Table of Contents – (spoilers)
The Pekot Bunch rode on down the Spitzer road from Bristlehump in the dead of night, going as fast as the road conditions allowed. The specter of Sneed and his men closing in on them from behind drove them on, although none of them articulated this fear, lest they seem a coward. So they rode wordlessly, lost in their own thoughts.
As the light of dawn broke, however, the shadow of Sneed receded along with the dark, and their spirits rallied. In the light, it became clear that Choke’s steed, Nike, required attention. The arrow had not penetrated his haunch deeply, and he had born up well, but the blood all down his leg was a shock.
The squad stopped at a spot with good cover to surveil a straight stretch of road back the way they had come. Pinch and Knuckle took up watch with their bows and Peep and Choke attended to Nike.
“I’m sorry, boy. I’m sorry. You’re a good boy, you did marvelously. You saved me. You did!” Choke soothed him, stroking his muzzle face and neck as Peep looked at the wound.
“It’s not too bad,” Peep said. “Shouldn’t be a full lay-on-hands of Stron’s healing. Not like yours. He nearly fuckin did ye there.”
“Yes. It’s past dawn. Your gifts from Stron should have recharged.”
Peep flexed her fingers and gave her hands a shake. “Yup!” she said cheerfully. She laid her hand upon Nike’s arrow wound and said, “Stron, heal this horse, please. For he is a good boy!”
Choke soothed Nike further, who nickered as the arrow was pushed from him.
“Good lad! All better,” Peep gave Nike a friendly pat on the fresh scar on his haunch. “Okay, mount up! Let’s move!”
Riding on, they stayed in a tighter formation than necessary so that they could talk.
“Well, that was fuckin intense. Dixon’s dead, right?” Peep asked Choke.
“Without a doubt,” Choke answered.
“That was Sneed, right?” Knuckle asked.
“Ye fuckin think? Yeah, of course it fuckin was, Knucklehead,” Peep said.
“Well, how’d he know to wait for us there? And ye said that he said he was going back to his camp!” Knuckle pushed on.
“Well, wherever him and his boys were laying their heads, they obviously heard that fuckin alarm bell the soldiers were ringing. And he woulda smelled the smoke. It took us for fuckin ever to get to the church through all the peasants. Then there was all the fucking around with Barrelmender. He had enough time to get set up, obviously,” Peep said.
“But how’s he know to do it there?”
“Because he’s awesome, that’s how.”
“Awesome, ye say. For fuck sakes, Peep,” Pinch said.
“Fuckin rights he is! Listen man, ye didn’t hear the way he was talking to Dixon at the hoorhouse. Just that alone made the guy a hero to me. As to how he knew to set up there, well, it’s a great fuckin spot. Whether he saw Tully’s burning, or just got to town and assumed it, he sets up there so’s he can watch the south gate and have a listen. If the Chisel, or whoever, shows up, then he can come out and have a word. If it’s us, he’s got a shot. And he’s got an open road to fall back to his home base, or the Tanglefoot.”
“Well, if he’s so fuckin smart, why’d he put Dixon down and let us go? Dixon wasn’t shit!” Knuckle said, obviously affronted that he, or any of his fellows, had not been deemed a more valuable target.
“To us he wasn’t shit anymore. We’re done with him. But who the fuck is Sneed working for, man? Think about that. We get Dixon in front of Father Morrenthall, or whoever, with the evidence we have on him, and he’s gonna spill his fuckin guts. And the fucker’s been running a payroll scam for Outfit bosses for a year, or something, right? If yar an Outfit man, that motherfucker has gotta go. Priority number one. And set up like he was, as nice as that was, Sneed’s gonna know that they’re only gonna put one or two of us down. He did the needful, man. Got’er done like a good company man.”
“And what do you think he’s likely doing now?” Choke asked.
“Well, fuck, seeing as he aint sticking horseshoes up our ass right now, I guess he didn’t like his chances of catching up to us on the road. So he must be heading out to do whatever the fuck he was planning to do anyway. He told Dixon that might take a couple of weeks. So we got a bit of time.”
“Before he comes at us with his actual plan that he has confidence in,” Pinch said.
