TRUST AND SECRETS

Nine years ago

The cell door opened and the youth with the dark hair and eyes stepped back to his home.

“Nine hells, what happened to you”, his brother exclaimed, jumped out of his cot where he had been dozing and went to him.

The cell door closed with a clang and was locked.

Some old blood still dripped from the bandage that covered the darker youth’s right eye and side of the face. “Did you lose it?” The silver-haired twin asked and reached to touch the dirty linen.

“No”, the dark-eyed replied and pushed the hand away.

“Thank Pharasma.”

“Why would I thank her?

The silver-haired sighed.

With a groan of pain, the dark-eyed drew the bandage aside. “How bad is it?”

“It’s going to leave a scar. A big one. Be thankful for our prominent brows, if anything”, the blue-eyed smirked.

“I was too slow”, the dark-eyed sniffed, “she surprised me with the rapier.”

“But you caught her?”

“Oron did. I killed her.”

The silver-haired shook her head. “I thought Master was above killing his own family.”

“Tarana was just a cousin”, the black-haired eased the bandage back and grimaced.

“Pretty cold-blooded still.”

“One less Horryn in the world.”

Shuffling steps approaching made the boys turn their heads. Past the bars, along the corridor came a slave girl carrying a bucket of water, rags and a pouch, escorted by a guard.

The blue-eyed smiled knowingly at the girl. She returned the gesture, then lowered her gaze.

“Master sent me to patch you up”, the girl told the dark-eyed after she had been let in.

“What about me”, the blue-eyed asked with mischief, pulled the girl against himself and kissed the girl’s neck, making the water in the bucket slosh and some fall to the stony floor. The girl giggled and elbowed herself free from the boy’s embrace.

“Cut that out”, the guard spat from behind the bars.

“No healing potions for slaves”, the dark-eyed growled and winced when the girl touched his face to remove the stained bandage.

 

**

Now

 

The honor guard waited outside, as did Jocelyn. She had requested Nyra to be dismissed, and Nyra had obliged even though she hadn’t wanted to. She didn’t want her First Lance-Commander sulking in the street, visibly disappointed. It was bad for morale, hers and the men of the honor guard. But she was of little worth now to Nyra, so she had let her go. She’d take care of her later.

In the Angry Bull, the paladin sat down with Shevar and the half-elf twins after the gold-skinned, named Belon, had righted a table and stools he had tipped over in his rush to save Jocelyn. He had even offered an apology to the innkeeper, a grumpy old lady.

“If you scare my customers away, I hope you have the decency to order something.” She was called Sefina, Nyra had come to know.

“What do you have”, Nyra asked, amused, though feeling a pinch of bad conscience. Sefina snorted. “Water’s bad, ale’s a bit better.”

Nyra drank anything else than water only when it was customary or when the situation required it. A glass of wine with a monster, she recalled the previous time.

“An ale then.”

Shevar held up a finger.

“Two ales.”

“Four, please”, Belon Greymarsh added with a smirk that bordered boyish yet seemed genuine. Nyra had started to believe him a good man.

Sefina retreated to pour the drinks, leaving the four stare at each other wordlessly.

Belon was touched by potent magic, but it was then when Nyra noted the unseen, otherworldly aura the other half-elf, Cael, was emanating. It was like sitting close to a bonfire without feeling the physical heat but knowing it was there, without having to shield your eyes from the brightness but still being fascinated by the dance of the flames.

The other has a stained, burning soul.

“So”, began Belon and broke the silence, “I imagine everybody still has a lot of questions.”

“I’m happy to talk”, Nyra nodded as the words of her goddess faded.

Cael had never fully shown his face, choosing to keep his hood over his head. There he hunched over the table, the man she’d eventually have to confront. Nyra found his exaggeratingly concentrated, silent and cold stare unnerving. The effect of her crystal was wearing off.

She started with the questions.

“The followers of my church you saw, you said they were alive?”

“Barely, like Cael said. They were strung onto poles in a circle, like slaves waiting for a lashing.”

At least there was something to save, but Nyra couldn’t help but wince in disgust.

“They were kept in a cell?”

“No, they were in his former underground gladiator arena, that had been renovated into a forum of sorts. As if he had put them in there for show, but there was no audience.”

The same disgust remained but a frown replaced the wince. “Does he do that usually?”

Belon shook his head. “If his slaves defied him, he’d hang them and let everyone see how he dealt with disobedience. But never his prisoners.”

“Why has he captured them?”

Neither of the brothers had an answer. She had to find out for herself.

