Sins of the Sister, Part 6

Previously...
Sins of the Sister, Part 1
Sins of the Sister, Part 2
Sins of the Sister, Part 3
Sins of the Sister, Part 4
Sins of the Sister, Part 5



It was a new moon that night, and the grave fields before us were illuminated only by starlight. Occasionally we would spot a small flame or mysterious light along the dark paths below, but otherwise there was no motion and no sound. Kileg had built a small fire to ward off the darkness and the growing chill, despite my weak protests about offending whatever spirits watched over Mortuary. Very few things genuinely scared Kileg, least of all the dark, yet he jumped at every crack and sizzle from the sputtering flames. If we were not surrounded by the graves of our ancestors' ancestors, I would have found it humorous. Our whispered conversation eventually turned from the latest happenings along the Seven Fingers to the Joshuan sword. We tried to understand how it could have wound up in an Evan boy's hands, and how a Sin Eater was supposed to make things right.

It was hard to gauge the passage of time in Mortuary, but we must have sat around the fire until well after midnight. The flickering against the wall of the tomb's mouth had long dimmed. Suddenly the light inside flared and an unearthly scream ripped through the air, catching Kileg and I utterly off guard. We grabbed our swords and ran headlong into the sepulcher.

The entrance passage turned sharply once, descending down an earthen ramp into a circular chamber. A guttering fire was at the center, filling the room with heavy smoke and the smell of incense and herbs. Standing beside it was a grotesque mass of flesh, bone and viscera, its skin etched with bleeding runes and sigils. It bellowed at us, revealing a mouth that nearly bisected its head, full of ichor and several rows of teeth. Its features were incomplete and unformed, like clay shaped by a child's hands, and its skin writhed and convulsed unnaturally as it moved.

Something snapped in Kileg upon seeing it. He returned the roar with a cry of his own and charged. I think his spirit was swept from his body even before the disfigured arm swatted him away, as I felt him dive into the River of Dream with no focus and no attempt to control it. Kileg's limp body slammed into the wall behind me with a sickening crunch. An instant later the beast was on me, raining down a savage barrage of blows that shattered my blade and dislocated one arm.

I managed to put the fire between myself and the beast, and we circled warily for a few seconds. It was then I truly saw the rest of the chamber. The blood and entrails sprayed against the wall, the remains of the two young Joanites. The shattered bowls and ritual implements scattered on the ground. The Joshuan blade sitting at the edge of the firepit. Den'a and Robbo were missing, and in their place the monster. Its expression was filled with hared and rage, but its eyes seemed to plead with me.

Surrounded by the haze of drugs and incense in the power-charged air, I calmed myself with a koan and slipped into the River.

Joan saw Dahlia on the road and asked where she had come from.
"The River," Dahlia said.
"Where did you spend the winter?" Joan asked.
"In the south of Sanctuary." Dahlia responded.

The beast took a step forward, dust raining down from the ceiling as its misshapen foot struck the ground.

Joan wondering how long Dahlia could give honest answers and asked, "When did you leave there?"
"On the first new moon after the snow last fell." Dahlia responded, and Joan knew it to be truth.
"I should give you three blows, but today I forgive you." Joan told Dahlia and left her on the road.

One more step and the beast closed the gap. It raised one arm, the flesh shifting and rippling as talons the size of arrow heads erupted from its fingertips. There was no way I could survive another blow.

The next day Dahlia came to Joan and asked, "Yesterday you forgave me three blows. Why did you believe me?"
Joan replied, "You are good for nothing. You simply wander from one Tribe to another."

My koan done, Synthesis flooded the small chamber. Just as a Dahlian dancer knows her next dozen steps I saw every possibility of movement, the result of every chain of events. I rolled underneath the creature's arm as it smashed into the wall hard enough to crack the rock, coming to my feet beside the firepit. The Joshuan sword was already in my hand. Poised on the balls of my feet, I coiled my legs like springs and launched myself in an arc at the beast, visible lines of power and force in the air guiding my trajectory. The rough blade plunged to its hilt between the abomination's shoulder blades just as it started to turn, staggering the creature forward until it fell to one knee and then slumped to the ground.

