They intervened. I did not know them, though they were familiar to me. The two I had seen, just before the attack on the Fratriarch. Bulky men in cloaks, armored cowls over half their faces, hoods down, tattoos banding their eyes. They fell from the roof, just as I had. They carried weapons, in each hand a punching dagger that folded out from hidden places, expanding and growing even as I watched. Their eyes flared brilliant light as they landed. Their incantations were of absolute power, spoken in the words of ancient languages. Again, the Betrayers paused.
The first that stepped to the new attackers was cut down. The second as well. There was no third attack. The rest jumped away, the shadows swallowing them even as the newcomers lifted their arms and filled the dome with light. The Elector was gone, the gold trim of his cloak flitting around a corner even as his servants disappeared.
I stood in a guard position. They raised their hands to me, then nodded in the direction Nathaniel had taken. I shook my head and went to the Elder. His shield flickered and disappeared like a wisp of smoke under my hand. His breath was ragged.
"Eva. I didn't know who they were. I didn't realize."
"Enough, Elder. What has happened here?"
"The girl. They will end the girl. She must be saved."
"From Alexander," I said, grimacing. "He seems to have it in for us."
"I don't know," Simeon gasped. "I don't know who these people are, or who they stand with. But the girl must be saved. We have made so many mistakes, Eva. She must be saved."
"We've made nothing but mistakes, Elder." I stood, wavering as the power of Morgan left me. "But I will do what I can."
"What you must, Paladin. They have taken her to the Chanter's Island."
I nodded and looked around. The men were gone. I turned to the archway the Elector had taken, touched my sword to my forehead, and remembered Morgan as he lay dying on the Fields of Erathis. I had found the scions of the Betrayer. They would not escape me.
10
'wen 'wen really had been sent to look after me by his boss. I wasn't _ sitting in the local station more than five minutes before he came rushing in. Like he was just in the area. Sure.
"Gods, Forge. You look like hell."
"Hell is filled with trite expressions," I said, wincing as I stood. "You my ride?"
"I don't think you're going anywhere. Honestly, you're barely able to stand."
"Yeah. That's why I called for a ride." Truth was, I had stumbled into this station to give them the word on my Elder. They had rushed out with medical bags and trauma machines, out to where I had told them Simeon was lying. They hadn't come back yet. In the meantime I had sat down, and just hadn't gotten around to standing up again. Long as Owen was here, though, I figured he could make himself useful. "Let's get going."
He tugged at the leather shoulder strap of my holster as I tried to get by. I turned to him.
"Seriously, what went on out there? I've got reports on the rig of a roughed-up Elder of Morgan and a lot of dead bodies."
"That's what happens, usually. One of us, lots of them." I rested against the counter for two long breaths. "Is he going to be okay?"
"The Elder? I don't know, honestly. Who is it?"
"Simeon. He was out there… talking. Trying to do what he thought was the right thing." I looked Owen briefly in the eye, then tugged free of his grasp and started toward the door. "Anyway. We've got some ground to cover."
"There more bodies you need to lead me to, Paladin?"
"Not yet. But there will be." That got him to follow me.
The ride over was quiet, quiet as it can be in a patrol wagon with blaring sirens. The Chanter's island home wasn't too far, but it was a lot farther than I was going to walk. On the way I gathered what strength I could. Meditated. Thought about Simeon and Elias, put down by Betrayers' blades. Barnabas. Wherever he was. I thought about those strange tattooed men, and the cold, dead eyes of the coldmen as they came at us in the Amonites' cistern.
"What happened?" Owen asked, sternly. "What are you driving us into, Eva? What am I going to lose my boys to this time?"
I opened my eyes and looked down the length of the wagon. Owen's patrol was strapped in, trying hard to keep their eyes forward, the fear off their faces. Trying, and failing. Some new faces, to replace the boys we lost in the cistern. Owen sat next to me, his hands crossed over the biggest, widest shotgun I had ever seen. Boy had upgraded. Not so much of the Healer in him now, perhaps. That was good.
"Who attacked the Elder, Eva? Must have been a hell of a thing, to take down one of your old men."
"I don't know. Seems to be more and more common all the time. As to who they were… I'm not sure. I don't know, and I'm praying like hell that you don't know them either."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"One of them was dressed as a High Elector of your Cult. Guy's name was Nathaniel. He was in charge of security at the Strength, around the time that Elias got killed." I gave Owen a sharp look.
"You're saying a scion of Alexander attacked you? That's… it's not true. It can't be."
"No, not saying that. I'm saying it looked like that. But him and his dogs, they were Betrayer kin. They bore the icons, and they had the invokations. Amon's folk, and no doubt about that."
The wagon got tense. Owen leaned close to me, his voice a harsh whisper.
"Eva, if what you're saying is true-"
"Forget it. Forget I said anything. If it's true we're going to have to root the whole damn Cult out again, I know it. We thought we had them nice and safe in their black robes with their chain-bound souls. Lazy. That's our mistake, Healer. We got lazy."
Everyone settled back into their seats and listened to the sirens for a while. I didn't have to tell them what we might be going into. We all knew the stories of the Betrayer. We knew this was the kind of fight that ended with one side all dead and the other with plenty to mourn.
* * *
The Chanters sect of the Cult of Alexander has its own island. It's the kind of thing you really hope for, when you're setting up a mysterious religious order. Your own island. This particular island was really just a floating tower, much more of it below the water than above, bobbing peacefully in the wide bay that was formed by the two horns of the city of Ash. It looked like an iceberg of stone, held in place by a flat ring of landing platforms and docks that met the face of the water.
We took a ferry over, cranking up the wagon and bursting along the dock with our sirens blaring as soon as we touched the artificial shore. The Wardens of the Chanter's Isle didn't know what to make of that, other than to give us funny looks and stay out of our way. Good enough for me.
The main gate of the Chanters' detention facility was a facade of unbroken marble, smooth as the first snow. The wagon chattered to a stop where the gate was supposed to be and the patrol piled out, Owen in the lead. Beside the gate there was a marble figure, the barest features of a face on a square column. I walked up to it and tapped it on the forehead. Disrespectful, but I never was much of a fan of the Chanters and their pretty little tower.
"Hello, inside. We'd like to come in now. Okay?"
The column shivered and the face moved. You could taste the understated irritation.
"Entrance to this facility is limited to the highest initiates of the Cult of Alexander, godking of all Ash. All others must request special privileges. These requests may be filed-"