ah, yes, the Darksign Curse. Sulyvahn had learned much of it in his travels. A curse that transformed mortals into undying shamblers, hollowed husks of their former selves. Nothing inspired more fear. Of late, increasing numbers of Hollow sightings had been reported. Every village feared that the age was ending. Sulyvahn recognized the usefulness of this fear.
"The power of the Darksign has no hold on the Deep. The Deep may be in shadows, but it is not of the true Dark that opposes Fire." Sulyvahn had no idea if this was true, but listeners seemed to favor this interpretation. "It resists the Darksign, yes, and one day will emerge victorious over it."
Some in the crowd had grown tired of listening and went back to their homes. But the vast majority gave him their rapt attention, even the skeptics. It was easy to keep them enthralled. More than anything, they wanted security. They wanted tomorrow to be the same as today and yesterday, and they wanted assurance of safety from the terrible curse that stained the world.
He had expected his mission to carry more difficulty when he had started out. He anticipated immediate retaliation and braced himself for the mobs who would seek his blood for uttering words contradictory to their faiths. But this had not been so. They listened eagerly, and many had left behind their old faith to put their trust in the word of the Deep. They had sworn to accept and obey the word of the Prophet and also, Sulyvahn thought with no small trace of pride, his word. Indeed, his followers now numbered nearly two thousand, scattered across northern Lordran in large camps and sending out evangelists of their own to spread the word of the Deep. Aldrich was pleased, no doubt, by the occasional reports sent back to the Boreal Valley.
He finished his sermon and passed through the crowd back to his camp outside the village. Five of his personal guards accompanied him. Once they had been mercenaries sworn to coin, now they were loyal servants of the Deep and its ambassador. Among them was Rathe, Sulyvahn's mentor in the art of swordplay. He was becoming old, now. His hair was streaked with grey, and his face was marked with deep lines. They were all so much older, Sulyvahn thought, save for himself. He would outlive them all.
But he did not bother to adjust his illusionary face for aging. He found that it enhanced his authority to appear untouched by time. Blessed by the Deep, he heard some followers whispers to each other. A blessing others could gain if they served long and hard enough.
The crowd parted ways for Sulyvahn and his retinue. They watched him with silent awe, this figure taller than any other man, thin and dignified and clad in simple robes of goat's hair and horse hide. A holy man, a prophet in his own right.
Voices shouted in the distance, and two youths came running into the crowd.
"Soldiers! The duke's soldiers! They are coming!"
Murmurs of concern rippled through the crowd. One scornful man sneered at Sulyvahn.
"Duke Vaughn's soldiers come to test you, prophet! Let us see if your Deep saves you now!"
Sulyvahn ignored the mockery and stepped forward to meet the soldiers as they rode toward him through the barley fields. He counted at least twenty. They all carried weapons and were clad in chainmail. They formed a half-circled around Sulyvahn. One of them was clearly of higher rank than the rest. He wore plate-mail that bore knightly heraldry. He drew his horse near to Sulyvahn and looked down at him with haughty eyes.
"You are Sulyvahn, so-called prophet of the Depths?"
"Of the Deep," Sulyvahn corrected him. "I am but a messenger in service to the true Prophet."
"But you do answer to the name of Sulyvahn?"
"I am he."
The knight drew out a scroll from his saddlebag and unrolled it. He read it out loud.
"By order of His Grace, Vaughn son of Venneth, Duke of Teffield, Protector of the Blackwood, let it be known that the self-proclaimed prophet who calls himself Sulyvahn, hailing from parts unknown, is to cease his sermons that are contrary to the established true faiths of the land and is it to be brought before His Grace to give account for his words and deeds. Let it also be known that any who give credence to the words of Sulyvahn or have so given credence in the past are to cease the repetition of his words on penalty of eight lashes of the whip."
The knight put away the scroll and gestured to Sulyvahn. "You are to accompany us to the duke's castle. Resist, and you shall be brought by force."
Rathe and two others stood between Sulyvahn and the knight. "Our master will not be treated as a common felon."
The knight lay his hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Several other soldiers did the same. Sulyvahn put a hand on Rathe's shoulder.
