Chapter 189: Suffer Not a Demon to Live
“Kartania, if you’re willing to work with me, I can get you cleared for promotion back to—”
Kartania punched the stone wall of the barracks, hard enough to split her knuckles open. “I said ‘no’, Walter.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“I.” Bang! “Am.” Bang! “Not.” Bang! Each word was punctuated by another punch.
“You are. I trained you, remember?”
Kartania whipped her head up to look at the man. His well-kept mustache twitched, and the lines on his face deepened with his frown. He wasn’t gloating, and his look held no pity—that only made things worse.
“If I accept,” she said, “all it’ll do is prove them right.”
“They were already proven right. Kartania, please—”
She swatted his hand away with hers, splattering blood in an arc across the floor. “They don’t know her. And they have experience—I’m young, and even I’ve seen demons that did the inexplicable. That acted against their nature for even just a moment.”
“Don’t tell me you fell for their tricks.”
Kartania chuckled darkly and met Walter’s gaze. “I didn’t, no. But an Envy demon giving a stolen apple to a street kid, or a Lust demon handing out sex tips while I was tailing her? Not everything demons do is part of some complex evil plan.”
Walter shook his head. “Maybe they were right. Shoot, Kartania, I don’t want to believe you’d falter like this. I’m sure there’s a good explanation, and I’m willing to listen.”
“Are you, though?” Kartania took a step forward and squared her shoulders. The empty barracks gave her voice an echo, and she leaned into it. “Do not falter. Do not doubt. Stand firm in your conviction. Suffer not a demon to live.” She repeated the mantra, pitch rising.
“That is for demons! You cannot give them a hairsbreadth, else they take your head.”
“If one does not listen, one cannot understand.” Kartania hissed air out between teeth shut so hard they creaked. She clenched her hands and listened to the drops of blood hitting the floor. “Is this also not true?”
“It doesn’t apply to—”
“To what?”
“Demons, Tania—”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped at the mention of her nickname. “It’s hypocrisy. We don’t make the slightest damn attempt to understand demons, even when their actions defy the nature of their kind. We don’t even listen—”
“We don’t need to!” Walter finally raised his voice.
“Why not!?” Kartania shouted.
“If that is what you believe,” Walter said softly, sadly, “then I cannot help you.”
Kartania wanted to vomit. She wanted to scream and punch and do anything to get this man she once respected to actually do the thing he said he would. He’s only going to listen to what he wants to hear, damnit.
He probably expected her to shrink away, but she met his gaze, and she didn’t try to hide her fury. The box she’d always put her emotions in had broken wide open during the trial, and she didn’t have the energy—or the desire—to put the pieces back together.
“Like I said, I don’t want your help, Walter.” Kartania imagined herself spinning on a heel and walking away. But when she broke eye contact, her turn away was slow, and her steps plodding. At least she didn’t pause at the door.
Kartania’s thoughts whirled. High Priest Grants’s death was ruled a murder, and Kartania only escaped the noose because of her record, and of the consideration that she had been under “demonic influence.” Zarenna had, in the eyes of the church as a whole, proven herself a monster.
The Church had waited for a slip-up, an excuse, and they had found one. Though their reach in Edath was limited, soon they would go after Kartania’s sister. She’d failed.
Did I ever even have a chance? Am I as naive as my sister for thinking I alone could change dogma, could make people with closed ears listen, with closed eyes see?
Not ten steps into the hallway, an acolyte approached her—a girl barely an adult and probably not half a year out of training.
“What?” she snapped. The acolyte must have heard her argument with Walter; Kartania didn’t care.
“Paladin Miller. High Priest Styon wishes to see you.”
“Tell him I’m busy.” Kartania started to walk past. “And I’m not a paladin anymore.”
“He insisted it was very important.”
“What is it then?” Kartania didn’t turn around.
“He didn’t tell me.”
The now-former Paladin sighed. “Then it must not be that important.” She kept walking.
“He… did say it concerned your sister.”
Kartania stopped, finally turning back. “Did he now?”
Technically, she had no authority to refuse a High Priest’s summons. Doing so would lose what little rank she had left. At first she hadn’t cared, but… well, if she was burning bridges, she might as well burn them all.
“Fine. Take me to him.”
“Of course.”
Kartania followed the acolyte through the halls, happy the girl didn’t try to make smalltalk. During a training exercise like today, only a few people were inside—administrative positions. It made the place feel empty, and Tania found herself glaring at the symbols of Dhias they passed.
