“No one did,” Henlester spat.
Vendurro nodded. “He has you there, Cap.”
“Be that as it may. The stories of those first priests, even the self-proclaimed filthy ones, well, one can hardly help but be inspired, yes? Your forefathers stood against the despair and malaise, the utter devastation of spirit visited upon the world as the Old Gods, the Great Gods, the only gods we’d ever known, in fact, left us high and dry.” He raised a fist. “And they said, ‘Hope is not lost! The world is not lost!’”
“Did you drag me out here only to mock me, Black Noose?”
Braylar clicked his tongue on the roof of his mouth. “You mistake me, Your Eminence. I find all the accounts of the origins of your order truly remarkable. But while the miracles and marvels, the triumph in the face of the overwhelming, are all infinitely compelling, being a military man who lives and dies by logistics, I was far more enthralled by the accounts of the men, and in a few small instances, women, who did more than preach and proselytize.”
Henlester looked suspicious, even more than he had even moments earlier, which hadn’t seemed possible, as Braylar continued. “I am speaking of the ones who organized, collected the coins, built the temples, created the hierarchy, and a thousand other things required to transform a humble and modest movement into the rich and powerful order we see today.”
Hewspear nodded and said, “All odds were against it, and yet you prevailed. It is a captivating bit of history.”
“Yes,” Braylar said. “All the minor gods who had flickered and faded while the Old Gods held sway, little more than shadows or chattel, flourished as the founders of Truth and other devout zealots took advantage of the absence of the Deserters. Those small gods hadn’t been powerful enough to usurp the celestial throne, but they were clever enough to seize the opportunity.”
Henlester’s pale eyes were drawn into slits. “Your words and tone are an ill match, Syldoon. And my bones ache. What’s more, the gods do not abide mocking. So are you through with false admiration? Am I free to return to my wheeled dungeon now? Or would you torment an old vanquished man still more?”
Braylar raised both hands, palms out. “You mistake me, High Priest. I truly do respect the work your forebears did. Particularly the will to create something out of nothing, as I said. But while your annals are full of stories of those who strove to bring order and structure out of the void, there are also tales of those who were driven by passions and impulses that the order did not condone. Where there are rules, there will always be rule breakers, yes?”
Henlester looked at each of the Syldoon in turn, as if trying to discern what trap was being laid for him. “I mislike your insolence, your irreverence, and your lack of faith or respect. But most of all, I mislike your babbling. If you have some point, come to it.”
Braylar continued as if the high priest hadn’t spoken at all. “I am drawn in by the histories of your most pious, but being a black-hearted, black-noosed savage, I am far more intrigued by those in your order that were branded traitors or heretics. Such as Anroviak.”
He let that name hang there, whether for dramatic effect, or to gauge Henlester’s reaction, but if the latter, he must have been disappointed, as the high priest hadn’t so much as shifted an eyebrow. “What of him? A heretic, as you say, who cavorted with demons and was decried for it. Nothing more interesting than that.”
“Oh, he was insufferable and insolvent, from all reports. Qualities I admire. But it wasn’t demons that I heard tell he trafficked with at all. No, it was witches. Have I been reading the wrong accounts, Your Eminence?”
The high priest waved a hand, “Demons, witches, what does it matter? He was a heretic and paid the penalty for it.”
Braylar looked at Mulldoos, “Does it matter whether it was demons or witches, Lieutenant?”
“The holy prune says no, but I’m thinking it just might.”
“As am I.”
Henlester’s face had gone the color of spoiled milk to, well, a prune. “You have insulted my god, the founders of our order, and now my person. Are you quite through, you insolent bastard?”
“No, not quite. You see, the tale I heard was that Anroviak hunted and studied witches, by leave of the triumvirate. His ‘heresy,’ as you call it, was only affixed to him after he refused their orders to cease.”
A warm breeze blew, and Henlester’s white hair billowed like a fine nimbus around his head, as his chin lifted and he assumed the air of authority and command that would have been most impressive. If he hadn’t been a prisoner. “Lies. Damnable lies. Anroviak was a promising underpriest who was led astray by demons, and there’s an end to it.”
Braylar shook his head. “Again, not quite. You see, I have not only Anroviak’s own personal account, which on its own would hardly be fully reliable, but I have seen documents, records from members of the triumvirate, that confirm his version of those events.”
Henlester sneered, and while he still possessed all his teeth, they were a deep yellow. “And now you damn yourself with lying. I can see why you have an affinity for Anroviak.”
“The truth is the truth, even if falls off the tongue of known liars.” He pointed at me and said, “This scribe has examined the documents, translated them, and they bear out all I have said.”
Henlester looked at me, as unimpressed as if I had been wearing a shift covered in shit. “Then you repeat his lies. Which brands you a fool. Worse, in my mind. The only records of Anroviak’s misdeeds, trial, and punishment are housed in Sezwenna, holiest of holy cities.”
“And where do you think we stole them from?”
For the first time, Henlester seemed at a loss for words, if only for a moment. But he recovered quickly enough. “You seem unable to string together two words without one being false.”
Braylar turned to me. “The key.”
“To the chest?”
“No, to a fair maiden’s heart. Yes, the chest, you dolt, with Anroviak’s account. Quickly now, lest his Eminence have cause to insult my integrity again. The book and scroll, they are in the chest just behind the barrel of dates, yes?” I nodded and handed him the key and he said, “Vendurro, be so kind as to fetch them both. Be quick about it. But careful as well. They are exceptionally brittle. Unlike our guest here, no matter how much he conveniently moans about his age.”
“Aye, Cap. Though careful and quick ain’t usually allies.”
Henlester didn’t spare Vendurro a second glance as the sergeant ran toward the wagons. “On the tongue or paper, a lie is a lie. Or forgery. Amounts to the same. What is this mummer’s farce about, Black Noose?”
Braylar replied, “Regardless of how you might caw to the contrary, Anroviak was not simply a heretic or disobedient cleric. His actions were endorsed by the order. At least until they weren’t. And he discovered something, didn’t he, priest? About how to control witches, to collar and harness them? Whether for nefarious purposes or simply because the man had a devious curiosity, he found a way to bind memory witches to his will, did he not?”
The high priest was hardly awed. “You are mistaken or lying, but it hardly matters which. Either way, you are not speaking truths.”
Braylar turned to Mulldoos. “I am beginning to suspect the good cleric does not believe me.”