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So, I've officially gone insane. I'm going to try to do this in the 9 days left (although even if I fail, I'll keep going into December and try to finish in 30 days instead).
Anyway, I decided that maybe posting the result is going to motivate me more, so here it is. Don't expect anything resembling quality or originality, don't expect the plot to make sense. I'm just going to try and crank out 50k words of legible text. Feel free to leave assorted comments, mockery and questioning of sanity.
Amber evening light shone through the chapel's windows, warming the pews and illuminating the moasic on the walls that depicted Ishua, son of the god, descending to earth upon a star.
"It will be a long time before I see you again," Avita murmured, her wrinkled, heavily-veined hand ruffling Vinkiri's hair. "You will be gone two years, three?"
"Three," Vinkiri chirped. "Corriari says we'll be heading to the east, this time, all the way to the Holy City. I'll get to see Ryventine with its triple walls and the Church of Divine Wisdom. Everything that you told me about, in fact. Avita, won't you come? You told me you always wanted to visit the City. I'm sure," she added in a conspirational tone, "Corriari wouldn't mind."
Avita recoiled, mangling her features in an exaggerated expression of mock horror. "Spare me," she exclaimed. "I am too old for pilgrimmages. Too old. Would you kill an aging woman by marching her halfway across the known world? Have a little mercy, child." They both laughed; Avita's gentle chortling and Vinkiri's clear, bright laughter.
"Be careful on the road," Avita said when the mirth had subsided. "They may not allow you to dance in Ryventine, you know."
Vinkiri nodded solemnly. The nomadic Iosan people worshipped the god of the Orthodoxy, but they also clung to their reverance of Iokhmar, the Road God, which the patriarchs deounced as a slide into backwards paganism. It was also a public secret that at least some patriarchs viewed their practices as lewd and gaudy. Formally, the Iosan were followers of the Othodoxy and had long been allowed to practice their ways, dating from the ancient days of the Ryventine Empire when they had saved the daughter of an Emperor and had been granted citizenship in perpetuity ever since. In war the Empire found them useful as guides, scouts and - occasionally - spies. For those reasons there was no persecution to speak of, but nonetheless, certain sorts of oestantious displays were unwise.
Here in the west, far from the Holy City, things were somewhat different, many of the Empire's citizens being barbarians who had conquered and settled the Western empire, then in their turn conquered and converted to the worship of the god. Whatever patriarchs in the East might say, here the reality was that some might still worship Avasteia or Nagator as much as they might invoke the blessing of the god or plead His son Ishua intercede for them. Avita, despite being a priestess herself, did not seem to mind, and had accepted Vinkiri as a friend, but in the Holy City such a relationship would have been considered scandalous.
There was a moment of silence before Avita sighed and folded her hands in her lap, growing solemn, as if preparing to make an awkward demand. "I have a favor to ask."
Vinkiri nodded. "Anything." Her dark eyes followed as Avita reached for a cloth-wrapped bundle, inspected it, and handed it over. Vinkiri accepted it; it was square-shaped, a little less than her forearm's length in two dimensions, and unexpectedly heavy.
"When you arrive at the Holy City, please deliver this to a friend of mine." Avita gave a name and an address, which Vinkiri repeated after her and memorized.
"I will," Vinkiri said. "But Avita, if you'll let me ask... why not send it by the Imperial Post? It'll be faster."
Avita was already shaking her head before the sentence was half-complete. "Not the Post. I cannot trust them. Only you." That made Vinkiri flush, and warm with an overwhelming sense of endearment for the old, wrinkled priestess before her. "And this is something of very great importance to me, Vinkiri. It concerns some... issues of faith that I hope an acquaintance in the City might help with. Inside are some books and a letter by me. Keep them dry and safe." How Avita expected to receive a response to the letter if the Imperial Post couldn't be trusted to carry it puzzled Vinkiri, but she decided not to ask. Mentally, she made a note to revisit the address Avita had given her before leaving the Holy City to pick up any reply there might be.
"I promise," she said, nodding solemnly. Autumn had scarcely began and the days were not yet short, but already the light from outside was growing dim. She ought to be going; Corriari would want her back by sundown, and tomorrow they would break camp and leave. They had to reach the coast before winter came and all sea travel ground to a halt. "I've got to leave now, Avita. I'll be scolded if I don't get to the camp by sundown."
"One more thing." Avita motioned for her to stay, then picked up a small bundle from beside her and put it in her arms with the books. "Biscuits," she explained with a smile. "I baked them. For you on the road."
Vinkiri beamed. Seized by a sudden impulse, she set aside the package and biscuits and stood, at ease in her leather clothes and beaded necklaces. She untied the colorful, decorative scarf she wore and carefully wound it around Avita's shoulders. "For you," she said. "To keep you warm this winter."
They embraced, surrounded by the last light of the sun, with Vinkiri painfully aware that this was the last time they would meet in a long while. "The god give you light always," Vinkiri murmured. "And the god speed your way," Avita said in response, grasping her shoulders to look at her. "I will miss you dearly. Why, by the time I meet you next, you will probably be wed and have no time for an old, cantankerous woman." That made Vinkiri color, and a moment later they both laughed again.
Vinkiri picked up Avita's package and the biscuits, hugging both to her chest, and left. At the door she turned to see Avita waving at her, and waved in return. That was the last she ever saw of the priestess: smiling kindly, arm raised in farewell, silhouetted against the mosaic behind her that depicted Ishua, son of the god, bearing the gift of fire - the light of civilization - to mankind as angels sang above.
* * *
It was only two days later when they met the rider.
By then, Corriari's band of Iosan were far from the town, camped in a field by the side of the road for the night. It was late and the fires had burned low in the Iosan camp when Vinkiri heard it: the sound of galloping hooves along the country road. Vinkiri, yawning as she stood in front of her tent, was instantly alert. Here in the western regions, where the soldiers of the Empire were spread thin and bandits - not to mention the occasional brief, bloody insurrection - were still regrettably common sights, anyone abroad this late at night was either someone in great need or a threat.
Iosan men, armed with short bows, watched the rider as he or she slowed down and approached the camp. One of them called out a challenge, and was answered. Vinkiri realized with no small amount of surprise that the rider was a woman. Well, that was no guarantee of trustworthiness either: bandits had been known to use women, the old, and the very young to lure travellers into a false sense of security.
Stepping closer with a few of the most bravest - and most curious - her surprise grew when she realized that Corriari was among those Iosan who had come out to meet the stranger. A few others stood by, short bows lowered as the rider dismounted and approached on foot, leading her horse by the reins with one hand and holding the other out. Vinkiri noticed she wore a flanged mace at her side. Corriari moved closer to speak with the stranger, and Vinkiri hurried towards them, joining the trickle of people that were crowding into the circle of firelight surrounding them both.
"I need a guide," the stranger was saying.
"I'm sorry, Inquisitor, but we can't spare anyone. We are all due across the seas before winter-"
"This is a matter of very great urgency," the Inquisitor cut her off. "And I would rather one of you come freely than I force your compliance. I only need one person. If it is any compensation, I can pay well. I can pay in advance, if you wish." Now Vinkiri got a better look at her: a woman, golden-haired. She wore nondescript robes, a tunic and hose.
"I need a guide to take me to a local church," the Inquisitor turned to the crowd and said, raising her voice to be heard, and gave the name of a nearby town. Suddenly, Vinkiri felt the chill of a premonition running down her spine.