“Exactly!” Peep said brightly. “He set Dixon and the Chisel loose on us, sure, but that was just tidying up, right? Whether we kill them or they kill us, it saves him doing it when it’s time for him to clean up the whole mess at the end. Dixon was dead either way, man.”
“And the Chisel? Sneed wanted him dead, too?” Knuckle asked.
“How the fuck should I know? Who cares?”
“Okay. But if this is all so, then why are you so cheerful about it?” Pinch asked.
“Because it’s finally gonna be go time with this guy for real! Game on, man! Game fuckin on! We all gotta die sometime, right? Getting done by the best is an honor. And I like our chances of getting him. After all, we got Stron on our side!”
Peep grinned widely and held her palm up. When Knuckle raised his towards her, she gave him a hard high-five. Then Pinch and Choke followed.
“Fuckin A!” Knuckle bellowed.
“Amen,” Choke seconded.
With this, they rode on to Spitzer in silence. It was comfortable this time.
***
The squad reached Spitzer without incident just before midday and went straight to the Church. They rode around the side to the stables and dismounted. The church’s custodian and quartermaster, the widowed Mrs Dunn, came out of her kitchen’s door to scowl at them.
“You’re back already? You’ve barely been gone a week!”
“Today is Saturday, is it not, Mrs Dunn?” Choke asked.
“Yes. It is.”
“Well then, ma’am, we have been gone from here for ten days. And, if I may, it is a great relief to see you again, Mrs Dunn,” Choke said earnestly.
“Huh. Well, it seems you’ve had some trouble. Your mount took a wound, did he?”
“He did, ma’am. But, Otilla was able to put it right, thank you. As she did mine. And as for trouble, we have given more than we received. Although, I will admit, this last scrape was too close for comfort. But that is not why we are here. We have much to report from Bristlehump. I don’t suppose Father Morrenthall has returned from Bitina, has he, ma’am?” Choke asked.
“He has. He is in his office preparing tomorrow’s sermon. But you were wounded, you say? Where was it, lad?” Mrs Dunn said, looking uncharacteristically compassionate as she came over to Choke.
“A warbow arrow in the back. From range, thankfully, ma’am.” Choke turned to show her his shoulder.
“Ah. So it was. Well, praise Stron for his healing, then, for that must have been a bad one. Well, you’d best have that armor off and I’ll see to getting it mended. And I’ll tell the Father that you’re here requiring an audience.”
“Thank you, ma’am. I’ll bring it to you as soon as I’m done tending my horse.”
Mrs Dunn shook her head, her normal demeanor restored:
“No. That does not work for me. If you lot are here, I need to set to cooking you a proper lunch, so I’ll need that off of you now, so that we can get it tended to immediately. Have it off now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Choke said, dipping his head deeply, knowing better than to argue with her. “Give me a hand, Knuckle.”
When he and Knuckle almost had the armor off, Mrs Dunn said:
“The doublet, too. Brunkhart will see to it. Any of the rest of you need any repairs? Stack what you need tended to on the bench there. I’ll send a lad to get one of Michal’s lads to fetch it.”
“Who’s Brunkhart?” Peep asked.
“The armorsmith up at the fort.”
“Okay, then. He’s the one that made this for me,” Peep said, jabbing her brigandine vest with her thumb. “Worked a treat stopping that arrow, but it tore up the leather shell a bit. Couldn’t hurt to have him have a look at it.”
Peep got out of her armor while Mrs Dunn hurried off to find her errand boy.
By the time the squad had finished unsaddling, washing, and brushing down their horses, Mrs Dunn had lunch almost finished. It was broiled venison with potatoes and carrots, to be washed down with a good black ale. Mrs Dunn took a tray to Father Morrenthall in his side of the church’s transverse before serving them.
“The Father shall hear your confessions after lunch,” Mrs Dunn reported as she served.
“Thank you, ma’am,” Choke said, wincing internally as he remembered that he had accrued more sins of lust than Knuckle since their last confession with Father Morrenthall.
Choke was the first into the confessional booth. Having submitted to the Zone of Truth spell that Father Morrenthall placed upon him, Choke gave him a thorough report of the last several weeks, which was as much a debriefing as it was a confession. There was a lot to get through and it took some time. When Father Morrenthall had finished asking his few questions of clarification and investigation, he traced the Wheel towards Choke through the lattice that separated them.
