The Last Red Shoulder

Chapter 4: An Archbishop's Worries

The Third Archer of the Year 703

By the Saint! What trouble it was to get a hold of this magic artifact. I'll have to reward my men in Nerinheit manse handsomely for their efforts. How could Jerid and Gafgarion know of its uses? They're no magicians. No matter—in any case, my spies were able to pilfer it from their guarded stores successfully, and without being detected. That is all that matters. Now, time to see who is on the other side…

The crystal ball Archbishop Gosterro held in front of him was proof of some very good news for the Kingdom of Etruria as well as the Eliminean Church. Whether or not that news would be equally good for the man who owned the ball's twin, however, depended on how he reacted to Gosterro's summons.

"Trunicht," he chanted, holding his hands over the globe as a hazy image appeared in its depths, "Trunicht…"

A pasty, smug-looking face framed by very pale blond hair coalesced out of the shifting cloud within the crystal. "Brother Paptimus," said the man with a knowing smile, "How good of you to—" That smile was promptly replaced by a look of mild shock when he noticed his caller was very much not the Dark General. "Wait, who—"

"Gosterro, Archbishop Gosterro. You remember me, don't you, Trunicht? I hope so, considering the efforts I spent to get you refuge in my monastery."

The slimy Black Knight was good, very good—he didn't miss a beat in his recovery. "Why of course, Your Excellency! I could never forget your kindness. You're truly an exemplar of Elimine's charity and beneficence. Rest assured, I am absolutely loving my stay at Par Massino. May I ask why you've seen fit to honor me with a visit (a crystal-ball visit, but a visit nonetheless) this fine day?"

"Why, merely to have a nice chat with one of Elimine's (and thus, my) most loyal servants! But first, another question for you, Trunicht. You were a little surprised to see me, were you not?"

"Well, it's not every day one is called by an Archbishop!"

"True. But the means of our conversation, that's the odd thing, isn't it? You know who this scrying globe belonged to, yes?"

"I do believe so."

"If it has fallen into my hands, Trunicht, what do you think that means?"

"Ah…perhaps Brother Paptimus has made peace with your church?"

"Pfeh." Trunicht's sarcasm was amusing, but by this point he'd grown bored of it. "Enough of these japes. Let us get down to business. I will say this only once, Trunicht. It is a mistake to underestimate me. I may be a man of the cloth, but I do not stuff my head with it. Do you honestly believe it's remotely difficult for me to see through your scheming? I did not become an Archbishop because I am naïve. I know full well your loyalty to me is not absolute, and that you were planning on playing both me and Paptimus to your own benefit. You'd tell me what he was doing in the Isles, and tell him what the Crown and the Church were planning in return. Well, my little schemer, I strongly suggest you abandon that plan. You see, Paptimus is dead."

Once again, it was a credit to Trunicht that only a slight furrow of his brow indicated his shock. "That is…most wonderful news, Your Excellency! Our holy Church will surely grow now that its most irascible foe has been brought to justice."

"You're quite good at telling me what I want to hear. I like that—at least you know who you should be pleasing. But I would appreciate your subservience much more if I had an assurance it was sincere."

"Were not the map, plans, and Armor I gave you proof enough?"

"No. I am certain you have more to give me, Trunicht. I want it."

"More to give you? What are you saying?"

"I am saying, Trunicht," and a low note of irritation entered his voice, "that if your loyalty to me was not absolute before, it should be now. Not for any silly sentimentalism or moral reason, but for the simple fact that you need me much, much more than I need you. "Brother" Paptimus is dead and your Red Shoulders are scattered across the Western Isles. You are alone and isolated. You have absolutely no chance of gaining power and wealth—or even simple refuge—without my good graces.

"I am willing to use you, Trunicht. You are more valuable to me alive than dead. You would do very well to keep it that way. Should you continue to…spread your loyalties around, shall we say, it would be quite easy to tell Grigorius and the other monks keeping an eye on you that your sins are irredeemable and must be purged. And while you may believe yourself to be a master of the dark arts, Grigorius is a master of holy magic…and every apprentice knows that the light never fails to banish shadow."

Trunicht slumped back in his chair, thoroughly beaten. "Very well, your Excellency, you win. I pledge myself to you, body and soul."

"I need something more concrete, Trunicht. As I said, I know you have more to give me. You were the leader of the Red Shoulders, not Paptimus. Maps and intelligence were the only thing you could provide? You must have more. Spies inserted among them? Troop lists? Anything more would be useful."

A wry smile returned to the former Black Knight's face. "Spies? Perhaps. I might be able to send a present to you, Your Holiness. One that would be most useful to you professionally…and, dare I say, personally?"

"Go on."

