Saithorthepyro
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Chapter 18 - Lead V
🕑 Added 2025-02-17 16:00:12 +0000 UTCThe temple of Zavan had seen better days.
Not in terms of the structure itself. Dwarf-built and carved stone formed a massive structure, easily stretching the height of town cavern we were in, seventy feet of mosaics depicting scenes from I assume the dwarven scripture, including several likenesses of what must by Zavan, pick in hand, digging through the earth.
Hardly something I’d call aspirational or inspiring, but when you spend most of your life underground? Perhaps a different story.
No, what struck me as it seeing better days was how empty everything was. There were a few dwarves on the street as we exited the carriage, all of them moving as quickly as they could, sparing us not a glance. A small group of bored Watch had beaten us to the church, forming a picket line that was unneeded.
No one was trying to get in. No one was watching. Nothing.
I’d say it was just because of the murder, but the streets leading up to here had been just as empty. What few dwarves had chosen to stay were going to need to make a decision soon, to head to the surface or stay in the emptying ruins of their old homes.
Her Majesty’s interest in the underground didn’t have any intention of settling it, not yet at least.
I walked closer, towards the picket line and just beyond, the slightly open stone doors. I could see a charred hand reaching out between the open doors, it’s owner just around the corner.
The other carriage had disgorged it’s occupants as well, Walston going to talk to the Watch here, Gregory going in a futile attempt to keep peace because Tagashin and Voltar, and the two bishops walking to join us. Forcreek had disappeared, probably dropped off somewhere along the way or choosing to stay at Savareth’s temple.
“The pace of murders increases,” Gallaspie rumbled, looking at the small stone temple with distaste. “And we are no closer to catching those behind it.”
I took a mental note that he assumed we must be dealing with multiple killers, and moved towards the front while ignoring him. It was the second day, hells, barely even that.
Bishop Derrick sighed heavily, looking at the heavy stone doors. “Poor Malata. She already risked so much staying near the surface, even more agreeing to practice Diabolism, only for this to happen.”
Gallaspie opened his mouth, thought better of it, and then closed his tongue.
“Knew the victim well?” I asked Bishop Derrick.
“Malata and I collaborate well before the program. First in making sure the resting places of dead dwarves were secure even in the midst of the war, and then she helped ensure all resting places underground, no matter the race, were secure.” She smiled fondly. “Always joked about how similar our deities name was.”
“Grating,” Gallaspie commented, apparently unable to help himself.
“Sometimes, but always willing to lend a hand,” Derrick said, her smile fading into a frown. “That’s what made her volunteer. Thats what got her killed.”
“She volunteered,” Gallaspie said gruffly, and anger flashed in Derrick’s eyes for a second. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything, walking past to the front gate.
I traded looks with Voltar, who’d walked up leaving a smug Tagashin on the carriage. However well these two cooperated normally, clearly this was putting a strain on their working relationship. That might be helpful in other circumstances, but for now keeping these two from infighting was needed. Last thing we needed is both leaders of the group being targeted spending more time tearing strips out of each other than helping us.
“There was an offering of information from Giovanni Versalicci,” Voltar said, trying to get their minds off of the victim for now. “About some of his diabolists gone rogue. All of them, in fact. Sheds some light on this.”
I resisted the urge to throttle him. Could he not? At least it was framed not in a way that brought attention on Melissa, which was something. And it would come out eventually that these were Flame, but that shouldn’t mean Versalicci be given credit for anything remotely good.
“A trick,” Gallaspie said roughly. “Never trust those words. The fact they originated from his forked tongue makes me even less likely to believe these are Flame.”
“I agree,” I said, getting a surprised glance from the bishop. “He never shares information unless he gains something from it, but in this case? His hand is forced. Eventually someone would find out, and with what happened during the shape-changer case.”
“I see,” the Bishop said gruffly. “Covering his tracks.”
“Entirely possible it’s a scheme,” I admitted. “I can’t claim to have perfect insight into the mind of someone who tricked me for years. I was years younger and years more a fool back then, but still.”
That nod of affirmation sent a hot tendril of anger worming through my gut. Me admitting my failings was not intended as any kind of reinforcement of his messed-up views of the world. Still, if it would keep him civil a while longer, I’d keep that anger swallowed up.
