And the Angelus spoke to Aurelius, promising to the king that they would be the sword and shield of Narvonne against the daemons, if in return Aurelius and all his descendants would pledge to honor them in turn. To hold their Feast Days sacred, to raise Cathedrals in their honor, to be taught and advised by the Priest dedicated to the service of the Saints, and never to use their crown against the Church.

* The Testament of Cyprian

☀

11th Day of New Summer’s Moon, 297 AC

The first volley of missiles from the enemy siege engines ringing the city began to fall when Clarisant and Dame Etoile were halfway to the Cathedral.

It was the crash of rocks against the city walls, clearly audible even blocks away, that caught Claire’s attention, and she slowed her steps, turning to look back the way they had come. Some of the projectiles missed the wall entirely, arcing up and over it, then down into the city. She gasped as she saw a townhouse collapse in a cloud of dust.

“Come on,” Etoile said, grabbing her by the arm, and pulling. “We need to get you inside, m’lady.”

Clarisant resisted the pull for just a moment - she was nearly overcome by the urge to run over to the ruins of the townhouse, and make certain that no one had been trapped inside when it fell. But Etoile was broad of shoulder and strong, her muscles built with years of daily exercise in the practice yard and on the field, and Claire had never swung a sword in her life. Only one single iron bar, and that out of desperation. She stumbled along in the knight’s wake, down the cobbled streets of Rocher de la Garde and then up the stairs of the cathedral.

“The second volley will be coming soon enough,” Dame Etoile said, and then they were through the doors and into the nave. The air inside was hot with the breath of hundreds of people, redolent with the sweat of their fear. Families filled the pews, praying for the protection of the Angelus. Babes wailed, and Claire saw more than one mother with an infant at her breast as Etoile led her down the center aisle, right up to the altar, where Father Erasmus paused in his preaching to meet them.

“Lady Clarisant,” he said, arms outstretched. “It warms my heart to see you again, though I wish our reunion were under happier circumstances. Should you not be taking shelter in the keep?”

Clarisant shook her head, and took the priest by the hands, shrugging off Dame Etoile. “Father,” she said, “I need the help of the church. Please, tell me - do you have a copy of the Marian Codex here, in the library?”

“We do,” Erasmus said, with a frown. “Under lock and key, my lady. It is a dangerous work, and only studied with my personal permission.”

“I need to see it now,” Claire said. “By order of my brother. It is a matter of the greatest urgency.”

Erasmus looked out over the crowd, then climbed back to the pulpit, where he raised his voice to fill the nave. “My brothers and sisters,” he addressed the crowd, “I now invite Mother Superior Marguerite, who has come to shelter with us and all her Sisters, to lead a hymn to Saint Kadosh.”

A middle aged woman, with her hair covered by a veil, rose from where she had been seated near the altar, exchanged a few quiet words with Father Erasmus, and stepped forward to stand at the pulpit herself. Erasmus, in the meanwhile, descended and took Claire by the arm. “Come with me, my lady,” he said, and led both her and Dame Etoile through a doorway out of the nave and into the depths of the cathedral.

The library in the Church of Saint Abatur, in Falais, had struck Claire as cramped and dark in comparison to the room they now entered, which she had often visited as a young girl. The Cathedral library was a two story room capped by gracefully vaulted ceilings. Stained glass windows on two sides filled the room with filtered sunlight, falling in shafts of color. The walls were lined with shelves made from black Iebara wood, a clear sign of the Cathedral’s wealthy benefactors. Half a dozen chairs of carved oak were scattered around, most of them behind desks.

“I can’t say I’ve ever been to this part of the church before,” Etoile admitted.

“Her Ladyship is quite familiar with the library,” Father Erasmus observed. “She and her siblings came here regularly for tutoring - though I must admit that none of the rest were as promising pupils as you were, Lady Clarisant.”

“You flatter me, Father,” Claire said. Any other day, she would have loved to reminisce with her old tutor, but she could not escape the lingering feeling that a boulder would come crashing through those beautiful colored glass windows at any moment. “But what my husband needs right now is knowledge of how to fight the creature in the harbor. The Marian Codex?”

“Of course.” Erasmus proceeded to a locked cabinet at the back of the room, and withdrew an iron ring of keys from his robes. “The Church of the Angelus maintains a single copy in the seat of each Barony - one at Falais, in the Tomb of Saint Abatur; the original at the Cathedral of Camiel, in the capital, and of course one copy each in the Baronies du Rive Ouest and Champs d'Or.” With a click, he unlocked the cabinet and removed a great bound codex.

It was nearly identical to the copy Claire had worked with in Falais, with the same leather-covered wood binding, vellum pages and ink of silver and gold. Claire accepted it from her old tutor and carried the volume over to the nearest table, where she settled herself into the chair.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Wait,” Etoile said, a frown on her face. “If there is a copy each in the Champs d'Or, and at the capital, wouldn’t that mean that our enemies have access to this, as well?”

Father Erasmus frowned. “Each copy is stored within a church, on holy ground, blessed by the Angelus. Daemons cannot long bear such a place.”

“And yet,” Clair pointed out, “The Tomb of Saint Abatur was used for a daemonic ritual not a moon past by the Plague Dancer.” She carefully avoided saying the name of the daemon that had once been the patron of Trist’s mother; while her husband claimed to have some protection from the danger of invoking such a monster, Clair had no illusions about herself.