"None of this, my friend. I will not see blood shed here today. I will go with this good knight, as His Grace commands." He smiled at the knight. "This is a blessed day, for the Deep has offered me the opportunity to preach its truth before men of great standing."
The knight snorted and ordered a mule be brought for Sulyvahn to ride. As Sulyvahn mounted it and was led off, angry voices emerged from the watching crowd. Curses and threats were directed at the soldiers. Someone threw a rock that hit the knight's horse's flank and caused it to nearly buck him off. He drew his sword and scoured the crowd with his glare.
"Peace!" Sulyvahn shouted, and his iron voice carried across the field like an eagle's cry. "No violence, no threats! Enough!"
The knight continued pacing his horse in front of the crowd. But slowly, the angry peasants slid into silence. The knight frowned and looked at Sulyvahn as he brought his horse back into line with the convoy. Sulyvahn answered him with a serene smile.
How fascinating, Sulvyahn thought, that these people had come to obey him in so short a time. All because he had chosen the right words.
The ducal castle stood on a ridge overlooking the broad fields and forests of the Duchy of Teffield, northernmost territory of Lordran. The procession of soldiers was let through the gate and into the main courtyard. Here, Sulyvahn was dismounted and roughly led through the corridors of the keep to the duke's office.
Ashen logs glimmered dull red in the fireplace and a great oaken desk was set before the windows. A single stool was brought out and Sulyvahn was made to sit on it like a schoolboy being brought before his teacher. The knight stepped out and Sulyvahn was left alone with two soldiers flanking the door.
After a long wait, the door opened and a thin man with an athletic build and brisk step entered. He was carrying several sheaves of paper in his hands. Behind him walked the knight and a younger man barely into adulthood. He seated himself at the desk, shifted through the papers quickly, then pushed them aside and leaned back in his chair while the knight and youth stood on either side.
Duke Vaughn laid an elbow on the armrest and rested his chin on the back of his hand. He observed Sulyvahn silently.
Sulyvahn returned his gaze. He stood erect on the stool, as proudly as if it were a throne.
The duke spoke in a slow, even voice.
"You're taller than I expected."
Sulyvahn inclined his head slightly.
"In my experience," Vaughn continued, "priests are small men who walk hunched over and with mincing steps for fear of diverting attention from the gods they serve. Humble men, quiet men."
The duke paused. Sulyvahn waited.
Vaughn narrowed his eyes. "You have gathered a very large following. You roam the countryside with armed men at your side. I am told by Sir Mathis," he glanced at the knight, "that the crowd you were preaching to even threatened to attack my soldiers. Not the fruit of a holy man's preaching, methinks, but perhaps a demagogue's."
Sulyvahn raised his hands in supplication. "My men carry arms, it is true. The land is dangerous, and bandits and monsters wander about. We hail from the tundra, where there are no nobles of rank to enforce order and peace. And if my words have inspired evil deeds and desires in men, it is a reflection of the base nature that resides in us all, not that of the Deep."
"The Deep." Vaughn said the world slowly, rolling it over his tongue as if tasting it. "I have never heard of this faith. What covenant does it belong to? What power does a follower of the Deep swear allegiance to?"
"The power of the primordial. Of the deep waters from which life sprang and to which it shall one day return."
"I see. And what place does the Deep have in Lord Gwyn's domain?"
"It is foretold by the Prophet, my master, that the Deep awaits the new age. An age in which all things shall arise reborn."
Vaughn smiled and picked up a letter opener from his desk. He played with it in his hands. "Perhaps I shall be more direct, preacher. Is the Deep greater than Gwyn. Is it greater," he said as his eyes bore into Sulyvahn, "than the First Flame?"
The youth at his side stirred. "Father, I don't think –"
"Quiet, Wain. Well, preacher?"
Sulyvahn bowed his head. "Greater than the Flame? No."
"I see."
"But when darkness consumes the Flame, and the old ways pass away, the Deep shall be the new hope that restores man to his proper place in the world and ushers in a new age of deep waters. The souls of man that have sunk into the depths of the Deep shall rise again, reborn from the water to rule the land as its new inheritors."