I did not move from beside the creature's corpse, not even when the Joanite girl found me. She left and came back with several Yagans, who bound me and took me out of the tomb and into the light. They brought me to Mortuary where they questioned me about what had happened. Then they turned me over, still bound, to my sisters in Joan. In each person's face I could see nothing else but the creature's eyes. Dena's eyes. Robbo's eyes. They were one and the same.

From the transcripts of Inquisitor Ren'nel's questioning of Cara Gray'on:

"So your statement is that Aline is lying? That you did not kill the Sin Eater, the boy, and the Joanites to protect your secret?"

"Aline? Who..." The subject's bonds tightened slightly, eliciting a low moan of pain.

"Answer the question. Noncooperation will only tighten your bonds. The Joanite girl. You never bothered to learn her name, did you? " The Inquisitor selected a brand from among various utensils laid out on a table, placing it in a brazier of hot coals. "I would use Truthsaying but I have enough evidence. Her statement is that you killed everyone in that chamber including Kileg Tar'on, one of your own tribesmen. Becoming concerned when none of you returned, Aline overcame her fear and sought out the tomb. That is where she found you, holding the sword that slaughtered your tribesmen. You would have killed her too, but she escaped."

"No...the Sin Eater, not..." The straps began to cut into her flesh, staining the edges of the leather red.

"I know your secrets. How you found the Joshuan sword during a raid on a Serf hamlet and kept it for yourself, even while your sisters died at the hands of the Z'bri. How you plotted revenge on Nyeda for rejecting your affections. How you gave the sword to the boy, knowing the blade's power would affect his simple mind. How you twisted him so he would think Nyeda an enemy needing to be cut down."

"Lies..." Came the strangled answer.

"Shaman Storm Cry saw through your ruse. He arranged  for a Sin Eater to purify the boy and discover the truth, to get the evidence necessary to hold you accountable. You tracked them to Mortuary and slaughtered all of them in cold blood to keep your secrets hidden. Do you deny this?"

The only answer was a gurgle. The collar around the Templar's throat had constricted so that she could only gasp for air and watch as The Inquisitor picked up the glowing brand and turned towards her. She struggled feebly against the restraints, each movement tightening them until they sawed into her flesh and totally immobilized her.

"Cara Gray'on, you face the charge of heresy against the Fatimas. For betraying your oaths to Joan and the remainder of the Seven. For allowing greed, jealousy and lust to poison your heart. For murdering five of your fellow Tribesmen, and for attempted murder of a sixth. Crimes so heinous Tera Sheba will not allow her Judges to try them. You are to be consigned to the Circle of the Fallen on the next new moon. Should you survive, you will continue to live the life you have chosen - empty, soulless and without the protection and love of the Fatimas. To the Nation, the Tribe of Joan, your clan and your family you will be dead. If you are lucky, you will perish there."

The Inquisitor brought the brand to the Templar's forehead and pushed it against the inverted sword tattoo there, searing away ink and flesh. Cara Gray'on, Templar of Joan, didn't even have the strength to scream.

Sins of the Sister, Part 4

I shouldn't have been surprised at the news Kileg was involved, given the dream, but I was. I found him in the courtyard with Den'a and the three young Joanites. Kileg was in hunter's leather and a wolf's pelt cloak, his unstrung bow in a scabbard on his back and a solid, wide blade at his belt. Den'a was covered in her shroud, and the Joanites had been outfitted as acolytes. There were also two saddled horses and a hitched wagon.

"I was not expecting you to be here. I dreamed about you last night."

"I hope it was a good one?" Kileg winked, grinning wide underneath his bushy beard as we grasped forearms in greeting. "Old Nostra came to me last night and asked I accompany you as far as the edge of Mortuary. Says nobody is supposed to know, not even you until this morning."  He glanced at Den'a. "This one says there will be no danger. Don't know about you, but there's more to this, so I think I'll stay with you until it's all over."

"I dreamed of No Man's Land, and Selia..."

"That definitely is not a good one. Any idea what it means?"

"I don't know...I'm hoping whatever it is we're doing will reveal it to us."

"Also, I'm also not sure where you go these three from." Kileg grimaced at the three youths. "I'm afraid they won't be much good in a fight, unless it's against ancient Squat women. Still might be too much for them."

