Paladin Cadmius I

~ Paladin Cadmius, of Bostkirk Priory ~

"He refused me without consideration, Sir Cadmius. It was most irregular."

Keeva was old, but she commanded respect among the province's leadership. Her family controlled several townships and the ministerial office of trade. She was also a long-time supporter of the church. Cadmius didn't like to admit it, but the Augbergs' largess bought access. That was the only reason a third-tier paladin was here. When the matriarch of the Augbergs asked to speak to someone from the church, they sent their best.

So, here he was, in the lady's opulent little chapel, listening to her grievances against some craftsman or other who had refused her. The rare woods, intricate carvings, incense, and painted vaults — it was all for her and whomever she favored enough to let see her "sacred treasures". A statue of Knexenk stood with hands clasped over her ample cleavage, as if she were the one praying to them, asking permission to grant her gifts. Cadmius didn't like it.

"It's not a crime to turn you down, Mrs. Augberg. Crafters can work or not for whomever they please."

"He's done Gunthigis, Erstdwerg, Gelexia, and half the crafting gods. Are you aware of how many crafting gods there are?"

"Seventeen primary ones," he quoted from memory.

"And he does them freely, for anyone who asks. But he refuses to make a figure of Knexenk. I am not the only one he denied. He won't make her for anyone."

At her signal, a servant approached bearing a silver tray and presented him with a postcard. The great lady couldn't do anything herself, even something as small as handing over a trifold postcard. It was stationery from the big hotel in Arctown, with a brief message written inside. "I must decline your invitation. It is impossible for me to create a divine figure of Knexenk."

"He's implying she is not divine. He does not believe in the Giving Goddess."

"Assuming that's what he meant, heresy isn't illegal," Cadmius said patiently. "If it were, half the Empire's citizens would be in Blaxland's work camps."

"So true. But it is illegal to proselytize heresy if one is a member of the church."

"You're assuming he's a member."

"He's human, isn't he?" As Cadmius remained unmoved, Keeva creased her lips in displeasure. This was not the reaction she had hoped for. Worse, Cadmius could not be intimidated or bought. That was the problem with paladins.

Cadmius prepared to leave the august woman. "I shall tell the bishop of your excellent scruples, the next time I see him."

"If Taylor can make figures for the Dwergbank temple and every workshop in the city, why can he not make a single one for our beloved Knexenk? Ask him that, if you find him."

Cadmius left the Augberg estate by carriage and sighed as soon as he was alone. He should be in the field, not managing moneyed fools who flourished under the Empire's protective shield and then complained about every inconvenience. Greedy, grasping, petty. That was most of the world. It wasn't right that people like the Augbergs could act like the church owed them, or for the church to indulge them.

His squire drove and took her time navigating the city's streets. Gods, the new crop was young! Barely more than babies. At least this one had some sense and didn't try to impress him by running the streets at speed. The last one nearly killed somebody by driving too fast, and Cadmius had to heal the unlucky pedestrian. Cadmius sent that squire down to wherever he came from and took the next one in line. If this one lasted more than a few days without doing anything profoundly stupid, he'd learn her name and maybe teach her something beyond the usual course.

Cadmius guessed what the bishop would say when he returned to Bostkirk Priory, and he was right. "Have a look at this supposed heretic," the bishop told him on his return, "just to say you did. He shouldn't be hard to find."

Indeed, he would not be hard to find, as that was the point of using hotel stationery. The Black Peony was far from the priciest hotel in the city, but it wasn't cheap, and it was very choosy about its clientele. Most humans would never make it past the lobby. Cadmius had been absent from the city for years, but the big institutions didn't change in a single decade, especially Arcaic ones. If the sculptor was making divine figures of Arcaic gods and living at the Black Peony, then he had connections in that ancient nexus of Arcaic money and talent, Dwergbank. If Cadmius wanted to know more about his subject before talking to him, then the bank had to be his first stop.

Cadmius and his squire traded their dress armor for street clothes. They hired civilian transportation into Arctown, where they discovered their sculptor was a ranked member of Dwergbank, made divine figures, and had recently patented something called a glider. That was all the information their client had authorized the bank to release, and that was precisely how far the bank's cooperation went. Cadmius knew better than to push for more. Bank employees took oaths to protect client information, and the oaths for middle management were literally blood-curdling.

Their next stop was the temple located within Dwergbank, in a large meeting room at the back of the building. The priest wasn't present, but Cadmius and the nameless squire took seats. Knexenk didn't have a statue in the room, but he could hardly blame the arcaics for ignoring a deity who didn't help them and caused them so much harm. In the past, Her name was used to perpetrate evils against all their kind. Emperor Darius II crushed the persecuting church and reformed its remnants into the organization Cadmius served, but the arcaic people would never forget. Only a few generations separated today's elves and dwarves from the Collapse. A few of the longer-lived races remembered those days firsthand.