By the firelight, Corriari's expression was resigned. "Who wishes to go?" she called to those gathered at large. There were murmurings all around. It could not be one of the men, of course; they were needed to guard the company as they travelled and in any case, it was wholly inapropriate for a man and woman to travel alone, even if one of them was an Inquisitor.
"I was there two days ago," Vinkiri blurted out, and both Corriari and the Inquisitor turned to stare at her. "What's happened?"
"You say you were there two days ago. What were you doing there? Tell me." The Inquisitor's voice was urgent, but not ungentle. Vinkiri told her. Halfway through, she raised a gloved hand and motioned for Vinkiri to stop. "You knew Avita well?"
Vinkiri hesitated before answering. Those from the Holy City might not approve, she remembered, and neither might an Inquisitor. Instantly, though, she sensed her reluctance to speak had put the other woman on alert. Vinkiri decided at last to be honest, completely and utterly. "She took care of me for a season when I was young and ill. We've been friends ever since. I visited her every year."
"Good." The Inquisitor nodded. "Very good; this has been a merciful turn of events for all of us. I want you to come with me, and I will need to look at the package she gave you as well, later."
Her head still spinning from the night's events so far, Vinkiri could hold back her worry no more. There was a growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach as she asked, "Inquisitor, is something wrong? What's happened to Avita?"
This time, it was the Inquisitor's turn to seem to hesitate, but only for an instant. "I suppose you deserve to know, after all. Something very wrong has happened indeed," came the reply. "Yesterday, Avita was murdered."
Vinkiri felt light-headed; for an instant, the world seemed to shift in and out of focus. Someone next to her was holding her, and Vinkiri grabbed on to their outstretched arm for support. "I am sorry," the Inquisitor said, and this time there was pity in her voice. "An innocent woman ought not to have been harmed, and you should have been spared learning the truth in this way, but there is nothing that can be done about that now. All that we can do is ensure her murderers are brought to justice. There will be time to grieve later. Gather your things; we must leave soon. Go!"
Mechanically, Vinkiri retreated to the tent she shared with three other girls of the camp, fending off murmurs of concern all the way. Like most Iosan, she had little in the way of worldly goods, since being able to travel light was a necessity of life. Numb with shock, she packed clothes, food - including what was left of the biscuits Avita had baked for her, which brought a sharp pang of pain - and the package that had been entrusted to her. Everything fit in her worn leather backpack, but only barely.
On her way back out to where the Inquisitor was waiting by her horse, Corriari stopped her. "Are you alright? Are you sure you can go?" the older woman asked. There was audible worry in her voice.
Vinkiri nodded mutely. She started to pull away, then stopped and said, "Can you please tell my mother I'll be safe? I hope I can return soon, but I'm not sure how long I'll be away. If I'm not back by the time you've crossed the sea, please apologize for me, too." She turned to wave farewell to the camp and was sent off with a pat on her shoulder to where the Inquisitor waited by her panting horse, reins in hand, already prepared to leave.
"What is your name?" came the question as Vinkiri drew near. The Inquisitor was a full foot taller than she was; silhouetted against the moonlight she looked uncomfortably like a foreboding figure of doom. Which, in a certain way, she had been this night.
"Vinkiri," she answered. "Vinkiri di Zalenar dan Asidar," and the Inquisitor nodded in reply. "I am Inquisitor Sophia Delanor, of the church of the Orthodoxy. Let us go."
A woman was supposed to ride sidesaddle, but looking ladylike was not a priority for Vinkiri. Neither was it, apparently, for Sophia. Both of them rode astride, and Vinkiri linked her arms around the Inquisitor's waist to steady herself. The lights of the Iosan camp faded into pinpoints as they rode on at speed, and did so for the rest of the night, without sleep.
Several times, Vinkiri pointed out roads to take and paths to avoid, as they worked their way through the poorly-mapped rural countryside of the Empire's far west. Near dawn, Sophia paused to let their exhausted mount rest and water. Both of them dismounted before Sophia led the trembling, sweat-drenched horse to a clear stream to drink. Together they fed and rubbed down the animal, Vinkiri inwardly apologizing for taxing the poor thing so heavily.
When they were done Sophia produced a flask, uncorked it, and took a long swig before handing it to her. Vinkiri sniffed, then drank thirstily; it was water. Handing back the flask, she asked, "Why an Inquisitor?"
Sophia raised an eyebrow at her. "I didn't know that Inquisitors investigated murders as well," Vinkiri pressed.
"The holy Inquisition of the Orthodoxy," Sophia began, "is charged with rooting out heterodoxy wherever it rises its head. That is its original purpose, inherited when Emperor Silverius II modeled the organization after the Inquisition of the western church. When he did so, though, he also added to it the mission of regulating magical use through out all territories of the Empire." A pause. "You do know that ordained priests of the Orthodoxy are the only legal practitioners of magic within the Empire?"
Vinkiri saw where this was leading. "You're saying that Avita's death had something to do with magic. Don't tell me... Was she murdered with..." A chill ran down her spine as she tasted the words; the use of magic to kill was taboo among almost all peoples of the known world.
Sophia shrugged. "It is possible. The murderer certainly used it, a great quantity of it, which is how it was detected. Avita's murder, and its true nature, were discovered by the priest in the township, who set off a magical alarm. By chance, I was returning from an errand nearby and responded." Sophia took a last drink from her flask before corking it and hooking it to her belt. "This is no small matter. If there is the slightest chance that the murderer was a priest that had gone rogue - a grave incident, given the trouble such an individual might cause - then I am duty-bound to investigate. The only other possibilites are that someone has managed to cultivate magical power without training by the Orthodoxy, or that Avita's murder was accomplished by a foreign agent, though what the poor woman could have done to attract such attention, I will have to find out."
Vinkiri wracked her brain for ideas as to what kind, gentle Avita could have done to draw down the wrath of rogue priests, evil sorcerers, and assassins of the Khalifate upon her head, and came up with nothing. Part of her still had difficulty accepting that the priestess was dead. There was a surreal air to the past night's events.
At last, Sophia glanced at the rapidly-brightening horizon, then gestured for Vinkiri to move. "Let's hurry. I hope to reach the scene by midday."
They kept up a blistering pace for the rest of the morning and reached a branch of the Imperial post sometime later, where they paused again to exchange mounts. The postmaster was none too happy at their showing up to requisition horses, until Sophia brandished a silver ring she wore, engraved with the eight-pointed star that was the holy symbol of the Orthodoxy, at him. After that he ended his protests, though still visibly displeased. Vinkiri wondered at the sort of power that might compel obedience with a glance, while Sophia stood by, impassive, as they were brought two fresh mounts.
As it turned out, it was sometime after midday when they arrived at last: the familiar cluster of wood-and-brick buildings coming into view. A cold, terrible sense of foreboding came over Vinkiri when she realized that the chapel she and Avita had met in yesterday, the tallest building in the settlement, was no longer visible from the road. Only two days ago she had ran down this very road after her meeting with Avita. Without a word, they rode on into the silent streets, houses with barred windows and doors in every direction.
Although she had been warned by Sophia, Vinkiri was still not prepared for the sight when it finally came. The chapel, and its adjoining temple, were gone. Where they once stood, only charred ruins remained. The tall roof and walls had fallen in and the stranded supports stood like blackened bones amid the ash. The glass pieces of the mosaic were scattered on the ground like a child's lost marbles, clouded and cracked from searing heat. Whoever had killed Avita had burned down the chapel as well.