I looked the three Joanites from the previous morning over. They each wore a smock bearing family and clan symbols over leather jerkins and had been given austere but serviceable short swords. The girl looked anxious and excited, but one of the boys was sullen. He had a fresh bruise over one eye and a cut on his face. I looked at Kileg, who shrugged nonchalantly.

"Keep an eye on that one, I think," Kileg said. "He was thinking he's the boss of the other two earlier, trying to stir something up."

I pointed to the girl. "You, I need to drive the wagon. The two of you will be with the prisoner. You don't take your eyes off him for a second, and the moment he so much as twitches wrong you yell at the top of your lungs and get out of the wagon. Nobody talks to him, taunts him, touches him." I looked at the second boy, motioning to the one with the bruises. "You, if that one gets mouthy, stab him. This is your chance for redemption in Joan's eyes. Do you understand?" All three of them nodded.

"It's just like the old days, no?" I said to Kileg.

"Not really," he replied gruffly. "Very curious how you got mixed up in all of this. Too bad about Nyeda..."

"When we're done with this, we definitely need to catch up." By that time, the jailer and guards had come up from the cells, bringing a shackled Robbo with them. He was in ill-fitting but fairly clean clothes, and had been scrubbed such that his skin looked a little raw. Bandages covered his hands and the worst of the cuts and burns on his face salved. He did not look up or make any noise as they got him into the wagon and chained his shackles to iron rings set in the wagon. The two boys clambered up after him. Kileg helped Den'a onto the bench next to the girl, who had taken the reins.

"Let's get this over with," I said as I swung into my saddle.

Sins of the Sister, Part 3

I fell feel asleep quickly and slipped into the River. I could have freely explored, but chose to stay confined within my own Dream world, flowing along with the River in the hope of gaining insight into the day's events.

I am standing over Robbo in Bazaar, pressing the tip of a sword to his chest. He begs for mercy, choking under the crushing weight of my boot against his throat. Filled with rage, a blackness rising up within me until I can no longer contain it, I pierce his chest with the blade in a gout of blood.

Suddenly I am looking skyward, a blade rising from my chest - the sword Robbo used to kill Nyeda. Shadowy figures fade in and out of view until one steps toward me, grasping the hilt of the sword and twisting, pushing the tip through me into the ground beneath. Tendrils of inky smoke snake their way down the blade into my mouth, silencing my scream as they fill my throat. Darkness clouds my vision until I can only hear the grinding of the blade into the hard-packed dirt.

Trey's boots scrape against the ground as two Blades drag him further into the center of the ruin. The building we had sought refuge in was relatively intact. We had shored up most of the gaps in the walls with debris and posted lookouts on the remainder. Someone even managed to get a fire going. In the pitch black outside the walls, I can hear scrabbling and the Serfs' foul language. 

Thwap. Thwap. Kileg's bow thrums with power, the Synthesis imbued arrows finding their marks even in total darkness. Something thrashes and moans piteously in the darkness. Kileg quickly squats back down, placing the bow across his thighs. 

"We can't stay here, you know," he says. 

I nod grimly. When some scouts had reported a Serf village a half day's journey or so inside No Man's Land, I quickly organized a raiding party to take care of it. It was a frequent enough event no one thought much of it; we would leave the Seven Fingers, find the village and raze it to the ground. If we did not, the Serfs would quickly multiply and spread like a disease. The village was easily located, but two Z'bri surprised us as we set about torching the buildings. Before we had a chance to respond, three of the raiding party were killed and two more wounded. 

One of the Beasts was a Koleris, who had fought savagely, pain fueling its rage even as I ran it through with my sword. Its death throes had sprayed burning ichor, reducing my shield to a smoking, melted ruin. The second Z'bri was a Melanis. It was an impossible-looking creature comprised entirely of constantly moving legs, bent in a hundred different angles. It had no visible head, only horrific, distorted faces that emerged and disappeared randomly from within its skin. Skittering in the shadows between the burning buildings, it somehow rallied the score or so surviving Serfs, who began to jerk and stumble toward us like Dahlian string puppets. The Z'bri then began using its Sundering to siphon our thoughts and memories, clouding our minds and sowing chaos in our ranks. Trey was the first to succumb, reduced to a slack-jawed drooling shell. Even now the Z'bri's Atmosphere scrapes against the inside of my skull and burns my throat with a putrid tang. When I spotted the ruin I quickly gave orders to retreat to it so we could regroup. 