When they arrived at High Priest Styon’s office, Kartania let the acolyte knock. Despite wanting to pound on the door or burst in, the chance to cool her head had tempered her anger.
“Come in,” Yevon answered promptly.
The acolyte led the pair inside, then left quickly closing the door with a well-oiled click. Like usual, the place was a sort of carefully-calculated mess, and the dust that hung in the sunbeams from the two tall windows glittered. The high priest’s long, pale brown hair glowed in the light—he almost looked priestly. Kartania sat down before High Priest Styon had even prompted.
He chuckled, leaning forward in his chair. Wards snapped into place around the room, damping what little echo the cramped space had. “I’d say to make yourself at home, but it seems you’ve already done that.”
“What do you want?” Kartania snapped, crossing her arms.
“Straight to the point then.” He shrugged, and the motion just looked wrong in high priest’s vestments. “Figures you wouldn’t want small talk, and that’s fair. I’ve got an assignment for you.”
“That involves my sister?”
“Potentially yes, and I do have news—for later.”
Kartania hissed through her teeth and narrowed her eyes. “Fine. What assignment could you possibly have for an acolyte in remedial training?”
“For an accomplished Paladin known for discretion and open-mindedness both, actually.”
Kartania stood up. “Then you’d best find someone qualified.”
High Priest Yevon sighed. “Oh sit down! I assigned you to this the night you returned. Do you not remember agreeing to the assignment?”
“I remember returning, reporting, and spending the night in a holding cell awaiting mental decontamination.” Cogs turned in Kartania’s head. Is he doing what I think he’s doing?
Yevon’s smile faltered. “Let’s not mince words. I knew your chances better than you did—the other high priests weren’t going to accept your story, and I am only one vote. Do you want this chance or not?”
“Chance for what?” Kartania snapped. She had an idea, but needed to know for sure. “I already had enough rope to hang myself, and I’ve done a rather thorough job of that. Abusing a loophole that I cannot be demoted while assigned to a mission given by a direct superior, unless said superior terminates the mission, won’t work. You’ll be outvoted. Even if it did, there’s no performance that’d get me in their good graces.”
“Do you want to be in their good graces?” Yevon leaned further forward, still wearing his stupid half smile. For once, his eyes were a little less lidded—it almost made him look cunning.
Kartania breathed in to reply, then hissed out air and sat back down. The shouting match she’d had with Walter echoed around her head. He wasn’t the only one too stubborn, too dogmatic to listen. She’d told Renna she’d fix things from the inside, but…
“No, High Priest. I suppose I don’t.” Kartania grimaced. “After all, they’ll be going after my sister soon.”
“That’s what I thought.”
Smug bastard. “Your plan still doesn’t help me. And it absolutely doesn’t help Zarenna. Or do you think her a murderer?”
High Priest Yevon held up a finger. “First, regarding your sister, I am one voice and one vote. High Priest Grants was a ‘good man.’” He enunciated the words almost distastefully. “He was hammered out of our doctrine’s mold like a coin out of a mint. Personally, I thought him too dull and inflexible to be a High Priest, but that’s neither here nor there.
Kartania furrowed her brow. “He was sent to Astrye on purpose, wasn’t he? Because he was such an idiot.”
“Yep.”
“So this was a setup.”
The high priest shrugged. “Yes and no. He could also be considered incorruptible.”
“Bullshit.”
“I agree.”
“Then why didn’t you stop it?”
“I am one vote.”
“Did you vote against it?”
“I did.”
Kartania grumbled. “Fine. But I still fail to see how your plan helps me with anything.”
High Priest Yevon almost smiled, and he leaned closer over his desk, through the gap between stacks of books and documents. “That’s where you’re wrong. It gets you out of here tonight, and with a good horse, you can stay ahead of pursuit if you avoid cities and keep your head down. My orders and seal will, of course, carry the full weight of the Church.”
Kartania weighed his words. High Priest Styon wasn’t wrong, but… “Why do this? Won’t you risk your own position?”
The scheming man shrugged. “You stole the horse in the last stall of the north stable in broad daylight, during training, and you left with my order in an act of desperation.”
“I’d be a fugitive.”
“Being a fugitive is your best option. Everyone knows you didn’t really accept the verdict. You’ve made it clear you see your sister as, well, your sister. Whispers of deeper corruption are turning into rumors into facts. A compromised loose end with no non-demonic living family spouting nonsense that goes against the current interpretation of doctrine, well…”
“Current interpretation?” Kartania’s thoughts had hung on the words.