Both of them dismounted, leaving their horses tethered nearby. Sophia, with an Inquisitor's grim, methodical eye, walked forward, examining the ruins for evidence. Vinkiri had trouble taking more than a dozen steps. She had been told beforehand; she had known. But only now did it truly sink in that Avita was dead.
She fell to her knees, overwhelmed with grief, and wept.
The next two days passed in a blur. Sophia arranged lodgings for them at the only inn in town, but otherwise spent much of her time questioning people, inspecting the ruins, and - on the evening of their arrival - examining Avita's charred corpse. Vinkiri gave Sophia the package she had been entrusted by Avita out of the hope that something inside would shed light on the motive for the murder.
During this time, the story of what happened was pieced together. On the day after Vinkiri's departure, a man was seen entering the chapel at evening. Avita was inside cleaning up at the time. She would most likely have been alone.
Whatever transpired inside was not known. At sunset, the church was consumed by a tremendous, unnatural pyre of blue-green flame that was visible throughout the township. It destroyed the building with unusual speed, fortunately burning itself out before it could spread far. The man who had entered was spotted leaving the wreck, heading eastward. Nobody gave chase or attempted to stop him. Nobody could; against a wielder of magic, any force of arms that could be gathered in the entire township was of no use. It would have been a pointless waste of life. The townspeople bolted their doors and shuttered their windows, hiding in terror for a night and a day until Sophia arrived.
The only ordained Orthodoxite priest in town, an old man of sixty-two, saw the magical pyre that destroyed the church and made the selfless decision to raise the alarm. It was his call for help that Sophia had answered. Such a magical distress signal, by its very nature, would be plainly apparent to the murderer - and any user of magic - as well, who could have easily made the decision to turn back and silence him. At the time, the priest also did not know that the murderer was, in fact, leaving the township. None of this stopped him from calling for help. Sophia commended his bravery.
Brave townspeople had ventured into the wreckage by night, when the fires died, to retrieve Avita's corpse so that it would not be desecrated by animals come the morning. Whether she had been burnt alive or slain by mundane methods or sorcerous arts could not be definitely known.
On the second day after the murder, the funeral was held; Vinkiri was permitted to attend. Together with the townspeople, she laid to rest the best and kindest of Ishua's followers in all the world. Avita was buried with the burnt remains of Vinkiri's colorful scarf, which she had been wearing on the final day of her life. And at last Avita, who had given up her family name upon taking her vows and joining the priesthood, left behind the sorrow and loss of mortality to dwell in light everlasting with the god among the stars until the end of time.
* * *
It was nearly dark when Vinkiri returned to the inn, having lingered at Avita's newly-laid grave, as if trying to say goodbye again. Silent, head bowed, she nearly ran into someone blocking her path up the stairs and looked up; it was Sophia.
The Inquisitor already had her travelling pack slung over one shoulder and her heavy flanged mace at her hip. Vinkiri blinked in surprise. "Inquisitor? You're leaving?"
Sophia nodded. "You have saved me the trouble of finding you, at least. Thank you for your service," she said, and moved a hand to her belt; Vinkiri realized with alarm that the Inquisitor was going to pay her and send her off. "Wait, please," she said, and grabbed Sophia's wrist. The older woman raised an eyebrow at her wordlessly. "Does this mean you know where Avita's murderer is? Are you going after him? You have to take me along," she pleaded.
"If I do, then that is still my duty, not yours," Sophia replied evenly. "And it is too dangerous. I cannot have a child at my heels to take care of on my journeys. You belong with your people."
Vinikiri was not about to give up. "You have to let me come," she said, with more confidence this time. "I was her friend. It's my duty to help find whoever killed her." Sophia gazed impassively back. "I can take care of myself. I'll be useful, I promise. Besides," she looked up hopefully, "You still need a guide - right?"
That last part was merely a whisper of a hope. The Iosan people, crisscrossing the provinces in their nomadic ways, had a not-undeserved reputation for knowing every nook and cranny of the Empire's soil, but Vinkiri was too young to have traveled widely enough to be useful should Sophia's pursuit lead her to the far eastern corners of the Empire or even beyond its borders. Still, she would cling to anything and everything that might even hint of a rationale for the Inquisitor to take her along. She resolutely held Sophia's searching, steel-gray gaze.
After a moment of silence, Vinkiri remembered something. "You also have to give me back the package Avita gave to me. I still have to bring it to the Holy City. I promised her I would." She held out a demanding hand at Sophia.
Now the Inquisitor seemed highly amused. This, Vinkiri thought, was entirely unfair. Annoyed, she continued to stare back earnestly. After a moment, the mirth seemed to fade from Sophia's face; she looked less stern, more contemplative. The inquisitor seemed to be considering something.
At last, Sophia broke the silence. "Come with me," she said, and turned to head upstairs. Heart pounding wth anticipation, Vinkiri obeyed without a word, following the Inquisitor as they entered her room. Sophia walked over to the oil lamp, removed the glass hood, and pinched the wick with thumb and forefinger; when her hand left it the lamp was alight. "Bar the door," she ordered as she replaced the hood.
Once the door was barred, Sophia sat on the only chair in the tiny room and motioned for Vinkiri to sit on the bed. There was a moment of silence, as if she was contemplating how to begin. "Have you heard of the Cult of the High God?"
Vinkiri shook her head.
"Since long before the founding of the Ryventine Empire," Sophia began, "certain scholars - typically unbelievers - have proposed that in addition to the known gods, there is a greater power, omnipotent and omniscient, as high above all known gods as the gods are above mortal man, who is properly the true creator of the universe and the source and font of all power. This hypothetical deity is called the 'High God' or Prime Mover by those who study such things. I say 'hypothetical' because in all history there has been only the most circumstantial evidence to support the existence of such a super-deity. How could one imagine a deity greater than Ishua and the god? If such a deity exists, why does it not demand worship? Why has it not made its will apparent, and why have humans - indeed, the Cult itself - found no concrete evidence of its existence? No, such a god cannot exist.
"Even those who strongly support this hypothesis are hardly evil folk. It is just misguided theological speculation, after all. The Cult of the High God is the only exception: its followers believe that human action is required to bring the High God into the universe or draw its attention to mortals. Which is, of course, nonsense. I do not think for an instant that any god might be reliant on mortals for anything, much less one as formidable as the super-deity referenced in most discussions of the High God. This has not discouraged the followers of the Cult, however. They promote warped intepretations of the holy texts of the Orthodoxy and other ancient religions to support their claims. They trawl the ruins of ancient civilizations in search of rumored hidden lore. The most extreme have gathered magical talent to their ranks - oftentimes by force - and attempted to use arcane means to contact or even summon portions of it. Which is foolhardy beyond all measure. Discounting the hazards of using poorly-researched magic, one does not provoke sleeping gods, even hypothetical ones. Their spells often demand great power and a number of mass killings have been traced to the Cult, probably blood sacrifices to fuel their magic."
Vinkiri interrupted. "You think they killed Avita for that? As a sacrifice?"
Sophia shook her head. "I will get to that. As you probably know, many churches in the western empire are also repositories of knowledge. During the disintegration of the old Empire, the Orthodoxy preserved much of the intellectual wealth of civilization at that point. Some of the oldest churches are built around libraries, or served as safehouses where books were brought when other places proved insecure. There is a lot of hidden knowledge here that the clergy has attempted to comprehensively study and document, but wars with the Khalifate have always forced our priorities elsewhere.