"We need to slip out of the far side of this building," I say. "We break straight west, then south toward the Seven Fingers. When we're close enough, Kileg can loose a signal arrow and hope the lookouts see it and send out a war party." 

"It will find us," Selia whispers from her position near one of the openings in the wall. She is standing perfectly still, staring into the darkness. 

I take her face in my hands and gently kiss her on the lips. She is covered in blood and gore, but I don't care. Her eyes are wide, her pupils shrunk to dots despite the darkness. She needs me now, they all do. "We are going to get out this." 

Selia begins to shake, softly at first, her spine going rigid as the convulsions increase in strength. A terrible keening erupts from her throat and I hear the rasp of her sword leaving her scabbard. Kileg yells something behind me, but all I can do is look into her eyes, suddenly glazed over and unseeing, clouded by the influence of the Beast. I'm crying and shaking my head, even as I unsheathe my own sword. The inhuman sound trails off into a sputtering gurgle, and she looks down at the sword driven deep underneath her breastbone, her eyes wide and suddenly Selia again. I will never forget her look of betrayal and terror as she slumps into my arms. 

I'm in Bazaar again, holding Robbo's bloody sword. For the first time,  I notice the intricate glyphs on the crossguard and the blade's dull, flecked metal. In front of me stands the monster I faced when we escaped the ruins and the Z'bri attack. The bodies of my fallen comrades have been melted together into a patchwork of forms, lumbering along unevenly on legs and arms, multiple heads searching for its prey. But...the faces aren't right. Where there should be the faces of the Joanites who died that night in No Man's Land, instead are those of the three young Joanites, Nyeda's, the Sin Eater's and Selia's. All of them begin pleading with me, the cacophony growing until I can no longer take it and drive the blade deep into its fetid flesh...

With an audible whoomp I forced myself awake, sitting up in my pallet. I was drenched with sweat despite the pre-dawn chill. What does that night in No Man's Land have to do with Robbo? Or the Sin Eater? I thought. The sword! The sword was important in some way. Perhaps Den'a knew why.

It was not long before my initiate came with bread and porridge. After my meal, she helped me prepare for the day. I had no idea what to expect - where I was familiar with death, Mortuary was intimate with it. There was no telling what dangers might lurk within the enormous necropolis, hiding among its twisted paths and tangle of crypts, mausoleums, ruins and grave fields. I had him help me don my armor and weapons, pack provisions and a few other items, and descended from the Tower to make sure Robbo and the others were ready.

The air in the Tower's lower level was filled with the scent of cooking food. I said a few greetings but did not stop, heading past the bustle of the common areas and the clang of arms in the Arena to the stairs leading below. Robbo was the only prisoner in the small block of unused cells underneath the Tower. Most Tribal criminals wound up in the Red Gaol, where they stayed just long enough to be tried and judged, and Joanites almost never held prisoners of their own. This left the cells in the tower empty except for high profile prisoners, or unusual cases like Robbo.

Robbo was sitting in one corner of the cell, muttering to himself as he rocked back and forth with his knees to his chest. Around his neck was a wooden collar with two metal rings driven into either side. He was covered in filth, his hair matted and his clothes in shreds. Two poles with dull hooks leaned on the wall outside of the cell, just outside of reach from the bars.

"It was the only way could get him out of the cart." The jailer glared at Robbo as he brushed past me. The jailer was old and bent, one of his legs missing from the knee down. He limped around on a foot taken from some large doll that was found in a skytower near Bazaar. "He refused to get up or walk, and we were afraid to carry him with what happened to that Blade. So we slapped a collar on him and dragged him here."

"We're not going to be able to handle the poles and collar...I'm going to need him in wrist and ankle shackles. If there aren't already rings in the wagon to lock the shackles to, I'd suggest you set to putting them in."

The jailer nodded, grabbing one of the poles. Two burly guards entered from an adjacent room, and started to put shackles on Robbo. He was covered in more blood than I remembered, and had several serious burns on his face and hands. The jailer must have read the look on my face.