Despite the missing figure of Knexenk, the gods' presence was easily felt — and they weren't friendly. Erstdwerg's outstretched hand rebuked him. Gelexia's gaze accused him. Gunthigis held his greatsword ready. The Empire's promises are all broken. Emperors fail us at every turn. Only Okanyana remained silent, a mere shadow compared to the others. The sculptor's talented hand hadn't touched the elven goddess.

Cadmius didn't pray to the arcaic gods. What would he say? Sorry we lost your homeland centuries ago? Sorry we failed again in Garem-Da? It was pointless.

The squire sat quietly, trying not to fidget. She was just a fighter, paused at the first threshold, accumulating prerequisites for consecration. She could not feel what Cadmius felt, nor did she have his many decades of service. She didn't know the things he knew. She hadn't seen the surge of mana beasts that overwhelmed the army and sent it scrambling for home. She didn't know how many ways men's spirits could break, or that she would be expected to put them back together. She didn't know how often men were the worst monsters.

They left the temple to loiter at the food stalls near the Black Peony, pretending to talk and share a meal. Their subject strode down the street, scarcely taller than an arc, weaving in and out of the mixed crowd with confidence. Cadmius expected him to gawk and stand aside for anyone in his way, but he pushed past beastkin, greeted vendors, and even shook hands with a dwarf. He was quite at home here. Nobody had mentioned family or parents, and he seemed to be making a living on his own. He could be one of those IEF orphans who had to learn to take care of themselves too early.

But the most interesting thing about the sculptor was that a human woman was following him. From her posture and the way she held her hands, she was a classed Domestic, out of uniform, enjoying the stalls along the busy street. But her eyes kept darting in Taylor's direction, and she kept a constant distance from him. She wasn't the only one, either. A half-elf on the other end of the street leaned against a building, trying not to block foot traffic while he read a paper and scanned the people going about their business. When the sculptor went through the Peony's heavy gates, the half-elf folded his paper and was about to follow, until he noticed the woman. He broke off his pursuit and abandoned his post. The woman climbed the stone stairway up to the Black Peony, then returned a few minutes later to take the shortest path out of Arctown.

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"Did you see that?" he asked the squire.

"The mask?" she asked. "It's weird, but he could have scars. Or, he's one of those dramatic boys who pose and say they're struggling to contain their evil."

"I'm more interested that people were tailing him. And they weren't together."

"Maybe Augberg isn't the only person he said no to."

"Or he's mixed up in something illegal."

"What do we do next? Go in and question him?"

"We could. But if there's more to this … You're going to check all the public records, and see if we have anything on him."

"All right. What will you do?"

"I'm going home. Let's meet tomorrow."

Home was a two-story townhome in the old noble district, a few blocks from the palace gates. He'd bought the place when he crossed level forty, but never got around to furnishing it. Soon after, he was sent away to Grisham's Wall for the first time, and periodically ever since. For the last thirty years, he spent more time in or near Restoration than he had at home.

Three large trunks dominated the front parlor. Like every night, he came home, looked at the trunks, and decided not to open them. They were full of housewares he had purchased but never unpacked. As the chests were covered in tablecloths, with folding chairs nearby, they served as makeshift furniture where they were.

The most furnished room in his house was his armory, which was fully outfitted for storing and maintaining weapons, armor, and accessories. Then there was the bedroom, where his newly purchased mattress stood propped against the wall to make room for a military-style pad. The bedroll looked pitifully thin on the heavy bedframe, but Cadmius couldn't sleep on anything softer. He didn't like to feel swallowed up by his bedding. The other night, he woke up fighting for his life because he dreamed the deeply padded mattress was eating him.

In the kitchen, he had an old wood-burning stove, a pair of knives, and a pot to boil water in. He knew how to char meat, make a passable camp bread, and brew a variety of stimulating beverages. Of the three, Cadmius considered bread his luxury dish.

Cadmius puttered with his gear for a while, finding small things to clean and fix. He charred steaks and brewed a strong tea for dinner. He tried to sleep, but the house was too quiet. Opening the bedroom window helped a little. Sounds of people passing by in the street, talking loudly in their late-night high of alcohol and good company, gave him something to listen to besides the roar of distant monsters in his ears. Even better was a pair of men arguing, their shouts cracking harshly along the genteel street. The implied danger banished Cadmius's imagined worries of a place a thousand miles away and focused him on the here and now. Soon after the men made up, he finally fell asleep.

"There's not much," said the squire. Her bleary eyes betrayed the late night she'd had.

Cadmius handed her a cup of brew strong enough to push her through the morning. "Tell me what you have."

"Taylor, no last name, entered the city from the south gate last week. He said he was coming from Midway, but he entered on foot. There's nothing at the ministries of Land, Justice, or Defense. But Treasury recently paid a vent crystal bounty to Midway Township, and a recovery fee went to a Dwergbank account, first name Taylor, no last name. That same account has paid taxes this week on monster parts and artisanal goods."

