The Sanctuary of the Bishopric was peaceful. Peaceful gardens of stone, intricate mazes of black and white, and a vast array of tombs, mausoleums, gravestones and cathedrals turned this level into a labyrinth of cold, dead, beauty. The Grand Heirophantic Plaza was a wide, checkered field, growing grass in both black and white.
Here and there, lights appeared. When they vanished, a body rested upon the square so recently occupied by the transient luminescence.
Another light vanished. In its place were not one, but seven bodies. Further, six of the seven bodies were very much alive. Gavriel was shaking his head.
“You didn’t have to kill him, Vi. He yielded.”
“He deserved it.” Vi lifted one foot and placed it solidly on the helm of the Black Knight, lying motionless on the ground beneath her.
Indeed. His fate was Just.
“Let’s just find their bodies,” Leigh’s voice was ragged. “They have to be here somewhere.”
Vi stared bleakly across the field. It was vast, and one out of every three squares, if not more, held a body.
“Where do we start?”
“We start with him.” Drang leveled a massive finger at a tall figure overseeing the removal of a body seven or eight squares over.
“Good idea.” The steel in Vi’s voice matched the steel in Drang’s.
The two sword-wielders in the party fell into step and strode with grim purpose towards the gathering of figures tending to the bodies on the field. The spellcasters trailed behind. The goblinesses held back a moment, whispering. Wide-eyed, their gazes darted hither and yon across the level.
They were getting close.
***
The Acolytes of Black and White were flush with victory. One more hurdle cleared. One step closer to the ultimate goal. They were in place. Everything was in place. Almost everything.
“Well, well, well. What have we here?”
The voice slid from the shadows, silken and rich as sable.
Swords flashed in the darkness.
***
The party advanced across the field. All the moving figures were strangely elongated ches-men. All of them were garbed in holy raiment, in either black or white, as had become all too familiar.
“Whoever thought you could have too much basic black?” Gavriel muttered to himself.
“It’s almost as oppressive as the white,” Leigh commiserated.
Gavriel shot the sorceress a startled look. Then he grinned and shook his head.
“I could kill for some color, but the blood would only run black or white.”
Leigh just grunted in reply. Ahead, Vi and Drang came within speaking distance of the field attendees.
“We need to find a pair of bodies,” Vi said shortly.
The tallest of the ches-men, the one wearing a strange sort of white miter, turned his head to look at her. Milky orbs studied the group for a long minute. His voice, when he spoke, was quiet and somehow polished.
“There any many here. All who take their rest in the worlds above eventually find their way here.”
“We have a specific pair in mind,” Drang said bluntly. “Can you help us find them or not?”
The barbarian cracked his knuckles suggestively. The sound rang out, strangely too loud in this peaceful place.
“I cannot–”
Vi’s hand went to her sword.
“–but I can take you to one who may. If you would kindly follow me?”
He turned and gestured with one elegant arm towards the largest cathedral in this very, very large cavern. The others of his kind continued to work as he led the party towards it.
***
The interior of the cathedral was soaring. The party spent a lot of time gazing upwards. The architecture was beautiful, but, again, all white and black, with not a hint of color anywhere.
“How very strange,” Leigh murmured.
“Feels like being outside, somehow, doesn’t it?” Gavriel glanced at the sorceress.
“Yes. Strange.”
“Strange. Yes. But nice.”
“Yes.”
Silence reasserted itself as the party was ushered into the grand hall. Their original guide had left them at the door and an underpriest had taken over. He led them to the dais upon which a massive stone altar rested.
“Wait here,” he said.
Then he left.
They stood in silence, awhile. Gavriel gazed upwards. Leigh just stared at nothing. Drang and Vi fidgeted and paced the room, examining every little detail that caught their eyes. Dhurka and Glag studiously avoided touching anything. No one appeared.
Gavriel eventually shook himself out of his reverie and cautiously approached the altar. He was examining some of the finer detail from as near as he dared, when the voice spoke.
The silence didn’t break, so much as it seemed to twist and slide aside in reverence to the speaker. She was tall, a ches-woman seemingly carved of one flawless piece of jet. For someone made of stone, she moved like air or water, flowing, with her robes susurrating around her feet as she walked.