The letter opener flicked in Vaughn's hand and rapped against the wood of the desk. "Dangerous words, preacher. Do you imply the sacrifice of Lord Gwyn was in vain? That the Flame shall one day die and be replaced by …" He looked at the ceiling, searching for the right words. "By something that smacks to me of the Dark. The very thing that all good folk rightly fear, for in Darkness there is only death. Even the knights of Dark Sun Gwyndolin honor the Flame as they walk the night. Your words are pretty, but I sense a grim purpose behind them. Why have you truly come to our kingdom?"
"To spread the truth that has been revealed to me. The Prophet is wise, and he sees beyond the Flame."
"Arrogance. No one can claim superiority over the Flame. Even the gods, blessed though they be, submit to it. Those who try to rise above it have only brought disaster upon themselves. You, too, are courting peril. And I cannot allow that peril to endanger my subjects." He nodded to the soldiers, who seized Sulyvahn by the shoulders and lifted him up.
He could have overpowered them easily, but he saw opportunity presenting itself. He put on a downcast countenance and glanced at the youth, the duke's son.
The boy met his gaze, then turned to his father and whispered something in his ear. Vaughn shook his head.
"A heretic cannot be afforded the benefit of the doubt, for heretics thrive on creating doubt and confusion. Take him to the dungeon."
The youth shook his head sorrowfully as Sulyvahn was led away.
Yes, he thought to himself as they led him into the grimy underground. Opportunity had indeed presented itself.
His cell was dark and damp. The only light in the windowless chamber was the flickering orange of the torches sidling through the cracks of the iron-barred door. But this darkness suited Sulyvahn. The cold and damp was comforting. It reminded him of his old home …
He shook his head violently. No, he had sworn to himself to never again think fondly of that wretched place. He had escaped it. Never would he entertain the thought of going back. Instead, he shrouded himself in thoughts of his circumstances, of his service in the name of Aldrich and how to extract advantage from this dilemma he now found himself in.
Much time passed, though he couldn't say how much within this sunless chamber. Then came the rustling of a key in the lock and the door swung open. A guard held a torch before Wain son of Vaughn as he stepped inside. Sulyvahn looked up at him, wincing slightly from the torch's glare.
Wain looked at him earnestly. He opened his mouth, paused, then began to speak.
"I have spoken to my father regarding you. He has decided that you shall remain here for a time yet to be determined. For whatever length of time he deems fit, that is."
Sulyvahn studied the youth carefully. He was tall, lanky, with a thin neck and a small head topped by a shaggy mane of blonde hair. Not regal or dignified in his bearing, but rather skittish and wary. A far cry from the presence of his father.
"Your actions are much appreciated, young master. You have done more than I would have dared ask of any man."
"I …" Wain's eyes narrowed in concentration. "I wish to know something of you, preacher. The common folk hold you in high esteem. They call you a holy man, yet you do not preach the word of the gods. Why?"
Sulyvahn shrugged. "I preach only what I have seen with my own eyes."
"You have seen the Deep?" Wain's voice was skeptical.
"I have beheld its power, yes. Reflecting on my life, I see its currents guiding me on my course. Even confined within this prison, I sense its greater plan at work."
"What plan?"
"I do not know." Sulyvahn leaned his head against the wall. "When I was a child, I dreamt of lands and places I thought I would never see. I deeply wanted to, but my kinsmen held me back, believing me to be a foolish dreamer."
"I see. And you left them behind one day?"
"In truth, there was little left to leave behind. My father I never knew. He died when I was very young. My mother was distant. Rarely did I ever see her, and she cared little for me. I was raised by an old sage, our village's headman. He was wise, in his way, and took keen interest in my education. Alas," Sulyvahn smiled sadly.
"He wished you to remain where you were."
"Yes. Our village was poor and remote. Its inhabitants had long since given up on the thought of bettering themselves. And they expected the same of me, to accept my lot and tremble beneath the weight of generations of stagnation. I tried, oh, yes, I tried, but it is not in my nature to submit to despair. And so," he spread his arms, "I departed into the unknown to seek my fortune."
Wain crossed his arms. "There is little fortune in preaching to peasants. What do you really want, preacher?"
