As the full moon turned the domes of the imperial palace into silver orbs, a lone figure crept through the empty corridors, just another shadow in a court of shadows. It crossed halls and gardens, carefully concealing itself behind trees and statues, hiding in niches or behind curtains. It seemed to know exactly when and where the night guard did its patrols so it slid right through the sentries without being noticed.
From time to time, its way was barred by a seemingly insurmountable obstacle - a dead end or a locked door. But even this was unable to slow down the midnight traveler. A low whisper, a hand touching the cold stone, and the lone figure was gone. It seemed to melt into the castle’s walls, only to reappear some moments later a few hallways away from where it started.
Its unusual travels led the shadow to a secluded building in the middle of a lush garden. It knocked on the door and not a minute later it swung wide open to reveal a youth in the tidy gray uniform of an apprentice priest.
“Lord Argente, my master awaits you.”
The masked man followed the servant to a small room. Its interior was almost completely bare - no statues, niches, or tapestries obscured the walls, giving a spy or assassin nowhere to hide. There was also almost no furniture save a table with two chairs before a crackling fireplace. One of the chairs was currently occupied by a dignified figure clad in white.
“Master Argente,” Primate Ambrosinus nodded at him for a greeting, “so good to see you again. I’ve missed your company. Please, take a seat. ”
“I share your sentiments, Your Holiness." The man took the free chair. "But as a confidant to Prince Lionel, I am bound to follow my master even through the gates of hell if needed.”
“Such loyalty is commendable,” praised the Primate and turned to his servant. “Leave us now.”
The youth bowed and retreated, closing the door tightly behind his back. Left alone, Primate Ambrosinus sighed in relief.
“It’s not that I don’t trust the boy but he is still too young and naïve. He might misinterpret what he sees or hears and it would be a pity to dispose of such a young and promising soul. But enough of that, tell me, Master Argente, how is His Highness doing? Today's audience was quite… tumultuous."
"The Second Prince is perfectly fine, Your Holiness. I will relate your sentiments to him," he answered politely, ignoring the goblet of wine that the priest filled up for him.
"That is a relief," sighed Primate Ambrosinus and sipped from his own wine. "His Majesty's reaction this morning was a bit too close for comfort. We should thank the Gods for Their protection."
"Indeed. And thank the High Pontifex for being the Prince's granduncle."
The remark made the corner of the cleric's eye twitch for a second, but his facial expression remained otherwise unchanged. Ambrosinus drummed his fingers on the table.
"I still wonder whether such a risk was even worth it."
"Using the Southern Campaign to weaken the forces of his political opponents?" Master Argente played with the goblet in his hand. "I would say that every dead body left on those sandy planes is one less man in the Crown Prince's faction."
"Yes, yes, His Highness did well to choose so many of the participating knights from the opposing side. Even the general used as a scapegoat was among the Crown Prince's supporters. Alas, the greatest threat remains at large."
"Your assassins did their job poorly." Lord Argente peered at the cleric from behind his mask. "The Prince relied on your help… Such a pity."
"That..." Ambrosinus stiffened. "The arrow reached its target. Who could have thought that the bastard is so resilient?"
"Indeed." The masked man's tone was dripping with sarcasm. "The over twenty failed attempts on his life surely prove nothing. So little, in fact, that it was not even worth using a proper poison on the arrow. Well, at least this taught the Prince a valuable lesson."
"Is that so?"
Master Argent could see tiny beads of sweat appearing on the other man's forehead.
"Yes, Your Holiness. One should always test the goods before using them. The same goes for men."
"Indeed, indeed. By the mercy of the Two Gods, every encounter and adversity is a lesson for the future." The cleric managed to regain his composure. Plastering a benign smile on his face, he desperately tried to change the subject.
"But my dear Master Argente, you didn't even have a single sip from your cup. This is the best wine from my personal vineyard. I only treat my best friends and most important guests to it. Or do you fear it is poisoned?"
A low laugh escaped from behind the silver mask, making the cleric flinch.
“Being so persistent… It’s sometimes commendable but more often a dangerous trait, Your Holiness.” The muffled voice of Master Argente carried threat beneath its pretend cheerfulness. “But if you insist, I’ll take you on your kind offer.”
With a slow, gracious move, he lifted the cup with his right hand, while his left pushed his silver mask slightly to the side. Primate Ambrosinus gasped and pressed a handkerchief against his mouth, his dignified expression changing to one of utter horror and disgust. Hurriedly averting his gaze, the cleric missed the thin smile stretching his companion’s lips as he took a sip.
‘Nosy dolt,’ Master Argente thought while savoring the taste of the excellent wine. He could imagine very well what the old man was seeing - a deformed jawline covered with red bumps; shriveled, flaky skin threatening to peel off any second. The cleric’s quivering face brought him dark delight.