"The church that was burnt down, the one where Avita preached for some three decades, was apparently one such repository. There is in fact a large underground chamber housing some thousands of volumes, many very well-preserved, that was destroyed during the fire. On purpose; the murderer made very certain to eliminate every trace of its contents. My questioning has led me to believe that Avita spent a lot of time in there."
"Avita liked to read," Vinkiri added, with dawning comprehension. "She often read to me. And she translated a lot of old tomes, mostly holy books. She told me it was her duty to document the lost knowledge of the first great Empire."
Sophia nodded as she reached for her travelling pack and retrieved a heavy, leather-bound tome, which she began to flip through at high speed. With a shock, Vinkiri recognized it as one of the tomes in the package Avita had asked her to deliver. Curiously, the paper was surprisingly new for a supposedly ancient tome. "Avita, at some point, stumbled upon a veritable treasure trove of lore that the Cult would be extremely interested in. I have not yet read them in full, but the volumns she gave to you contain lore that not only claims that there is a High God, it gives detailed instructions on how to win its favor. If this is authentic, it is an uprecedented discovery.
"Avita's letter shows that she was widely-read enough to be aware of the Cult and the import of what she found. Certainly she had many years to study the wealth of knowledge left to her. She knew she was now in possession of information which had profound theological implications if true and which the Cult, or at least its most recent and most militant incarnation, would want at any cost, and sought to warn the Inquisition."
"But that doesn't make sense," Vinkiri gasped. "Avita only told me to bring the books to the Holy City. She said nothing about lost gods."
Sophia closed both books, arranged them on her lap, and raised an eyebrow. "Do you remember where she told you to deliver the books to?" Vinkiri nodded, and repeated the name of the street she had told the Inquisitor the first time she had been questioned, on the evening of their arrival. "That address," Sophia said quietly, "leads to the headquarters of the Holy Inquisition."
Another shock. Certain things were beginning to make sense now, such as how Avita did not seem to expect a reply, much less one by the Imperial Post. "She told me she couldn't send it by the Imperial Post," Vinkiri whispered. "That they couldn't be trusted."
"Tell me honestly. Did you read either Avita's letter or any of the books she handed to you?"
Vinkiri shook her head empathically. "I wouldn't have broken her trust like that. Besides," she added, "I can't read."
Sophia nodded, as if that explained something. "Avita may have suspected that the Cult would resort to extreme measures to get hold of this information - which, as you can see, they certainly did. Anyone with this knowledge would be in grave danger. I think that Avita chose you to deliver the package because since you could not read, there was no chance of such dangerous knowledge falling into your hands, and thus, you would be safe. Not that," she added quietly, "I believe she ever expected you to do so. More likely, you simply happened to be the most suitable choice out of all the people at hand. And I have certainly ruined her plan to keep you out of danger now."
Vinkiri felt a thrill of excitement, irrationally - but her curiosity was already champing at the bit to ask questions. "Inquisitor, you said the priest sent a distress signal to warn you when the church was burned. Couldn't Avita have sent such a signal to warn the Inquisition?"
"If Avita sent such a message, she risked - however unlikely - one of the Cult receiving it as well. It would be like leading ants to honey, and she would also be putting all who heard in potential danger. She could have sent an unspecific, general alert, hoping to explain things in greater detail only in person, but then that is no better than just sending a messenger. Vinkiri, you must remember that this is a backwater end of the Empire where most people might never travel beyond the next village and might not have the means to even if they wished. She had a very limited range of options."
"In the end, she seems to have decided that utmost secrecy was the best choice. Either she failed, or by chance the Cult discovered the contents of the library beneath the church as well. They must have decided to steal the information in question. Why they killed Avita and eradicated the library is less clear. They may be trying to prevent anyone else from following in their tracks."
Vinkiri blinked. "Wait a second. If Avita gave me the tomes in question to deliver, then they couldn't be in the library. Wouldn't the Cult have came away empty-handed?"
"These are copies. The originals are - were - most certainly still in the library," Sophia explained. "Since you did not read them, there was no way you could have told, but Avita copied the tomes. Magically, not by hand, for that would take far too long. As for why she would make copies, I would not be surprised if the original tomes were extremely old and in poor condition, too fragile to survive a journey all the way to the Holy City; remember, Vinkiri, they may have been written very, very long ago. Avita may also have felt that time was running short. There has been an upsurge of cultist activity in this region as of late."
Vinkiri remembered that Sophia had been returning from a mission when the alarm was sent, and wondered if that had anything to do with cultist activity. She gazed at her knees, sullen. "But it didn't work in the end," she said. "The Cult still got hold of what they wanted. Avita died for nothing."
"No." There was quiet triumph in Sophia's voice, which made Vinkiri look up in surprise. "Not at all. Avita succeeded, because she got these tomes into my hands, and thus, the hands of the Inquisition. Thanks to her efforts at secrecy, the Cult likely does not know that we now have a copy of the very books they thought they destroyed to preserve their security. With the information here, I think I have a good idea of where the murderer is headed. A very good idea, in fact. And I am going to find him, bring him to justice, and lay bare the plots of all his misbegotten Cult."
"We," Vinkiri corrected, standing up. She balled her hands into fists. "I'm coming with you."
"It will be very dangerous," Sophia said in a low voice. "We are dealing with murderers, and they have magic. I may not be able to protect you."
Vinkiri shook her head. "I've got to go, however dangerous. For Avita."
"Then you had best be as strong and smart as you seem to think you are, Vinkiri, because I can and will leave you behind if I decide you will not make it." Sophia nodded. "Be ready. We leave tonight."
In the years to come, Vinkiri would look back at that moment and marvel how things might have turned out so very differently. On clear nights she would lie awake, wondering, tempting herself by imagining how much that had transpired in her life since that day depended on that exact sequence of events. Would she have met Avita if she hadn't come down with sickness one autumn, forcing her mother to leave her in the care of a friendly old priestess for a season? Would Avita still be alive if she had not sat huddled in her library by a lamp late one night, gnarled fingers trembling as she grasped the truth of the ancient manuscript before her? What if Vinkiri had left two days later? What would have happened if Sophia had not coincidentally been close enough to hear the distress call, or had decided not to stop at the Iosan camp to look for a guide - coincidentally, the camp that happened to be Vinkiri's own? Vinkiri could speculate, but she would never be sure. Of Iokhmar's million roads, she could tread but one.
Iokhmar of the Road, first, foremost and oldest of the gods the Iosan worshipped, was to the few who still worshipped Him a minor deity whose intercession they sought before a long journey. After the many centuries, only the Iosan, it seemed, truly remembered Him for who He was: the lord of all roads whether through space or time or chance, who blazed paths of destiny for men and gods to follow. The other Old Gods - Avasteia, Nagator, Mercadon - might delight in their feats of power or the deeds of their followers. Iokhmar delighted in a well-woven fate.
One might, in fact, imagine the enigmatic old god looking on and smiling as Vinkiri clasped palms with Sophia, meeting the Inquisitor's grim smile with her own, resolute one.
Vinkiri was Iosan. She had been in the saddle since she was a girl. She had rarely had cause to ride as hard and as long as she did now, though, trying to keep up with the blistering pace Sophia set for them both. For her part, Sophia showed little discomfort and made no complaint, though she had to be every bit as sore and weary. Vinkiri supposed being an Inquisitor involved lots of traveling.