“Very good, my son. I absolve you of your sin. Go forth in peace with Stron’s blessing.”
Having expected to be dragged before the altar to have his sin burned from him with Stron’s Holy Fire, Choke sat, stunned into silence.
“You may go, my son. I would hear Otilla’s confession next. Please send her to me. Then busy yourself as you would here at the church. After your confessions I shall want to speak to you and Otilla in my office.”
“But… Father. My sin. The woman at the tower burning… we… we copulated! And you absolve me so easily?”
“This upsets you, my son? Do you question my judgement in this matter?” Father Morrenthall asked, sounding amused.
“No, Father! But, last time, you burned us with Stron’s Holy Fire! As you should have! And gave us penitence of prayer. And now, to be absolved so easily… it’s just a surprised, is all, Father,” Choke said.
“I suppose it must be. Very well, I shall explain myself to you. When you first came to me, I had no notion of who you were. Presenting yourselves as good Stronians and potential warriors of the faith, I put you to the harshest test. If Stron had burned you terribly, then I would know your worth and be saved the task of discarding you myself. However, it is within my discretion when to use Stron’s Holy Fire to cleanse sin. And I choose not to do so now. And why do you suppose that I choose not to, my son?”
“Father. I suppose because we have been doing Stron’s work as warriors of the Faith. But—”
“But, nothing,” Father Morrenthall interrupted. “That is the start and the end of it. You have done good work. First in Callic, and now in Bristlehump. What are some Our Father and Vengeful Stron prayers in comparison to that? You are children no longer. You are men. Men who have earned your absolution. This time. Do you understand, my son?”
“Yes, Father.”
“Good. Now, go and send Otilla to me.”
Peep, and then Knuckle, went through their confessional similarly unscathed. However, with Pinch, Father Morrenthall deemed it necessary to put him on his knees before the altar, with the rest of the squad kneeling behind him. There, the cleric re-tonsured Pinch with a burning hand laid upon his scalp. Having just managed to regrow some hair from the last time, Pinch looked truly miserable, as much from the shame of it as the pain.
“Let this be a lesson to all of you!” Father Morrenthall boomed at them. “Fornicator! Adulterer! Bad enough to be a fornicator, but an adulterer along with it? With the wife of a stout-hearted archer of the kingdom! A man who opened his home to you! A man who even now serves the Baron on a mission to uproot the goblin evil brewing to our north! Shame! Shame! Were it not for the good work you have been engaged in, it would not be extreme of me to burn you to the ground for this crime! And shame on you, too, Otilla, for having enabled such a vile and depraved sin! Shame!”
For her part, Peep almost managed to look chagrined as Father Morrenthall railed at her.
“Now, Nikolas!” he shouted at Pinch. “You will kneel here saying Our Father and Vengeful Stron prayers until I personally tell you otherwise! And as you do, reflect upon what you might do in future to make amends to that good archer, Unger, for so injuring him with your wretched lustfulness with his wife!”
“Yes, Father. I am sorry, Father,” Pinch managed.
“I should hope you are. Now, Theodas,” Father Morrenthall said to Knuckle.
“Yes, Father?” Knuckle said, looking more frightened than he ever had.
“I find it hard to countenance, but it seems you somehow managed to be the least sinful among your fellows. And you have put in good, solid, killing work. Good for you, my son! While your brother Nikolas does his penance, and I am in conference with Bartholomew and Otilla, you may go and inform Mrs Dunn that I authorize her to allot to you one bottle of brandy. As well, for today, she is to serve you as much ale as you wish. Feel free to get as drunk as you want, so long as you stay here in the church or upon its grounds. Enjoy!”
“Thank you, Father!” Knuckle said, his face beaming.
“Not at all. You earned it, my son. Dismissed. Bartholomew. Otilla. You are with me.”
In his office, Father Morrenthall gestured for Peep and Choke to take seats in front of his desk. They waited in silence while he gathered in front of him his writing supplies and some leather document folders from a cabinet. He took his seat at his desk and opened the folders to go through their contents quickly. Then he set fresh parchment down in front of himself and steepled his fingers overtop of it to stare, amused, at the two youngsters in front of him.
