He was better than me. In a pure chase, speed against speed, invokation to invokation, he would have outdistanced me in a breath. It was only his apparent need for subterfuge and the occasional crowd that was slowing him down enough for me to keep in range.
My pursuit took me deeper into the city, away from the harbor horns and to the opposite shore of Ash. These were the oldest buildings, the first structures the Fraterdom had raised after the defeat of the Feyr. I kept catching glimpses of the Spear of the Brothers, the marble tower that had served as the seat of power before the three Cults had split and settled into their own domains. After the betrayal of Amon, Alexander had returned to the Spear to build his throne, leaving his Cult's Healing Halls to the administration of his scions and declaring himself the godking of all mankind. When it was built, the Spear was the tallest structure in all Ash. Now, like the Strength of Morgan, the Spear was dwarfed by the glassand-steel towers of the modern metropolis. Ironic that Alexander sat humbled by the technology created by his policies toward the Scholars.
We did not go to the Spear, however. The figure skirted the edge of the administrative district, keeping to the old town and transportation hubs, more than once ducking into shops and then out the back door without speaking to merchant or customer. People seemed unphased by his passing. There were a couple more instances of the disorientation, when it felt like the world was being squeezed through a tube and everything became unfamiliar. If my quarry was a scion of Morgan, he was reeling off invokations I had never heard of, much less learned. I felt the Betrayer's hand in this. My pace quickened, driven forward by curiosity as much as my warrior's training. I wanted this target, wanted to hunt him down and drive him to the ground.
Our path began to orbit a cluster of buildings. I slowed down. The figure was looking for tails, checking and double checking his path. I had him well in sight now, but there was no getting any closer. We circled that cluster of buildings once, twice, and then he stopped in front of one particular place. White walls, plaster chipped and old, windows shuttered, but the iconography still maintained. One of the original missions of Alexander, its glory faded, its doors long closed. But not to this man. He crept silently to the door and laid a hand against it. Something happened, an invokation or a signal, and the door opened. Before he went inside, the figure looked up and down the street, then disappeared into the darkness. I saw his face.
Elder Simeon, son of Hatheus, holy scion of Morgan.
* * *
Simeon walked slowly through the darkened hallway, discarding the invokations of stealth and speed that he had been wearing since he left the Strength. He was unarmed and unadorned, as the relics of the Cult would have too readily marked him as a scion of Morgan. His clothes were plain, and he wore no emblems around his neck or at his wrists. One of the most powerful men in the city of Ash looked like little more than a shopkeep, caught in the bad part of town.
The hallway opened into a tall central room, a domed space off which various arched doorways led. Light came from a scattering of frictionlamps around the room, flickering under minimal power. A second-level terrace overlooked the main room. The floor here was a mosaic of tiny earthen tiles, but so many of the pieces were shattered that the picture was lost. Simeon scuffed his foot across the fragments, frowning. He looked around the room, then drew something from his pocket. A pendant. He held it aloft and incanted something under his breath. A pulse rippled through the air, and the shadows shifted.
"We are here, Simeon of Morgan. There is no need to shout."
The voice came from the terrace. Simeon turned to face the speaker, though he couldn't see him. He kept the pendant held high.
"I didn't want to meet like this, Malachi. There are too many eyes."
"Our eyes, Elder? Or your own?"
"Both. Come out, Healer."
A shadow detached itself from an archway and passed between two lamps. The man was trim and proper, white armor laced with gold and linen. He wore the armor well, a man accustomed to fighting as well as parade. A brace of daggers twinkled at his belt, and his gauntlets glowed with the subtle power of the Healer's icons. His face was smooth and young, though his eyes looked like the eyes of a doll. His lips were too big. Golden hair cascaded across his shoulders. His icons marked him as a High Elector of the Cult of Alexander. It was Nathaniel, who had early on been put in charge of the defense of the monastery, and whom the Elders had kicked out.
"Is this better, Warrior? Both of us in the light."
Simeon took a step back, breathing a curse. "I have had business with you, Elector, and put you aside. I am used to dealing with Malachi, of the House of Sutures. Where is he?"
"This matter has been elevated, as have I. I am in charge of this investigation now. The Council of Blood is deeply concerned about the possibility of their brothers of Morgan acting behind their backs, and have asked me to take a hand to it. So, tell me." He leaned against the railing. "What news, Elder?"
"They are not acting behind your back so much as acting in their own interest. You must understand their-"
"They are hiding an abomination of Amon. That was your report, no? That is why you came to us originally?"
"I came to Malachi because we are old friends, and things are getting out of hand. Your involvement is unwelcome."
"My involvement is at the behest of the godking, Elder. Now, tell me, what is happening in the House of Morgan that you would call such an urgent meeting with your friend?"
Simeon looked nervously around the room, then settled into himself.
"They have tasked the Paladin to retrieve the girl in your care. The Amonite. They believe she will be able to help them interpret the artifact."
"And why don't they get another Amonite? There are plenty."
"They do not wish to alert Alexander to their purpose. They wish the artifact be kept a secret."
"Mm." Nathaniel paced the terrace slowly, hands behind his back. "And the Paladin? How does she intend to retrieve this Amonite?"
"I don't know. We give her a loose leash."
"You should tighten it. There are enough troubles in the city without a Morganite kicking in doors and starting fights on the monotrain."
"She was attacked. The Fratriarch was kidnapped!"
"Regardless." He stopped and looked down at Simeon. "Control her."
"Two things, Elector. One, it doesn't work like that. She doesn't work like that. Two, you must remember that I am an Elder of Morgan. I will not be taking orders from your Cult, godking or no. I am here as a courtesy, because I think things have gone off the tracks."
The Elector stared at him with a dead face, then entertained the briefest of smiles. "Of course. Forgive me. I so rarely meet another of my standing. So this… Paladin. She will attack the Spear and save the young girl?"
"Perhaps. Your best hope is to hide her. A Paladin of Morgan is not something to be fought."
"We have our defenses. I am shocked that one of your Cult would seriously consider attacking the throne of the godking." The Elector flipped his hand in the air, as though dismissing a cloudy day. "Strange times."
"She would, if that is the only way for her to protect her Fratriarch. And your defenses? They are the defenses of a Healer. The Warrior will find her way through."
The slightest of smiles again, and then the Elector continued pacing.
"Of course. Additional precautions shall be taken. Any insight on what happened to Elias? I assume you are running your own investigations."
"I… I think Eva may believe that it was an inside job. That he was betrayed by one of our own."
"Really? You should be careful, then, Elder, sneaking out of the Strength for shady meetings with the scions of Alexander. Does she suspect us, then? You lot are always blaming someone for your troubles."