"If he's chasing vents around Midway, then the legate knows about him."

"It's hard to believe it's the same kid we were looking at yesterday. Maybe a relation, authorized to use the same account?"

"Write to the legate and find out, and take off early today. We'll talk to the boy when we know more."

There were plenty of other, more important matters to attend to. The new crop of squires needed their training, and a minor expedition had to be planned for the ones ready to break through to level twenty and take their Paladin classes. If Taylor happened to leave town before Midway's legate responded to their request, then so much the better. If he was harboring heresy, it wasn't anything severe enough for the church to act. Twice, he sent his new squire to the Black Peony to follow the boy to his place of work: a rented workshop space in a building that catered to nomadic craftsmen. He worked half days, then made deliveries around town and went to the library. His clients were all respectable people, so it seemed unlikely he was moving contraband. He might be exactly what he appeared to be: an artisan with the rare ability to make divine figures, traveling around the city to deliver product to his patrons. Other than going to church at the Dwergbank temple, the sculptor didn't have a public life.

Cadmius was content to wait, but Keeva Augberg wasn't. The bishop called him to the big office overlooking the city's largest park and asked why he hadn't received a report on the boy.

"He's not doing anything wrong. I'm pretty sure the legate of Midway knows this kid. I want to know what he knows before talking to him."

"I want this wrapped up today, Cadmius."

"You do, or Keeva Augberg does?"

"Just finish it, so I can tell her something and be done with the problem."

So Cadmius and his squire donned the deep green and brilliant white of the Bostkirk Priory and waited for him on the street, to catch him in public where he couldn't shut a door in their faces or hide behind the Black Peony's receptionist. They fell in behind him as he left his studio, keeping several people between them and the boy, while Cadmius scanned him with Appraise Person.

"Taylor" — Unclassed, Human Male

Age: 10

There should have been more. Even an unclassed person had a social title or two, but the words were ripped away from view. Annoyed, Cadmius tried the skill again, but it wouldn't activate. It wasn't like when he tried to scan a monster at too high a level and was blocked. In this case, the skill wouldn't fully form, like it had been counterspelled.

Skills could be countered, but they couldn't be counterspelled. Could they?

"You shouldn't do that." The sculptor was just a few feet away, looking at them from behind his mask. He wore a simple craftsman's tunic and pants, with his ever-present satchel hanging on one shoulder. "It's not polite. And now that I've expressed my refusal, the law classifies it as a simple magical assault. Please don't do it again."

"I'm Paladin Cadmius, from Bostkirk Priory." He showed the boy his warrant card, which he inspected curiously.

"And who's this?" he indicated the squire.

"My squire."

" … Briallen," the squire finished for him.

The sculptor seemed to think her name was funny. "If you have business with me, you may send me a card."

The boy's tone was polite, if too firm for dealing with his elders, but a creeping tingle of danger stirred along Cadmius's spine. The squire shifted her position, probably from habit rather than aggression, but the sculptor glared at her.

"Don't box me in, lady. Let's keep it civil."

The feeling of dread increased. Cadmius had faced a lot of monsters. Some of the worst sort walked among men, pretending to be them.

"Why don't you take off your mask, so we can talk properly?"

"Because I'm cursed. People who see my face hate me. You're third tier, right? There's no way I'm taking that risk with you."

"Take it off." Cadmius said it conversationally, but he put his hand on his sword, to let the sculptor know it wasn't a request.

"I have an agreement with your church. You can't hassle me like this. There will be repercussions." Mana rippled around the sculptor, layers of defenses and buffs worthy of the second tier, performed with the speed of a third-tier magician who specialized in spellcasting. This was not a ten-year-old child. It was something else.

Cadmius's sword hand tightened around the grip. "Is that a threat?"

"It's what happens when you break a promise to the gods." The squire hadn't moved since the sculptor warned her, but she turned her body slightly and prepared to draw her weapon. People on the street had noticed the confrontation and were backing away, pulling their friends and children away from the potential zone of conflict.

The creature posing as a boy was breathing faster. He knew his situation had taken a dire turn. The longer Cadmius watched it, the more certain he was that a monster hid behind that mask.

"You should read the contract for yourself, and then decide." The creature reached into his bag.

Later, Cadmius wouldn't recall drawing his sword or activating Keen Blade. He didn't feel it slice through the enchanted leather strap of the creature's bag. The sculptor's defensive enchantments shattered under his third-tier Penetrating Attack, followed by the barest moment of resistance as blade cleaved bone. A severed hand and a few inches of wrist tumbled in the air, taking forever to fall, turning slowly, throwing red streamers of blood in circles. The hand landed palm-up, bounced once, and lay still. The blue leather bag lay next to it.

Then, the sculptor disappeared in a column of water while the world exploded.

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