Ambrosinus was no different than any other courtier - disdainful, harboring illusions of superiority despite his mental capacity pointing otherwise, and selectively blind when it suited him. People like the Primate were so easy to fool. One only needed to show them a couple of artistically gruesome scars and that was all they would remember, even under threat of heavenly punishment. Well, at least now the old goat would stop pestering him with his silly tricks to discover his identity.
“B-blessed be the Saints! You have the snake-hide disease!” The other man finally found his words again, still pressing the handkerchief to his mouth and nose.
“Fret not, Your Holiness,” Master Argente said cheerfully, putting down the cup and covering his face. “My condition is not contagious. Not anymore.”
“You must praise the Two Fathers for sparing your life, child! Not even one in ten survive such affliction.”
“I do, Your Holiness. That’s why I've dedicated my life to serving the Second Prince and the Church. Now, should we go back to the main topic?”
With a sharp nod, Primate Ambrosinus stood from his chair and approached the fireplace. His fingers pressed a hidden switch and the wall to the right from the cheerfully crackling flames moved to the side. The cleric bent and lit a candle from the fireplace and then led his guest into the secret passage, careful to keep some distance between them.
The two started climbing down a long spiral staircase that dove deep under the castle grounds. As they descended, the Primate rekindled the conversation, his forced cheerfulness making his voice a tad higher than usual.
“Ever since we received the shipment a month ago, we have made considerable progress. That herb is virtually impossible to come by here in the north, and those godless dogs don't export their "holy root" outside of the Marzbanats. We were starting to worry that we might never be able to implement your findings on a larger scale. The Second Prince’s campaign to the South was truly a miracle sent by the Gods. Having those fools attack us was indeed divine intervention. The two Gods approve of our hard work to convert the heretics to the right path.”
‘Divine intervention?’ thought Master Argente while carefully stepping down the rundown stairs. ‘Right, more like two crates of gold sent to a couple of unruly Marzbanati commanders.’
“Indeed, this endeavor is blessed by the Gods,” he replied out loud, not a sound out of place to betray his thoughts. “I am eager to see your results.”
The two men finally reached the bottom of the stairs where a metal door barred their way. Primate Ambrosinus took a large key chain from his belt and rummaged a bit in search of the right key.
“You didn’t put any guards?” Lord Argente looked around the underground cavern.
“There is no need,” chuckled the cleric. “It’s not like the wretched souls can run away. But why are you even surprised, you were the one who provided the recipe.”
“Some two years ago, it was just a theoretical concoction, Your Holiness. Theories are different from reality where anything could happen.”
“Well then, see for yourself.”
The Primate opened the door and led the man in. They entered a long, dark tunnel with barred doors on both sides. In every cage, there was a person, all different ages and gender, but they had two things in common – they all lay like dead on the dirty floor without even moving and they all had snow-white hair.
Primate Ambrosinus led his guest to one of the cages and opened the door that wasn’t even locked. On the floor lay a youth of fourteen or fifteen, his white hair sprawled on the dirty ground. Near his head, a small tripod held an incense burner that released the smell of freshly cut grass and flowers.
Kneeling down, the cleric grabbed the youth's hair and yanked his head up. Master Argente could see two frightened blue eyes that were very much awake, contrary to the limp body they belonged to.
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
“As you have demanded, we’ve increased the variety of test subjects. With the amount of root His Highness gathered from those infidels in Amraz, we don’t need to worry about a shortage. And, of course, your little slave operation has provided us with both the funds and the raw materials.”
“I’m glad to be of assistance. So, can we use the Holy Root and the Angel’s tears on a larger scale?”
“Definitely!” There was a triumphant glint in the cleric’s eyes. “Your research theory and recipe are impeccable. Especially considering the Holy Root. There is no need to drink it like the yellow jasmine and it does not make them unconscious like the smoke of the black poppy. And what is more, it paralyzes only these white demons but has invigorating effects on the Two Gods’ children.”
“The old texts did mention the herb being able to seal and purify evil spirits,” pondered master Argente. “How long does the effect last?”
“If not constantly inhaled, they regain some movement after about fifteen minutes to an hour. The younger they are, the longer it lasts. Unfortunately, it has lesser effects on mixed-breeds than on pure-blooded Binshi.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Master Argente waved his hand and kneeled beside the cleric. His nails bore into the young boy’s jaw with enough force to pierce the skin. Red droplets rolled down his thin fingers, but his victim remained unmoving. “Good, completely incapacitated. What about their magic?”
“Do you think we could talk so leisurely here if their devilish powers weren’t bound as well?” snorted Primate Ambrosinus. “We don’t even need to use any of the old artifacts left by the Saints to restrain them anymore. They are as helpless as newborns, their spirits are bound and weakened. Perfect for the application of the Angel’s tears.”
