Hello Scrolls and Nazarins, with another chapter of my fanfic The One Who Came Back.
Evil spreads throughout the kingdom, who can save us?
With you
The One Who Came Back
Chapter 72: The Declaration
Everyone watched the old abbot as he approached the steps at the foot of the Holy King's throne. The man was obviously blind but kept his hesitant pace until he touched the first step. There, he knelt and extended his arms, holding the urn.
A knight took it and brought it to Caspond. The object was flat, about the thickness and width of a large open book. The court wizard had already tested it with magic, and it contained no poison, traps, or curses. So, it was relatively safe, even though it had not been opened, and from its appearance, it should not contain the usual severed head.
"Father, what brings you to this court?" Caspond asked.
"Your Majesty, O Holy King, I am Father Órios of the Surshana Monastery. I come as a messenger from men of the south."
"Are you a representative of the southern people?"
"No, my lord, just someone entrusted to deliver this message. Allow me to tell my story."
"Proceed, noble father," said Caspond, while the guard held the box.
...
Seven days ago
It was late at night. Father Órios was in his cot, finishing his prayers and preparing to sleep. The day had been long, and much needed to be done. New devotees arrived almost every day, and the congregation was experiencing growth in spiritual seeking since the defeat of Jaldabaoth. Many were inspired by stories that Surshana himself had returned as the Sorcerer King.
Many of these stories must have been inventions of a bard, he thought, but each day his assumptions seemed more wrong. The father was ready to end his day when he heard the screams, screams of despair and pain.
Grabbing his cane, he headed to the hallway. Even without vision, he knew those paths as if they were part of himself. He ran as fast as his old age allowed. The sounds of fighting increased as he approached the courtyard, and when he got there, he was instantly grabbed and kicked.
"I GOT ANOTHER ONE!"
"What is happening here?" the old father pleaded as he was dragged.
Someone approached and put a torch close to his face, close enough for the heat to burn his skin.
"Of course you got him; it has to be an old, blind man for you to catch," mocked the man with the torch.
"Go to hell," replied the other, pushing the father to the ground.
"What is happening, my lord?" the father pleaded again.
"Oh, father, we are paying a visit to the nearby churches and monasteries, so we decided to stop here and rest."
Father Órios could hear the groans of the other brothers, the pain they were feeling. He could hear the novices crying. From the earlier sounds, they had all been beaten, perhaps some killed.
"You are welcome to stay here for the night. We do not have much to offer, but what we have we can share."
"Thank you, father. You are very kind," said the man with a mocking tone, "but see, we really have a problem."
"What would that be, my lord? We can help you?"
"Yes! You can. I have a message that needs to be delivered to the Holy King himself, but unfortunately, pending matters keep me here. So, I would like to know if you could help us."
"Of course, my lord, but I am an old man. I believe one of the other fathers would be a better choice to take your message."
"No, none of them seem willing to travel," more mockery.
"Then one of the novices. They are young, and your message will arrive quickly," the father suggested, trying to give someone an opportunity to escape.
"No, they are too young. They would be ignored or worse, tempted to look at the message. So, the problem remains. You would not know the way to Hoburns, would you?"
"Yes, my lord, I know it."
"But you wouldn't get lost?" mocked the man.
"No. I have made the pilgrimage many times. Maybe I need help, one or two people," he said, seeing another opportunity.
"But, my good father?! You are perfect. Even blind, you could follow the only road to the capital in a journey of just seven days. You don't need companions, do you?"
"Yes, my lord," he said, dejectedly, "my brothers will be here when I return?"
"But of course! What kind of person would I be to mistreat men of faith?"
Once again the mocking tone. Someone brought one of the horses from the stable. It was not the strongest, but luckily it was the smartest. It had made the journey to the capital dozens of times and would know to go there even on its own.
Father Órios was mounted and given the flat case.
"Remember, do not open it. Do not deliver it to anyone other than the Holy King himself. If you do this, when you return, your friends will be waiting for you."
Órios set off down the road. His horse kept a continuous trot, stopping only to rest. After seven days, he reached the capital of the Holy Kingdom.
...
"So, I come to you bringing the message that was imposed upon me."
"These men, father, can you confirm where they were from?"
"Men of the south. Their accent was characteristic."
"Then we will send you back. An escort will accompany you for your safety and expel those ruffians from the monastery."
"There is nowhere to go back to, Your Majesty. I may not see, but for several miles along the long road, the smell accompanied me. The smell of smoke... and burnt flesh."
Several nobles were dismayed as the father left. Burning a monastery was an affront to the gods themselves, even more so being only a week's journey from Hoburns. How could they get so close to the capital unnoticed?
"Caspond" now held the case. Upon opening it, he was horrified.
Inside was the flayed skin of a person's head. It was spread open like a sheet, the face practically unrecognizable, but there were the gouged-out eyes. Those eyes could only belong to one person: Gustav Montagner.