“It is beautiful, is it not?’
“Very, Your Grace.” Gavriel straightened to bow respectfully.
“It tells the story of creation, if you know how to read it correctly. Some say it is the codex of our destinies, down here, mapping out every aspect of our lives.”
“Remarkable.”
“I am told you are here seeking something. How may I assist you?”
“Not something, someone,” Leigh burst in.
“Two someones,” Drang added.
“Two bodies,” Vi clarified, dully.
“Ah. Of course. I thought you had the look of those who had lost someone. I will do whatever I can to help you. Do you have the names?”
“Valeral and Leibrev.”
The Sable Priestess seemed somehow absent, for a moment, then she blinked.
“That is odd.”
“What is?”
“We have no record of those names.”
“Check again,” Drang said bluntly.
“I am sorry, but our archives cannot be in error. There is no one on this level by that name.”
“Can they have gone someplace else?” Vi demanded. “They came here from the Black Knight’s level, the– the hard way.”
“To my knowledge, no. There is no way out of that level save this, and there are only two ways to gain that passage. One, as you did. The other, as you say they did.”
“There has to be another,” Leigh said. “Or you made a mistake. Check again.”
“There is no mistake. I am sorry. Your loved ones are not here.”
“They have to be,” Leigh burst into tears. “I have to see my baby.”
“I am sorry. I can offer you nothing but solace.”
The Sable Priestess ascended the dais to stand reverently behind the altar.
“If it helps, I could say a few words to–”
Silence crashed down like a tsunami. The foundations of peace trembled and shook and for the first time since they arrived, the party felt something other than peace pressing down on them. Vi and Drang had their swords out in a second. Gavriel and Leigh held near-mirror poses as they readied their spells.
“Who,” the voice of the Sable Priestess frosted the room with black rime, “has dared to touch the sacred altar?”
***
The Grandmaster laughed. The Sable Priestess had placed herself in play. His opponents had made a grave error.
Chequematus loomed.
***
The chains were heavy about their limbs. So fine they seemed to be spun of moonlight and cobwebs, but stronger than steel, they held the Acolytes bound. The manacles of gold were even worse. All was not going according to plan.
Their captor lounged above them, on a throne of ebony and jet, alabaster and ivory.
“Well, my little ches-men, we shall have fun. There is a game afoot, and I think I may just sit this one in. Air and Darkness know the Grandmaster could use a bit of competition, a bit of surprise. You see, he doesn’t know I’m here. He doesn’t even know there is a here, here.”
The Archbishop laughed. It echoed in the shadows, lovely in the dark.
***
“Speak truth and I shall be merciful,” the Sable Priestess demanded.
“We didn’t touch it,” Drang protested. “Who’d want to touch that stupid looking thing anyways?”
“Not helping,” Vi hissed.
“Gavriel was looking at it.” Drang said, too loudly. “Maybe he did it.”
Gavriel shot the barbarian an incredulous glance.
“You must be joking. Are you honestly going to stand there and try to tattle on me?”
“Well, you touched it.”
“I did not!”
“Did so!”
“Did not!”
“Boys!” Vi’s voice cracked like a whip. “Not. Helping.”
The Sable Priestess had begun to chant. Her voice roiled throughout the cathedral, tolling like a bell. Whatever was going to answer, it was not going to be good.
“Andyr’nach, Andyr’nach…” The Priestess’ voice grew with each repetition of her chant.
“Andyr’nach,” Gavriel muttered, “where do I know that name from?”
“Running out of time here,” Leigh snapped. “What do we do?”
“I still say he touched it,” Drang said sullenly.
“Well, someone did.”
“Of course,” Gavriel’s eyes widened. “Someone did. And it clearly was none of the ches-men. And if it was none of the ches-men, and none of us…”
“Then it might have been Valeral or Leibrev,” Vi finished.
“It’s worth a shot. You heard the Priestess. We won’t find their bodies here.”
“And I don’t particularly want to stick around and find out what’s going to answer her call.”
