Actually, it was pretty dang hard to be “bad” as a saint. It certainly put a damper on getting dates. She would be at a party or a bar, and someone would ask her what she did. “Oh, I’m a saint.” Suddenly, the other person would make pleasant excuses and move on. And that was at an avatar bar; she was sure a human party or bar would be even worse.
That was one nice thing about this undercover work; she could pretend to be someone else. She could lie and do it for the cause of Good. She shook her head and put the rest of the burnt cake into her belt pouch. The other nice thing about this whole adventure was wearing street clothes. She had been given an account at the quartermaster’s to be outfitted in Astlanian garb and tools.
Unfortunately, they had no “normal” horses to complete the masquerade, so she would have to get some from the Rod. She had also been advised to locate a follower of hers and use him or her as a guide to current customs and appropriate behavior. Further, as a lady in the city, she would need to have a man-at-arms or squire. Technically, she should also have a maid, but that would start to get really complicated. They needed to keep this quiet.
The question had been, who? She had scanned her followers in the area and finally decided on a young man named Danyel. Danyel had been born not too far from Rivenrock and was in fact a descendant of the children Hilda had died to protect. He had also been possessed by the demon, and then had the stuffing beaten out of him by other Rod members, who had to take him down to protect Talarius.
At the moment he was unconscious from his wounds. He’d been going in and out as far as she could tell, but she hadn’t been monitoring that actively. Given that he would almost certainly feel great contrition for allowing himself to be possessed and attacking Sir Talarius, she was fairly certain she could get him to agree to assist her quietly as part of his penance. Naturally, he would help her in any circumstances, but her thought was that his guilt, undeserved in her opinion, would help assuage his concerns in performing surreptitious services. Not something the Rod was famous for conducting.
Hilda was currently dressed in a modern version her old habit as a Sister of Tiernon, and had surrounded herself in her most subtle misdirection and anti-noticeability rituals. Being invisible was too risky in this camp, so simply being unnoticed would be far better.
She made her way through the camp towards the guarded area where the possessed soldiers were being kept. At least, that’s what she assumed the guards were for. She was actually just following her link to Danyel. She paused near the tent to allow some guards to look the other way before sneaking into the tent.
There were three soldiers in the tent, unconscious and heavily bandaged. They also appeared to be loosely chained to their cots. She was going to need to heal Danyel so he could help her, but she could not ignore the other two. So, first things first. She went to each cot and said a prayer of sleep over each man to keep them sleeping, and then she set about examining and healing their wounds.
It took her a few minutes per patient, as she had to make sure she had caught everything, but as she had often noted, saintly healing was a heck of a lot faster than priestly healing and definitely faster than what she’d been able to do as a Sister of Tiernon.
She healed Danyel last. When she was finished, she sat back on her stool for a moment and took a deep breath, preparing to wake him. Hilda grimaced and then put a silence spell around the tent. She did not want Danyel waking up and screaming when he saw her. With the ritual in place, they would be able to talk, but no one outside would hear them.
“I have to admit, you do have a nice view,” Ramses said, looking out the French doors of Exador’s breakfast room. They were at Exador’s tower in Astlan enjoying a late breakfast, Astlanian time.
“Thank you. I’ve spent centuries perfecting these gardens,” Exador said, setting his coffee down. They were having human beverages this morning, playing the necessary role for the servants and staff.
As Ramses picked up his cup, the room suddenly dimmed considerably and a deep, damp chill came over the room. “The air conditioning kicking into overdrive and dimming the lights?” Ramses asked, raising an eyebrow. That did not seem too likely, given that they were in a brightly fierdlit room.
The chill was bone deep, oddly palpable even to archdemons. Ramses gave Exador a concerned look. Exador glanced around the suddenly dim room and smiled. “Greetings, Morthador!” he exclaimed to the room.
A deep bass whisper reverberated from the darkness. It was felt more in the inner bones of the ear than in the air itself. “Greetings, master. I have news to report.”
Ramses relaxed slightly, realizing that Exador was in control of whatever this was. He was still on edge, of course; they were archdemons and treachery could never be ruled out.
Exador grinned over at Ramses, fully understanding his associate’s disquiet. “Ramses, allow me to introduce my most trusted spy, Morthador.” Exador gestured at the room.
Ramses looked around the room, trying to locate the source of darkness.
Exador chuckled. “Morthador is a greater shadow,” he explained.
“A greater shadow?” Ramses asked uncertainly.
“A type IV Shadow.”
Ramses shook his head. “A shadow that is a greater demon?” His brows furrowed. “I don’t believe I’ve heard of such a demon before.”
“They are rare, but not as rare as one might think,” Exador said. “For obvious reasons, they are often hard to find.”
“So this is a demon that has chosen to advance its skills, but not morph to an imp, sprite or fiend along the traditional paths?” Ramses asked.
“Exactly. There are a few who find true and lasting comfort in the darkness of the Shadow,” Exador said with a grin. “Morthador is one such. He has been quite invaluable in many ways. For the last thousand years or so, he has been stationed deep in the under-chasms of Astlan, in particular between Freehold and the Grove.”
Ramses furrowed his brow again, not understanding. “I see.” He clearly did not.
“As you may or may not recall, the Grove in Astlan is located due east of this tower, about three hundred plus leagues. Their ridiculously high mountains and more importantly, sizable military resources have been a thorn in my ability to deal with Cal Crestor on the other side of the Grove.” Exador shook his head.
Ramses nodded. “I recall they were a pain for us on the Council of Anilords. We never were able to conquer them.”
Exador nodded. “And as you may recall, going south one crosses the United Federation, whose general anarchy is something of a nuisance, and is also loosely Grove aligned. They were not organized back when you were here. One then has Jotungard to deal with, as you recall? Clearly, not Grove aligned, but still unpleasant.”
“Indeed, I recall,” Ramses said drily.
“Going north through Turelane, I am blocked by Kel Femaer, which is purely alvaren territory and also closely aligned with the Grove.” Exador waved his hand.
“Yes, I get your point on the alfar. Never have liked the sanctimonious bastards,” Ramses said.
“In short, the Grove has been a thorn in my side for my entire time in Astlan. Both before my adventures with the Rod and you, and since.” Exador took a breath. “So, I like to keep an eye on my fellow Councilor Trevin D’Vils and her Grove.”
“And Morthador fits in how?” Ramses asked.
“The Grove has a very secure communication line that runs through all of Norelon and, in fact, to all continents that rely on very deep rock veins and geological plates,” Exador said.