“Excellent then.” Trevin let go of his bicep and patted his shoulder again, before spinning away to exit the room. “Sleep well!” she said as she glided from the room.
Gastropé shook his head slightly as if to clear it. He quickly spoke the words necessary to invoke his wizard sight and stared down to his chest. He had to focus it a bit, but the enchantress had been right! There was some sort of link spell emanating from his chest and extending off into the aether.
He probed it, trying to determine what exactly it was and where it was going. He frowned; it was clearly a binding spell, from him to someone else. He was on the controlling end and the link clearly went off plane. Gently touching the translucent black cord, he suddenly got a whiff of unusual smoke. A very identifiable smoke; it was the same smoke he smelled when Tizzy was puffing on his pipe. He did not recognize the exact binding — it seemed a bit archaic — but it was very clearly a lower third-order binding from a conjuror to an enslaved demon.
Where the hell had it came from? He knew for a fact he had never cast any spell on Tizzy. There was no way he could have — he didn’t even know the demon’s true name. How long had it been there? Who had put it there? Was it even possible for a third party to create a binding linking between a conjuror and a demon? He had never heard of such a thing. It really should not be possible. Something very strange was going on, and once again it felt like things were spinning out of his control.
Chapter 88
Hilda glided unnoticed down the street in the dark predawn hours, Danyel softly sleeping back at the Inn, no one the wiser that she had even left the building. She was more than happy to not be wearing her normal saint attire on these muck-filled streets. One would think that such a modern city of such learning and wealth could have cleaner streets. Clearly, she had been spoiled by her afterlife and the tidiness of the Outer Realms. Objectively, Freehold was nicer than the villages and cities she had known during her mortal existence, but once one had seen the lights of Heaven, it was hard to settle back into the mundane world.
Nonetheless, she had her duty. During her bath, she had finally gotten enough relief from the headache to get a feel for the city. There had been no temple of Tiernon in Freehold for centuries, but there was a chapel, and that would have to do. Actually, it was probably better for her purposes. Security at a true temple would be much higher. She needed to get in and out unnoticed; hence, the after-hours visit.
“Alms... alms for a poor blind beggar!” A hand suddenly shot out from a doorway to brush her own hand. Hilda stopped in shock; it was amazing that a beggar could pierce her spells. She glanced at the beggar, a man of about thirty years with a pockmarked face and the milky gaze of a blind man. His hands were dirty, dry and scaly and covered in rather nasty boils and pockmarks.
Hilda did a quick reading of the man. Yes, definitely blind, rather lice ridden, some nasty skin conditions and some fluid congestion in his lungs, but otherwise able-bodied. He was also, she noted, of Etonian faith; weak faith admittedly, but he had been dedicated to Namora at some point, most likely as a sailor.
“Thank you, mistress. Thank you for stopping. Can you spare a few coins so that I might get some soup?” the beggar pleaded with a strong whiff of cheap beer on his breath. Hilda shook her head. She had no problem with drinking beer, but drinking cheap beer was pretty much the definition of a sin. However, she supposed beggars could not afford anything else.
Hilda thought for a moment. She knew most beggars in large cities were actually professionals, and there were, in fact, beggar guilds. Perhaps his ability to spot her was a sign that his life was at a turning point. “I shall do better than that!” Hilda beamed at the blind man, who of course could not see her smile, but his head did tilt, perhaps at the melodic sound of her voice as she ramped her aura up.
“Take my hands,” Hilda instructed, sticking both hands out towards his, practically in his face. Uncertain and puzzled, the beggar lifted his hands upward and Hilda grasped them. The man flinched at her touch, clearly sensing something unusual. He started to pull away, but Hilda would not let go.
“Sorry for bothering you, mistress. I should go now,” the beggar pleaded with her.
“Nonsense, my good man. I can sense the spirit of Namora on you. Clearly, you have fallen on hard times in this distant land. Namora’s brother, Tiernon, believes in helping all true Etonian kin. Allow the power and might of Tiernon to lift you and guide you!” Hilda began pulling from her illuminaries; she would not need to go upstream for this. “May the power and blessing of Tiernon be upon you now and for all your days!” Hilda sent the power of Tiernon’s healing blessing down her hands and into the beggar’s.
The man gasped as the divine rapture of Tiernon filled his body. Given that she could see fine in the dark, she could easily see the milky film fade from the man’s eyes and the corrupted skin peel from the man’s hands and face as fresh new skin replaced it.
The man suddenly went rigid and then limp as the healing finished. He collapsed back into the doorway gasping for breath, inhaling more deeply than he had probably been able to in a few years. He stared at her, seeing another face for the first time in who knew how long.
Hilda gave him her most beatific smile. “May the blessings of Tiernon and his sister Namora be upon you as we part in peace!”
She turned abruptly, releasing her built-up aura, and started down the street once more. “Wait! Wait!” The beggar called out from behind her. “I can see! I’m healthy!” Hilda smiled to herself, pleased. “You just took away my livelihood! Do you have any idea how hard it is out here for a healthy beggar?” The man sounded almost angry.
Hilda shook her head. “What am I supposed to do?”
The beggar whined some more.
Frustrated, Hilda called back, “I don’t care, How about getting another job and earning your money from work? Return to the sea — you were a sailor at some point, yes?”
“Uh, yeah... uh...” the beggar spluttered. Hilda simply shook her head. Whatever happened to people wanting to get a miracle? Seriously, this current generation; never satisfied with what they had. She laughed softly. Yes, it was annoying, but she had pretty much expected something like this. He had been a professional guild beggar; she was now certain of that.
She supposed it would be awkward to return to the guildhall both empty-handed and healed. Not her problem though; as a saint, it was her job to help people, whether they wanted it or not. Tiernon would also be pleased. While he certainly believed in charity and assistance to those in need, he had no patience for slackers and societal parasites. She laughed to herself once more, pleased with her side mission tonight.
The chapel priest had been sound asleep in his bed. His assistant, sleeping near the chapel’s front door to assist with late night supplicants, was asleep as well. Both as Hilda had hoped. She had deepened their sleep and then magically barred the doors to the chapel to keep any other late-night visitors from intruding.
It felt so nice in the chapel. The consecrated space acted as a buffer to the unpleasant sensation of the wards. As she had hoped, it allowed her to focus and concentrate better than at any point since she had entered the city. She headed to the altar, noting the bowl of holy water nearby. Excellent — she would need both to complete the ritual. She pulled the small sapphire amulet from her pocket. Calling it a sapphire amulet was a bit strong; it was more of a small sapphire pendant on a silver chain. However, it should do just fine.