Leap of Faith
Chapter 5 – In The Hands Of Fate
'Brother' Sard's search for the young novice, Quintin, was not going well. He'd already been to two locations where others had indicated Brother Quintin was supposedly stationed, but to no avail. The young cleric was nowhere to be found.
Sard could see that the congregation were settling into the pews. Time was running out! Perhaps he could get word to the Preceptress by himself? A line made up of a few dozen priests and priestesses had formed in an aisleway. They seemed to be heading up to the stage. What had Kestrel called it? The chancel. Senior priests were seated there.
Deftly slipping into the line, he shuffled forward with the others. Looking ahead, the thief could see that each cleric was being handed a thin, wood-bound hymnal and was then directed to the raised chancel. Short on time, this was as good a play as any.
Too late, he saw that the clerics in his line did not access the chancel or altar area but were being formed into a line in front of it, facing the front row of pews and the congregation. As the floor of the church slanted upward - it was a bit like being in an amphitheater - Sard realized that from his position he could now see a goodly portion of the seated congregation, with Capitol's premier citizens being directly in front of him.
Sard had been in Tymora's temple only a few times before today. He was impressed with its simple lines and sturdy construction. The main portion of the temple was a high-vaulted nave with a quire situated to each side. The altar, set at the back of the apse, was low, simple and covered by a white tabard. Four-leafed clovers were everywhere; carved on pillars, branded on to pews, stitched on banners. Behind him, a stained-glass window, lit by candles, was positioned above the altar. It featured the goddess's homey face, framed by auburn hair, offering her followers a friendly and playful smile.
Looking out over the congregation, Sard saw Kestrel seated at the back. She was speaking with a girl of maybe nine or ten years of age. Slender. Red hair in braids.
Someone had moved up to the lectern, which was positioned at the front of the chancel and behind the row of priests, facing the crowd. Sard spared a quick glance back and up and saw a tall, balding, middle-aged man standing there. He was dressed in robes similar to those worn by Sard and the Tymoran clergy, but his appeared to be made from finer material and had been tailored. They fit him well. The priest's holy symbol hung from a thick silver chain. The man glanced down at the priests in the row before him, briefly making eye contact with Sard.
Sard nudged the priest beside him and whispered. "Who's the guy behind us?"
The priest, a paunchy, older man, looked at Sard with a puzzled expression.
"Master Kelln, of course", he whispered back. "Oh. You must be from away. He's the Master of Novices and it's rumoured he'll replace Mistress Alline when she passes. He is a stern man, well-learned, and a fierce defender of the faith!"
As Master Kelln opened his prayerbook, the crowd quieted and the priests in Sard's row all opened theirs books, turning to a specific page. Sard opened his too, but made no attempt to find the correct page. Instead, his eyes ran around the temple. The quire lofts were filled by guests; only a few priests were among them. He had spotted a half dozen other priests behind him and a few more near the altar. There were also a half-dozen of the clergy acting as ushers.
Situated high up in the nave's rear stone wall, and above the last row of pews now mostly filled, Sard saw a small balcony. It was about forty or fifty feet above the floor. A short, carved wooden railing ran along its edge. The balcony and the space behind it were dimly lit. He'd not noticed the balcony before now, it being concealed by the vaulted ceiling's support pillars, the wooden crossbeams, and the many banners hung on the beams and suspended by ropes and wires that spanned the nave. It would make an excellent place from which to fire a quarrel or arrow, thought the thief, but no dart thrown from there would make it even half way across the church.
Movement in the balcony. A lone priest, holding what appeared to be a short staff, stood there looking down over the gathered throng. His attention seemed to focus on the space behind Sard. The priest knelt down and placed his hands on the railing. Offering up a prayer, Sard supposed?
Sard's attention was drawn to the occupants of the front pew, only a few feet away for him. And to one person in particular. Dressed in a deep green velvet gown that showed perhaps a little too much cleavage for a High Holy Day service, was a becoming looking blond, young woman. She was boldly eyeing Sard. Running her eyes over him from head to foot, she made a careful assessment and liked what she saw. Sard briefly toyed with the idea of turning his head to the right, or dropping his hood, so she could she could see his burns. But startling or scaring the woman seemed a cruel thing to do. Instead, he smiled back at her.
