Kiss the Shadow
Chapter 5: Pierced by the Rose--Part one
"Try not to concentrate on the specifics so much," Neesa advised, her hand tightening around Grissom's in assurance. "Your power is not as delicate as it seems—it will obey you, as long as you are careful. There's no need to be timid."
Grissom pursed his lips, shifting his cramped legs. "But is this necessary?" he questioned yet again that morning. "This meditation, day after day."
"Yes. Now be still."
He sighed distastefully at his companion's strict instructions. He knew better, however, than to disobey her. Having long since returned Cardinal Batistum's magick text, he was in need of a teacher to help him develop and control his new abilities. The question had been put immediately to Duane, and not a day later, Neesa had approached him. Though he would have preferred to work with his brother personally, Duane insisted that Neesa was the better choice. Not only had she been studying the arts far longer, but her control was precise and her patience even greater. He was lucky to have her, which she never forgot to remind him of.
"Close your eyes," Neesa was saying, her voice soft and even, echoing through him as if projected into his very mind. "Keep your breathing steady but strong. Just relax for a while."
Grissom nodded, following her example. The earth was cool beneath him, slightly damp due to the recent rain. The crinkled, fallen maple leaves brushed against him as they were lifted by the wind; he could feel their edges drawing curves across his open palms. All about them the forest was quiet and cold, watching with curious awe at the bizarre activities. Somewhere in the distance, a flock of geese took flight. He could almost feel the beatings of their wings. Were it not for his gentle teacher, he would have never know the Dark to be used for such things. The word his brother used was scrying—a difficult and time-consuming art. But if he concentrated hard enough, he could almost see the birds in flight, the sluggish pursuit of tumulus gray clouds across the horizon, the rolling forest canopy.
"Now," Neesa continued, "center on something you already know is there—let's try the Cathedral. You know it well enough." She pressed her thumbs into the palms of his hands, helping his power to focus. "See the walls, and the vines that cover them. The arches and corridors, the chapel. The Rood that stands on its roof. The alter."
Again Grissom nodded, but then paused. "How will I know if I am really seeing it, and not simply remembering what I already know?" he asked briskly.
"You will know. Can you see the people there?"
"No. Just the walls."
"Then you haven't reached it yet." She shifted her grip on his hands, and they warmed momentarily as she added her power to his. "Try again. Think of yourself before the altar. Don't try to imagine the Cardinal. See him."
Grissom sighed with slight frustration, but he was determined. He licked his lips and delved once more into the blur of color and sound that was his own mind, picturing as she had said the red carpet against his knees, the gleam of candle-light against brass fastenings. Rainbow mist seemed to fill the chapel due to the colored glass windows and intricate tapestries. Yes, he knew this place well. The garbled, whispering voices of praying townsfolk tugged at his earlobes.
Yes, it's working. I can hear them. I can see it.
Grissom inhaled deeply, strengthened by his modest success. "Now what?"
"What do you see?"
"The inside of the Cathedral. The Rood, the windows, the candles." He licked his lips. "The air tastes like stone. It's warmer there than in here," he added with a bit of a smirk.
Neesa hmphed. "We can practice this in there before the entire city, if you like," she retorted.
"Ah, temper temper." Though the temperature had started to become a problem in these morning sessions of theirs, he understood the necessity of remaining inconspicuous. Practicing within the grounds of the Cathedral or city was too dangerous, and an invitation to be caught. "I can hear the parishioners, but I can't see them," he went on. "They're all behind me."
"Then turn around."
Grissom scowled at her answer; a moment he realized that she was right, and that it was not as difficult a course of action as it seemed. Only a slight manipulation of his power would suffice. With his concentration thus gathered he pushed on the edge of his blurred vision, swinging his gaze over the solid oak pews. In the first row sat an elderly woman and her husband, both dressed in clothes of mourning. Behind them, a teary-eyed mother chided her two young sons as she rocked a sleeping babe. Grissom felt his chest swell with pride—the boys were arguing over a copper one of them had found which the other demanded. He chuckled slightly, remembering such antics he and his own brother had shared. His view continued to shift, sweeping over the rest of the congregation, noting the presence of a few of his comrades dotted among them.
With a soft squeal the chapel doors were opened, and Grissom diverted his attention to see who was entering. He realized with a bit of surprise that it was the armored form of Captain Guildenstern making his way down the long carpet, his boots clinking softly. He had thought that his leader would have been on duty at this hour. "I wonder what he's doing there?" he mused aloud.
"Who?" questioned his Neesa.
