Chapter Eleven: The Greatest of These

Pike's gut clenched as she helped Tharivol gently ease Percy out of his waistcoat and shirt. As the party's usual healer, she had of course caught glimpses now and then of the scars that crisscrossed his body, and she knew the harrowing story behind them. But she also knew how self-conscious he was about them, why he hid them under layers of clothing the way he hid his pain behind a façade of noble decorum.

Percy seizes my wrist in a viselike grip. "Pike, don't—"

As gently as I can, I pry his fingers away. "If I'm going to get that arrowhead out, I need to see it," I tell him. "It'll be okay, I promise."

He looks like he's going to protest further, but instead swallows hard, nods, and lets his head fall back onto the grass, squeezing his eyes shut and turning his face away from me. I frown. Broken-off arrow aside, he isn't hurt that badly. In the short time I've known him, I've seen Percy take much worse with much more stoicism—his tolerance for pain is frankly terrifying. I don't know what to make of this reaction.

I untuck his shirt and lift it up a few inches, just enough to expose the wound. A splinter of wooden shaft sticks out, but it's too small and slick with blood for me to get a good grip on it. I'm going to have to go fishing. "All right, Percy, this is gonna suck, but it'll be over quickly, okay?"

His jaw clenches. "Okay."

I plunge my fingers into the wound, find purchase on the arrowhead, and begin to work it free. Percy grunts, his muscles spasming, but he otherwise doesn't move. I'm done in seconds. I toss the arrowhead aside, and speak a Healing Word to close the wound as I wipe away the blood.

That's when I notice the scars. Many of them, streaking in all directions, overlapping, long but poorly healed. "Oh, Percy, what happened to you?" I gasp.

He sits up and pushes my hands away, his own still shaking. "I got shot, of course," he snaps. He tugs his shirt back down.

"No, I mean—"

The look on his face gives me pause, and I realize I've stumbled onto something our newest friend does not want to discuss. "All right," I say softly. "I'm sorry."

He glares at me. "I don't want your pity." He climbs a bit unsteadily to his feet to tower over me. "Tell no one what you saw." And he turns on his heel and stalks away, his long blue coat swirling behind him.

It was one thing to know of his scars, another to know the extent and cause of them. But to see them all laid out before her, runes of terror and agony carved in puckered slashes of pink and silver into every inch of him…

("It was a long time ago," he says, trying to be dismissive. He locks onto Keyleth's gaze like a lifeline as he continues, "And I was… not… equipped for torture.")

The sight crushed the breath from her lungs just as his confession had, weeks ago.

But she needed to focus. Drawing a deep, steadying breath, she focused her attention on Percy's right shoulder. In contrast to the years-old scars, the stab wound there remained red and inflamed, weeping as though infected. Dark lines branched out from it in all directions as the poison crawled through his veins, and it gave off a faintly necrotic smell. The skin around it burned feverishly even as Percy shivered.

While Tharivol went to the table and began compounding some of the herbs the acolyte had brought, Pike dipped a cloth in the warm water and began to gently wipe away the crusted yellowish discharge from around the wound. It began to bleed again, just a little, but the blood that seeped out was too tark, almost black, and had an unnatural, oily sheen. Swallowing hard, she gathered some of it on the cloth and turned to Tharivol. "Father, look at this," she said. "Something's wrong with—"

Tharivol glanced at the cloth briefly, then cut her off with a dismissive snort and returned to his task. "Yes, I saw the same with Lady Cassandra. We have determined that the poison corrupts the blood." He opened a cabinet and took out a small vial, and poured its contents over the crushed herbs. "Finish cleaning the wound."

Though Tharivol's bedside manner left a lot to be desired, Pike was at least grateful for his level head. She hated seeing the people she loved suffering—that was why she'd studied healing magic in the first place. To be nearly impotent to help Percy now had her near panic. But to Tharivol, Percy was just another patient with a problem to be solved. As off-putting as his haughty detachment might be, it might turn out to be what saved Percy's life.

She could only hope.

Pike rinsed out the cloth and dabbed at the wound again, and this time, Percy stirred with a low groan. Glazed, unfocused eyes blinked up at her from under a furrowed brow. "Pike?" he croaked, his voice hoarse and barely a whisper.

"It's okay, Percy, I'm here," she murmured, smoothing his hair back from his sweat-slick forehead. He flinched under her touch, and she snatched her hand back. "You're okay."

A shadow fell over them, and Tharivol nudged Pike aside, glaring down his nose at her. "I was not aware that the Everlight encouraged Her followers to lie," he growled under his breath.

Pike kept her gaze fixed on Percy, watching his eyes slip closed again. "I-I was only trying to—"

"The light of truth, however harsh, is always preferable to empty reassurances." None too gently, Tharivol smeared the paste he'd made in a thick layer over the wound. Pike watched Percy for any reaction, and wasn't sure whether to be worried or relieved when she saw none. Tharivol continued, "Pelor bids us face our fate with open eyes and clear vision."