"In three days, please accept a visit from a woman named Rhia. She will tell your guards, "A friend of Grigorius has sent me." Everything will become clear then, Archbishop. Rest assured you will be most pleased."

Before Gosterro could respond, the image of Trunicht within the crystal ball winked out, leaving nothing but darkness.

"Insolent—" Gosterro began, but quickly stopped himself. Rather than raging at his annoying servant, he sat back in his comfortable chair, massaging his temples with his hands.

He would allow Trunicht a chance to prove himself. If this "Rhia" came to him at the appointed time and proved useful, he would show leniency to the former Black Knight. If not, however…

Well, Trunicht would learn the hard way that it was not wise to trifle with men of God.

-X-

"Venerable Gosterro, you have a visitor."

The Archbishop sat up in his throne in his tower-sanctuary's fifth floor and drew his eyes from Trunicht's map to the young acolyte sent to him as a messenger. "Who is it?"

"We're not sure, Your Holiness. The guards are currently detaining her outside of this tower. She doesn't seem to be a member of our Church, but rather simply a mundane parishioner of Aquleia. I'm sure you're too busy to deal with her. Shall I send her away?"

"Not so quickly. What was her name?"

"Rhia."

"Did she say anything else?"

"Hmm…She said she was a friend of Grigorius. Perhaps one of his pilgrims?"

That told Gosterro all he needed to know. "I've been expecting her. Let her in immediately."

"Y-Yes, Archbishop." The youth was surprised, but he knew enough to follow orders. He bowed obediently, padded out the door to the throne room and down the stairs, after which he disappeared for a few minutes. He then returned with the visitor in tow.

Gosterro raised an eyebrow when he saw the woman following his servant. This…Rhia was quite interesting indeed. At first glance, there seemed to be nothing exceptional about her. She was dressed in a simple buttoned blouse tucked into a modest brown skirt, with leather boots of the same color covering her feet, suitable for a lower-middle-class laborer or servant. She had what looked to be an expensive gold necklance draped 'round her neck, but that was the most notable aspect of her apparel.

No, what really stuck out about her was her appearance. She was beautiful. Her clothes, modest and unobjectionable, did not flatter her figure, but even they could not hide a body and bearing that seemed to ooze sensuality. Her skin was fair, a bit lighter than his own, and absolutely flawless. If the rise of her blouse was any indication, her breasts were large, well-formed, and pert. Her face looked as if it belonged to one of the ancient demons of lust called a Succubus. Her cheeks were neither fat nor gaunt, her nose and chin dainty and sharp, and her lips full and plump, pursed in a wry smile that made it seem as if he were merely an amusing commoner rather than a great prelate. Her eyes were striking—almond-shaped, with red irises peering at him from under thin black brows. Topping it all off was her long, luxurious black hair, falling straight down to the middle of her back.

Gosterro was very glad the thick robes of an Archbishop did such a good job of concealing his body. His erection would have been quite obvious otherwise.

"Thank you," he told his servant. "You are dismissed. This woman is far more important than she appears, and we have matters to discuss of relevance to the faithful all over Elibe. Lock the door behind you and tell all you meet I am not to be disturbed."

"Yes, Your Excellency." Only a twitch of the acolyte's eyebrow indicated he thought anything was improper. Archbishop Gosterro often had "personal meetings" with the prettier members of Elimine's flock, afterall. Those of his servants who seemed unwilling to forgive such minor indiscretions learned very quickly to hold their tongues, lest they lose their cushy and prestigious ecclesiastical positions.

After the monk had left, Gosterro turned his attention to his visitor. He moved a hand over the Lightning tome he always kept nearby—however beautiful this woman may have been, he wasn't certain he could trust her yet.

"Who are you?"

She smiled and gave him a demure curtsy. "My name is Rhia, most venerable Gosterro." Her voice was soft and quiet, but there was an unmistakable undercurrent of power behind it. "I am no more than a humble entertainer, providing my services to the men of this great city. I cannot possibly express how honored I am that you have agreed to give me an audience."

"Really, now. Let me guess…one of the men who most enthusiastically partook of your 'services' was named Trunicht, yes?"

"You know him? Oh, I'm so glad. He is truly such a wonderful man, and has treated me so very well. I hope you are good friends."

"We may be, depending on what you say next." Gosterro shifted on his throne. "Don't play games with me, woman. I know you're more than a simple courtesan. Trunicht could have any number of girls he wanted while he led the Red Shoulders, yet he told me you, specifically, had something of value. Tell me, Rhia. What, exactly, did you do for him? Aside from the obvious."

She chuckled. "As I said, I've entertained many men in this city. Many of its most powerful men. Sages and Bishops, barons and counts…all have shared my bed at some point or another. And they tell me the most interesting things…it's so amusing how the most intelligent and cunning of men will let their guard down around a woman after she's taken their seed. My dear Trunicht was more than willing to pay handsomely for that sort of information."