Sophia was keen to make up for the lead the murderer had gained on them while they spent two days investigating. They rode on at speed, pausing to rest at Imperial military bases and the occasional settlements they came across. There was one element in their favor: they were heading east, towards the Holy City and the seat of Imperial power, and with every mile the territory grew less dangerous and Imperial presence grew. On the first night, as they prepared to grab some scant hours of sleep, Vinkiri hoped out loud that they would overtake Corriari's camp again, but Sophia, as it turned out, had other things in mind.
"The texts Corriari left behind mention a ruin," Sophia explained. "A holy city raised in those times when the old gods of pagan faiths walked the earth and conversed with mortals. It is exactly the sort of location which the Cult might be interested in. Actually, one reason I agreed to bring you along is that the text claims it to be an Iosan city."
That made Vinkiri look up in surprise. "But we don't build cities. We haven't for the past thousand years, at least. All my people are under a curse. If we live under the same roof for more than a year, we die. It's why we spend our lives on the road."
Sophia raised an eyebrow. "Not even in ancient times?"
"In ancient times, yes. But that was thousands and thousands of years ago. I don't think any ruins would have survived from that time."
Both of them were silent for a moment. Then, Sophia shrugged. "In any case, it is part of why I agreed to bring you. Many old ruins and tombs - especially tombs - are guarded by defenses. Artifices and devices, magical or otherwise, built to ward off looters. They may recognize you as one of their own and allow you to pass. Unusually, the text gives the precise location of the ruins. We'll soon find out just how accurate it is."
"Where is it?"
By the firelight, Sophia showed displayed her worn map of the known world and pointed to the easternmost edge. "Deep in the eastern deserts. Beyond even the harsh lands where the Asqlanid faith was first born. But we are not going there immediately." Her finger traced backwards west, pausing at the star labeled 'Ryventinos' on the map. "First, we have to go to the Holy City to warn the rest of the Inquisition. The information we carry is too dangerous. I have to ensure that if we perish there will still be others aware of the Cult's plans."
Even on a map, the distance seemed impossibly vast to cross, given the hurry they were in. "Let me guess," Vinkiri piped up, "You can't warn them magically. Not from this distance."
Sophia shook her head. "Certainly not from across half the Empire. Magical communication does not have that sort of range, and it grows shorter the more details the message. We won't go all the way there by horse, though." Her hand pointed to a spot even further west and somewhat northeast of their current location. "Instead of taking the road to the coast, we will head north to the city of Varanon. The aerodrome there is the base for the Western Imperial Airfleet. I can try to get an airship there, and we ought to be in Ryventinos within the week."
Vinkiri couldn't keep herself from lighting up with excitement. She had never set foot on the deck of an airship before.
Travelling by air, they were almost guaranteed to beat any of the Cult to the ruins, since it was unlikely the Cult would have air transport of its own. It was one thing to hide magical ability or secret lore, it was another thing entirely to purchase, hide, crew and maintain a functioning airship. This did not make their journey any less urgent, though. Troops would have to be mustered - in the City and the west - to root out the followers of the Cult. Sophia would have to report her findings and request permission for her expedition to visit the ruins, all of which was going to take precious time. There were powers and authorities in the Empire that even an Inquisitor had to answer to.
Besides, the Cult had murdered a woman with magic, an atrocity on roughly the same level as slitting open a pregnant woman's belly and murdering the unborn child inside. There was no telling what other horrors they might commit in the meantime. Sophia said that the fire that burnt down the church was not normal flame, but some sort of energy designed to prevent magical reconstruction of anything it destroyed. Had it not been for Avita's copies, the Cult would very likely have been the only organization in left with the knowledge both of them now carried. The thoroughness of the operation and the ruthlessness with which it had been carried out was alarming. There was no room for taking chances.
So they hurried on, though Sophia did not attempt to keep the breakneck pace of the day they had rushed to the scene where Avita was killed. They would wake early and ride till nightfall, stopping only for provisions and rest. Often, Sophia stayed up later, spending hours studying Avita's copies of the tomes by firelight. Where possible, they tried to lodge at branches of the Imperial Post or military barracks, or when that was not an option, at whatever inns there were, where Sophia's inquisitorial seal assured them of good treatment. There were advantages to be had to working for the church of the Orthodoxy.
Sophia did not use it too liberally, though. Once, on a night pouring with rain, they stopped at an inn only be informed it was filled to bursting capacity. The innkeeper, faced with a drenched Inquisitor on his doorstep and anxious to deflect anticipated wrath, offered to surrender his own room. Sophia politely declined. "We are the people of Ishua and the god," she remarked later as they settled down in the stables, surrounded by wet hay and the scent of horses and manure. "And I am a representative of His church. Requisitioning horses of the army is one thing, but what will layfolk say if we bring hardship and burden wherever we go?"
Vinkiri had to agree it was hard to argue with that. She had camped in worse conditions before, and the past few days of sleeping in a bed were rather unusual for her. She also found she was starting to warm to the stoic, reserved Inquisitor a little.
The dirt track slowly grew into a wide earthen road, which in turn became a cobbled highway as they neared the great cities of the western provinces. Long ago, all this land had been part of the Old Empire, gradually overrun by marauding barbarian tribes. It was not until Emperor Silverus II orchestrated his campaign to restore them to Orthodoxite rule that things had begun to change. He bought peace with the Anarid to his east, paying them hundreds of thousands of pounds in gold yearly in tribute to forestall an invasion while his armies campaigned in the west. The Anarid broke the treaty in the end, ravaging many of the eastern territories and laying siege to Ryventinos itself, but by then Silverus' generals had triumped in the west and returned in time to crush the invaders. They pushed the eastern border back as far as it had ever went in the history of the Empire and the Anarid, ironically, would end up paying tribute to him for the rest of his days.
He then set to mending the schisms that had arose within the church during its centuries of separation. The patriarchs, whose cooperation was rarely a guaranteed thing, could do little but comply. Silverus was victorious over all his enemies, east and west, and had reunited the Orthodoxite world, a feat that was surely a sign of the god's blessing upon him. At the apex of his power he won a rare joint decree by the patriarchs of both the eastern and western churches. From the western church he adopted the institution of the Holy Inquisition and expanded it into the powerful and influential organization it was today. The cynical reader of history might suspect Silverus of having more than religious harmony in mind when he did this: it is well known he resented needing the approval of the church for anything, and may have wanted to put some pressure on its patriarchs by creating an organization whose purpose was to police the church for corruption.
Upon his death he left behind an Empire larger and militarily stronger than it had ever been. It was not to last, for scant decades after his death, bright-eyed fanatics crying the name of Asqlan would sweep out of the southern deserts in conquest, putting the eastern Empire in greater peril than it had faced in all its storied history, but Silverus would still be remembered as one of the greatest of Ryventine emperors.
It was a week later when Vinkiri and Sophia turned the last bend of the road and finally set their eyes on Varanon, the greatest city of the west and capital of the Old Empire. The domes and temples that had been looted during the barbarian incursions had, under Imperial rule, regained a measure of their former glory. In the middle of the city still rose the bascilia where the High Patriarch dwelt and on the Palatine Hill behind it now stood the massive bulk of the aerodrome that serviced the Western Imperial fleet.
The traffic on the road had been steadily increasing the further they went along the highway, and in the last day Vinkiri had began to see the occasional airship as well. One swooped low while she watched, causing pebbles to skip along the road as it approached the aerodrome to land and filling the air with the roar of its engines. She followed it with her gaze, arm raised to shield her eyes against the morning sun, and only realized that Sophia had moved on without her when it passed out of sight. She hurried on, past the surge of traffic on the busy cobbled road.