The Holy King "Caspond" had no words to describe that abomination.
'This is the filthiest job I have ever seen!' thought the doppelganger Caspond. 'So many unnecessary cuts. He is almost unrecognizable. Whoever did this did not know what they were doing. The victim probably died in the first few minutes while they removed the skin from his head. These humans. If it were Lord Demiurge's hands working, he would do a clean job even with a dull knife. He could flay an entire person for weeks and keep them alive without even using a healing potion. The author of this atrocity is an amateur.'
These thoughts lasted only a few seconds, enough time for his face to express a recognizable horror.
"YOUR MAJESTY! What is it?" called the court wizard.
"It is Gustav Montagner, the captain of the Paladins. He has been killed!"
The hall exploded in consternation. Everyone wanted to speak.
"AN INSULT! REBELLION! MURDER!"
"Silence! SILENCE! This box is a declaration of war. The southern nobles sent this as a warning. They attacked us at a time when we are most vulnerable."
"Still, we need to retaliate, show strength!" said a noble.
"We cannot send the army to the south. We need them to protect the northern lands."
"The Paladins! Send the Paladins!"
"The order of the paladins has been decimated since Jaldabaoth. The few that remain are in the capital and will stay here."
"Your Majesty, the Colors. Send the Colors. Captain Gustav may be alive. Perhaps they kept him alive with potions and have him as a prisoner."
"Perhaps," the doppelganger doubted it. "Maybe he is alive, but the Nine Colors are also depleted. Only three of them survived the invasion. Few candidates have proven worthy of such a position, and only one has been replaced. Gaspond became the White and, when he left for the southern lands, he was accompanied by the other three colors. I believe these now work with the southerners," he said, raising the three crushed rings that were in the box, a symbol of defection.
"Is there nothing we can do?!" someone wailed.
"We can fortify ourselves for a possible invasion and probably a siege. We will evacuate the border while we can. We will bring everyone to the capital. We will need all the support to face these rebels."
"I WILL SEARCH FOR GUSTAV!" a female voice shouted.
The eyes turned to the woman who, ironically, had her eyes hidden.
"Neia Baraja, what are you saying?"
"I am saying, Your Majesty, that I will search for Captain Gustav. We were war colleagues. If there is still a chance, even a small one, that he is alive, then I will go to find him and only return with him."
"You cannot go, Neia Baraja."
"But, Majesty?!"
"No! The Holy Kingdom will not send your group to attempt a rescue, especially in territory we now consider enemy."
"But Your Grace, the... Nazarins were created for this? They were a rescue group before," said Cardinal Ebéas, seeing the opportunity to get rid of Neia.
"That's right, we were the Sorcerer King's Rescue Team, mostly made up of rangers and archers. We are capable of entering enemy territory unnoticed," the archer completed without realizing the trap she was likely falling into.
— That is not the issue, Miss Neia. Your group is needed here in the capital. Besides, you do not have the authority for such an act. We will not demean ourselves by sending a mercenary group, — Caspond said rudely.
Neia was confused. The King had always supported her group. Could the fear of an invasion be forcing him to keep them in the capital?
— In this time of war, Your Grace, perhaps some authority could be granted to the Faceless group, — suggested the Cardinal, trying not to miss the chance to send Neia to an almost certain death in the southern lands.
Caspond pondered for a few moments, and the crowd of nobles and clergy held their breath.
— Cardinal Ebeas, you are right. Too soon, dark times have come upon us again, and the need is urgent. However, I assure you this decision has not been made hastily or lightly. I would have preferred to wait longer to make this announcement, but time is pressing. NEIA BARAJA! TODAY YOUR GROUP BECOMES PART OF THE HOLY KINGDOM'S ARMY, JUST LIKE THE PALADINS, THE NAZARICKS BECOME A FORCE OF THE CROWN. TODAY I SUMMON THE NAZARICKS TO SERVE DIRECTLY UNDER THE KINGDOM, UNDER THE COMMAND OF ONE OF THE NINE COLORS. DO YOU ACCEPT THIS CALLING?
The Cardinal's smile began to fade as he saw the direction this declaration was taking.
— YES! WE ACCEPT!
— THEN, JUST AS YOUR FATHER BEFORE YOU, TODAY I NAME YOU, NEIA BARAJA, "THE BLACK" OF THE NINE COLORS!
— *Noooo!* — groaned Cardinal Ebeas as he realized what he had provoked.
The nobles were astonished. A commoner, a simple squire, had risen to one of the most powerful positions within the Holy Kingdom.
None of them knew, but this meeting was taking place on the same day that the capital of the Theocracy was falling.
As if a premonition, terror and a chill ran down the spines of those present who could see Neia's face. At that moment, all feared for their souls, for the Faceless was smiling.