“Well,” he finally said. “You have overturned a log in the forest, and what a nest of creatures you have uncovered. What a nest.”
Choke was set to respond to this, but Father Morrenthall raised his hand to stop him.
“So, my son. A magistrate’s apparitor! Good for you! Good lad!”
“Thank you, Father.”
“You said you had documents from Brother Barrelmender, Bartholomew. I should have those now.”
“Ah! They are in my saddlebags, Father. In the stable.”
“Well then you had best fetch them. Hurry now,” Father Morrenthall said, his tone mild.
With Choke gone, Father Morrenthall and Peep stared at each other awkwardly.
“Quite the unseasonably warm weather we are having. Dry. We shall need a good measure of rain soon, or the crops shall be in peril,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Yes, Father. I was just thinking that myself. So, how was Bitina?”
Father Morrenthall chuckled. “Straight for the heart of it you go. I can appreciate that. But, to save myself having to repeat myself for Bartholomew’s benefit, let’s attend to another matter of some importance. Your Wheel brands, Otilla.”
“Yeah?” Peep said, looking wary now.
“They give you powers, do they?”
“Yeah…”
Father Morrenthall stood up and came around his desk to approach Peep. He held his hands out to her.
“Let me see them, child.”
“Yar not gonna cry all over them again, are ye?”
Father Morrenthall blinked and took a moment to stifle his first reaction to this.
“No. I think not. But I would see them again, please.”
“Sure thing, Father.” Peep held her palms out to him.
While visibly affected by the sight of the holy brands, Father Morrenthall held his composure as he leaned in to peer at them intently.
“Thank you,” he finally said, as he straightened up and returned to his desk.
“So, yeah, I got the fire and the healing in them. Found that out during the spider fight at the Old Mill tower in Callic. Father,” Peep said, adding the honorific a beat or two late, as she remembered herself.
“Indeed,” Father Morrenthall said, as he unstoppered his ink bottle and picked up his quill. “As I understand it, your healing functions as a paladin’s, Lay On Hands.”
“So I’m told.”
“But with the happy addition of Neutralize Poison, as well.”
“Yeah. That came in handy sobering Barrelmender up,” Peep said with a smirk.
Father Morrenthall chuckled. “I have no doubt. I would like to have been there to see it.”
“Yeah, it was a sight. So, how is it yar so well informed about my Stron gifts, Father?” Peep asked.
“I have been to see Father Nate and he has submitted his report to me. Now, as for the fire, you may use it three times a day?”
“Yeah. But, I don’t get the feeling that I could bring it outta me just to light a campfire, or something. It’s gotta be combat. Someone’s gotta burn. Or something, I guess. Spiders and spider monsters, and the like.”
“Indeed. By the way, the monster you slew in the tower was most likely an ettercap. An aberration, mix of spider and man brought about by infernal arcane meddling in the natural order of things. It spoke to you, did it?”
“Yeah, it did, Father. Was pissed off about us killing its pet spiders.”
“Without a doubt. Well, good work all around. And the crisis of the encounter was just what you needed to discover Stron’s blessing. Now, one more thing: when you burned the remains of the vile creatures in their lair, Stron’s fire was quite a bit more intense than usual, yes?”
“Oh, yeah. It was wild, Father! It came outta me like a forest fire, or something. And it lit me up, too. Inside, like. If that makes any sense.”
“It does. I can see the change in you, Otilla. It seems you are much more a believer than you were when last we spoke,” Father Morrenthall said with a smirk of his own.
“Yeah, well, I guess that’s right, Father. Stron’s gifts, they’ve come in handy. So it seems like yar way is the way to go. Right?”
“It is right. And correct. And good. Have you been studying our Faith?”
“Yeah. Choke, I mean, Bartholomew’s been teaching me. I’m also learning to read!” Peep said proudly.
“Well good for you! And him. Keep it up. It can only empower you further. Ah, and here is your instructor now. Thank you, my son,” Father Morrenthall said as Choke came in and put his two documents down on the desk before returning to his seat.
