Widdershins knew her entire face was incredulous, and saw clearly that hers wasn't the only one. “How by all the happy hopping horses did you think you could make that work?!” she demanded.
The bishop shrugged. “It honestly wasn't that hard. Obviously, a mortal adversary wouldn't do the trick, but it doesn't require much sorcery to make something appear far less natural than it actually is. And it was working! During the first few weeks, nobody had been seriously hurt-I know there were a few minor injuries, but that was unavoidable-and the rumors were spreading! Church attendance was higher than it had been in months! Until…”
“Iruoch,” Robin said with a shudder.
“Until Iruoch,” Sicard agreed. “My friends, hate me if you must-perhaps I deserve it-but I swear to you, I swear by every god of the Hallowed Pact, I did not summon him! I didn't even believe he existed! I truly don't know why-”
“I think I do,” Widdershins said softly.
Well, she certainly had everyone's attention now, Sicard's included. She cleared her throat. “I'm only speculating, you understand…”
“Speculation's more than the rest of us have,” Julien encouraged. “So by all means…”
“Uh, right. Well…” She exhaled softly. “Most of you won't know this, but the gods are shaped, in part, by our beliefs. What we think of them, how we worship them, that sort of thing.”
A number of puzzled looks and startled breaths met that pronouncement, but none so dramatic as Sicard's violent gasp. “That…How could you know that? That's a philosophy debated at only the highest levels of the clergy!”
“I told you,” Widdershins said, and she couldn't keep just the tiniest trace of gloating from her tone, “that William de Laurent trusted me more than you believed.”
“So I see,” the bishop whispered.
“Anyway,” she continued, “so our own thoughts and beliefs and feelings influence the gods, and lots of creatures in myths and fairy tales are attracted to human emotions, yes? Fear, or love, or whatever? So I think…” She looked at Sicard, and this time there was no gloating, only sympathy. “I think, indirectly, maybe you did summon Iruoch, Your Eminence. I think the fear you created, everyone's belief that there was something very much like him stalking our streets already…”
Sicard paled. “He felt it. That fear, that belief, made us susceptible to him. Called to him. And he answered.”
Widdershins nodded. “I think it drew him to us. I'm sorry.”
The bishop lowered his head and began to weep. Ferrand rose and limped to his side, placing a comforting hand on his white-robed shoulder.
Flames hissed and spat, footsteps and hoofbeats slunk through the windows from the street outside, and Renard took occasional sips from the bottle he'd commandeered. Beyond these, however, no sounds interrupted Sicard's grief. After several moments of respectful silence (or near silence), however, Julien finally said, “Your Eminence…”
The bishop raised a flushed and tear-streaked face.
“I'm so sorry, but I fear that time is rather a precious commodity at the moment.” When Sicard nodded, he continued, “I'm just wondering, how did you pull off your, um, false haunting? As you yourself said, a few mundane thugs in frightening dress wouldn't have been enough on their own…”
“No, no, you're right.” Sicard cleared his throat, sucked in a last, wet sniff, and straightened in his chair. “The practice of magic isn't part of priestly training,” he said. “We gain certain advantages due to our communion with the divine-particular insight, the occasional portent, and abnormal luck in certain ventures if the gods approve of our actions-but nothing that the layman would recognize as sorcery.
“We do, however, learn about magic. Not how to cast spells, but their history, how to recognize them. Normally, this is so we can discover the presence of hostile witchcraft or other dangers, but for those of us willing to take the time, and with sufficient discipline, it does give us a leg up on learning certain magics of our own.”
He stopped, frowning slightly at the array of expressions before him. “Not all magic is forbidden by Church doctrine, you know. Only spells that are directly harmful, or that call on unnatural beings who are not servants of the gods themselves.”
“We understand, Your Eminence,” Julien assured him. “Nobody was questioning you.”
Which was patently false, of course, but they all chose to let it go.
“Anyway,” Sicard continued after another few breaths, “one of the spells I'd come across and actually mastered involves briefly linking two individuals on a semispiritual level. It allows them to not only coordinate their efforts and their awareness, but to share a portion of their skills and physical acumen with one another. Strength, endurance, nimbleness, and so forth. I've used it mostly to aid my priests and assistants in performing particularly long or complicated religious observances.”
“Good gods,” Renard breathed. “What a pair of thieves-or Guardsmen, or duelists, or soldiers,” he added swiftly in response to an array of glowers, “could do with that sort of spell! How have such magics not already been claimed for military use?”
Sicard smiled shallowly. “I haven't been precisely open about the fact that I have this spell, save with my most trusted associates.” He absently patted Ferrand's hand. “I chose to use it so my ‘phantoms’ could coordinate from a distance, appear to be the same creature in two places, and so they could perform feats of climbing and agility that no normal person could accomplish unaided. I figured that, along with the proper theatrics, would be enough to create the desired illusion. But I never expected them to need it for genuine combat, and honestly, I'm uncertain of its military applicability. It takes many minutes to perform, so it can't be invoked swiftly or in emergencies, and it doesn't last long. Further, the recipients share in their discomfort as well.”
Widdershins nodded in understanding, remembering how one man had fallen from his perch in agony when she'd stabbed the other.
“I've never seen anyone severely injured, let alone slain, when under the spell's effects, so I can't say for certain what would happen to his partner, but I can't imagine it would be anything pleasant.”
“Still,” Julien insisted, “it seems we ought to be able to find some use for it. It's not as though we have a lot of options, and we haven't done so well against Iruoch as is…”
“I assure you,” Sicard said, “even two men drawing on each other's strengths wouldn't make an appreciable difference against that creature.”
“Two normal people, no,” Igraine said thoughtfully, chewing on a thumbnail. “But what about two of her?”
Widdershins squirmed in her chair and looked about ready to bolt. “I'm not sure what you-”
“Widdershins,” Igraine said in what was, from her, a surprisingly gentle tone, “I think we're past that now, don't you? Everyone here has heard tales of your unusual abilities, and we saw them ourselves back at the church. I've told you long before that I can sense something off about you, and I'd be surprised if His Eminence hadn't as well.”
Sicard nodded.
“We need to know what our resources are,” the priestess continued, “if we're to have any chance at all.”
Widdershins shifted and again felt herself tense, as if to run. She cast her gaze at Robin, but the girl could only stare back, as uncertain as Widdershins herself.
“Olgun?” she whispered desperately.
Even he didn't know. She could feel it from him immediately. He wasn't sure what she should tell them, had no idea how Sicard's magics might interact with his own.