"That certainly makes sense…I can believe that. But there's more, isn't there? I already have an effective network of spies entrenched into this city. Even you would probably not be able to add much to it. What I really need is information on the Western Isles…those maps your patron gave me aren't enough. Do you have anything better to provide?"

"Oh, I do indeed." Turning away from him, her skirt and hair swishing through the air, she began to undo the buttons of her blouse. She untucked it from her skirt and stripped it off, leaving her upper body completely naked. Gosterro, while somewhat pleased by this display, was not very impressed. If she hoped to distract him by attempting to seduce him, she'd find herself very disappointed.

However, while her right hand was holding her discarded shirt, she raised her left to pull the long locks of her black hair away to the side, allowing the Archbishop a perfectly unobstructed view of her naked back. And that was enough to really catch his interest.

Her upper back wasn't actually naked…or, more accurately, its soft, clear skin was not entirely unmarred. There was a large tattoo on it.

No ordinary tattoo, though. In fact, it seemed more like a brand. It was pitch-black, the same color as her hair, and seemed to be seared into her skin. It took a shape Gosterro knew quite well—a Dark magic sigil. It wasn't exactly the same as those from Flux or Eclipse spells, though.

There were three six-spoked wheels set into the top right, top left, and middle of her back, forming a triangle. They were connected by three straight, thick black lines. In the center of that triangle were three concentric circles like those on an archery target, except the innermost also had six spokes which jutted out just beyond the circumference of the outermost. At the end of each of those spokes were three smaller concentric circles, similar to the large one in the center of her back.

"Do you know what this is, Archbishop?" The woman cooed coyly.

"This…" he blinked, not sure of what he was seeing. "This…this is a shadow-binding sigil, is it not? An impressive feat of dark magic, woman. I felt your power when you first entered. It seems you are indeed more than you appeared at first."

"I'm flattered, your holiness."

"So what does this sigil do? How does it work? As a holy man, my knowledge of elder magic is geared more towards fighting it than utilizing it."

"I'll be more than glad to teach you, then." She dropped her blouse and ran her right hand across her back, tracing her fingers across the sigil's design.

"Ancient magic can do more than sow terror among your enemies and reduce their bones to dust. To those willing to devote everything to it—even their own children—it can show more possibilities than they could even imagine.

"One such magic is the spell of shadow-binding. Elimineans talk much of bonding two souls as one, but disciples of the Dark can do that quite literally. Only the greatest of us, such as Trunicht and Paptimus, are capable of doing so, but for those deemed worthy…two people who share an unbreakable bond, and who share an equal love for the shadows, can accept this brand to connect their minds, no matter how far apart their bodies may be.

"Such is the purpose of this shadow-sigil. Though we are separated by many miles, by hills and mountains, water and waves, I see and hear and smell and feel everything my beloved does. And if you allow me to stay by your side…you can experience everything as well."

"Interesting. So your 'beloved' is in the Western Isles?"

"See for yourself, venerable Gosterro."

The Archbishop stood up, still gripping his Lightning tome firmly. He reached out his other hand, lightly brushed Rhia's sigil with his fingers…

And saw fog.

And felt a cool sea breeze.

And heard the waves, and smelled the salt, and felt power all around him—dozens, hundreds of dark magicians milling about, training, preparing, resting, eating, sleeping, but all directing their energies to their final destination:

The Western Isles.

He drew back, gasping, and perfectly convinced. "I…impressive, Rhia. Perhaps there's more to Dark magic than my Church gives it credit for."

"They all say that once they get to know me," she grinned. She let her hair fall over her back once again and turned to face him, allowing him a perfect view of her lovely breasts this time. "My beloved is one of the Red Shoulders…a high-ranking one. Privy to their movements, and all their secrets…and you have a direct connection to all that, through me."

"So this is Trunicht's gift to me. Yes…very worthy, certainly. I am pleased. But I must wonder, Rhia, what you get out of the deal?"

She laughed. "You'll want to keep me around, won't you? I'm sure I'm not the first woman you've lived with. An opportunity to share in your wealth, the power that comes from being attached to an Archbishop, and the protection of living under your wing…I desire no more than that."

Gosterro chuckled. "I think I can live with that. Of course, my dear…in addition to the services of intelligence-gatherer you've given to Trunicht, I trust you'll share your other talents with me as well, yes?"

She didn't even need to answer that question—not with words, anyways. Her smile growing wider, she strode up to Gosterro, cupped his face with her hands, and pressed her soft lips to his taut, older ones in a kiss that lasted a long time—and did not end there.

::Linear Notes::

This chapter takes place between the 38th and 39th chapter of Wayward Son.