Just before entering the city, the Inquisitor motioned for her to stop and dismount. "Come here."
Vinkiri, knowing what was coming, obeyed. Sophia had insisted on applying a minor spell to all their travelling gear since the night they set out. It would, she said, magically warn her if any of their packs or bags were opened by someone else, as a measure against theft. The books they were carrying were too dangerous in the wrong hands to risk losing. Vinkiri did not think she was likely to be robbed anytime soon, and said so. Sophia was unimpressed. "One never knows," she said as she traced her finger in a complex pattern, applying the spell. "Once we're through the gates, find us an inn and return our horses as the Imperial post. I'll need to arrange for an airship. This," she added in a deadpan voice, "might take some time."
* * *
Vinkiri, at least, had the easier job. After finding a reputable establishment, depositing their packs and returning their horses - which would be taken by couriers the next time one went westward, and thus eventually end up at their original post - she was left to go back to the inn and wait. Since they would be travelling by airship from here on, there were few provisions to purchase. She was sorely tempted to linger and enjoy the city, and maybe visit any of the Iosan that were gathering here. In the outlying towns and villages the Iosan would perform songs and dances to mark autumn and thank the spirits for the coming harvests. In the city there would be prayers for light from the god to tide men through the long dark of winter to come. It ought to have been a festive time. But there was no telling when Sophia might return, and Vinkiri decided she didn't want to risk being left behind. She made her way back in the slowly growing warmth of the early afternoon.
At some point, pausing to converse with a street vendor on her way back, Vinkiri began to suspect that she was being followed. She looked around, suddenly alert: there was nobody suspicious behind her. Deciding it was just a trick of the imagination, she shook her head, thanked the vendor, and moved on, but she could not wholly shake the feeling of being tailed. She quickened her pace, occasionally throwing a backwards glance. It was during one such nervous look behind that she spotted the face ducking briefly out of cover, then back behind it again, too quick for her to get a good look. A sudden chill ran down her spine, all the warmth of the morning gone for an instant.
She couldn't be sure it was any of the Cult that were following her, but under the circumstances... Vinkiri had a dagger in her belt and her sling, wrapped around her forearm. She also had enough sense to decide that fighting any cultists she met, alone, was not going be a good idea. They had murdered a woman with magic and burnt her with fire that made sure her corpse would leave no clues to follow.
That Inquisitor's paranoia is wearing off on me, a small part of her remarked as she broke into a run, elbowing her way through the traffic. A laborer cursed as Vinkiri bumped into the cart he was pulling and the goods piled on top of it tetered precariously. Recklessly throwing a glance backward, she spotted running figures - two of them this time - pushing their way through the throng after her. Now filled with real panic, she put on an extra burst of speed. She was too visible in her flamboyant Iosan garb - she couldn't lose them like this. Hurriedly, Vinkiri untied the bright, colorful scarf she wore and let it fly in the wind, turned another corner, and ducked into an alleyway. There was a forgotten length of cloth draped lazily over a stack of barrels; she seized it and pulled it around her shoulders like a cloak. It was old and musty, but it would have to do. There she waited for long, anxious moments, heart pounding as she prayed for the pursuit to pass her over, the old, timeworn plea for Iokhmar the Road God to confuse the paths of enemies and lead them astray.
It felt like forever before Vinkiri felt safe enough to let her guard down and sigh in relief. How long had they been following her? Vinkiri briefly considered making a dash for the safety of the inn, then dismissed the idea. If her pursuers had been tailing her since she entered the city, then they might know the inn she and Sophia were staying at, which meant they could be lying in ambush for her there. She had to warn Sophia. Vinkiri reached around and unbuckled her pack, triggering the warning spell. Her only hope was that the Inquisitor would receive the warning and understand that something had gone wrong.
When she was finally sure she had lost the pursuit, Vinkiri cautiously continued down the alley and exited into a different street, clapsing the cloak about her. Right now, all she could think of was going to the aerodrome where Sophia most likely was. She thought of sticking to the alleys, but there was only the main concourse road leading up to the aerodrome.
She was distracted enough that she made a mistake that, as it turned out, would be nearly fatal. Mere moments after she emerged from the alleyway, Vinkiri realized, too late, that the people on either side of her were pushing uncomfortably close. Before she could say anything she felt something sharp - the point of a dagger - prick her side. A warning.
"Keep walking," the man on her left hissed, guiding her into the flow of traffic in the main street. "Don't stop. Do not say a word." Deeply shaken, Vinkiri did so. There were two of them, one on either side of her, dressed in neat but otherwise inobstrusive street clothes, bracketing her so she could not easily break and run - and there was the knife, of course. Out of the corner of her eye, she looked out for someone, anyone who could help her; nobody even turned a head her way. The busy street was filled with dozens of people going in either direction. "Listen very carefully," the man began. Smooth, refined, calm, a young man's voice. "Several days ago, you were given a package by a priestess of the Orthodoxy. The priestess is dead. You are going to hand the package over, or if it is not with you, you will lead us to it. If you mislead us, or attempt any sort of deception, you will die. If you scream, or call out for help, you will die right now with your intestines spilling out of you in the street. Am I very clear?"
"I have no idea what you want," Vinkiri hissed. "If you're robbing me then-"
"You know exactly what we want," He cut her off. "We are informed that you received this package the evening you left a certain town." He named the place where Avita has been killed. "We understand that this package is still with you. It is what we want, and what you are going to take us to. Now, move."
It was appaling, horrifying, just how much they knew. For a brief instant, Vinkiri was angry, furious in fact, at Sophia. For all her plans and plots, why couldn't the Inquisitor have forseen this? Where was she now? "Why should I?" she snapped, aware that she was pushing them dangerously far. But every second she could keep them talking was a second of time bought for the Inquisitor to react. "You'll kill me to silence me anyway once you get what you want."
"If you do not cooperate, I will kill you right now and feed your offal to every man and woman in your camp, you pox-ridden Iosan whore." The casual, easy tone in which the threat was delivered only made it more chilling. "Now, I repeat: where is it?"
"It's not with me. It's in my room, at the inn," Vinkiri lied. That might buy her a little more time. "You're making a big mistake," she added as she began walking. "There's an Inquisitor with me. You're both dead the instant she finds out about this."
Neither man deigned to reply.
The men obviously knew the city well. They avoided the place where most of the visitng Iosan were camped, taking her by a longer route. To the cityfolk, they were just three young people out for a stroll; nobody took much notice or paid them a lot of attention. Vinkiri's last hope was that someone in the common room of the inn would take notice, but to her dismay, the bustle of the place, filled with traders taking a rest from the morning markets, drowned out any hope of raising the alarm. One of the men took her hand in his and winked at the innkeeper, who smiled knowingly as they passed. Angry, Vinkiri pulled away, a moment later. The knife-point pressed harder against her side in warning.
"Your room," one of them whispered as they ascended the stairs. Vinkiri indicated and unlocked the correct door. Both men shoved her in, bolting the door behind them. While one of them stood guard by the door, the other strode over to where their saddlebags and leather backpacks were. He turned, looked at her inquisitvely.
"That one," Vinkiri pointed at random. The man picked it up, let the contents fall out; nothing. He kicked open another pack at random and leftover provisions scattered all over the wooden floor.
"The Inquisitor probably took it," Vinkiri hurriedly said. Which was actually true: Sophia kept the tomes and Avita's letter in the backpack by her side at all times, as a precaution. "She may have gone to the docks. I can bring you there."