I had visited him just days before, alone, Nyra remembered and it made her sick to her stomach. He could’ve tried to hurt or capture me. Part of her wished he had tried. She had gone with her sword.

“And there are the cornugons”, she said aloud, choosing to think of something else.

“And a wizard or sorceress”, Belon added.

“The latter doesn’t sound so surprising.” Nyra had often seen wealthy nobles purchasing the services of magicians.

“Nyra, you have to understand we’re talking about a madman who was paranoid about anything more magical than everburning torches and simple healing potions.”

“Would not that put him and the entire House at a disadvantage? I mean, the other Houses must not have such tendencies.”

“He replaced it with ruthlessness..”

“I see. Coming back from the dead has changed him then”, Nyra concluded.

“Not enough, and not for the better”, Belon murmured.

Sefina returned with four cups filled to the brim with foam and something brownish.

“Enjoy”, she said and left.

Cael took his cup, smelled it and had a taste.

“Your brother’s not a big talker, isn’t he?” Nyra asked Belon.

Cael replaced the cup on the table, lips curled. “Neither is your oversized cat.”

Shevar let out an irritated growl before bringing her cup to her mouth and emptying it in one go. She had mastered drinking like humans years ago.

“She understands us but can’t speak.”

“So you have your fancy sign-talk.”

Nyra smiled and took a swig from her own cup. It wasn’t that bad. Belon seemed to share her opinion.

“You’d be surprised how useful it is to communicate without words sometimes.”

“I know”, the dark-eyed twin muttered and seemed to look back at something he only remembered as he played with a small orb in his hand.

Then, “What’s our plan?”

Nyra considered what she knew. The brothers were after Horryn with the goal of killing him and recovering something of great value to them. In the process, they had uncovered that he was protected by greater devils and a mysterious magician. One cornugon alone would have constituted a major threat to any city of decent, good-hearted people. The full 126th Augustana might not be able to stop one in the field.  And there were two.

The brothers had faced them on their own and survived. No wonder Iomedae had taken notice of them.

“At least our immediate objectives are the same”, Nyra begun, “to apprehend Horryn and retrieve what is ours.”

Cael’s frown darkened a shade at apprehend but he said nothing.

“You believe Horryn is the one you were sent here to resist”, Belon asked and leaned a bit over the table towards Nyra, his eyes fixed on her.

That was the most important question. She knew full well she was risking her own integrity and that of the 126th Augustana’s, and if she made the wrong conclusion she and her company were doomed.

“It looks obvious.” She held her carefully polished gauntlets in the table before her and saw her reflection there. If she makes the wrong commitment, Nyra contemplated the woman in the reflection, Iomedae help her. She recalled the dream she had had, and how it had been right about the warrior-brothers. She had to stay strong in her faith. Finally, she turned to Shevar.

<What do you think, of everything?>

<Simplest answer is often the right one>, the tigress signed back and let out a long yawn. <And I don’t like the arrogant bastard.>

<Me neither.>

<Just don’t get too attached with the blue-eyed to compromise your ability to act when needed.>

<What->

“It’s rude”, Belon said, smiling and not that offended, “to whisper in a party.”

Nyra’s mouth was open. “I was just asking Shevar for her opinion.”

“And you didn’t like it?”

“She agrees with us”, Nyra said, sending a gaze of daggers at her scout-master. The tigress made a curious stuttering hiss – her way of laughing.

“My question remains”, the brooding half-elf cut in with the impatient comment.

“We can’t approach the General Lords directly as he has conveniently with your help protected his back and made himself look the victim”, Nyra though aloud, “but maybe we can provide the evidence of his wrongdoings to them indirectly?”

Cael snorted. “What, send them an anonymous letter listing the charges against Horryn and telling them to storm his estate?”

“You have a better idea?” Nyra snapped back.

Cael nodded, utterly disregarding her hostility, looking nowhere past the paladin. “Your company leads an assault against the Horryn estate, hopefully drawing the attention of at least one of the greater devils, while I and my brother sneak in and attack Horryn.”

Nyra fought back a laugh. It would not have been a proper response. Instead, she went deadpan, more fitting to her position. “That’s your plan?” Before the scarred half-elf could structure a response, she went on. “The time we’d get through the thick gates of his estate, a thousand angry guardsmen would be upon us. You are brave, Cael Greymarsh, but that would be foolish.”

Cael rubbed the ridge of his broken nose with his thumb, eyes closed. Nyra felt his unnatural, blazing aura push against her. Something sinister walked beyond the flames. She could sense Shevar’s distress, the fangs glinting between curling lips, the raised hair on her back and tail. Then it was gone.

Completely gone.