With that out of the way, we made for the temple.
“Everyone please stay clear of the corpse till we have it examned. Bishop, please do not kick the Infernal’s body.”
The inside of the temple was… interesting.
We were in a tunnel, one nowhere near the size of the temple itself, in fact small enough that both Dr. Dawes and Bishop Gallaspie had to stoop down some so they could fit inside the temple.
A thick coating of dust greeted us, and a charred Infernal corpse by the door. Further down the tunnel lay Stonemaker Malata.
The Stonemaker’s corpse was on it’s side, in the middle of a section of the tunnel floor cleared of dust. Instead, blood formed a star around her, and even at a distance I could see the feline head forcing it’s way out of exposed back, the bristling red fur that looked as sharp as needles puncturing through skin in patches.
More blood staining the tunnel behind her, and from the extra puddle I could see at one end of the star, just a bit further? Mayhaps one of the other would be-murderers had taken a bleeding wound trying to incapicitate her.
“Cat,” I observed mildly. “Pride is what’s been assigned. Interesting that they kept the calling card, or maybe the ritual really is grasping ahold of something inside them. Make any sense to either of our bishops?”
It shouldn’t, but something was clearly directing the changes of these people and their souls.
Gallaspie didn’t answer while Derrick nodded.
“Malata was prideful,” she said. “Not to the point of sin, I’d say. Proud of the fact she’d kept her duty. Proud of peacefully joining her empire when so many of her kin chose to fight instead. Perhaps to the point of…well…antagonizing some members of her deity’s worshippers.”
Which would explain the disused nature of this temple. Perhaps her frequent conversations with Derrick had been more out of loneliness after having driven away her remaining flock. Not even a majority of dwarves left behind and forced to join the Anglean empire were happy. Maybe a slim minority at best.
“Everyone stay clear of the Stonemaker’s body please,” Voltar requested. “The layer of dust is thick enough that it might hold clues to the order of events. Just, for the moment, no one besides me beyond the threshold?”
No one objected, and soon the detective was working his way around the edges of the tunnel, examining each square foot of floor before daring to disturb it. That left us with the corpse of the attacker.
I knelt down, looking them over. Every inch of their skin had been charred, whether by divine magic or infernal flames hard to tell. I could still see the outline of the tattoo though, the flaming goat’s head drawn into flesh deep enough that not even torching the flesh could hide it.
There would have been no hiding who this group was. Which mean if it became known to the general public, more pressure on the Infernals as well. Shite.
Personal details besides that were a little hard to tell given how thoroughly his skin has been burnt. About as tall as me, male. Melissa might be able to make a guess if she were here, but without her I had no idea who this might be. I took a few samples, of skin, what might have been clothing. There might be something in either.
“First one bursts in the front door,” I said, getting up from the charred husk that had once been an Infernal. “Bait, most likely.”
“As to be expected from the Flame,” Forcreek observed, getting a nod of approval from Walston that nearly made me gag.
“Not the Flame,” I corrected, earning a few looks of disbelief. “Decoy was a diabolist. No matter what else you might say about him, Versalicci wouldn’t spend a diabolist just to take down a priest. Hells, Versalicci being involved with this makes no sense.”
I couldn’t come out and say exactly why I knew it wasn’t him. Only a few should know about the Whisper, even less about Melissa.
“She is right,” Gallaspie agreed. “Don’t underestimate them just because of your distaste, Acolyte. They are ruthless about using even the slightest underestimation of their cunning and deviousness.”
Not exactly how I would have phrased it, but close enough. In all likelihood, the group was clearly not that tightly bound. Had the bait just been the weakest member, set up to fail because they needed a distraction? A power struggle within the group? Or was the deal on offer one where only one Diabolist could claim the prize?
“Malata kills the decoy, realizes soon after she’s getting jumped but it’s too late,” I said, looking down at the corpse. “Gets a face full of rot or something similar for her troubles. Still managed to get a good blow in that leaves some of the second attacker’s blood staining the wall. Then they drag her corpse over to the center and begin a ritual to change her and deconsecrate the church.”