“Broken to be remolded again,” mumbled Master Argente and his heartbeat hastened.
It had been two years of experimentation. Four, if counting the perfection of the Angel’s tears. But his hard work was about to pay off. All the sleepless nights. All the failed concoctions. All the dead bodies he needed to get rid of. But now his concoction was perfect. The Angel’s tears was a miraculous potion, a single dose would make one feel a rush of power, an elation that not even the heights of sexual pleasure could provide. And if a Binshi took it, their magic soared for a brief moment. But the longer one took it, the harsher the backlash and pain, to the point it could kill a person.
The masked man closed his eyes and shuddered.
Not even the proud and powerful Binshi could resist the Tears. His tests in Norden were conclusive. And in combination with the effects of the Holy Root, there was no shaman he couldn’t bend to his will and turn into a loyal dog. Soon, Limeria wouldn’t need to rely on scarce Acolytes to wield some dusty relics.
Emerging from his thoughts, Master Argente registered the ceaseless soliloquy streaming from Primate Ambrosinus’ mouth
“... to call it a blessed reeducation, my friend. In their endless mercy, the Two Gods are willing to show the right path even to the most wretched of creatures, after some persuasion, of course. And what greater purpose for those reformed demon-spawns than joining the Holy Army? By joining they might even get an absolution.”
“In any case, the Second Prince would be happy.” The masked man stood up and wiped his bloodied fingers on a piece of cloth. “It has been the Prince’s wish all along to turn those savages from the North into a fighting force under the Church’s banner. If the project succeeds, defeating the Marzbanats once and for all could be achieved in our lifetime. And who knows, the glory of Limeria and the Two Gods might stretch even further to the East. This would benefit not only the Holy Seat but Limeria as well.”
“Indeed, the Prince is virtuous and wise beyond his age.” Primate Ambrosinus followed his guest. “And I do hope he remains a stout supporter of the Church should he, when the time comes, ascend the imperial throne.”
“Of course, your holiness. The Prince is a benevolent man who treasures his friends. He assured me that he would give a good word about you when he visits his grand uncle, the High Pontifex, next time. He has not forgotten that you are one of the candidates for the Holy Seat, and your great assistance right now is a clear sign of your devotion and leadership. I wouldn’t be surprised if, in the next couple of years, I would need to address you as ‘Your Exalted Holiness’.”
“From your mouth into the Gods’ ears, child!” Primate Ambrosinus gave him a blessing sign.
“And since you are such a benevolent person, you could do the Second Prince a favor.”
“Of course, of course. What does His Highness need from his humble servant?”
“There were a few female shamans in the last batch you started preparing before the Prince departed for the South. Are any of them still usable?”
“Those…” The Primate pondered for a bit. “Two died. One has been on the stubborn side and still hasn’t been completely subdued. But I believe the last one might be to the Prince’s liking. Follow me.”
They exited the cage and walked down the long and winding path, surrounded by unnatural silence and the fragrance of fresh flowers. On equal intervals left and right, more dark paths branched off, creating an endless convoluted labyrinth in the bowels of the Imperial Palace - the secret working grounds of the Church’s alchemists.
Counting the iron-barred doors, Primate Ambrosinus halted before one of them. The keys clanked in his hand, and the light of his candle filled the little moldy cell. In one of the corners, a creature sat hunched, scrawny hands wrapped around its bony knees.
“You,” Primate Ambrosinus barked, pressing his handkerchief against his nose. “Stand up and present yourself.”
The creature slowly stood up and dragged its dirty feet on the ground, a muddled gaze giving them an uninterested glance from behind her tangled hair. Master Argente brushed the matted strands away, revealing a sunken face that looked weathered and aged beyond its actual years.
“Is she even useful?” The masked man peered into her empty eyes.
“Depends on what you want to use her for.”
“Do you imply that the Prince would lay with this thing?”
“No, no!” The Primate hurriedly waved his hand. “I mean, she isn’t the strongest of shamans. A bit too young to know complicated hexes and such…”
“I don’t need her to move mountains. Alright, clean her up, feed her, and make sure she’s delivered to my quarters as soon as she stops looking like a bag of bones. And Primate, I hope there will not be any… unexpected accidents when she comes under my care. I’d hate to use a relic to subdue the poor thing.”
“Of course not! She is as docile as a lamb and would do your every bidding.”
The two men exited the cell and took the winding stairs up to the surface. Entering the empty room again, they exchanged a final greeting and Master Argente disappeared into the night. His shadowy figure crawled through gardens and halls, melted into walls, and evaded patrols until he reached his final destination - a secluded little chamber at the very heart of the palace, hidden behind the statue of a long-dead emperor.