Their brief flirtation was interrupted by the woman's companion, an elderly woman. The old lady leaned over to say something to the younger woman. Sard saw a family resemblance of sorts, maybe grandmother and grand-daughter? The older woman was richly adorned in silks and furs, and held a carved ivory cane in two gnarled, veined hands. Hands that sported some truly beautiful jeweled rings.
Kelln's voice boomed out behind him, addressing the congregation.
"This is our first reading. Listen all ye present to these words of The Smiling Lady!"
Damn! The service was starting and he had not been able to deliver his message to Quintin, or warn the Preceptress. He spared a quick look to the back of the church in time to see Kestrel making her way to a small alcove in the rear wall. It looked like she was climbing up a narrow stairwell.
"The Lady smiles upon you", recited Kelln.
"Praise be to the Lady!" Intoned the row of priests, except for Sard.
Sard's eyes flicked up to the balcony. He supposed the stairs led there. The lighting at that end of the church and high up above the rafters and banners, was poor, but he saw that the priest he had seen earlier was still kneeling, but only on one knee. He seemed to be fiddling with his staff.
"Place yourself in the hands of fate, and trust to your own luck. This, the Lady requires of you."
"Praise be to the Lady!"
The thief shifted his gaze back to the lovely parishioner and her grandmother. The cane held by the elder was beautiful, the carvings elaborate, the tip and handle made of gold. It was not a cane so much as a work of art.
He let his eyes flit over the congregation. No one was jumping up to throw a dart. No odd movements. His eyes widened at a sudden thought. 'Not a cane…'. Darts could be thrown – or fired using… a blowgun! An odd, exotic weapon, he'd only seen them used once by a band of wood elves. Silent and deadly tools for hunting small game. But with poison…
Sard quickly looked around, his gaze settling on the priest in the balcony. The man was pointing something this way!
Who was the target? Killing a wealthy parishioner on a High Holy Day was nothing compared to striking down the rumoured next leader of the faith!
Sard whirled around.
The disturbance in the rank of priests in front of him drew Master's Kelln's stern gaze. Sard locked eyes with the man – and threw his hymnal up into Kelln's face.
Kelln caught the book in his hands, his look of surprise turning to ire, when he heard a soft 'thip' and the book shook, once. Turning it over, he saw a thin wooden shaft topped by a tuft of hair or fur sticking out of the hymnal's wooden cover.
There was commotion at the back of the church. Sard looked back and saw two figures struggling in the balcony. One was dressed in the robes of a priest; the other was Kestrel. The two combatants were leaning up against the balcony railing, each throwing vicious blows at the other. Kestrel seemed to be getting the better of her assailant, when he grabbed her with both hands and slammed her hard against the railing. With a sharp 'crack' the railing split apart. Assassin and elf tumbled out of the balcony, falling towards the stone floor below.
Daelynn raced up the narrow stairs, banging her head on the low, arched ceiling. There was only one clear line of sight from the Chanticleers loft. Only one possible target. Whomever was at the lectern! She had heard Master Kelln's voice. The second in command of Tymora's eastern church.
Her personal dislike of the man would not stop her from her duties. She had to get to the assassin!
She exited the stairs and entered the balcony, her sandals scuffing on the smooth stone floor slabs. She heard something – a 'phwooht' – the sound of a strong yet muffled exhalation. Too late!
Daelynn heard confused voices from below and a harsh "damn" from a few yards in front of her. A miss? He could not be allowed to shoot again! Blind and holding her walking stick crosswise in front of her, she charged.
The assassin was aware that someone had entered the loft behind him but he had no time to do anything but brace himself for the expected strike. A solid blow landed across his back, driving him into the balcony's wooden railing. It cracked. He dropped his blow-tube – it spun away from his fumbling fingers, falling into the pews below.