“I’ll need more time to think this through”, Cael’s voice was low and he breathed deep. Nyra pondered what went inside the head of the half-elf – and what hid in his soul.

“You’re not alone in this”, Belon brought his hand to his brother’s cloaked shoulder. “We’ll get them back.”

Clear as the skies after the rain, Nyra saw the worry and love Belon had for his brother. He was a good man.

It remained to be seen what kind of man Cael was.

**

The half-elves refused the paladin’s offer to move into the Cathedral of Iomedae. It was a sound idea to hide the men where no-one would look for them, but Cael wanted as few of the cultists to know of their co-operation as possible.  Cael didn’t trust them – he understood the precarious situation the paladin was putting herself into by working with the brothers, proven by her First Lance-Commander’s words and actions.

So the holy warriors exited the Angry Bull without ceremony, leaving the Greymarshes and Sefina to an empty inn.

“Damned extremists”, Sefina grumbled behind the counter, “walking in and bullying us like they owned the place.”

“Thankfully it turned out alright”, Belon sighed.

The grumpy innkeeper harrumphed. “They closed the place for the night so I might as well clean up.”

Still at the table, Cael pulled back his hood and scratched his stubble hair.

“That was.. A weird meeting”, he admitted. “I wouldn’t have expected them to offer their help.”

“That paladin was special”, Belon commented across the table, then cleared his throat. “I mean, unlike any other soldier of Iomedae I’ve met.”

Cael rolled his eyes.  He had seen how his brother had ogled the young woman. But he was right – in a way. Visions of Iomedae or not, a typical paladin with their nose up their ass would not have left without a fight. One would not have arrived with such a proposition in the first place.

“We have no idea whether we can rely on them or not.” Cael didn’t like it but he had to include them in his other plans. If nothing else they could work as a distraction.

Belon finished his ale. “Where were you? Let me guess – seeing Magister Galicus?”

There was no point in lying or evading the topic. “I was.”

Belon went tight-lipped. “So?”

“He will help us.”

“How, and moreover, why?”

Cael rubbed his misshapen nose. “He has a grudge against the House. I don’t know.”

Belon’s eyebrows rose. “You’re awfully trusting of him.”

“And you don’t like him.”

“It’s not that. He seems a fine gentleman but I have to question his motives.”

“He’s a former slave, like us”, Cael sighed. “He says he despises the Houses that have a habit of taking slaves against their will. He says he would’ve done something to them himself if he’d ever had the chance.”

“So he’s perfectly fine with assisting in the murder of a nobleman he hardly knows.”

Cael grimaced. “We don’t know anything about his and Horryn’s relationship. He could’ve been the bastard’s slave for fuck’s sake. A tutor like Old Kozov was, rest his soul. And murder – don’t you fucking grow a conscience now.”

Belon’s eyes went thin. “I’m just looking at the situation from his perspective.”

“He sees it like we do – righteous justice for all the shit Horryn has done.”

“Fine, fine. How can he help, did you talk about that?”

A slight, content smile rose to Cael’s lips. He was particularly pleased how the old alchemist could help them.

“First, he can get us inside Horryn’s city manor. Second, he can supply us with an experimental explosive material he has been working on which is very powerful. We could blow up the damn estate, Belon.”

“Experimental explosives. I know nothing of alchemical bombs but those two words together don’t really evoke any confidence.”

“He said it’s the same stuff they use in muskets, called black powder. It’s reasonably safe to use.”

“Those you got almost shot with in Magnimar?” Firearms were laughably rare in Golarion, and it had been Cael’s second time and Belon’s first time seeing one in action.

“Yes. Only we’d use a lot more in one go. A lot more.”

“Isn’t that expensive?”

Cael sniffed. “We have the platinum, don’t we?”

“Of course”, then Belon looked straight at Cael. “Are we telling Nyra about Aurora and Gabriella? And the fact we’re not only after Horryn himself but his family too?”

“I don’t see why she would need to know.”

Belon leaned back and crossed his arms.

“Did Galicus tell about the family?”

“He did. Both of his sons are dead, quite recently even.”

“The little monsters are gone?” Even better-natured Belon couldn’t hide his disgust of the two.

Cael nodded. Horryn had had two sons, a bit younger than the Greymarshes, called Quentus and Davokles. Both had been as sadistic and proud as their father but without any of his intelligence or charisma. Cael had often thought of them as two yapping little dogs that kept either biting your ankles or trying to mount you, and had never been housetrained. Horryn had not hidden his contempt of his own sons. Maybe that was one reason why his return had taken so long.

“His uncle, Medion, is dead as well, as are the cousins.”