"Very true, Master Wain, very true. In truth, I was once young and impetuous. I dreamed of glory and riches. It was only when I met the Prophet that I came to understand my true place in the world. The Prophet Aldrich taught me of the Deep."
"I have heard this name," Wain said. "Rumors of a mage who lives in the cold north."
"He is no mage," Sulyvahn replied. "He is a cleric blessed by the Deep. When I was wandering the wilderness in the company of rogues, deluded by thoughts of wealth to be found in old ruins, I found him instead. We were half-dead, but he and his followers took me in, nursed me and my fellows back to health. This life I lead, I suppose it is a way of repaying him. But more than that, it is gratitude to the Deep for the hope it has given me."
Wain frowned. "Your words are good, but you still deny the ultimate authority of Lord Gwyn and the First Flame. If you seek to make a convert of me, it will not be so easy."
"I seek only to share what I have experienced. I wish that all who live in this world know hope in the midst of these hard times."
Wain pondered this, then nodded to the guard. "I have heard enough. I thank you, preacher, for your time and words. Perhaps I shall speak to father again."
With that, he left the cell and the guard closed the door, cloaking Sulyvahn in darkness once again.
Into the dark, he smiled knowingly.
Days must have passed. Weeks even. Time meant nothing in this dark hole. Sulyvahn wondered if this was what Aldrich envisioned as paradise: endless shadows and blind eyes and the cold of a lightless world. He snorted at the thought. Aldrich thought only in terms of deprivation, it seemed: Lack of light, lack of fire, lack of sustenance. A primordial gaping thing that hungered to fill a void within. Yet the Deep had always existed, or so the seer claimed, and it would emerge triumphant by mere virtue of outlasting the Flame.
What was the phrase the men of the north used? "Victory belongs to the last man standing." Thus it was with the greater powers of the world. An endless struggle, and the victor would be whoever survived, whether Fire or Dark or Deep or Dragon or whatever other powers vied for supremacy.
Heat and cold. Life and death. Fire and Dark. The all-encompassing dichotomy that throttled this world. He had tried to ignore these matters thus far in his sermons. Simple folk wanted to hear of prosperity and comfort, not complex philosophy. But his teachings were now brought to the attention of powerful individuals who wanted more than ambiguous messages of hope and betterment. They wanted to debate, as all intelligent people did. They would question and pry into every statement he made.
Again, unwanted memories of his old home wormed their way into his mind. He used to spend long evenings debating philosophy and other esoteric subjects with his old mentor. Long did they discuss and defend their stances. Sulyvahn almost always opposed the old Corvian's beliefs, but always he would simply give up the argument because he felt the lesser mind compared to his old teacher. Not that he truly was, of course, but the impression of invincibility that authority radiated was powerful, especially to a mere student. Sulyvahn let that impression govern his thoughts rather than logic and strength of will. He conceded to his mentor. In time, this habit led his mentor to trust him more and hold him in higher esteem. It was not the truth of the matter – Sulyvahn now knew that he was the wiser – but his teacher heard agreeable words and saw what he wanted to see in Sulyvahn.
The epiphany struck like a rushing wave. He had not attracted two thousand followers through virtue of what he preached, Sulyvahn realized. The Deep was just another religion to these people. No, it was what Sulyvahn had attached to it – the hope of a better life beyond the fading Flame and the appeal of unconditional acceptance regardless of nature and status. It was what these people needed to hear, what they wanted to hear. They were like the rogues he had lured to the Profaned Capital with promises of riches. It did not matter if the journey and the excavation meant hardship and death. He had tickled their ears with the temptation of greed. And for the sake of that greed, they followed him.
He saw it so clearly now. All along he had been instinctively crafting his own message, one that was inspired by Aldrich but not truly of the seer's vision. It was one that responded to the nature of its audience. Peasants were lowly and browbeaten, always they looked to higher things. And so the Deep offered a means to rise above the despair of an age haunted by curses and monsters. But the son of a duke was a different matter. He lived in his castle attended by servants and guarded by knights. What was it that Wain wanted to hear?
He received his answer when next the boy visited him.
The boy brought in a stool and seated himself upon it. He crossed his arms and sat in contemplation before speaking.