"Captain Guildenstern. He's—"
The cathedral vanished from his sight abruptly, and was replaced with a different setting that Grissom had only seen once: the inside of the Cardinal's personal drawing room. His first instinct was to recoil, but curiosity bade him stay still and attentive. Guildenstern was there, leaning over his master's desk with palms planted firmly. His face was drawn tight and serious. His clipped words only just barely reached Grissom.
"Sir, we have to move tonight."
Grissom's breath caught, and just as quickly as the change had taken place, he was thrown once more into his own body. He shook free of Neesa in order to press a hand to his throbbing skull. What was that? I shouldn't have been able to see that. He rubbed his temples, frowning at the ache that had spilt through him so unexpectedly.
"Grissom?" Neesa moved along side him and shook his shoulder gently. "Are you all right? What happened?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted, lowering his hands. All ready the pain was subsiding, much to his relief. "I was trying to do as you'd said, when I saw something. The Cardinal and Captain Guildenstern were conversing."
She frowned, sitting back from him. "That's odd. Were you thinking of them?"
"Not until the captain entered. I didn't intend any of it. What does this mean?"
Neesa considered this very carefully for a moment, only to disappoint him with a helpless shrug. "Perhaps you are stronger in the Dark than we thought. Perhaps it's nothing. There is no certainty in power like this, Grissom. You'd best not think of it." She shivered as a cool breeze washed over them, folding her arms. "But the morning is cold. Have you had enough for today?"
"No," Grissom answered quickly. "We are not expected back so soon—we can stay a while longer." He moved opposite Neesa once more and clasped her hands. "You gave your word to teach me. You owe me, for having hidden yourself for so long."
Neesa sighed, clearly wishing to be back in her warm quarters with a blanket and some ale. But his words were too true, and she was in no mood to receive his barbs. "All right," she conceded, settling herself as well. "A while longer."
No more than an hour later the pair was on their way back toward the familiar gates of the Grand Cathedral. Despite all of Neesa's patient teachings, Grissom was yet unable to perform the scrying spell effectively without her help and intervention. This was not at all uncommon given his relative inexperience in the Dark, as Neesa constantly assured him, but her explanations were wasted. "You all have an advantage over me," he countered stiffly, holding his chin high. "You've known longer. But I refuse to set my standards lower because of that. I should be able to do this."
Neesa sighed, rolling her eyes slightly. "You've always been like this," she muttered as they entered the church grounds. "Always so righteous. That pride of yours'll not hold you forever, Grissom."
"I fail to see why not."
"Fine, then. When you next have an unoccupied morning, we'll try again. Does that suit you?"
Grissom nodded deftly. "Aye, it does. I look forward to it." They continued, quieting as the entrance to the Crimson Blade's compound rose above them. He frowned at the symbol of the Rood that dominated its stone archways. "Neesa," he said carefully, mindful of whomever might be close enough to pick up the bits of their conversation. "What think you...of Captain Guildenstern?"
Neesa's posture became more erect, and her dark eyes darted back and forth a moment to note their surroundings. "I do not follow your meaning."
"I know that you do," he insisted. Naturally his first curiosity after discovering the truth behind their order had been that of their captain, the infallible Romeo Guildenstern. All his memories had been placed on his mind's stage, to be examined and renewed, searching for even the slightest hint that Guildenstern's strength was more than careful conditioning. So far he had yet to reach a conclusion.
Again his comrade dodged his inquiries. "I believe him to be a cunning and capable leader. He has all my respect. Why, what think you?"
Grissom shook his head. He knew it wrong of him to be searching these things out--the Cardinal had forbidden him to speak of it, or question others of his rank, no matter his suspicions. "Very well, then. I'll not ask again. But yes, I agree with you--if any man deserves the trust and admiration of his soldiers, Romeo Guildenstern does."
The pair turned down another corridor, and both started as they were met suddenly by the very man in question. Grissom caught his breath with a slight wince--how was it that Guildenstern always appeared when his thoughts centered on the man? He found such coincidences a bit unnerving. Though he was somewhat flattered that Guildenstern seemed to favor him among the other commanders, there were times that the intensity in the man's gaze made him shift. He was never certain of what workings guided the actions of so self-assured a soldier.
Upon seeing their approach, Guildenstern lifted his hand to indicated that he intended to speak to them. Both commanders halted and saluted in greeting, a gesture he returned. "Commanders," he acknowledged them with a nod. He then turned toward Neesa. "There's been a change in plans," he informed her, his tone clipped and serious. Grissom frowned, as he was unaware as to what they were speaking of. "The Cardinal has decided that we are to depart tonight. I am sorry to call upon you on a day of rest."