“And they’ve had days to break into the Cathedral of Camiel in Luteria,” Etoile pointed out. “Angelus know what they’ve done there. We have to assume they already know everything in that book.”

“Which means they would have a comprehensive list of where every daemon in Narvonne was bound,” Claire said, with a nod. “I’ll make certain to also note any places of binding in this Barony, especially those north of the city. Trist and my brother will need to know.”

“May I leave you here, My Lady?” Father Erasmus asked, inclining his head in respect. “You are one of the few people I trust absolutely with that text, and the people who have come to seek shelter with us require my attention. I know you can find your own way back to the nave from here.”

“Yes, thank you, Father,” Claire said, without turning her head, and already flipping carefully through the pages. “See to your flock. I am grateful for all the help you have given me, and it will not be forgotten.”

“Show your gratitude by surviving, my lady.” Erasmus bowed, and left the library, swinging the heavy wooden door closed behind him.

“Do you see anything?” Dame Etoile asked, moving to stand over Claire’s shoulder.

“Hmmm,” Claire responded, absently. “Here we are. The Leviathan. Don’t say its name out loud. Marius writes that it can take many forms, including that of a man, and speak many tongues. ‘But the most terrifying shape,” she read aloud, “Is that of a great, tortuous serpent of the seas, with impenetrable scales, and… the ability to breath fire from a furnace in its belly,” she finished, with a shudder.

For a moment, she could not help but picture Trist, sword raised, charging the thing, only to be consumed in a blast of flame from its fanged maw. When the fire passed, there was left only blacked and melted metal plates. Claire swallowed, and rested a hand on her belly. “I don’t know how he can possibly fight something like this and come back,” she admitted, in a whisper.

“That’s why we need you to find a weakness, m’lady,” Etoile reminded her. “How did they bind it the first time?”

Claire skimmed ahead, tracing the words with her finger. “They cornered it off the coast of Raetia,” she explained, aloud. “With three Exarchs - those serving Rahab, Camiel, and Madiel. Marius says they drove it ahead through the waves while they pursued in ships, for three days and three nights, until it was exhausted and…”

“And what?” Etoile asked.

“And could no longer maintain its shape,” Claire answered. “That’s it. It can’t remain in the form of that giant serpent forever. When it gets tired, it is reduced to a more man-like form. They brought it to heel on a stony beach on the west coast of Raetia, and bound it there.”

“So he needs to wear it down,” Etoile said grimly, with a nod. “And he won’t be able to do it alone. He’ll need our help.”

“It took three Exarchs to bind it during the Cataclysm,” Claire pointed out. “We only have one in the city.” From the entrance to the library, she heard the door swing open again, and frowned. “I thought you were going to be with the people, Father Erasmus?”

“Forgive me, my lady,” a man’s rough, unfamiliar voice echoed across the room. “But I am going to have to ask you to give me that book.”

Steel rang on leather as Etoile drew her arming sword. The broad-shouldered knight moved away from the table to give herself room to fight. “Stay behind me, m’lady,” she said.

Clarisant, in the meanwhile, scrambled out of the chair, snatched the codex from the table, and clutched it against her chest. Four men crowded around the door of the library. They wore cloaks and ill-fitting, rough garb, but beneath she could see the gleam of steel rings. “Who are you?” she demanded. “To come into this church and give commands?”

The leader, a man with a thin, sharp face and the faintest black mustache and beard, bowed, but never took his eyes off her. “I have the honor of being Sir Sagramor,” he introduced himself, “sworn in fealty to the former Baron du Champs d'Or, who now sits the throne of Narvonne. At his royal decree, I must insist that you give that book into my hands. Do so, and I will allow you and your guard to depart peacefully. Or, if you would prefer, you may both remain in my care, and by my honor I can assure you that you will suffer no insult or violence in the sacking of the city.”

Claire swallowed. “You don’t want us to know where the bindings are. You want to free them all, don’t you?”

“I am merely a knight following orders,” Sagramor said, straightening. “But I have no desire to bring a lady such as yourself to harm, if I can at all prevent it.”

“Can you beat them?” Claire asked Etoile.

“Have you read Sur les Combats?” the blonde knight asked her, in return.

Claire had spent weeks alone in Trist’s room at Foyer Chaleureux, not knowing if her new husband was alive or dead, with only her maid for company. The small pile of fencing manuals on Trist’s shelf had seemed like a way to know him. To connect.

“It is difficult to fight for so long,” she remembered, quoting Johannes of Skandia. “Four or six usually defeat you. It is no shame to flee before four or six.”

“Go!” Etoile shouted, and raising her sword, rushed at the door. Sagramor and his men produced daggers, arming swords, and maces from beneath their cloaks, but instead of watching, Claire ran for the wooden stair that led up to the second level of the library.

“I’ll get the book! The rest of you, kill that woman!” Sagramor shouted, and the ring of steel on steel echoed off the vaulted ceilings. Breathing hard, Claire skidded on the polished wooden floor of the second story, past shelves of philosophical treatises and volumes of arithmetic. She had studied in this library since she was a little girl, attended services at the cathedral as long as she could remember, and had come here to bury her family in the crypts dug into the rock. Clarisant knew exactly where she was going.

She counted the bookcases until she reached the seventh, for Aurelius’ seven original Exarchs, and threw herself against the right side. With a grinding sound, the bookcase rotated about the middle, the other end swinging out as she pushed her end in to reveal an unlit stone passage.

With the clash of steel echoing behind her, Clarisant fled into the secret places of the Cathedral of Saint Rahab.