That was important. The chance this group was working with the Church killer was unlikely. If they were, they’d just employ his help instead of using a strategy that guaranteed to get one of their number killed, and was still risky besides that. The Church killer also didn’t need a slow, dangerous, vulnerable ritual in order to convert their victims into devils.
“Only two other attacks,” Voltar noted, looking over the floor. “One with hooves and one with boots. No other signs of other attackers.”
Gallaspie frowned. “There were twelve seen fleeing the scene, wouldn’t it-”
“Sentries,” Dr. Dawes interrupted quietly. “When your target is unaware, you take as little chance of alerting them as possible. Twelve individuals loitering around, ones who stand out in the target environment? That would attract notice. Three would be pushing it, although I suspect the bait would be the most overt.”
I really needed to sit down with Dawes at some point and discuss his military history with him. Voltar nodded.
“Precisely. The others were probably hidden, waiting for any signs of trouble. They interfere when they hear the sounds of violence. They quickly assemble and perform the ritual on her while she’s still barely alive. She can’t resist, and they get it over and done with. Voltar, are you done examining the footprints so I can come over there?”
He nodded, standing up. “If I could get Dr. Dawes as well? Assuming you are done with the Infernal’s body?”
“Got what I can,” I said. “Flames haven’t left much for me to pick over. The Stonemaker?”
“You’ll have more, but less likely to be useful,” he admitted. “They used clubs instead of diabolsim. Beyond bruising, I don’t see any signs of embedded splinters.”
“Hrrm,” I got closer, and with each step that bruising across the face and back of the head became more apparent, less hidden by the discoloration caused by the ritual changing her skin orange.
They hadn’t been frugal with those club blows either. The Stonemaker’s face was more bruise than normal flesh, her nose was broken, one cheek, jaw dislocated.
“They really didn’t want her conscious,” I said. “No reluctance with this group. The rest of them must have come in soon after she was disabled, jumped on keeping her down.”
They’d need to have down this all quickly, after the first attack. This place was dying, but someone would have heard yelling and the flames. Eleven rushing about, raining blows on the dwarf to keep her from waking, setting up the ritual, and rushing it to completion before the Watch could intervene. Another one to deconsecrate the church, which I yelled a question about to Derrick.
Yes, they had deconsecrated it. Eleven would be enough, with the priest whose house it was dead.
I collected samples from what might be useful, a little bit of the cat hair, swabs of clothing where she might have been grabbed and dragged. Blood from the stains along the tunnel wall.
Physical evidence might not win the day, but seeing two different groups of attackers working towards the same goal told us a fair bit.
Whatever this deal offered by the devil was, the transforming of the priests, before or after death, was key. So was the deconsecrating of the churches. The group of fast-working Black Flame wouldn’t have bothered with a time consuming ritual to do both if they didn’t need to.
And like that, some more fell into place. If the key to the deal was the transformations of priests, divine magic acted as a pretty good counter to that type of forced corruption. If the soul was already changed towards that goal in some way, say by using Diabolism, it would be easier to force a conversion than on say a non-Diabolist priest. Both would result in death, but one was much easier in terms of the sheer power of Diabolism needed than the other.
This might mean that the Church killer wasn’t as ideologically motivated as Voltar thought. It could just be going for targets they knew would be easy to change, while leaving the breadcrumbs of someone who had finally snapped or was trying to purify the world of the program.
“A thought strikes me,” Voltar said quietly. “How did the Black Flame Diabolists know that Stonemaker Oedeur is a diabolist?”
I froze. Shite, he was right, and I hadn’t even thought about it. The idea of it being a coincidence was quickly dismissed, we were far underground and far away from the Quarter. How did they know she was a diabolist?
“A collaboration between the groups?” Doctor Dawes said. “Although that leaves the question of how they knew to contact each other.”
“I doubt it,” I said. “This group? Clearly aren’t bosom friends with each other, and knowing there’s a stronger, more powerful diabolist chasing the same deal is more likely to result in attempted sabotage.”
“One would think the devil offering would try to encourage it,” Dawes said.