"You have my sympathy, preacher," he said.
"For what, young master?"
"Your treatment at the hands of my father. It is not suitable for a holy man, whatever covenant he belongs to."
"The fault is not yours," Sulyvahn replied gently. "I know you have endeavored for my release."
"I have not been successful. My father is a man of iron will."
"Then we must both accede to that will."
"If only it were not so," Wain sighed.
The youth gathered himself and shook his head, as if fighting off a dizzy spell. "But my father's business is no business of yours, is it? In truth, I seek only to understand. I detest ignorance, and so many speak ill of you when they have never even heard you speak."
"Knowledge is a great power. You are wise to seek it."
"It is my duty as the future duke to be always learning. Yet father –" Wain stopped himself. "But enough of my own affairs. Tell me, preacher, what exactly is the Deep? What is its nature? Is it an abstract metaphor or a physical thing?"
Sulyvahn thought for a moment. "It is real, though its precise nature eludes mortal comprehension. It is like the deep ocean, the prophet says. It is …"
…an all-consuming abyss that will devour the souls of all. It is built on the dregs of human souls and will one day spew them forth as servants of its unstoppable will. Such is what Aldrich had taught.
"… a deep well of potentialities," he continued, "and a wellspring of life and souls. It is the foundation on which our world stands, even as the Flame is our sustainer and heartbeat."
"I thought you claimed it is not equal to the Flame."
"No, not quite. They are two powers, unalike but existing in symbiosis. They are the balance of the world. The Flame that lights the world above. And the Deep below us, fount of Humanity and souls, to which our souls one day return."
"The Deep is the source of the human soul?"
"It is the source of many things. It is the secret that Aldrich discovered in his meditations. Humanity is of the same stuff as the Deep. We are not bound to Flame only. We are of two natures that must exist in perfect harmony. To favor one over another leads to instability of mind and body. Have you not sensed it in the land? The fear and the turmoil? The mutterings of the frightened and the frustration of the wise?"
Wain's expression was blank. "Go on."
"Man cannot live by Fire alone. The gods can, for they are masters of Fire. But we are mortal, and we possess Humanity, which is not of the Flame. Even the sages of Anor Londo acknowledge this fact. If we deny the Deep, we bring pain upon ourselves."
"So we must embrace it? We must accept the Deep as part of our nature, and so find peace?"
"Yes, this is so. The truths of the Deep are hidden and not easily understood. Even I am but a humble novice. But I have witnessed the power of the Deep. I, once a mere scoundrel, am now at peace with myself. Even here, in this cell, I consider myself blessed."
Wain gave a wry smile. "You are not like most men, Master Sulyvahn." He rose. "I will consider your words, though I fear my father would not care for them if he heard them."
"Your father does what he believes is best."
"Yes, I suppose so." Wain turned toward the door. He paused before it was shut. "Keep the stool, Sulyvahn. It is better than sitting on dirt and filth."
How much time had passed? A day, a week, a month?
The door opened to admit a maid into Sulyvahn's cell. She carried a large bundle in her arms, though it was hard to make out in the dim light. He looked at her askance.
"Brought at young Master Wain's request," she explained and rolled out the bundle on the floor. A mattress and a couple of thin sheets. As she knelt down to arrange them, she leaned close to him and whispered.
"It's not right what they've done to you, Master Sulyvahn," she said quickly. "Many of us here think so."
Sulyvahn bowed his head gravely. "I thank you for your kindness, good woman. Blessings of the Deep be upon you."
She glanced at the guards before continuing. "Things will change. Soon." With that, she rose and left.
Wain's visits became a regular occurrence. His hunger for knowledge was insatiable. He stayed with Sulyvahn for hours discussing the Deep. In time, their discussions turned from theology to other subjects, both extraordinary and mundane – the cult of the First Flame, the Way of White, the governance of the duchy, Sulyvahn's travels in the north, concerns over this year's harvest, Wain's clashes with his father over what constituted proper punishment of lawbreakers, and many other things that gnawed at his mind and heart.