"The Inquisitor went easy on him. Couldn't get nothing anyway, not even from Truthsaying. Boy won't speak."

"I won't have him looking like a Squat. Clean him up, and bandage those burns. He needs new clothes, too. Make sure he's fed and see nothing more happens to him between now and when we leave." My own words surprised me. I had little doubt he was the one who had murdered Nyeda. But something gnawed at my thoughts, something that didn't add up, and I felt Robbo was the key.

"Will do. You'd better get upstairs, I heard Kileg was waiting for you. We'll take care of him."

Cara Gray'on (sample character)

Cara Gray'on is a Joanite Templar from a minor offshoot of the Uhan'on clan. She was a Blade for number of years, serving along the Seven Fingers. While leading a raid on a Serf settlement in the No Man's Land between Vimary and Hl'kar, Cara and her fellow Blades were attacked by Z'bri defending the village. Many of the Joanites died in the first few minutes of the battle, and the survivors sought refuge in a mostly collapsed ruin. Cara defeated a monstrosity made up of the corpses of her Joanite sisters in single combat and,  unlocking an unknown potential for powerful Synthesis, successfully drove back the Melanis Iv'chet leading the defenders. For her devotion and bravery, Joan made Cara a Templar on the spot - an unusual, but not unheard of, move on the Fatima's part. For Cara it was a bittersweet triumph, as her longtime companion Selia was killed in the battle.

Since becoming a Templar, Cara has joined the small number of voices speaking out against Judge Cylix Seth'on and the burgeoning Watch. She believes the creation of the Watch was misguided at best and a blatant power grab at worst. She sees what happened to her in Hl'kar as a symptom of a Nation that is becoming complacent and opening itself up to a large-scale incursion by the Z'bri. Her opposition to the Watch has made her a small number of influential allies in the Grand Council, but also attracted the attention of much more powerful political adversaries in the form of both Cylix Seth'on and Shaman Storm Cry. Of late Cara has noticed that Joanites Blades are disappearing in small numbers - not enough to raise suspicion that it is nothing other than the normal risks Blades take, but still enough to worry her. All of these factors are making it harder and harder for her to ignore her principles when she sees abuse by the Watch or remain silent while Joanite battle readiness deteriorates.

Character Aspects

• Templar of Joan
• Tribal
• Opposes the Watch
• Handpicked by Joan
• "The Z'bri cannot be ignored"
• Blames Herself For Selia's Death

Specialty Aspects

• Joanite (Strength)
• Devotion (Dream)
• Fury (Dream)
• Exceptionally Strong Dreamer (Willpower)
• Blade Blessed By Joan (Resources)
• Many Sisters Within the Blades (Resources)
• Blinded By Principles (Persuasion)

Abilities
Physical: Agility: 2; Endurance: 2; Perception: 2; Strength 3
Mental: Craft: 1; Knowledge: 2; Reasoning: 2; Willpower: 2
Social: Deception: 1; Empathy: 2; Persuasion: 2; Resources: 1
Affinity: Dream: 3

Advantages
Dreamer

Power Advantages:
Synthesis
Rotes:
Battle
Force

Sins of the Sister, Part 2

I had no sooner sent an initiate to bring some mulled wine, when Nostra Guy'on appeared in the doorway of my chamber. His Templar bodyguards were not with him, but I thought there was someone standing in the shadows outside the doorway. Dressed in a long, simple robe Nostra Guy'on looked more a tired old man than a Grand Councilor. He unarmed - not that he needed a weapon. His weapons were power and his armor subterfuge, and he used them with a deftness unmatched by any Dahlian or Magdalite.

"You know why I am here."

"The boy," I responded.

"He is secure here in the Tower?"

"Yes, he is in a cell awaiting an Inquisitor." My throat tightened around the word.

"And the others?"

"The girl was found and turned over to the Red Gaol, who will deal with her. The boys will attend to me, until such a time as Joan deems all of them fit for the Arena." I paused for a moment, carefully choosing my words. "Not to disrespect, Elder, but I don't think you came here to check on an imprisoned halfwit and a handful of derelicts."

Nostra worked his nearly toothless gums for a moment, his eyes dark and cold. "Your actions have placed us in a difficult position. Shaman Storm Cry was disrespected, gravely so, and you acted against his - and the Council's - authority."