“Depends on the terms of the deal,” I said. “It’s entirely possible everyone gets the same rewards at the end. Could be it’s a set amount divided equally. Depends on what the goals are. Could be they are collaborating at killing multiple priests on the same day is trying to winnow down their needed kills as quickly as they can. But I think it has to be priests practicing Diabolism that’s the key.”
“You think the targets were set by the devil?” Voltar asked.
“I think there would be an easier list of targets they could have gone for,” I said. “The only thing that’s easier is less energy spent changing them to devils. But your trading that for targets that are probably a bit tougher than your average priest, whose deaths at the hands of diabolism will immediately be noticed. And if one of these killers is a member of the program, killing their colleagues is going to bring attention to them.”
“It could fit,” Voltar admitted. “Reluctance to do the attacks could easily be because he doesn’t have other targets. Forcing their bodies to fit sins he assigns to them may be an attempt to justify the killings.”
“Reluctance to kill people,” Dawes said. “In order for a deal with a devil?”
“Personal attachments do make wielding a knife harder for many,” I said. “But the doctor has a good point. Our killer is committed for killing for a devil’s cause, and I doubt this is just a trade of power for service. There’s some greater aim utilizing these killings. Deities involved maybe?”
Voltar frowned, thinking. “Perhaps, although that’s your area of expertise more than mine.”
“My understanding of divine magic is that it usually hurts and ranting from angry Halspus’ priests,” I said drily. “But point taken. I’ll try to set aside some time to educate myself on this. For right now, if you don’t mind I’m going to see what the bishops have to say.”
They had not left the Infernal corpse yet. Probably having their own private conversation much as we’d held ours. Gregory wasn’t here at all. Talking with Tagashin perhaps?
I forced down a pang of something at that thought and gave the two Bishops my best toothy grin.
“Apologies for bothering you both, but if I can inquire, how many deities are involved in the program?”
“Why?” Gallaspie snapped, and Derrick frowned.
“Apologies for my colleague’s rudeness, but while we are willing to share information about our program, only what is necessary to aid the investigation.”
“We’re trying to think if there’s any factor besides the diabolism program that could link these targets,” I said. “Especially if this is targeting for some diabolic ritual of some kind. The deities involved might inform the ritual being aimed at. If it was just someone within your group doing these killings, I might agree with Voltar that this is someone with a personal goal, but the involvement of this group suggests something more related to the Hells.”
I knew it was, but for now these two didn’t need to know that.
The two of them traded glances, and then Gallaspie spoke up.
“The deities represented by the group who came to Father Reginald’s after his passing. Those are the deities whose priests are involved.”
I frowned. The twelve deities from the group that had broken into the church had been all that belonged to this group? I’d have expected Maldeura, God of War and other patron deity of Her Majesty, or Ixilliae, the goddess of magic. More transplants from her travels or conquests.
Twelve. Something about that gnawed at me, and as I thought further, I remembered. Tyler’s sacrificial circle, twelve symbols stamped into metal. Twelve deities whose priests were practicing Diabolism.
No, Halspus was only their to oversee, none of their priests were practicing the Infernal arts. But….
“Ixilliae,” I said calmly. “That’s the deity whose involvement you’re trying to hide, isn’t it?”
Gallaspie muttered angrily under his breath while Bishop Derrick sighed.
“High Arcanist Taldare asked that her involvement be kept as secret as possible,” she admitted. “There are enough rumours about Ixilliae’s followers experimenting with magic others deem-“
“Evil,” Gallaspie said. “They practice evil with no care for the consequences.”
Derrick was already responding, a bit of steel in that calm reply but I wasn’t paying attention.
Twelve deities involved after all. Twelve deities whose followers, those they’d given divine magic, were also calling on the power of the Hells.
I needed that disc from Tyler’s house, assuming Holmsteader hadn’t destroyed it yet. I checked my watch. There was enough time, just enough to head to Glee street before I met with my uncle.
Just needed to meet with Holmsteader, who had just told me to stay away from her street earlier this morning.
Maybe it wouldn’t end in violence?
Comments
UnderwhelmingBird
Hahaha yeah I'm sure it'll be fine, Malvia, and she'll be totally understanding. Just a nice quick visit before going to chat with uncle dearest.