High Priest Yevon gestured around the room. “I study history, former-Paladin Miller. From the Lost Era to modern politics. The attitude toward demons was less absolute in the distant past, but a few particularly aggressive Sovereigns changed that. Regardless, you get my point, right?”
“I do. They’ll silence me.”
High Priest Yevon clapped. “Good! I didn’t think you a blind idealist, but yes, they’ll silence you. And then they’ll go after your sister. This way, you get to live. What you do from there is your own volition.”
“Why take the risk on me?”
He held up three fingers. “Three reasons. One, if you die at the Church’s hands, your sister may burn this place to the ground, which will undo everything she’s worked towards in the eyes of the common people. Two, you have power, ambition, enough shrewdness to get by, and kindness, even if you think otherwise. In short, you’re valuable to the common people. And three, I actually do have an urgent mission you’re well-suited to that I want to see done.”
“Why does the second reason matter to you?”
“There’s a war coming. Most likely multiple.”
Kartania nodded. “I’ve heard of increased demon activity.”
“Care to enlighten me about anything your sister told you? Perhaps something you felt inappropriate to reveal at the trial.”
“You seem to know already.”
“Worth a try. But yes, my informants have told me of a faction war amongst the demons. I believe they’re also involved in Navanaea and in Raavia. There’s a disputed succession in Aloria, so even the elves may see an incursion ere long. I was even informed recently that, in Edath, demons attacked the Winter Solstice Ball your sister was a guest at.”
“What!?”
“She saved the day apparently. Also proved to the guests that she ‘wasn’t a demon,’ just that she’d suffered corruption as a demon hunting mercenary. Quite the shrewd move, and one I would not have expected.” His smile tilted into more of a smirk.
He knows more than he’s telling. Normally, Kartania wouldn’t pry. But today?
“You know more. Spill it.”
The high priest put his hands up defensively. “I thought something might happen given the rise of demon attacks, so I had an acolyte of mine present at the ball. It was his report I’d received. I’d also made sure that acolyte had met Zarenna under favorable circumstances just in case she caused a little chaos, though that went better than I could have possibly hoped for. Regardless, the Church already knew of her nature, and the only people who found out were another Paladin and his contingent who happened to have a very favorable first impression of your demonic sister.
“There.” he put his hands down. “Happy?”
Kartania sighed. “I… suppose. Worried would be more accurate. Fine—what about the mission itself?”
“Daram, the dwarven kingdom to Edath’s southwest, is in the midst of electing an heir for their ailing king. Which makes it all the more concerning that the Church’s branch in Kar Taruhm has gone silent. I want you to go to the dwarven capital city and ascertain what’s going on.
“Of course, the mission they will think you are on is to investigate rumors of demonic infiltration into the merchant council of the Turquoise Coast. Which may well also be true, but I doubt it’d make much difference with how Liseu is run if actual Avarice demons were in control.”
Kartania put a hand to her chin and hummed. “Daram… that’s… quite the trip.”
“Indeed.”
“I don’t speak Dwarven.”
“But you do speak Turquoiser.”
“That’s fine for the cover story, but I’m not going to the Coast.”
Yevon took a book off the top of the pile on the desk and handed it to Kartania. “Then take this. You’ll make do.”
She took the book and scanned the cover; it was a guide to the Dwarven language, and it looked well read. “It’s better than nothing. Will they notice this book missing?”
“From my private collection of disorganized, undocumented tomes? Absolutely not.”
Kartania stared at the book in her hands, hard. She started shaking a little. “I’m actually going to do this, aren’t I?”
“Are you?”
Kartania took a deep breath. “Yeah, I think I am. But, can you let my sister know where I’m going?”
“Again, I’d rather not be burned to ash. I will find a way to let her know.”
Standing up, Kartania held the book carefully and steadied her legs. “What comes after this?”
“We’ll be in touch, assuming you still want anything to do with the Church.”
“We’ll see.”
“We will indeed.” Yevon turned and looked out the window at the pale winter sunlight, distorted through the translucent yellow panes. “You’d best get going, though—if you want to leave without being seen.”
“Of course.” Kartania turned and walked to the door.
Right as her hand touched the handle, Yevon added. “Your armor is in the stall, too. And your sword. It’s truly astounding they assigned today’s armory guard duty to someone out on bereavement.”
The wards faded, and Kartania opened the door and stepped into the hallway. As she did, a chill ran down her spine. Just how does High Priest Yevon know all these things?