"But Joan spoke through me. Her will..."

"Do not confuse Joan working through you with knowing Her will. Joan seldom speaks, much less through her Templars. It is not surprising you would be a little confused."

His words stung like a slap in the face. I knew what I had experienced, what Joan had said through me, and there was no mistake. "That cannot be. I felt her anger and her frustration. We have had so much taken from us...Vimary stands half-defended our fate has been placed in the hands of others? Joan is..."

"Enough!" Nostra snapped, then sighed deeply. "The Beasts' backs were broken when Joshua slew Tibor. That was nearly three generations ago, they are no more than shadows on the wall now. Darker forces are at work within the Nation, but you and the other crusaders fail to see it. You want to stand on a watchtower," he motioned skyward with his hands. "Ever vigilant for a threat that has long since been cowed by the Fatimas' power...even if it means the rest of the Tribes fall into degeneracy behind you. The Tribe of Joan must stand with all of the Tribes, for the purity of all of the Tribes. That is Joan's Will." He pinched the bridge of his nose with thumb and forefinger, looking at me through hooded eyes. "That is why you will do as I say or I will throw you to the Beasts myself, since you seem to prefer their company to your own kind."

I silently nodded my capitulation. He gestured and the person outside the doorway stepped into the light. She was short and slender, covered completely in a burial shroud of black muslin. "This is Den'a. She is a Sin Eater."

I tried to speak, but the words stuck. The Yagan Sisterhoods were secretive, but the Sin Eaters made them look like an Evan gossip circle. Stories about Sin Eaters were the kind repeated only in hushed tones: they had transformed themselves into wights, struck pacts with the Z'bri, or were responsible for Zom attacks. I found myself suddenly wishing for the wine.

Den'a unwrapped the layers of fabric concealing her features and I was surprised to see a beautiful young woman instead of a wizened crone. Her face was round, the death mask tattoo contrasting with her bone white hair and pale skin. The tattoo was unlike any I had seen before, shifting subtly in the shadows cast by the firelight, coalescing into another visage...Nyeda. A chill ran through me. Mercifully she looked away slightly so I would not have to avert my own gaze.

"At dawn, you will accompany Den'a, the boy, and the three young Joanites to Mortuary. You will do exactly as Den'a asks of you. You will tell no one that you are going or of what transpires afterward, upon pain of Banishment or worse. This is the decree of the Grand Council and the Fatimas' will." He rose from the chair slowly and left without another word, Den'a following close behind. She glanced back at me before disappearing into the darkness, her eyes sympathetic.

I sat on the edge of my bed for a very long time, staring into the darkness beyond the doorway. The shadows moved, forming shapes the flowed into one another before they could become anything recognizable. I knew whatever awaited Robbo in Mortuary would change his life. Naively I failed to see it would change mine as well. With the weight of the day pressing down on me, I silently began my preparations for the next.

Sins of the Sister, Part 1

From the confession of Cara Gray'on:

It began with three members of the Watch - two boys and a girl - beating a boy in the street. Tensions between the Watch and the Templars had forced me to turn a blind eye to these sights more often than not, but this time I knew something was terribly wrong. Maybe it was because the figure on the ground just lay there, not crying out. Perhaps it was the expressions of the small crowd that had gathered, standing between the cobbled together merchant stalls or overhead on the bridges between the upper levels of the crumbling sky towers.

"What exactly is going on here?" I said, my voice echoing off the stone buildings around us.

Two of the them looked up at me, eyes widening when they saw I was a Templar, and clumsily stopped mid-blow or kick. The third was so focused on kicking the person on the ground, the girl had to grab his arm and pull him away.

"He...he killed a Joanite Blade..." The girl said in a quavering voice. She couldn't have seen more than 16 summers, barely old enough to raise a sword.

It was then I saw the Joanite laying face down just a few paces away, blood slowly seeping from underneath her body into the dirt. Her sword was sheathed and a bloodied blade rested on the ground nearby. I looked down at the crumpled form of her alleged attacker expecting to see a Squat or perhaps one of the Fallen. To my surprise I saw Robbo.