With alarming speed, the man strode towards her, grabbing her by the front of her leather top. "You," he whispered in a dangerously low voice, "Have been shockingly uncooperative. Tell me where the package is now, or else-"
What happened next happened very fast.
There was a flash of light, the smell of scorched wood, and the door slammed open, the doorbolt - severed in two and smoking at the ends - falling to the ground. Sophia strode in, brandishing her iron mace. The warrior-priests of the Orthodoxy favored flanged and spiked maces, for the star-shaped symbolism. Ishua, son of the god, had descended to earth upon such a star.
The flanged mace rose and came down on top of the first cultist's skull. It connected with a sickening, wet crack of crunching bone. The man fell, dead, and had barely hit the floor before Sophia was already stepping over his corpse.
The remaining assassin was dragging Vinkiri in front of him with one hand, his knife in the other, to use her as a human shield. Thinking quickly, Vinkiri bit down on his hand, causing the man to cry out in pain. The moment of distraction was enough for Sophia to raise her hand and utter a phrase that warped and distorted the air in the room as she spoke it and sent blue-white lightning erupting from the metal of the blade to snake up the assassin's arm. He fell to the ground, convulsing in pain, dropping his knife as electricity arced down his body and grounded itself in the floor. With a few quick strides, Sophia crossed the ground, kicking aside the knife as she did, and seized the man by the collar. She was surprisingly strong for a woman her size.
"Speak," Sophia demanded. "Tell me. Who are you acting..." she trailed off as she realized the man's eyes had rolled back in their sockets and foam was trickling from the corner of his mouth. His jaw hung slack and half-open. "Poison," Sophia muttered, letting the corpse fall with obvious disgust. "He had a poison capsule hidden under his tongue and broke it to kill himself so that we wouldn't learn anything from him."
Which meant he was a Cultist, not just a common assassin. Mere hired thugs, she was sure, would not be so likely to kill themselves just to deny others information on their employers. Still too shaken to speak, she could hear footsteps coming up the stairs; the commotion had drawn the attention of the innkeeper and not a few patrons below. There was a lot of explaining to be done. "This," the Inquisitor said with a sigh, "changes a lot of my plans."
The rest of the afternoon passed in a blur. The city prefect had been notified and the bodies cleared from the room. A full investigation was promised, though no results would emerge soon enough to do them any good. The mess took most of the afternoon to sort out.
"Tell me, Vinkiri," Sophia asked as they were behind a barred door once again. "How many others knew that Avita gave you the package?"
Vinkiri, with growing dread, could begin to guess where this was leading. "Quite a few," she said. "Corriari. Alanari. Saikarr. Most of my friends at the camp. Inquisitor, you don't think they've been killed, too?" Given the speed at which they had been travelling, if Corriari's camp had been attacked then news would not have reached the city yet. "My people don't have an Orthodoxite priest with them. There wouldn't have been an alarm."
"It is possible," Sophia said in a low voice. "But not likely. Too many murders would draw too much unwanted attention onto them. Besides, remember that they only used magic when killing Avita to prevent reconstruction of the contents of the underground library. I think that they would not use it if they could kill with more mundane methods - as you saw today."
"They must have attacked the camp, if they found out about the package Avita gave me." Vinkiri stood up, agitated. "That's the only place they could have got the information. Sophia, I've got to go back," she pleaded. "I can't stay here without knowing if anything's happened to them."
"And you were so eager to come with me just days ago," Sophia murmured. "Vinkiri, there is no going back now. The Cult wants you silenced as well now, and going back will just bring more danger to your people. For better or worse, you are in this matter until it is resolved. If it comforts you any, I don't think the Cult would have known to attack your camp specifically to extract information. It's far more likely that someone who knew let slip the information accidentally. The Cult may have had sleeper agents in nearby villages, perhaps even among your own people."
It was rather hard to argue for going back to her people, when things were put in that light. The idea that any of the Iosan in her camp might have been a sleeper agent for the Cult was deeply disturbing, though. Vinkiri had a hard time believing anyone she'd known for most of her life would murder and steal for a misguided plot to awaken a god.
"I was at the aerodrome when I received your warning - the spell on your backpack. I hurried here once I did. Luckily, I also expected they would try something like this if they had got you," Sophia explained. "I was trying to requisition a ship of the Imperial Fleet, but no vessels can be spared," she continued. "A fleet of Asqlanid raiders has been sighted and every available airship of the Fleet is out hunting for it." The Ryventine and Khalifate fleets semi-regularly raided each other's coasts, a low-level conflict that had been going on for decades. Small squadrons would attempt to sneak past opposing patrols and split up to intercept shipping or land a few men before withdrawing. "Still, I am not waiting, and I want us to be out of the city by today. I have arranged for a merchantman to bring us to the Holy City instead. We will leave at sundown."
"You chartered a merchant ship? I thought they were pretty rare," she said. Airships were more expensive to construct than seafaring vessels, and were typically only built by wealthy merchants that had pooled funds. "You do not want to know how much I had to pay to get them to take us, on such short notice," Sophia remarked. Vinkiri was quite sure it would be more money than she would see in her entire life. It made one boggle to think of how deep inquisitorial pockets could be.
That evening, escorted this time by a six-man squad of soldiers from the garrison - the prefect's idea - they set off for the docks. At the last moment Vinkiri half-wondered if the cultists would make some last-ditch attempt on both their lives, before they could board the airship and be out of their grasp at last. No such attack came. Whether it was because of their escort, or that the cultists had spent their element of surprise, or something else, Vinkiri supposed she might never know.
They were led to the massive aerodrome, busy even at this late hour, and their ship where they were welcomed by the captain. It was a sleek, three-masted vessel. There was no figurehead - it interfered with the airflow, as an airman explained - but painted along the bow of the ship was an excellently rendered drawing of a female Celestar, arms thrown back and feathered wings spread wide, as if leaping to take flight. The vessel's great bulk made it seem so much larger than a seafaring one, an illusion as half its bulk was not hidden underwater.
It was not long before they were aboard and ready to take off, and amid the roar of its magically-powered engines, the ship rose stately into the sky. Vinkiri, her excitement alighted anew, was all too happy to begin forgetting the events of the afternoon. But standing at the stern of the great vessel, she looked out over the rapidly-shrinking city and could not help but wonder if, at that very moment, unfriendly eyes were watching their departure as well.
* * *
Ever since Asqlan the Messenger of the god united the desert tribes, the Khalifate had always been a threat at the Empire's doorstep, enroaching upon its territories and threatening its cities. Successive Emperors fought them, with varying degrees of success. One of those periods with perilously few successes came during the reign of the Khalif, Yazir ibn Abbas.
A brilliant general and a skilled politician, Yazir rose to power after ending a period of bitter civil strife within the Asqlanid nation and, after judging his military strength sufficient, resumed the wars of conquest against Ryventine that previous Khalifs had pursued. He completed the subjugation of all Imperial territories south of the sea, taking all the cities along the coastline and developing a naval force of his own with which to challenge the Empire at sea. It was from the east that his main assault would come, outmaneuvering the Imperial armies sent to fight him and inflicting humiliating defeats upon the Empire despite being consistently outnumbered and far from his own supply lines. Despite the relentless pace of their invasion, the Asqlanid were surprisingly tolerant conquerors: they installed Orthodoxite governors and avoided forcing conversions, even adopting practices of Imperial civil administration, and Yazir, like the Khalifs before him, was lenient on the populace he conquered. It was a policy that would soon pay off, for rebellions were few and far between in the conquered territories.