Neesa lifted her chin slightly. "No need for apologies, sir," she replied. "I will have my squad prepared and waiting within the hour."
"Indeed. I thank you for your tolerance of the situation." He nodded once to Grissom. "Commander." Without another word he started past them down the corridor.
Grissom's expression hardened in confusion. He had not heard of any missions being coordinated that would require entire squads of men. When his curious gaze found Neesa, she tried to look discreetly away. This is what Guildenstern was speaking to the Cardinal about earlier, he thought, pursing his lips. I was granted that knowledge for a reason--'twas not I that sought out the captain. Though he himself was unsure what motivation spurred him, he turned about suddenly. "Captain Guildenstern."
Guildenstern paused, facing his young soldier once more with curiosity. "Yes, Commander?"
"May I ask, sir, what this is about?"
Neesa shifted beside him, clearly wishing to voice objections. Guildenstern, however, appeared only vaguely surprised. "I am taking several squads down past the southern border," he explained simply. "We believe there are some cultist in hiding there that we hope to flush out."
"Might you have greater success," Grissom questioned boldly, "if my squad were to accompany you?"
The captain regarded him in thoughtful silence. His gaze, as always, was focused on him with calm seriousness. "Your squad has earned its rest. However," he added with a slight smile, "if you are so eager to kill wolves, Father Grissom, you may accompany us. I spoke just now with your brother--I'm certain he'll not protest your joining his troops for the night."
Grissom nodded, his pride thus renewed. "Thank you, sir."
"Father Duane will complete the details for you. Until this evening." With a stiff nod of his own the captain turned and was on his way.
As soon as Guildenstern was out of range Neesa turned upon her comrade. "And what is this about?" she demanded, though there was almost amusement in her firm tone. "You were not invited."
Grissom, quite pleased with himself, smoothly replied, "One more will hardly steal glory from you and your troops, Commander." He had been fairly certain that Guildenstern would not allow his squad on so quiet-kept a mission--his soldiers were composed primarily of young cadets, a great testimony to the patience and skill of their leader. But to have been invited singularly onto this mission was, in his opinion, a symbol of trust. It made him walk taller as he made his way toward his brother's quarters. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to receive my briefing."
Nessa sighed and shook her head, though she had no more words of protest. "Very well. Until tonight, then."
"Aye. Thank you, for today." He saluted, and with a laugh hurried on his way.
It wasn't until hours later that Grissom began to regret having volunteered to join in the night's witch hunt. The season's early sunset left the air stiff and cold, and it pressed bitterly against the exposed flesh of his nose and cheeks. All about clouds of shivering breath was expelled into the air from the soldiers and their mounts, like a mist. Grissom shifted uncomfortably in the saddle. "I am a preacher of men, not beasts," he complained to his brother, tugging on his horse's reigns to keep it on the path. "These creatures are intolerable."
Duane chuckled at his difficulty. "It shouldn't be long now," he assured.
"I most certainly hope so." At last the stubborn beast surrendered, allowing Grissom to lead it down the forest trail. He sighed with relief and took a moment to view the troops, wondering if anyone had seen his trouble. The dozens of soldiers were too absorbed in their own private concerns and conversations to have noticed--save Tieger, who was sniggering beneath a gloved hand. Grissom shot him an annoyed look before diverting his attention. "Damn beast," he muttered giving his mount a tug that the horse ignored.
"Calm down. Save your breath for our prey."
The mention of their mission sobered Grissom quickly enough. His gaze shifted ahead, to the tunnel of evergreens that surrounded his Lordship's thirty-some soldiers. Tieger, Duane, and Neesa each rode at the head of their squad, Grissom alongside his brother, with Captain Guildenstern at the head of the entire procession. The leader of the Blades was in rare form that night, his posture immaculate despite the long ride, his aura of confidence unwavering despite the enemies that lay ahead. This mission was, after all, every bit an excuse for slaughter.
For some time the Cardinal's legion had been aware of a relatively large encampment of nomads resting just outside the border to their holy city, whom they suspected to be a clan of cultists. It had always been Guildenstern's intention to investigate the lot; however, it was during the compilation of such a design that the entire clan up and migrated south, overnight. The inquiry was abruptly hastened, and so here Grissom was, preparing to deliver judgment.
"As long as they've been here," Duane had explained that afternoon, "our city has suffered. Crime has been higher, I'm sure you've noticed, and reported cultist activities have nearly doubled. There is no doubt--these men are the cause, and it is the Cardinal's decision that they be dealt with." Such was the unwavering justice of the Crimson Blades.