The door barring his way had neither a lock nor a handle and looked almost indistinguishable from the surrounding wall - just another artistic niche left by a forgotten architect. But at the man’s touch, it silently moved to the side to reveal a sparsely lit room. There, hunched over a table, sat a man in black with a silver mask identical to the one of Master Argente.
Sensing the new arrival, the second man abruptly turned around. A dagger gleamed in his hand.
“At ease, Six.” Master Argente said lazily. “It’s me.”
Recognizing his master, the man named Six hid away the dagger and fell on one knee. Argente slowly approached him and patted him on the head.
“Were you a good boy? Did you make your rounds as instructed? You made sure the courtiers and guards saw you, right?”
A low, incoherent groan escaped Six’s throat as he vigorously nodded his head.
“There, there. Have you forgotten you can’t speak from excitement? You are such a good boy, Six. Go get some sleep.”
After another wave of incoherent growls, Six went out through a side door, leaving his lord alone. Master Argente looked after him and a thin smile crept under his mask. The young man was sure a promising asset. Hopefully, he would last longer than his predecessors. It wasn’t easy to find and train someone as loyal and as unable to divulge one’s secrets. His bad experience had taught him that only a mute double is a trustworthy one, and cutting tongues was not exactly a recipe for loyalty. Besides, that bitch Nelini and her assassins didn’t contribute to his little pets' longevity. The old hag was persistently trying to kill him for years and if it weren't for Six’s predecessors, he would be long in the grave. Well, sooner or later, that bitch would fall into his hands and he’d make her pay for everything.
Master Argente sighed and took down his mask, throwing it leisurely on the table. His slender fingers scratched the deformed face, pulling off a whole stripe of gray skin.
‘I need a bath,’ he thought and rolled his eyes, knowing very well that the most he would get in this stuffy hideout was a wash with some cold water.
Filling a small basin from the jug on the table, he began rubbing his face, while his thoughts wandered.
The day had been a success on every front. The Emperor had fallen into the trap so easily and now Pandad was no longer the Crown Prince’s asset. Six had been seen enough around the palace to divert attention from his real whereabouts. And Primate Ambrosinus had delivered not only good news on their long-term project but also given him a nice little insurance for the next stage of the game. Everything was running smoothly, except… There was a tiny speck of dust staining his impeccable plans. A little, unexpected obstacle. No, rather a variable that he had not predicted.
As dirty water ran down his face, Master Argente remembered two burning brown eyes, staring straight into his soul. The man gritted his teeth, pulsating pain flaring up his right hand. He looked at it. A thick crescent-shaped scar ran between his thumb and index finger. Not even his medicines had managed to remove the traces completely.
She was supposed to be meek, helpless sheep, not the rabid wolf he had met. Just a mere pawn in the grander scheme. Yet, somehow, the pawn was already disturbing the flow of the game and about to turn into a real queen. Master Argente didn't like it when things got out of his control. Simply thinking of her made his blood boil. That bastard had personally come to rescue her! To think she would ensnare the Beast of Norden in such a short time… He needed to reevaluate her and take the appropriate measures as soon as his Binshi allies contacted him again.
A vicious smile bloomed on his face. The Duchess of Norden could only be a pawn in his hand or a corpse under his feet. And the more that damn bastard loved her, the more pleasant crushing her would be.
***
Cold.
Emptiness.
A shoreless sea of darkness engulfed the world. Amidst the endless expanse, a feeble spark floated all alone.
Curled up like a baby, Lorelei shivered uncontrollably. The fear binding her limbs was a real, palpable creature - a monster of seaweed and smoke tentacles, of death and magic. It entangled her. It pierced every inch of her being. Its hungry tendrils looked for the little light glowing in her chest.
Her life-core.
Lorelei screamed, but no sound escaped her throat. She cried, but no tears fell from her eyes. There was nothing around her. There was nothing in her. Only one flickering life-core. And it was a fake one.
Floating into the endless darkness, numbness spread over her body.
Why did she care? Why did she fight? Maybe if she let go of everything… the pain would stop? Was there even a place for her outside the darkness? A fake duchess. A fake life. Playing the role of a human when she was just a mere vessel to be claimed by a higher power.
She was so tired. Maybe if she turned off that last flickering light, the darkness would bring her peace. Maybe… everyone would do better without her. She was a bother anyway.
“Now those are some dark thoughts.” A tranquil voice suddenly echoed in the darkness.
Silver mist began enveloping Lorelei into a glowing cocoon.
“W-who are you?” she stuttered, the warmth of the new light slowly filling up her body. “Are you a nesvet… a saint? Will you devour me now?”
“Oh, my, no! Not quite. You don’t know me, but I have been watching over you for some time now. But since I was too weak, I couldn’t speak freely to you until now, little sister.”