Father Morrenthall read them both: the declaration of Bartholomew and the squad as Barrelmender’s apparitor and deputies, as well as the document of Rodolf’s evidence against Lieutenant Dixon. He grunted as he finished.
“You wrote these?” he asked Choke.
“Yes, Father.”
“You form your letters well.”
“Thank you, Father.”
“Do you mind if I keep these documents until they may be appropriately filed with Baron Hart’s steward? I shall want to copy them for my own records.”
“Not at all, Father.”
“Good. Now, about the evidence: you say that Brother Barrelmender did not submit the witness to a Zone of Truth spell, and did not cast Detect Lies on himself?”
“That is correct, Father.”
Father Morrenthall nodded curtly. “That is unfortunate. It is still evidence, of course, but lacks the weight of properly scrutinized testimony. Still, good work. And I agree that it was enough pretext for you to further press this Lieutenant Dixon.”
“Thank you, Father. We were concerned that Brother Barrelmender seems not to be able to cast spells. It was not just in the testimony of the witness. As well, when Otilla sobered him with her Lay On Hands, he did not cast Cure Disease on himself to help his alcohol sickness. Do you think that Stron has turned his back on him?”
“It is possible. Taking a woman such as he has would not be enough, though.”
“Really, Father?” Choke asked.
“Indeed. Stron does not concern himself with such base and worldly matters. But that does not mean that we should not.”
When Father Morrenthall had referenced Barrelmender’s woman, Peep had perked up. Now she looked to Choke sharply:
“Ye told him about Shasta?” Peep asked.
“Yes. As you should have! How did you avoid doing so?” Choke responded.
Father Morrenthall answered this for Peep:
“When I asked her if she had withheld anything from me that she thought I would regard as sinful, she truthfully said, ‘yes.’ When I asked her who it related to, she said, ‘Barrelmender.’ Knowing the truth of it already, I was happy enough to let the matter drop.”
“I see, Father,” Choke said, doing his best to hide his shock at just how much leeway it seemed they now had to skip around boundaries he had been raised to believe were inviolate.
“The woman is one thing. Not good. But like I said: Stron does not seem to concern himself overmuch on such matters of lust. However, I suspect it is Brother Barrelmender’s other derelictions that may have caused a rift with our Lord. In his sloth and apathy, Brother Barrelmender has allowed a heresy to flourish in Bristlehump. Right under his nose. This is not good.”
“I agree, Father,” Choke said.
“However, the state of Brother Barrelmender’s relationship with our Lord, Stron, is not our business. It is his private matter. It may also be possible that he can cast spells, but in his shame is loath to ask Stron for his blessings. But, as I said, that is Barrelmender’s journey. The question is, Bartholomew and Otilla: do you still want to undertake that journey with him?”
“Whad’ye mean by that, Father?” Peep asked.
“Do you still want to do our Lord’s work in Bristlehump, as Brother Barrelmender’s soldiers?”
“Yeah, of course we do, Father! He’s our priest!”
Father Morrenthall looked at Peep incredulously for a long moment before he asked:
“Now, what do you mean by that, Otilla?”
“Well, it’s just that when I first saw him, I got a real strong feeling that he was our priest. That we were just where we’re supposed to be, because that’s where he is.”
“I think, Otilla, the turn of phrase that you meant to use is that you had a strong feeling that you were his soldiers. Yes?” Father Morrenthall said sternly.
“Oh. Right. Yeah, sure thing, Father.”
“But as to the feeling: did you feel the touch of the divine in it? By that I mean, did you feel as though an angel of Stron was telling you so?”
“Yeah. I guess. It was just a strong feeling that we belonged together when I first saw him. Kinda like the itchy palm feeling I get when the fire inside me wants me to get to work, but different. Lower key. Father.”
Father Morrenthall thought about this for a moment.
“The itchy palm feeling, you say. You mean within your Wheel brands?”
“Yes, Father.”
“And when you say, ‘get to work,’ you mean killing, yes?”
“Yes, Father.”
Father Morrenthall nodded. Then he took a minute to write some more. When he was done with that, he against steepled his fingers overtop his document and stared at Peep overtop of them.
