Cimozjen withdrew and rose, then tossed another sovereign onto the ground beside Valleau. “I thank you for your time. You have been far more helpful than I could have hoped.”
The farmer nodded but didn’t look up.
Cimozjen left, idly wondering whether the farmer wanted to see his headless corpse dangling from his tree.
Chapter NINETEEN
The Custodian
Zol, the 24th day of Sypheros, 998
The day was fine, so they ate a light lunch by the banks of the Aundair River before walking back to Fairhaven, and did not return to the city until the middle of the afternoon. They went straight-away to the artificer, to check up on his progress with rebuilding Four.
“I finished repairing him, yes,” said the artificer, “but as for how he is, well, you’ll have to answer that yourself.”
“What do you mean?” asked Minrah. “You haven’t … done something to him, have you?”
“I don’t think so,” said the artificer.
“Where is he?” demanded Cimozjen.
The artificer gestured with his thumb. “In the back room. He’s barricaded himself in.”
“Oh, good,” said Minrah.
“Good?” asked the artificer.
“Never mind,” said Minrah. “We’ll handle it. He’s had a rough life … or whatever you call what their kind has.”
The artificer directed them to the back of his house and pointed to a closed door. “He’s in there. It’s only maybe five feet wide and eight deep, but he’s in there with his axe, and I can’t get him to come out.”
Minrah walked up to the door and knocked.
“Go away!” came Four’s voice, muffled behind the wood. “I am home!”
“Four, my fine ’forged friend, it’s me, Minrah.”
Silence, then, “You may come in.”
“If it’s all the same to you, Four, I’d rather you came out. Please?”
“Why?”
“Because I want to see you. And because if I come in, you might think I was breaking into your home to fight you. And if that happened, that would be bad for me.”
“That makes sense,” said Four. They heard shuffling noises, and after a moment the door opened. Slowly.
“Everything’s safe, Four, you can come out,” said Minrah. “Cimmer and I are both here.”
The warforged cautiously exited the small room.
“We’re sorry we left you behind,” said Minrah. “We won’t do it again.”
“That would be … good,” said Four.
“So, Four,” asked Cimozjen gently, “how do you feel?”
“With my hands.”
Minrah giggled, and asked, “Have you been fully repaired?”
Four nodded. “Everything is working normally.”
“Hmph,” said Cimozjen. “Puts you one up on me.”
“I am glad you two are back with me,” said Four.
“Come then,” said Minrah. “Let’s go.”
“Are we going back to the Dragon’s Flagons?” asked Four.
“No,” said Cimozjen. “I think I need to avoid that place for a while. We need to get to the Cathedral. Then we’ll go back to our lodgings and plan our next move.”
The Cathedral of the Heavens stood proud against the night sky, illuminated from below by a celestial radiance that fell upon it from nowhere, a divine miracle that was supported by hourly devotions from a hundred pious acolytes.
However, the three visitors were not heading for the temple proper, but toward a complex of rooms in the long, pillared building that ringed the temple on three sides, framing the so-called outer courtyard.
The crest of the Custodians of the Fire and Forge stood atop a wrought-iron pillar standing outside a sizable and elegantly carved double door. Next to the door a cut-glass window glowed, a faint but warm light coming from within.
Cimozjen opened the door, ushering Minrah and Four inside before following.
Within, a tonsured silver-haired monk, having weight in far greater abundance than height, sat at a ledger. A candelabrum sat on the table beside him, and a quill pen hovered magically over the paper, awaiting his next instruction. He looked up at the trio, squinting through a monocle that seemed to be thicker than it was wide.
“M-may I help you?” he asked in a coarse voice. He twitched his head around as if he could not see any of them, sending waves shuddering through the flaccid folds of flesh about his neck.
“I certainly hope so, brother. You are called Hannel, are you not? I am Cimozjen Hellekanus of Karrnath, escort of the holy church, bound by oath to the lifelong service of Dol Dorn, Master of Might and Father of Fortitude. I am here to enquire after the services your brotherhood rendered to the crown in the War, if I may.”
“Bound by oath, eh?” He gestured Cimozjen closer with two pudgy hands. “Mm. Come here, that I may take a look at you.”
Gesturing Minrah and Four to remain, Cimozjen walked over and stood at the table across from the old monk, who leaned forward as far as his frame would allow. He worked his mouth as he studied Hellekanus’s face, sending ripples along his sagging jowl with each movement.
“Mm, yes,” Hannel said, “yes, you have the aura of the Sovereign Host about you, though only they know what kinds of necromantic heresy some of your Karrn brethren are up to. Of what do you wish to enquire this evening?”
“Brother, I understand that your order had among them those called the Custodians?”
“Yes, we did, mm, we do still, that is. They’re an old tradition, seeking to build up the very souls of the fallen and craft them into-mm-beautiful objects. They tend to those criminals that the crown believes could be of menial service to the nation. It’s a good work that they do. Mm-hmm. Far better for the country than keeping them in a prison and wasting food on them, like they did in the old days of Galifar. The ones that aren’t too dangerous that is. Mm-hmm, thieves, harlots, smugglers, and the like. Make them work. Nothing like ten years mucking the sewer to make someone rethink disobeying the king’s own law. Or re-cobbling the street while having children throw rotten food at you all day long. Hah!” Hannel pounded his desk. “I dare say I’ve helped flagellate a few myself with produce past its prime. Mm.”
Cimozjen raised one hand to stop the monk from conversing too far afield. “Truly, the order does a great service to the crown. Now, during the Last War, did the Custodians not also take prisoners from other nations under their care?”
“Yes, we did. Mm, those who were of the right heart about it. By that I mean that some of the prisoners were so hateful that they’d just as soon rip your throat out with their teeth. Mm-hmm. We couldn’t do a thing about those ones but throw them into a dungeon pit and toss food down from time to time. But those were mostly the Thranes, what with all their Silver Flame gibberish and talk of holy warfare and bringing the light to Galifar. Those who surrendered honorably were treated honorably.”
“Indeed,” said Cimozjen. “And I understand that the control of the Custodians was handled through this place?”
“Control?” He shook his head. It looked like a violent squabble between flesh and bone. “No no no no. Communication, my son, that’s what we are for. The Keeper of the Divine Wrath must keep oversight over all of his servants, mm-hmm? For the last seven years I have had the honor of serving as the liaison for my order to the Church.”
“And before that?”
“Brother Margan was the liaison, mm, Sovereigns rest his soul. I served as his aide and scribe.”
“Very good,” said Cimozjen. “Tell me then, what happened to the prisoners once the Treaty of Thronehold was signed? How did the brotherhood divest themselves of their charges?”
Hannel leaned back and laced his fingers high upon his pudgy breast. “Queen Aurala commanded that we of the church take every step we could to document how we abided by the terms of the treaty. Every prisoner was to be repatriated. We wanted to ensure we had a clean record, mm, by the Queen’s own order.”