Several meters ahead of them, Guildenstern raised his hand abruptly to signal the halt. The four commanders instantly heeded his command--or as quickly as his mount would allow, in Grissom's case--as did their soldiers, shifting anxiously. The night was still--not so much as an owl could be heard in the usually cacophonous layers of forest. Grissom frowned, his eyes darting among the darkened pines and underbrush. "No moon," he murmured, glancing only briefly at the skies. He crossed himself and awaited his captain's orders.
Guildenstern turned his horse about and guided it toward his waiting subordinates. "I don't like the feel of this," he told them lowly, his eyes reflecting the dulled starlight. "What think you?"
"The smell is wrong," Tieger muttered. Though he was not a man easily intimidated by the prospect of battle, he was clearly on his guard. "We're being watched."
Guildenstern nodded vaguely, turning his gaze on the tree line as well. "I believe you're right." A silent moment passed, the captain's eyes unmoving, his officer's respectfully still. "Commander Tieger," he murmured at last, though he would not face him. "Commander Neesa. I trust your men are well rested and awaiting a fight?"
"Always, Captain," Tieger replied instantly.
"Aye, sir," Neesa followed suit, her voice clipped and attentive.
"Good. Then I will leave this rabble to you. Hold your ground until I return. Commander Duane, Commander Grissom, you and your men will accompany me. Is that understood?"
Guildenstern's four commanders nodded their understanding, though they did not make any attempt to signal their men or ready their weapons. Grissom sat stiffly upon his mount, glancing carefully out of the corner of his eye at the surrounding forests. Though he was not so gifted that he could claim to sense the presence of their enemies as well as Tieger, it unnerved him to hear the forest so unnaturally quiet. They have surrounded us. It is an ambush, and Guildenstern knows that. He will leave Tieger and Neesa's squads to fend for themselves--but what of the rest of us? He cast his gaze down the trail, stretching his senses, but felt nothing. Where does he intend to take us?
Guildenstern unsheathed his sword suddenly, holding the blade aloft as he called out to his soldiers. "Those of Father Duane, follow me! For God, and His children!"
The Crimson Blades responded in force, drawing their weapons with a resounding cry that filled the dormant woods. Grissom held his composure, gripping his stave in straining fingers, his eyes sweeping the line of trees. They will come.
Almost immediately after Guildenstern's exclamation the first round of arrows were let fly. Grissom swung his stave and managed to knock a pair away that had been aimed for his head; he could almost feel the sting upon his temple where the first would have hit. Thankfully he had no time to contemplate the nearly fatal experience--his captain was already in motion, spurring his silver gelding down the trail. As ordered Duane and his company gave chase, and a moment later Grissom joined them. He had just enough time to see Tieger leading his men into the woods before they were swallowed in the shadows, though the cursing and shouting of the men reached him clearly over the raging of his mount's pounding footfalls. They can hold their own. Follow the captain. Gritting his teeth Grissom turned his gaze forward, watching the turned back of Romeo Guildenstern as they thundered away from the battle.
Or into battle. These nomads were a community. Grissom urged his horse faster, putting him and his brother at the same pace so that they rode side by side. Duane cast him a quick, pleased smile before retuning his attention forward. Even if they knew we were coming and prepared an ambush, this cannot be all of them. They would have sent the majority of them ahead. Grissom pursed his lips with only the slightest distaste. This truly shall be slaughter.
As Guildenstern and his men had anticipated, not a few short minutes had passed when they came upon the rest of the cult--a caravan of men, women, and children, pulling carts and wagons. At the sight of the Crimson Blades bearing down on them most fled into the forest, abandoning their belongings. Guildenstern wasted no time. He rode hard into the fray, seeking those first that had reached for weapons. There was an elegant kind of morbid beauty in the sight of him, his spine straight and rapier flashing. His men followed without hesitation; with swords brandished they sped down the path, catching the throats of any in reach, paying no mind to the bodies that fell beneath their animals' hooves.
Grissom was among them. It was a strange, haunting feeling, riding along the side of the trail, feeling the sickening crack of a skull against his stave. Despite the terrifyingly cruel truth of their actions there was no chaos in them. The Crimson Blades rode in waves through the folds of panicking cultists, cut them down and trampled them underfoot. A single prayer fell from the commander's lips as he fought down the line; that each soul, having been delivered by God's merciful soldiers, would find their way to their Father. They would be saved. With that truth branded into his mind Grissom had no qualms in his duty, and carried it out with all the practiced precision of his many years training.