Robbo was a simpleton, the son of an Evan family living just outside of Bazaar. Evans put disfigured children to death, as was the custom of all of the Tribes, but sometimes it took a few summers for any problems to become obvious. Children able to work were spared. Robbo was one of those children, incredibly strong and hearty but unable to speak and only able to understand the simplest commands. Instead of an ox, his mother had him draw a wagon full of crops and other provisions to Bazaar so she could barter for other goods. His mother was harsh with him but not cruel, and Robbo always had a smile for everyone and everything. Many were uncomfortable around him despite his kind and gentle spirit. The few words he spoke were always prophecies of death and ill-fortune. Despite this, until that morning he had always seemed harmless.

"Who is this?" I asked, taking a step toward the Joanite lying on the ground. I know this armor, I thought. Please, don't let it be her.

"We...we do not know." The girl answered, lowering her eyes to avoid my gaze.

Of course she wouldn't know. Both of us were from the Tribe of Joan, but lived in different worlds. I stood tall in full armor adorned with medallions, prayer strips and inscribed sigils, a sword blessed by Joan herself at my side. The three children wore ill-fitting leather jerkins and bore weapons hardly suitable for training, much less common use. They had never faced Squat savages or fetid unholy monstrosities made of the corpses of their own brethren. Such things were little more than fables to them. Their enemies were thieves, miscreants, political opponents, undesirables.

I knelt down next to the woman and slowly turned her over. My stomach tightened as I brushed the hair from her face. Oh Nyeda, what could have happened? I thought. Last I heard she had been on the Seven Fingers planning a raid into No Man's Land. What business did she have in Bazaar? Clearly she was taken unawares. The blade had penetrated her plate and shattered and shattered the mail underneath. Robbo certainly had the strength to do this, but where he would have gotten a sword or even known how to use it? I placed two fingers to my lips and then to hers before standing.

"Did you see the boy do this?" I asked, my back still to the three of them.

"N...no..." the girl replied.

"We came when that merchant called for the Watch," one of the boys said, his voice more confident than hers. "He was kneeling beside her. The merchant said he had done it."

"Did he threaten you?"

"No, he was on the ground, sitting beside her..." I could hear the puzzlement in his voice.

"So you began beating a simpleton, on the word of another?"

"It...it is our duty as the Watch..."

Anger and grief washing over me, and I nearly lost control. The River of Dream responded to the rush of emotions, rippling the air around me like an invisible flame. All three of the youths stepped backward in fear. The youngest boy began to shake uncontrollably, a wet spot growing on his breeches.

"It is your duty to watch." I shook my head, trying to clear any rash thoughts before they became something more. "You three are but children...we may as well let Agnites keep the peace. Were you even intending to arrest him? Question him?  Or were you content with just killing him and denying Joan the right to justice?" None would meet my gaze. Robbo remained curled up on the ground, his arms wrapped tightly around his head, not making a sound. He was still breathing, at least for the moment.

The confrontation had attracted a larger audience and more attention. Two large Joanites pushed through the front ranks, followed closely by a rotund Evan man. He strode forward purposefully, a multitude of beaks and claws clattering against his raptor skull topped staff, a feathered cloak marking his station as Shaman of Eva. Shaman Storm Cry.

"Storm Cry," I said dryly, rising to my feet. He huffed from exertion and scowled at me, dabbing at his face with a finely woven cloth. Even with the morning chill, sweat glistened on his bald head. My disdain for him and his political maneuverings were extremely well known. He and the the Tera Sheban Judge Cylix Seth'on were turning the Watch into their own private army of thugs. An Evan, no matter how powerful, had no right meddling in the affairs of Joan.

"Please tell me you have not interfered with the Watch performing their duty, Cara Gray'on," He said. "What is going on here?"

"The only thing I interfered with was your breakfast, Shaman," I replied. He was a hand shorter than me, but outweighed me by at least ten stone. "I merely stopped these three from beating this boy to death."

He ignored the jibe and looked down at Robbo with obvious disgust. "What was his crime?"

"I see no crops or livestock here. His crime was against Joan, not Eva."

"This is a matter for the Watch," Storm Cry admonished me. His tone made the blood rush to my cheeks. "Now you," he pointed to the girl. "Tell me what happened."