Pushing off the railing, the would-be killer swung an elbow back at his attacker. He connected, and was pleased to hear a grunt of pain from behind him. Turning, he tore the short staff from his opponent's grip only to be met with flurry of blows to his face, chest and neck. The attack seemed unfocused but it was painful, and forced him to step to one side.
The lighting in the balcony was poor – one of the reasons this spot had been chosen from which to strike – the assassin could not be certain who he was fighting. They were a bit smaller than he, but fast. Wait! Their eyes! So white!
Daelynn's blows had been thrown fast and furiously. She had no idea if her foe had another dart ready to hand. One scratch from it and she would be dead within a few breaths. She had to keep him off balance and prevent his using any weapon until help arrived – or until she defeated him.
"Tymoran scum", the man snarled, throwing a punch at Daelynn's face. The elf's martial training was far superior to her opponent's. even blind, she knew the strike was coming, and turned her head, avoiding the worst of the blow.
"You have failed", taunted Daelynn, striking at the man and landing a swift jab to his ribs.
Gasping, the assassin grabbed Daelynn by her vest with both hands and drove her back, intent on throwing her over the low wooden railing to the cold, hard, stone floor below.
Daelynn's hips slammed hard into the barrier. The wood, centuries old, dry as kindling, and already damaged, broke. She felt herself falling back.
"And you're about to meet your Goddess!" sneered the assassin, pushing the elf out into the open air before them.
"Not alone", cried Daelynn, clamping her hands onto the assassin's wrists and pulling him over with her.
The man's frantic attempts to regain his balance were futile. Tearing himself loose from the elf, the assassin plunged towards the church floor.
Daelynn turned, spreading her arms and legs out wide. She would meet her doom face first. No prayer escaped her lips. No bartering for more life. There was nothing she could do but accept her fate.
Congregants below the balcony had a few warnings that things were amiss above them. First, a cane fell into the pews, clattering noisily; then pieces of wood rained down. The more astute and those with quicker reflexes, jumped away. Others, less agile, tried to hide under pews. A heavy-set matron, caught flat-footed, was pulled to safety by a small, red-haired girl a half breath before the body of the assassin fell across the wood pew in which they'd been seated. The man landed with a bone-breaking crunch. He lay very still.
A supporting wire, one of several strung across the church and hosting brightly coloured banners, most with Tymora's four-leaf clover symbol on them, caught Daelynn across her midriff as she plunged, winding her. She clawed at the line, trying to steady herself and arrest her fall. The wire, a thin but solid piece of cabled metal, cut into her palms and hips. Trying to shift her weight so as to place the wire across her belt, the wire slipped up and under the stout buckle, suspending the elf some thirty feet above the congregation, who were shouting, pointing and offering up curses and prayers in roughly the same number.
The wire snapped.
Daelynn's fall started again, but this time the wire that was looped around her belt buckle supported her weight. Holding on tightly, the elf not so much plummeted as swung over the heads of the parishioners.
The wire had been secured many years ago to a sturdy oak beam that supported an archway, which allowed passage between the temple's vestibule and the church proper. The strain on the wire caused it to break again, just as Daelynn's swing took her under that arch.
The elf landed on her ass in the middle of the aisleway, bounced once and quickly jumped to her feet. A smattering of applause ran through the crowd.
A cool breeze blew at her back from the open double doors behind her. Daelynn turned and, arms held out in front of her, awkwardly ran through the vestibule and out the temple doors. She bumped into a few people as she found the stairs. Using a railing for a guide, she quickly descended to the Temple Plaza.
Somehow, she managed to make her way past the carriages and footmen who sat waiting for their masters and mistresses to complete their orisons. She had lost her shawl in the fight. Removing her sash from under her belt, she drew it over her head. It hid her hair and her elven ears.
Something warm and heavy pressed against her legs. A familiar 'wuff' greeted her. Smiling, she reached down and grabbed Big-Boy's collar.
"Take me home, boy!" She ordered the beast.
Confounded priests and excited patrons poured out of Tymora's temple. None noticed a tall, slender figure with a dog, moving serenely across the plaza.