Veil peered about him, but there seemed no obvious source to the dim blue light that filled the church. He glanced down at his feet to see which way his shadow was pointing, and his heart missed a beat. He didn't have a shadow. A cold hand clutched at his heart, and for a moment his breath caught in his throat. There had to be a shadow; there were other shadows all around him. Some of them were moving. Veil stumbled back a step and looked quickly about him, but there was nothing and no one in the church with him, and the quiet remained unbroken. He took a deep breath and made himself hold it for a long moment before letting go. This was no time to be letting his imagination get the better of him. The light was nothing to worry about. There were bound to be stray vestiges of magic in a place like this.
He made himself walk over to the stone altar. It didn't look like much, up close. Just a great slab of stone, roughly the shape and size of an average coffin. He winced mentally at the comparison, and walked slowly round the altar. It was cracked from end to end, and someone had cut runes of power into the stone with a chisel. Veil's lips moved slowly as he worked out the meaning. The runes were part of a restraining spell, meant to hold something in the stone.
Veil frowned. All he knew about the Temple of the Abomination was what everybody knew. Hundreds of years ago, when the city was still young, a cult of death and worse than death had flourished on the Street of Gods, until the other Beings had joined together to destroy the Abomination and all its worshippers. It all happened so long ago that no one even remembered what the Abomination was anymore. On an impulse, Veil placed his hands on the altar and called up his magic, trying to draw out whatever impressions still remained in the stone.
Power rushed through him like a tidal wave, awful and magnificent, blinding and deafening him with its intensity. He staggered drunkenly back and forth as strange thoughts and feelings swept through him, none of them his own.
Memories of priests and carriers swept through him and were gone, blazing up and disappearing like so many candles snuffed by an unforgiving darkness. There were too many to count, but all of them had served the Abomination, and it had granted them power over the earth and everything that moved upon it.
Veil slowly lifted his head and looked about him. The church was lit as bright as day. He could feel the power surging within him, impatient to be released. He would use that power to gather followers, and bring them to what moved within him. And the thing that men had once called the Abomination would thrive and grow strong again.
That was not its true name, of course. Veil knew what the Abomination really was. He'd known it all his life. He laughed aloud, and the horrid sound echoed on and on in the silence.
Chapter Four
VARIOUS KINDS OF TRUTH
Hawk and Fisher lounged around Adamant's study, waiting impatiently for him to make an appearance. They were due to go out campaigning in the streets soon, but Adamant had promised them a chance to talk with everyone first. Hawk and Fisher still thought of themselves primarily as bodyguards, but there was still the problem of a possible traitor and embezzler somewhere in Adamant's inner circle. Hawk was determined to get to the bottom of that. He didn't like traitors.
Fisher helped herself to a large drink from one of the decanters, and looked enquiringly at Hawk. He shook his head. "You shouldn't either, Isobel. We're going to need clear heads to get through today."
Fisher shrugged, and poured half the drink back into the decanter. "Where the hell is Adamant, anyway? He promised us at least an hour for these interviews."
"We'll manage," said Hawk. "Maybe we should start with someone else. Adamant's got a lot on his mind right now."
"You like him, don't you?" said Fisher.
"Yes. He reminds me a lot of Blackstone. Bright, compassionate, and committed to his Cause. I'm not going to lose him as well, Isobel."
"Don't get carried away," said Fisher. "Remember, as Guards we're strictly neutral. We don't take sides. We're protecting the man, not his Cause. If you want to get enthusiastic about Reform, do it on your own time."
"Oh, come on, Isobel. Doesn't Adamant stir your blood even a little? Think of the things he could do once he gets elected."
"If he gets elected."
The door opened, and they quickly fell silent. Adamant nodded briskly to the two Guards, and pretended not to notice the drink in Fisher's hand. "Sorry I'm late, but Medley keeps coming up with problems he insists only I can deal with. Now, what can I do for you?"
"We need more detail on the death threats, the information leaks, and the embezzlement," said Hawk. "Let's start with the death threats."
Adamant sat on the edge of his desk, and frowned thoughtfully. "I didn't pay them much attention at first. There are always threats and crank letters. Reform has many enemies. But then the threats became specific. They said my garden would die, and it did. More magical attacks followed, including the one that killed Mortice. The last communication said I would die if I didn't resign. Blunt as that.
"There's not much I can tell you about the embezzling. My accountants stumbled across it quite by accident. Medley has the details. They've agreed to keep quiet about it until we can find the traitor, but they won't stay silent for long. They work for the Cause, not me personally."
"The information leaks," prompted Fisher.
"After the embezzlement I started checking through my records, and I found that what I'd thought of as nothing more than a run of really bad luck was actually something more than that. Something more sinister. Someone had been tipping off the Conservatives about my plans and movements. Crowds were dispersed before I could address them, potential allies were intimidated, and meetings were disrupted by planted thugs. Not everyone has access to that kind of information in advance. It has to be someone close to me."
"Assuming we identify the traitor," said Hawk slowly, "what if it turns out to be someone very close to you?"
"You let the law take its course," said Adamant flatly.
"Even if it's a friend?"
"Especially if it's a friend."
In the cellar, in the darkness, the sorcerer Mortice sat alone amid blocks of ice and felt his body decay. The pain howled within him, awful and never-ending, gnawing away at his courage and his sanity. At first the concentration needed to maintain Adamant's defenses had helped to protect him from the pain and the horror of his situation, but it wasn't enough anymore. Through all the endless hours of the day and night there was nothing for him to do but sit and think and feel.
He had gone through anger and acceptance and horror, and now existed from minute to minute in quiet desperation. He had long ago given up on hope. He would have gladly gone mad, if he hadn't needed to keep control to protect Adamant. He still might. More and more his thoughts tended to wander and fray at the edges.
No one had been to see him for a long time. He could understand that. It was cold in the cellar, and they all had things to do, important things. But time passed slowly in the dark, and no one had been to see him in a very long time. And Adamant, his good friend James Adamant, came least of all.
Mortice sat alone in the cold, in the dark, in the pain, going slowly insane and knowing there was nothing he could do to stop it.
Medley came breezing into the study with a sheaf of papers in his hand, and then stopped dead as he saw Hawk and Fisher.
"Oh, damn! You wanted to see me, didn't you? Sorry, but James has been running me off my feet this morning. What can I do for you?"
"To start with, tell us about the embezzlement," said Hawk. "Exactly how much money has gone missing?"
"A fair amount," said Medley, sitting casually on the edge of Adamant's desk. "About three thousand ducats in all, spread over a period of three months. Small amounts at first, but growing steadily larger."