At some point he lost sight of his captain amidst the undulating crowd. It mattered not--the bodies were so well packed that he might not have seen the man even if they were side by side. He gave it little notice and continued to fight, until the screams had ended and the only men left were on horseback. He sighed and wiped his sweaty brow, taking a moment to look about the site of their battle. The scene stretched for nearly a hundred meters down the path: splintered wood wagons, scattered trunks and provisions, and bodies, bloodied and broken, littered the cold forest floor. Grissom took it all in with a sense of relieved wonder. It may not have been pretty, but in this mission completed he took his pride.
--
Not long afterwards the squad met again with Tieger and Neesa's troops, gathering to discuss their success. Tieger greeted his fellows with a mighty wave despite the stain of crimson coating his right leg. "So, you bastards faired well, eh?"
"You were hit," Grissom noted with a raised eyebrow, indicating the wound that appeared to have come from an arrow. "Unusual for you, Tieger."
Tieger muttered an oath under his breath, though it was clear through his expression that he thought very little of the insult. They all knew that, by the time they had returned to the Cathedral, it would be little more than a charming memory. "Perhaps so; but I was not the only one, as it seems."
He waved a hand to indicate their approaching Captain, who was flanked on both sides by young, anxious soldiers. Grissom himself started a bit when he at last laid eyes on the man: though he himself was coated in blood up to his knees, Guildenstern's stain stretched up his thigh, far too dark to have been only from his victims. Though he sat tall and unfaltering in his saddle, the dull starlight reflected palely against his face.
"Captain," Neesa said sharply, her voice rising in concern. "You are wounded."
"Aye," Guildenstern replied through a grim smile. "'Tis not bad."
"Those black'earts pulled the captain from'is horse," one of the young soldiers explained, looking shocked at his own story. Grissom understood his disbelief well--it would take quite a man to unseat their steady leader. He wondered briefly if the cultists had used some of their black art on him.
Guildenstern lifted a hand before the man could continue. "And I am very thankful for the quick response of my men. But I am well enough, and there is still much to do." His eyes swept over the crowds of soldiers, betraying his exterior with a dulled, pained look. "The men must first be attended to. These bodies will need to be prepared for the priests that come tomorrow to bless them, and--" He paused, closing his eyes briefly as if having suffered from some great pain. "And all their belongings recorded. This needs to be documented, every bit of it."
"Aye, and it shall be," Duane spoke up carefully. "But sir, you are wounded. Allow us to take over the investigation and return to the city."
Neesa was quick to support him. "Please, sir, we care only for your well being."
Guildenstern regarded his commanders thoughtfully, somewhat surprised by their concern. His expression clearly indicated that he found the idea unnecessary, and he had no intention of leaving his men. But Grissom knew better than to assume his captain well--he hardly ever showed any indication of fatigue, and so to see him grimace was testimony enough to the severity of his injury. If the soldiers were to do their job well, they first needed to know that their commanding officer was safe.
"Captain," Grissom said abruptly. "Allow me to escort you back to the Cathedral, and a physician. The place of my comrades is with their men, but I am here of my own. I'm sure our brethren will rest well knowing you are being treated."
Guildenstern's eyebrows lifted slightly as his focus transferred to Grissom alone. He considered the offer carefully under the anxious scrutiny of his commanders. "Very well," he replied finally. "Father Grissom and I will return to the Cardinal, to make our report and request the workers that may take the place of our soldiers. Father Duane, can you manage well enough in my absence?"
"Aye, sir." Duane cast his brother a thankful glance, already reassured. "Well enough."
Guildenstern nodded, moving his horse away from their group. Grissom obediently followed suit. "You have my gratitude," the captain said to his subordinates. "God be with you."
The pair rode away from their kin, quickly putting the battleground behind them. The scent of blood remained thickly at their side, a constant reminder to Grissom to keep their pace swift. Out of the presence of his soldiers Guildenstern's body seemed to slump, if only by a slight degree. It was enough to put Grissom on edge. I could heal him. It would take some time, as I have not had the chance to practice healing magicks on another, but if his wound is as serious as it seems.... He ground his teeth as he thought the option through--even suggesting the idea would mean revealing himself and his power. For if the captain was among those of the Cardinal's trusted hands, why had he not yet healed the wound himself? To show himself now could prove dangerous.
If only I knew, he thought desperately, urging his mount faster. But I cannot be careless now. All I can do is earn his trust. Perhaps then, he will tell me himself.
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