Yazir was so successful that all the eastern provinces of the Empire fell to the Khalifate and his forces directly threatened Ryventinos, the Holy City and capital of all the Empire. And here it was, at the siege of its mighty walls, that the Asqlanid juggernaut was finally halted.
Intending to strike a fatal blow at Ryventine, Yazir laid siege to the Holy City by both land and sea, mustering the strength of his gathered navy and vast numbers of men to encircle its fortifications. But in all the eastern empire there were no defenses to match the triple walls of Ryventinos, and the Khalifate forces were unprepared for the task of overcoming them. Yazir was reliant on the force of his navy to blockade the encircled city, cutting it off from supplies by land and sea. Had he been capable of keeping this up for long enough, hunger would do its work and defeat the city for him. The siege, however, gave the Orthodoxites time to develop a new and terrifying weapon which was to have dramatic effects on the outcome of the war: Liquid fire.
Liquid fire. It stuck, it burnt, it would not be put out. To the undying horror of the Khalifate navy, it even floated on water. Men fell screaming in flames, their flesh melting under the devilish concotion. Using their new weapon, the Ryventine forces broke the blockade and that winter, Asqlanid soldiers starved in the cold while the city, well-supplied by sea, thirved under the siege.
After four bitter, fruitless years, the Khalifate forces withdrew. Yazir lost more men in the siege of Ryventinos than in all the campaigns for the eastern territories. So profound was the defeat of the Khalifate army that he judged that the City's triple walls and massive navy could not be overcome by force. Even this, however, did not daunt him. Rather than mount another disastrous attack, he decided that if he could not break down the walls, he would go over them.
Legend states that the idea came to him as a dream in which an angel of the god lifted him above and over the triple walls. Whatever the truth was, it was in the Khalifate that the first airships were constructed, the product of advanced engineering and alchemical techniques that built machines to harness magical power. In one of the greatest breakthroughs of magical research, Asqlanid alchemists discovered how to gather ambient magical energy with specially-woven sails and funnel that power into engines. Armed with this new technology, Yazir set out to build the world's first air force. These early vessels were little more than airborne replicas of sailing ships whose main purpose was to ferry men over the walls; they carried no weapons and had no means of fighting other airships. Thirty years later, Yazir would gather a force of his airships and again lay siege to Ryventinos.
He had, however, exhausted the strength of the Khalifate after long years of war. The heavy expense of researching and constructing his air fleet had taxed the finances of his realm to the limit. Yazir's ships were too few and failed to take the city, although they caused massive casualties among the defenders and the surprise attack by air badly unnerved the Ryventine forces. During the disastrous retreat, most of his air fleet was lost in a storm. Beset by internal strife and weakened by grueling attrition war, the Khalifate would not seriously threaten Orthodoxite lands again for a long time, allowing the battered Empire a much-needed reprieve.
In the decades that followed the two war-weary empires would lick their wounds and gather strength, with only minor border wars and skirmishing actions fought between them. Much of this low-level conflict took place in the skies. Ryventine spies stole the secrets of airship construction, and soon Imperial frigates were contesting the skies against Khalifate fleets. Early airships could do little against each other, though. Before this, naval battles had mostly been decided by boarding actions and ramming, as there were few effective weapons: archers and ballistae could kill or maim crew, but could not sink a ship. The much higher speed of airships meant that boarding was less practical. Ramming, due to the lighter construction of an air-faring vessel, often proved disastrous for the attacker as well as the victim. New weapons were demanded, and technology swiftly developed to supply them.
The near-simultaneous discovery of explosive black poweder by both Orthodoxite and Asqlanid scientists led to the development of artillery and cannon that finally gave airships a reliable weapon to attack from a range. The weight of the heavier guns demanded much greater surface area on the sails and many-masted ships soon became the standard. The reduced emphasis on boarding actions made possible a smaller crew complement and complex rigging systems were developed to enable the ship to fly with only a fraction of airmen previously required. Engineers removed the forecastle and streamlined the ship, resulting in the shape of the modern galleon with its narrow, aerodynamic hull. A thousand technological innovations had culminated in the vessel that was now carrying Vinkiri and Sophia to the Holy City.
The first day of their voyage went by without event as they made their way east, sailing over the waters of the sea that seperated the Ryventine Empire in the north from the desert Khalifate of the south. Being on an airship was very different from being on a sea-going vessel. For Vinkiri, the biggest difference was the ship didn't rock with the rise and fall of the waves as watercraft did. It was level and steady except for when they hit turbulence and the thrum of the engines could be felt throughout all the vessel, making it seem alive.
After nearly a week of being sore on horseback, travel by air was a welcome reprieve. Sophia, however, had other things in mind than rest and relaxation. "This," Sophia said as she produced a shortsword in its leather scabbard, "is for you." Vinkiri took it, unsheathed the blade; it was made of newly-forged steel, and much lighter than she'd expected.
"Thank you," Vinkiri said, sounding uncertain. "But I don't know how to use one..."
"Which is why I will train you. Remember, we still have a long way to go after Ryventinos. You are going to need to know how to defend yourself against more than street thugs and urchins."
The off-duty airmen watch on, bemused, as Vinkiri practiced on the deck with Sophia throughout the morning. By the time they were finished, she was drenched in sweat and panting. "It gets better, if that is any consolation," Sophia, who seemed to have barely broken a sweat, remarked. "All we need to do is build up your stamina first."
On the second day Vinkiri was wakened by shouts of alarm and the sudden lurch of the ship accelerating. Blinking in the early morning light, she realized she could hear the thump of footsteps on wood outside the cabin as other members of the crew hurried to their stations. The pitch of the ship's engines was a note higher than she remembered. Limbs still aching from the previous day's excercizes, she dressed quickly and hurried on deck to take a look.
Only when she emerged on deck did she realize how fast the ship was truly going, compared to yesterday's relatively sedate pace. The wind whipped her face painfully and she had to shield her eyes with a hand to see at all. She walked over to the bridge, grapsing the rail for support, and brightened when she saw that Sophia was already there. The Inquisitor looked grave - more so than normal. Both she and the ship's captain, along with a good number of crew, were gazing at a tiny black dot in the faraway sky behind them which was, by the moment, growing larger. Vinkiri guessed what it was: another airship, closing fast.
The atmosphere on the bridge was tense. Pirates were relatively rare given the sparseness of airbone merchant shipping, but they were not unheard of. The captain was wordlessly squinting at the unidentified ship through a long, tube-shaped looking glass. "It's gaining on us," Beside him, the pilot at the helm, a sun-darkened man in his thirties shouted. One had to shout in order to be heard at all over the roar of the wind and engines. "The ship can't go any faster. There's not enough output from the sails."
"Pirates?" Sophia asked.
"I think we may have a bigger problem than pirates here," the captain said. He held out the looking-glass. "See for yourself."
Sophia took the looking-glass from the captain's hand and peered at the slowly-growing speck in the distance. "No, not pirates," the Inquisitor agreed, her voice grim. "That vessel flies the flag of the Khalifate."
37k and 3 days left to go. Let's see how far I get...
One of my favorite parts of RPing here and...well, writing in general - is the world building. I'm fascinated with the creation of culture, historical context and environments. Not even mentioning the plot or characters, I like what you have going here. I think we're all looking forward to having your talents back amongst us in Skysail.
ditto on all counts. *Leaving to let you continue*
Yeepers that's serious post mate!