Sulyvahn became a confidant for the boy. Perhaps his only one. He made good use of his position to steer the boy toward the Deep. Wain proved receptive to his words. Was he a rebellious soul by nature, or was he merely born into a life ill-suited for him and that he wished to escape? Whatever the case may be, he found solace in the Deep, and so Sulyvahn fed him his message.
"I am not my father's son," Wain sighed one day as he paced the cell. "He is a stern man bound to law and reason."
"You are no fool, Master Wain. You have intelligence and wisdom of your own, though it not be like you father's."
"It is not that. Father is bound to the past. He cannot change. We have traditions carved in stone, yet what use are they hundreds of years after they were first written? Father expects me to be like him in every way, like a flawless replica. But I cannot!" He punched the wall to punctuate his anger.
"Calm yourself, Master Wain," Sulyvahn said soothingly.
"Tell me, preacher, is it so wrong to desire change? Even if that change goes against what you are raised to believe?"
"You know my history. I went against my own village to pursue my path."
"I cannot do that. I have responsibilities to the duchy that cannot be denied. But …" His appearance turned downcast.
Sulyvahn sensed there was something the boy was not telling him. He waited.
"I am not my father's son," the youth repeated. Without another word, he abruptly stormed out of the cell.
Sulyvahn did not require sleep. To restore his strength, he merely required brief times of stillness and contemplation to renew the vigor of his mind and body. During one such time of stillness, he was roused by a sound like a mighty roar from somewhere aboveground. Then came running footsteps and the rattling of armor and scabbards as soldiers passed his cell door while shouting orders to defend the castle.
The roar moved like a current overhead. Where was he precisely? Somewhere near the walls. The siege – for such Sulyvahn imagined it must be – was encircling the outer walls of the castle. The besiegers were trying to surround it. But then a new sound joined the battle. There was a crash that reminded him of an avalanche, and then the roar collapsed into a chaotic din and cacophony.
Battle had been joined. The duke's defenders had met the besiegers. Sulyvahn sat down on his mattress and considered the words he had heard not so long ago. Wain had spoken of change. As had the maid.
Did change come so easily? Sulyvahn leaned against the wall and listened to the battle. There was a certain beauty to the sound. Amidst the chaos he could detect the order governing the conflict, the commands given and the action and reaction to every move taken. A grand game played moment by moment, until only the boldest and most cunning was left standing. The sound of the violence gradually lulled him back into meditation, and he rested.
Wain's face was haggard and his eyes blank when next Sulyvahn saw him. He looked down at the dirty floor for a long time before he spoke.
"There was an uprising four days ago," he said at last.
"So I heard," Sulyvahn replied.
"The peasantry tried to siege the castle gates. They cut down trees to create battering rams and to bridge the moat. They even tried climbing the walls on all sides. Father ordered the archers onto the walls and …" He sucked in his breath. "The moat is strewn with bodies. They would not back down. Not until the soldiers rode out the gates did they finally break. They retreated, and father pursued them. I was made to join him. All the corpses," he whispered hoarsely. "A slaughter along ten miles of road."
He shuts his eyes tight as tears formed in them. "They cried out for your liberation, Sulyvahn. That was their demand. They only wanted one man freed, and for that a thousand died."
"Change," Sulyvahn mused. "A painful thing, like a butterfly struggling out of its cocoon."
"I can bear it no longer," Wain choked out. "That man – my father – butchers people for no reason but his pride. What am I to do?"
"Do? Why, soon you will be able to do as you wish. Someday you will be duke. Already I see you becoming the man who will govern this land with justice."
"I don't want it!" Wain shouted. "I don't want the title or the responsibility!"
"You are stronger than you know, Master Wain."
"I am weak," the boy said miserably.
"No, you must never think such things about yourself. You are courageous. You seek truth and understanding where others act blindly. I see the Deep reaching for you, young master. You are close to it. But you must make the final steps yourself. You will be tested, and none can carry you through it but yourself."
"What are you talking about?"
"Change requires hardship. The Prophet endured ridicule and persecution for spreading the word of the Deep. But from these seeds of adversity sprouted a great message of salvation to loosen the grip of the tyrants who rule this world. And you, too, Master Wain, have a part to play. A key role that will mark another great change in the world."
"What part?"