"A merchant called out for the Watch. When...when we arrived we found this Joanite dead, and this boy next to her. There is a sword..."

"And then what happened?"

"They started beating him," I interjected.

"It is the Watch's duty to keep the peace. If they witnessed this boy strike down one of Joan's Chosen warriors..."

"We..we didn't..." The girl looked close to tears, glancing furtively between the two of us. Her resolve was beginning to crumble as the situation sunk in.

"None of them actually saw the attack take place," I said. "Nyeda Morth'on was a daughter of Joan. Judgement on her murderer shall be passed by Tera Sheba, and no other, as is Joan's right and Her will. I have more standing in this matter than you, Shaman. No Joanite will betray honor or oath by taking the Law into their own hands."

Storm Cry raised his voice, making sure all could hear him. "Her attacker could have been Fallen, and there may be more of them! The Watch must ensure the safety of everyone!" I made note of the two fully armed and armored Joanite warriors standing behind him. Luther'ons, both of them. The Luther'on clan was prominent and intensely steadfast in their allegiance to the Watch. Regardless they were still Joanites, and I was still their Templar.

I was about to respond when a woman, sobbing uncontrollably, freed herself from the crowd and ran toward us. I was sure it was Robbo's mother. One of the Luther'ons lunged forward, knocking her to the ground with the pommel of his sword and bringing the tip of the blade to the back of her neck. It must have been too much for the young girl, who screamed and fled down the street without looking back. The second Luther'on drew his sword and started to run after her. The crowd erupted into cries of panic and anger, and the situation looked as if it would spiral out of control.

I yelled "NO!" and mentally opened the floodgate to the River Dream. A torrent of Synthesis rippled down my arm, my sword leaping from its scabbard like a silver fish. The flat of the blade caught the first Luther'on square across the chest with a thunderous clap, throwing him back a good twenty paces. I thrust my other arm toward the second Joanite, palm outward. The warrior slammed into the ground hard enough to knock the wind out of him. Everything and everyone froze, the only sound Robbo's mother softly sobbing. The boy remained perfectly still, but for the briefest moment I swore I saw Nyeda stir.

"How dare you strike my personal guard? Arrest her, NOW!" Storm Cry roared. Both Luther'ons remained on the ground, dazed. The two remaining Watch backed away from me, their eyes white with fear. Stymied, Storm Cry stammered, his voice shrill. "I...I..will have you Banished for this insolence! All of you!"

I returned my sword to its scabbard, feeling disconnected and distant after the release of Synthesis. Conflict rippled through the River, opening a conduit to Joan, and Her will rose within me. "The Daughters of Joan are not yours, Shaman Storm Cry. Your hubris has gone too far. You may be Eva's Chosen, but Cara Gray'on is my Arm and my Blade. I will strike down your lapdogs where they stand should they be dishonored."  My mouth formed the words, but Joan's voice echoed off the buildings.

"You will regret this." His voice trembled, defiant even in the face of Joan's voice. "You do not know..."

"ENOUGH! Your business is done here." The sun broke through the clouds, creating swirling wings of shadow around me that lengthened to darken Storm Cry's face. "The boy will return to the Watchtower, and you will go back to Sanctuary until Tera Sheba has words with Eva about this." Without another word Storm Cry walked away, shoving his way through the crowd. His Fatima had not come to his aid; Eva obviously had deferred to Joan in the matter. Joan left me as soon as she had come, and it was all I could do to keep from falling to my knees.

"Thank you, Templar," Robbo's mother choked out between sobs. She was kneeling on the ground near Robbo, her head down. A tiny drop of blood blossomed on her neck where the blade's point had touched it. I felt sorrow for her, but no remorse for what I needed to do.

"Return to your village," I said quietly. "Robbo's fate is in Tera Sheba's hands now."

She looked up at me, her mouth twisted in a wordless cry of anguish as she shook her head, then buried her face in her hands. I motioned to two Evans standing at the front of the crowd, who gently helped her up and led  her away. The crowd had already begun to disperse, murmuring about what they had just witnessed. By nightfall word would spread throughout all of Vimary, if not further.

"You," I said, motioning to the boys and the Luther'ons. "Find a cart, so we can get Nyeda and this boy back to Joan's Tower."