"And Sarenrae encourages us to look to the future with hope," Pike shot back.

"Hmph. Hope." A hint of bitterness crept into Tharivol's voice. "Perhaps when you have walked this plane for six hundred and fifty years, you will learn how easily hope can blind you. I have found that false hope only makes the inevitable that much more difficult to bear."

"I think we'll have to agree to disagree on that, Father Tharivol," said Pike tightly. "I'm not about to give up on Percy. Or Cassandra."

"There is a difference between giving up and facing reality, young one," Tharivol replied sharply. "You would do well to remember that." His face softened, just a little. "Understand, we will do everything we can for both Lord and Lady de Rolo. But you must prepare yourself for the possibility that we may not be able to save them."

"No." Pike glared up into his eyes. "We will save them. Hope or not, I have faith."

Keyleth stared around the room, wide-eyed, clutching her staff as if for dear life. "So… now what?"

"That is the question of the hour." Vex folded her arms, trying not to let her face show the anxiety that twitched and jerked along every nerve in her body. "We were following Percy's lead on this. With him and Cassandra both…" She swallowed hard, and didn't even try to finish that thought. "It's up to us, now."

"Do we have any leads at all?" Keyleth asked plaintively.

"Not much to speak of," Vax bit out. "We've got the two that came after Percival in the dungeon, but getting them to talk may be a different matter. As far as the attack on Cassandra?" He shrugged and shook his head. "None of the staff or guards saw anything terribly useful. And we still have no idea how The Righteous keep getting into the castle. Garron was convinced he had it locked down tight."

A cold weight settled in Vex's stomach as a terrible thought occurred to her. "I hate to be the one to suggest this, but… what about Cassandra's delegation?" She turned to Vax. "Brother, didn't Garron give you a list of attendees for that night?"

"He did. Here." Vax fished a crumpled sheet of parchment out of his bag and handed it to her.

Reading down the list, Vex spat a vile Elvish curse. "That priest we met at the temple, Tharivol—he was there!" Her heart leapt into her throat, her pulse roaring in her ears. The thought that they may have left Percy with someone who'd tried to have him killed—

"He was only at the dinner, though," Keyleth pointed out. "When The Righteous jumped you guys this afternoon, he was at the Zenith with me and Pike. And I'm pretty sure he hates those guys as much as we do."

"I doubt that very much," Vex growled, even as relief washed over her in a wave. She willed her heartbeat to slow its panicked thundering. "But, okay, it's probably not him. What about these other two? Keeper Norii and Chancellor Herad?"

"Interesting that Cassandra had this Norii with her, and not Yennen," said Vax, "but it shouldn't be too hard to find them while we're staying here, and ask."

"And we haven't met this Herad guy yet, either," Scanlan pointed out. "Any idea where we can find him?"

Vex frowned thoughtfully. "Well I don't know where he lives, but I'd bet money his duties put him in the castle just about every day. And he would have the authority to control access!" She looked at each of the others in turn, a predatory smile spreading slowly across her face. "I think we have our prime suspect."

"All right!" Grog popped his knuckles with sounds like firecrackers. "I been lookin' for a face to beat in."

"Not yet, Grog," Vax cautioned. "We don't know anything for sure yet. Let's talk to him first."

Grog pouted a little. "Fine. Talk first." He raised his eyebrows hopefully. "But if he is our guy, then can I beat 'is face in?"

Vax patted his arm placatingly. "I promise, Big Man."

"Good," said Grog with a toothy grin. Vex had to chuckle despite herself.

"I still want to talk to Yennen and Norii, tonight if possible," Vax continued. "We can seek out Herad in the morning. But we all go together from now on, yeah? I don't want any more nasty surprises."

Keyleth nodded vigorously. "Together. Yeah, definitely."

"Well, about that."

All eyes turned to Scanlan.

"There's still the matter of this… invitation?" He held up the scrap of parchment the Righteous agent had given him. "It'll get me in, and maybe Grog, since he was with me at the time, but I think the whole group of us together would make them just a wee bit suspicious."

"Mm, Scanlan's probably right," said Vex reluctantly. "Infiltrating this cult is best done as a solo mission—sorry, Grog, but you're about as subtle as a fireball. And if Herad is our mole in the castle," she added to Scanlan, "it's probably best you don't meet him beforehand."

Taking his lute off his back, Scanlan leaned back in his chair with a smile, strumming aimless chords. "Don't worry, I've got this," he said airily. "You guys go meet the politicians, and leave the spying to me."

"Just don't get yourself caught, yeah?" said Vax. "Vex'ahlia is right, but I don't like the idea of sending you in without backup. These people are dangerous, and if things go south, we can't help you."

Scanlan stopped strumming to lay a hand on his cest in an affected gesture. "Why, Vaz, you wound me! Have a little faith, man!"

"Misguided 'faith' is what started this mess," Keyleth grumbled. "Just promise you'll be careful, okay?"

"I promise, my dear."

Vex could only hope it was enough.