"I do not yet know. But I suspect that you do. You see a land racked by injustice. What shall you do? If you so desire change, then you will find the means to implement it."
Wain rubbed his face with both hands. "This is a hard thing to accept. I love my father, but I cannot justify what he has done. I am of his blood, but not of his mind. What can be done?"
"Remember the people who died. Remember the corpses. You weep for their deaths. But what more will you do to give their deaths meaning?"
Wain nodded. A hard look entered his eyes. "I see, dimly, what must be done. I trust your words, Sulyvahn, and I wish to trust the Deep. But I do not know if I have the strength."
"Be patient, Master Wain. Do not be hasty. In time, the wisdom of the Deep will make itself known to you."
The maid visited again. She looked as weary as Wain had. The scars of battle had left their mark on her soul, as well.
This time, Sulyvahn observed, a guard entered the cell alongside her and stood by the door.
"It's been a hard summer," she whispered to him as she passed along clean new sheets. "My brother told me the harvest won't even be ready for another two weeks' time."
"Do you think so?" Sulyvahn replied.
The maid frowned quizzically at him.
"I doubt the field will be ripe by then. But in two weeks, we can decide for ourselves."
The maid hesitated, then bowed. "Right, then," she replied, and departed.
"I know in my heart that you can be a better man than your father."
Wain shook his head half-heartedly. "This is treasonous talk."
"If so, then it is good that I am already in prison," Sulyvahn jested.
"This is no laughing matter."
"We have spoken much, Master Wain. We know each other's secrets. Tell me, do you wish to live forever in the shadow of your father's will?"
Wain sighed. "No."
"Then you know what must be done. The Deep accepts you as you are, without finding fault or flaw, but it is still a hard road to walk. The Deep demands sacrifice. This is a truth that many cannot accept."
"Sacrifice for gain? A novel concept. To sacrifice is to give up that which you value. Sacrifice is a loss.
"Like the dictates of Gwyn? To give yourself up to the Fire to feed a Flame that continues to die regardless?"
Wain scowled at Sulyvahn. "Tread carefully, preacher. I am a man of Lordran, whatever else I may be."
"Forgive me, Master Wain. I spoke out of turn."
Wain ignored him. He was lost in his own thoughts. "There is news of yet more Hollows appearing in the duchy. The Darksign Curse appears yet again. Again and again. We feed the Flame, and still we suffer. But surely that cannot be what Lord Gwyn intended."
Sulyvahn waited for Wain's thoughts to run their course.
"Very well," Wain sighed. "You have always been kind. You listen, where no others have. I will … I will do what must be done. But promise me this, Sulyvahn."
"What is it, Master Wain?"
"Promise me that the Deep will forgive me."
"Always, my child. Always."
Sulyvahn did not look up at the maid when she entered.
"Well?" she whispered as she took up the old sheets and replaced them with the new.
"The harvest will soon be ripe," he said. "One week from now. Spread the word."
"Thank you, Master Sulyvahn," she replied. "I will do as you say."
He heard the familiar roar overhead. Battle had been joined. And there was the crash of the defenders confronting the army of the faithful. The roar grew, far louder than before, and Sulyvahn knew that his faithful had entered the castle. It was as he had foreseen. A great victory had been engineered this day. Praise the Deep. And praise the minds of the pliable.
He heard a struggle outside his door. There was the clanging of steel against steel, grunts of pain, and the thump of falling bodies.
Iron keys rattled in the lock. It opened, and three faces looked in. Not the duke's men, but men in leather jerkins wielding crudely hammered swords and spears.
"Master Sulyvahn!" one of them exclaimed. "We have come for you! The castle falls! See for yourself what the Deep has done this day!"
He strode out into the corridor with the dignity of a king. He paid no heed to the corpses he stepped over, or to the other prisoners that the rebels had freed, the innocent and the guilty alike. He ascended the staircase and entered the outer courtyard.
The gate was open, and the rebels poured through. The gate was undamaged - it had been raised by someone within the castle. The courtyard was a battlefield. Besieged ducal soldiers held their ground before the inner keep, forcing the peasants at bay. The walls were a battle royale as the peasants ran along them, slaying the archers and taking control of the guard towers. Blood mingled with mud in the rain. Sulyvahn looked up at the cloudy sky. The deep grey stretched out like an infinite canvas. Like the Deep, he imagined. An all-encompassing presence that engulfed all.
