Loreld Valley, Kingdom of Gadolin
Flowertide, 2339
Molgenet sat quietly, mouth bleeding, as the soldiers gingerly pulled off the last piece of his armor. The backplate had saved his spine, but the fall from the bridge had dented it enough to jut into his flesh.
"You see? God protects the Temple Knights because we protect the holy places of worship and high officers," he said.
"Then why . . . did the other . . . one die?" Borbnon asked between difficult breaths, the arrow shaft still poking out from between his ribs. Borbnon was propped up on a rock in front of Molgenet, who watched with curiosity as the arrow shaft heaved up and down with Borbnon's struggling breaths.
"He did not have enough faith," Molgenet said.
"So God willed . . . the escape of the Congregants . . . and Azra."
"For a time, to test our faith. But not you, Borbnon."
"She is the true . . . healer of faith. The days . . . of high officials and your ilk . . . claiming alone to hear God . . . are over."
Molgenet stared quietly at Borbnon while a soldier finished wrapping his chest. Then the templarant crouched in front of Borbnon.
"You're dying as a traitor to the crown and as a heretic. And yet you insist on goading me? Either you wish for a slow, painful death to purge your sins, or you simply want to sample what awaits you in the Depths of Memelos."
Borbnon tried to calm his jerking lungs as the Temple Knight slowly reached for the arrow shaft. Borbnon grimaced as Molgenet took hold of it, and he cried out when Molgenet jolted it back and forth.
"Sir!"
Molgenet looked up to see Percault, the other Temple Knight.
"Sir, a courier from Rethsrond has come. From the archbishop," Percault said, handing him the folded parchment. Molgenet stood.
Templarant Molgenet,
I'm pleased to inform you that the king admitted to me that his nephew, Duke Brebant, plans to shelter the heretic Azra at his estate at Velemond. You are ordered to break off your chase of the Congregants and intercept her there. Then bring her to me for trial. The king will deal with his pesky nephew.
In God's Name, Archbishop Gautrand
"You see, Borbnon. God wills . . ."
"He's dead, sir," Percault said.
"Pity. I was just beginning to talk with him."
"Sir, the quickest route to Velemond is a road just south of here," said a soldier. "Two marqs or so from here."
"We leave at once."
Copyright © 2019 by Christopher C. Fuchs
YOU ARE READING
The Fourth Messenger
AdventureSome said Azra was guided by the divine, others that she was a false prophet. Later generations agreed: she was the beginning of a bloody schism that would last for centuries and span continents.