“Damn, our work is half-done”, Belon tried some half-hearted, black humor without actual mirth, then: “Who else is there?”

“The word is that Horryn has remarried, and his new wife, an oblivious, young and pretty foreigner, is pregnant. She never leaves the estate, so no-one really knows for sure.”

Cael saw the hesitation in Belon and didn’t hide it. “You think Nyra won’t like us.. Taking care of the mother. That’s exactly why we can’t disclose all our plans to her.”

Belon shook his head in reply. “That’s not all to it..”

“We talked about this. Nothing has changed, Belon. Fifteen or twenty years later, someone will come after us if we don’t finish everything here, now. We have to win the war. If we want to be free, this is what we have to do. If I want a life with Aurora and my daughter, we need to be ruthless. We need to do this my way.”

His brother’s face darkened, but he kept silent. Silence is approval, isn’t it, Cael thought.

“So you’ll kill one innocent woman and her baby to get Aurora and Gabriella back?”

Like a fighter absorbs the shock of a hammer hitting his shield, Cael felt the irony but wasn’t fazed by it.

Gods damnit brother.

Yes I will.

Because they are all that matter.

“I’ll get some sleep”, Belon said deadpan and left Cael to his thoughts.

**

Jocelyn was as receptive as a stonewall when Nyra walked out of the Angry Bull with Shevar. Nyra’s anger had dissipated quickly, but seeing Jocelyn’s face reminded how insulting her disobedience had been.

“That won’t happen again”, Nyra told her First Lance-Commander, frowning, a finger pointing up at her. “I need you to follow my lead, First Lance-Commander.”

“Yes, my lady.” She stood in attention, betraying no emotion, the honor guard behind her.

Nyra knew perfectly well she was bubbling underneath. And she being mad made her mad. Jocelyn had told her she had faith. Faith in Iomedae, faith in her. How could she let her down like that?

“Am I clear?” Her voice was high.

“Yes, my lady.”

Nyra shook her head and waved her off.

“Honour guard, right turn, march!” Jocelyn roared at their men and in unison, the ten-man troop spun in a single line and set off with the holy knight at their lead, to the bewilderment and curious smiles and pointed fingers of the few locals yet gone to bed.

The young paladin let them march a distance before she started after them, using the time to cool off. Shevar had a lantern with a fire and it lighted their way in the darkness of Lowgrove. The district was almost empty – there were little to no people, but Nyra could hear muffled talking, shouts and laughter, dogs barking and buzzing of insects, see their lantern light reflected from cats’ eyes. It would’ve been mesmerizing, almost dreamy, hadn’t it been a place where you could get robbed and killed by turning a wrong corner.

It reminded her of home.

“This is like Fishtown”, she told her oldest friend who walked abreast.

<Without the smell of fish>, Shevar signed the reply.

“The place is cleaner, I admit”, Nyra smiled, then sniffed the air. “Augustana could use a sewer system like Canorate’s.”

<Canorate is dirtier than Augustana>, the scout-master signed, then stopped, searching for the right word, <on the inside.> Their sign-language wasn’t nuanced, but it got the job done.

“You are right, my friend.” Then, signing: <What will I do with her?> The language didn’t have signs for people’s names, so she nodded towards Jocelyn.

Shevar raised her gaze from where she stepped to the knight marching before them. She went with purposeful strides, without looking back.

<She’ll need more persuasion and time.>

Nyra sighed.

<I’m afraid we don’t have the time. If the brothers are right – if they’re honest – the slaver has our man, and others. We have to get in somehow and save them, and I need her to be committed.>

<For what it’s worth, my instincts are telling me the brothers are being honest. Evasive, but honest.>

<I’m glad.> She hesitated. <Before, I felt lost. I didn’t know what we should do. You finding the brothers was a blessing of our Lady.>

Nyra felt the guiding hand of Iomedae on her once again and it invigorated her faith.

“We are on the right path, I know it”, she said aloud, more to herself than Shevar. Maybe she hoped Jocelyn would hear her too, but she was too far away.

The lantern in Shevar’s furred hand swayed in rhythm with their steps.

<But what if she is right about the brothers already having served their purpose to us?>

Two great warriors, brothers, come to Canorate, the capital of Molthune, and will play a central role in ensuring the darkness never rises. In their own way they will help you.

Nyra recalled her vision in perfect clarity, yet the message itself was vague.

<Our Lady told me they’ll help me in their own way. I refuse to believe their way is acting as glorified messengers. No, they are warriors, and they will fight with us.>

<Until we have to fight the other.>

“Until we have to fight Cael Greymarsh.”