“You heard that I went to report to the Bishop about your baptism and brands, as well as the visions I received concerning you and what is to come,” he finally said.
“Yes, Father. I’ve been told the Bishop is a really big deal.”
“Indeed he is. Although not quite so much as he thinks.”
Choke blinked as he could not contain his shock at Father Morrenthall’s statement. Peep, however, nodded reasonably.
“That’s usually the way of it with big men, Father,” she said matter-of-factly.
Father Morrenthall laughed. “Indeed it is, my child. Indeed it is. However, be that as it may, there shall be no avoiding his interference in the handling of you, Otilla.”
“Pardon, Father? The handling of me? What does that mean?” Peep said, immediately pissed off.
“Otilla. You are a Holy Vessel. Otilla of the Holy Fire. A mortal visited by an angel of Stron, or some other agent of the Holy Host, to be transformed into his agent upon Aern. At a time when portents of doom are legion. This is all momentous. Word of you has been sent on to Ban Altas.”
“Is he important too?” Peep asked, as Choke beside her clenched up to avoid shitting his pants.
“Ban Altas is our holy city, Otilla. The center of our Church. Where the Archbishop himself sits as leader of the Faith, with only Stron and Altas above him. And before you ask: he is as big a deal as he thinks he is. As are the men surrounding him,” Father Morrenthall said.
“Umm. Okay, Father. So… what’s gonna happen?”
“Well, that is the question, isn’t it? The Bishop of Bitina and the hierarchy under him is Altarian through and through. That means they worship Altas above Stron. This is fine; just as it should be. For the sheep of the flock, Altas is the better choice. For being weak, they are in need of coddling, like children. However, those of us that worship Stron, we must see to it that the flock is kept safe, and that such coddling by our Altarian brethren does not spoil the children.
“Now, with this being Bitina, on the border with both the unholy Alquinian empire and the domain of the Scythan horse lords, there are plenty of good Stronian militant orders active in the kingdom, and the Altarians cannot shut us out. But they do try. Politics, sadly, always rears its head when men of power compete. It is inevitable. So, Otilla, when news of you and your Stron-given gifts, praise our Lord, reached the Cathedral in Strana, a great competition ensued. A competition to see who could claim you as a prize.”
Peep looked shocked at this. Father Morrenthall let her sit with it until she was ready to speak.
“Well… I don’t like that, Father.”
“Nor should you. But not to worry. A simple battle cleric I might be, and a fallen one is Barrelmender, but our orders are not to be ignored. Not in Bitina. Not even in the Cathedral of Strana, no matter how much the Bishop’s nest of venal, gold-encrusted vipers would have it otherwise. The Knights of the Holy Sword and the Brothers of the Holy Stone are good friends to each other. We each have the other’s back. So, rest easy Otilla, our leaders shall not let the Altarians have their way with you. They shall see to it that you are left free to follow the will of the Holy Spirit placed within you by our Lord, Stron. Rest assured of that, Otilla of the Holy Fire.”
“Uhh… Well, okay then. Thanks for that, Father.”
“You are welcome, Otilla. But, do know that it shall be necessary to include the Cathedral in the investigation of your Holy Possession and any miracles that you may have performed. So, do expect some annoyances with that. All we ask is that you be patient with them. And know that we have your back.”
“Okay. Thank you, Father. But… whad’ye mean, investigation?”
“This is unavoidable. Your baptism, Holy Possession, the gifting of your Wheel brands, your powers, as well as your exploits all must be thoroughly checked and catalogued. The Church will have its say about what you are and what this all has been. That must run its course. And whether you become Saint Otilla, or not, is as much a game of politics as it is divine truth. Facts are never facts until the powerful men have all had their say. But, do not worry, my child, this is not for you to worry about. You must simply continue to do as you have done. Follow the will of Stron and help us fight that evil that can be fought. That is all.”
“Well, yeah, I can do that, Father.”
“I know you can, Otilla. Now, as to that, let us now discuss what is to be done about this nest of vipers you have uncovered, shall we?” Father Morrenthall said.
With this, he carefully put the now-dry parchment of his Otilla of the Holy Fire report in a leather folder and closed it, before setting a fresh parchment down in front of himself.
Muse Vassal 