“How do we know she isn’t lying?” Leigh did not look convinced.
“Against the rules,” Vi and Gavriel said in unison.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that.”
“So what do we do? Can we kill her?” Drang seemed fairly eager to dive headfirst into battle.
“I don’t think that’s wise,” Gavriel said, “but she doesn’t have to know that. Leigh, I’m going to need a distraction.”
The sorcerer’s hands began to fly through various arcane gestures. Leigh nodded and her hands took up their own rhythm. Vi and Drang automatically fell into a defensive posture in front of the two spellcasters.
Coils of shadow looped off of Gavriel’s fingers and began to writhe about the cathedral. They spun out faster and faster. From the hallways behind, there were shouts of dismay as the arriving ches-men found their way impeded by masses of snarling shadows.
The Sable Priestess continued to chant, ignoring the efforts of those beneath her. Gavriel’s eyes went dark; he moved his head, slightly, as if searching for something. He froze.
“There. Leigh, I need that distraction, now.”
The White Sorceress threw up her hands and a torrent of fireworks leapt forth. All colors of the rainbow exploded throughout the heights of the cathedral. Red, blue, green and yellow, orange and violet and colors for which there were no names. The only two absentees were black and white.
The chant of the Sable Priestess faltered. She stared upwards, dumbfounded.
“What, what are those?”
“She’s never seen fireworks?” Vi’s voice was disbelieving.
“I think it’s more that she’s not used to the colors,” Drang observed in a rare moment of insight. “Too much black and white in this place. Not enough red.”
“I know. Things don’t even bleed properly,” Vi complained.
Gavriel took advantage of the Sable Priestess’ confusion. He charged up the altar and leapt on top of it. He slid across the top, fingers searching. The Sable Priestess spared him no glance, too caught up in the riot of color above her.
Something clicked.
“Found it,” Gavriel exclaimed triumphantly. “Hang–”
The sorcerer was yanked into the air before he could finish. Liens of shadow drew taut and the rest of the party suddenly found themselves airborne, trailing along behind Gavriel as they all spiraled upwards.
The ceiling seemed to fly towards them and recede with impossible speed all at once. The line played out and they hit some sort of force and reverberated off of it. The sound and the speed conspired to steal their breath away and they found the world spinning too fast to follow.
***
“What happened?” Vi sat up with a groan.
“We escaped.” Gavriel had regained his composure faster than the others. He flecked an imaginary speck of dust from the sleeve of his Ahr’manhi robe.
“Where are we?” Leigh glanced around.
They seemed to be in some sort of small, natural antechamber. Darkness gleamed from the walls in a strange way that enabled them to see perfectly.
“Faery-fire,” the sorceress whispered, shooting a glance at Gavriel.
The sorcerer shook his head in negation. It was none of his work. The White Sorceress paled slightly.
“How did we get here?” Drang scratched his head. “Nevermind. I don’t really care. What are we going to do now that we’re here?
“Well,” said a new voice, “I think that you’re going to entertain me, much as these two have for the past while.”
The darklight shifted, revealing the walls to be made of naught but fancy and faery-dust. The party found themselves in a (relatively) modest throne room. A figure in black silk and black leather lounged upon a white throne, wearing a white mask. Valeral and Leibrev, both very much alive, knelt at the base of the throne, fastened securely to it by chains of silver and gold that ran from neck to hands to feet to the stone near the masked figure’s feet.
“Who in the nine hells are you?” Vi demanded.
“I?” The figure smiled. “I am the Archbishop, and you, delight that you are, are my newest toy.”
***
Soon. Soon the time would come. It had been too long. For now, Neniel rested, conserving her strength. A chance would present itself. She had only to wait. She knew her chance would come.
It was only Just.
***
They vanished! There were no pieces on the board, no pieces on any of the boards. All that remained were his own ches-men.
The Grandmaster roared and lashed out, sending ches pieces flying and boards tumbling. The cavern around him shook with his reflected fury.
Something had gone very wrong.
Someone was going to pay.
The Grandmaster roused himself from his throne for the first time in centuries.
It was time to wake the Quean.
To Be Continued…
Comments on this entry are closed.