He looked down at a dead soldier at his feet. He picked up the man's longsword and strode forth toward the ranks of the duke's men.
He saw a familiar face. The knight Mathis, who had taken him from the village and brought him before Duke Vaughn. He pointed his sword at the knight when the man saw him approaching.
Mathis turned to the assembled arbalists. "Let loose at the heretic! Bring him down!"
The men raised their crossbows and fired. They fired into empty air.
Sulyvahn's speed carried him to and fro in a zigzag that no man could follow. He charged into the line and swung his sword in an arc that sent two men to the ground with sliced throats. He was upon Mathis, who charged him with raised blade. Their swords met once, twice. Mathis stood for a moment, choking on his own blood. He coughed up red spittle, sank to his knees, and pitched forward dead.
The keep's defenders fled as the whirlwind of steel that was Sulyvahn cut down their ranks. The rebels broke through, following their leader through the gap he had created.
Beyond the line, there was no defense waiting in the keep. The halls were empty save for a few panicked servants. Sulyvahn, accompanied by his cohort of the faithful, burst through the doors of the duke's quarters and witnessed what he knew he'd find.
Wain stood over his father's body, the wet knife still in his hand. He looked down with an empty expression, his mind still processing the magnitude of his deed. At Sulyvahn's entrance, he looked up. His eyes shone with tears.
A hush fell on all those in the room. Sulyvahn waited.
Wain stepped over Vaughn's corpse and knelt on one knee.
"For the Deep," he said hoarsely.
"For the Deep," Sulyvahn replied. "And for the Prophet Aldrich, blessed be his name."
"Blessed be his name," Wain repeated. He looked up. His eyes shone with an inner zeal. "Blessed be all who embrace the Deep. Blessed be this day, when my eyes are finally opened and the Deep gave me strength to offer this sacrifice." He held out his open palm. With the knife, he cut across it and squeezed, letting the drops of blood fall onto the floor. "By my life and blood, I swear myself to the Deep, Sulyvahn. And let all who serve me do the same! We are yours, heart and soul!"
His voice trembled with fear and joy. His eyes were wide with the ecstasy of one who had found true purpose. And Sulyvahn knew that Duke Wain was his.
"Twenty knights in the dungeon," Rathe told Sulyvahn as they toured the battlements. "And a dozen officials. Most of them are merely frightened at the moment. I think they'll convert if treated well."
"Some will," Sulyvahn replied as he waved off a fly hovering about his face. The stench of the corpses had attracted many. "Others will only put up a pretense. They must be tried before we know if their conversion is sincere. And still others will never submit."
"No," Rathe conceded. "What shall be done with them?"
"For the unfaithful, there is only retribution."
"Yes, Master Sulyvahn."
Sulyvahn rested his hands on a parapet and looked out at the field below. Tents covered the landscape, hundreds upon hundreds, stretching unto the horizon. All his followers gathered in one place. And now they were equipped with the weapons and supplies taken from the castle. He commanded not merely a following of peasant zealots. They were a true army now. The duchy was Wain's in name, perhaps, but it was his, all his. The word of the Deep was inexorable, and the faithful had been blessed with a headquarters from which to spread its truth far and wide. It would crawl across Lordran, province by province.
And then? Anor Londo. The city of the gods. Old, tired gods, revenants of a dead era. The Fire still kindled, but it was wavering. Soon, only his words would fill the minds of mankind.
"Send a messenger to Aldrich," he told Rathe. "Tell him of our victory and that his message spreads."
Rathe bowed and departed to carry out his master's will.
Sulyvahn saw everything stretched out before him. It was all so clear now. The Prophet was far away, gnawing on bones in a cave. Sulyvahn's messages would keep him pacified. But the faithful gathered here knew only Sulyvahn. And he would lead them until the Deep supplanted every faith and every institution. His Deep. And at the conclusion of his great work, Sulyvahn would stand alone, the invincible Voice of the Deep.