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Chapter 3

Within every community, there is always the elder. Wise beyond their years, the history of the village or town will live in their memories and be passed on to the next generation in their stories. As places grow and their history lengthens, so to must the vessel of its memories. For the Blood Tribunal, the hall of Memory replaced whatever need for an elder they had and allowed objects of great value to be immortalised. As the assembled committee descended the stairs and filed into the hall, a curious Lorekeeper poked his head out of the library, his mouth open and an agitated look on his face.

‘Evenin’, miss Provost.’ He said nervously as Kelrizza shot him a glare that could shatter walls. Something in his head was telling him venturing more would mean fewer books and more brooms in his future. Scuttling back into the library, he pretended to browse an old record as the party disappeared from view.

Those invited to the meeting arranged themselves carefully on the benches. Like all rooms in the Spire, the Memorial hall was triangular. Three long, grey benches carved from the same stone as the Spire were the only furniture that could be seen. Upon the two main walls, behind two great seals on the floor, were tributes to the previous cabals of Order. The Justice cabal to the west, with its commemorative poem and the Arbiters to the east, where a portrait of their patron Lord Stellyx was hung. Each had been the Law enforcers of Thera, as well as champions for the cause of Order, in times past. As one had fallen, another had taken its place until the Tribunal had been formed. Balancing the Aribters book of Law that both protects and serves its citizens with the Justice’s sword that carves apart those who oppose it, the organisation had yet to fail. In their first great war, they defeated the Barons of Entropy and destroyed all traces of their twisted, lawless ways. They had overcome the Sylvan threat with their might and now that everyone was seated, it was clear something was not right once more.

‘Where is the mark?’ ventured a dark-robed Magistrate, turning his rounded human face to inspect the northern tapestry wall where it once hung.

‘Moved to a safer location, to be kept secret for now.’ Replied Kelrizza. The air began to sharpen as her gaze met each of those present. Optom shuffled gently on his seat, his legs dangling above the floor. He was still unsure why he’d been invited and Kaplanov held back but he couldn’t help feeling excited, despite the glum look of his associates. He placed his long-fingered hands under his thighs in an attempt to keep them still. His slowing spell was failing to keep down his fidgeting.

‘There have been developments elsewhere, an old ‘friend’ has returned and begun a rebellion out in the Emerald forest.’

‘Bloody wood-elves.’ Muttered Odrirg into his beard. Optom was experimenting with an ear-enhancing spell and it seemed to be picking up more than he’d anticipated.

‘Voronil Flivi, once an important figure amongst the Warders has founded a new faith. He’s begun recruiting apprentices from around the forest to perform rituals in the name of this new God and it’s become clear to our spies that his power is increasing at a worrying rate. Given his recent movements against the logging camps and the goblin outpost, we expect him to be within striking range of Galadon in just two weeks.’ Announced Kelrizza, as she circled the benches. Optom felt momentarily distracted by the echoing noise of a whimpering librarian.

They all knew a Priests power depended much upon their Patron and new gods often had little power. How powerful mortals’ attained god-hood was unclear but there were a few key things one would need. Moving beyond mortal reach, they would need great artefacts to shield them, a weapon attuned to their purpose and a cult of followers to give themselves the greatest chance of survival. Even then they’d be bargaining into a realm no one on Theran understood, where the Gods had an uneasy alliance and orchestrated their plans through mortal hands. To Optom’s left, he thought he heard someone break wind. He was thankful he hadn’t enhanced his nose, too.

‘Then what does the mark have to do with this?’ asked the High priest edgily.

‘Since the destruction of the Sylvan Warders, its power has been nearly non-existent. We believed it was spent in the ritual but recently I’ve noticed some activity from it. An ally of our cause has informed me it may have to be destroyed. Its forger has the power, but we are unable to find him… or ‘it’ at present.’

Kelrizza paused, glancing at the Executioner. Optom had the feeling something was not being said.

‘I’ve called this committee as there are actions we must take to make sure he gets no closer. There are still rogues such as Flarkle alive, that could flock to his aid should he gain enough momentum. None of us want this to happen as it could undo all we’ve done so far to crush the scum.’ It was uncharacteristic of Kelrizza to sneer but the curling of her lip did not seem voluntary. She quietly clenched her fist and moved silently back into the middle of the benches. She began turning on the spot, glaring coldly at each Magistrate in turn. A time passed, before she turned to Odrirg, who nodded quietly at her and was the first to stand up and leave briskly. At last, she turned to Optom who jumped up when a cool, calm voice entered his mind.

‘Take Magistrate Grurk of Hamsah, assume civilian status and leave the city to the west. Guard the Western road, provide reports on enemy movement and keep an eye on the forests. These are your orders, keep them secret until notified.’

The voice broke off and left Optom feeling both excited and worried. It was clear to him now only trusted Magistrates had been invited but what did it all mean? Could they be on the edge of another war? Shaking his head, as if to dislodge something, Optom regained his senses and followed the small line of people out of the room to leave only the High priest and Executioner with the Provost. His ears could pick up no signs of conversation but he thought he could hear the tinkling of something, in the background. Amongst the noises of the wind and the rain, there was something almost like… a child, giggling. Optom shook his head once more, and took a deep breath. The air was still somewhat static and had a sharp, sulphurous tinge.

‘Perhaps there won’t be war.’ He thought to himself.

The Provost had acted unusually fast and maybe it would avert disaster. Optom stopped suddenly in his tracks. He didn’t know if she intended for him to leave now , in the middle of the storm, or if he could wait till morning. Finally, deciding a good nights rest and a hearty mushroom breakfast would be wiser, Optom headed quickly back to the dormitories through the pouring rain.

That night, in his rain soaked robes, he dreamt of finding an enormous sapphire in a cave. Surrounded by small flecks of gold, it looked like a brilliant burst of blue against the darkness. It was beautiful to behold and yet something about it’s appearance disturbed him, deeply. He awoke the next morning to find himself soaked with sweat.