The follow up to my story two weeks ago. Part 3 to follow. The Shrine of Morta was its usual dark self when we arrived with the bodies. Of course, it was well into the evening, but it could have been noon – what little sunlight managed to pierce the cloud cover wouldn’t have penetrated into the building. Even the actual oil lamps that were lit to allow people to see at all didn’t manage to disperse as much of the darkness as you might have expected. I’d heard all sorts of explanations for this over the years, but I always thought the simplest one made the most sense – Morta likes the dark.
I’d never really noticed before, but the halls were filled with priests going… somewhere. I searched back through my memories, and they showed the corridors of the shrine as being empty and more oppressive for that emptiness. Had I simply never noticed before, or was this unusual? I honestly couldn’t answer that question. I was certainly more aware of the priests than I would normally have been, wondering why one had killed my friend earlier in the day. And wondering if they would make another attempt. I still had no explanation for the bizarre attack. Was there some kind of conspiracy amongst the priesthood that I needed to beware of? Was it one madman acting alone? Either way, my paranoia was telling me that we had made the right decision in removing the badges of office from the corpse we were delivering. There was still the danger that he might be recognised, but it could be even worse if we were found to have not delivered, or to have mutilated, a body. “Is it just me,” Annette whispered from beside me, “or are they watching us?” I simply grunted in response. She had a point, but I was hoping it was our imaginations. Fortunately, the delivery went as it always did. We took the bodies to the priest in charge, they were logged, and we turned to leave with the priest’s thanks. However, as we were about to go, my curiosity got the better of me. “This one,” I said, pointing to the corpse that had been a priest, “died killing my man. Can you call him back to find out why?” The priest looked up at me with his eyes wide, I guessed in surprise. We all knew that such was available, but it wasn’t a service often called upon. “Of course,” the priest said after a moment. “I will need to get one of my superiors – such a ritual is beyond me. Do you have a reason to believe that he was anything but a malcontent?” I glanced over at Annette who was looking at me with her own wide eyes and slightly open mouth. I glared at her, and she quickly adopted a more relaxed look. I turned back to the priest, shaking my dead. “I don’t know,” I said. “It just seemed strange. He killed Jackson but was then killed himself. It seems such a pointless act.” The priest nodded his head. “I see. Please, wait here.” He left and Annette immediately turned to me. “Sarge! You know I wouldn’t normally question your actions, but what are you doing?” “I have to know,” I replied. “I have to.” “He’ll find out that the guy was a priest!” I nodded. “Yes, then it’s out of our hands. Hopefully we’ll find out what was going on, but either way it stops being our problem.” “But Sarge! Then they’ll know that we know!” I looked at her. “We don’t know anything.” The return of the priest with a colleague cut our argument short. I found it impossible to tell which of them was the superior one – as far as I could tell, their dark robes were identical with the same skull-based emblems of Morta on them. I’d heard it said that this was deliberate and only between themselves did rank matter – after all, they all spoke with Morta’s voice. Clearly, people like myself were sufficiently outside that we were mostly treated the same way as anybody else, though with some small caveats – the junior one had explained the need to fetch a superior. “Would you be so kind as to wait outside whilst I conduct the ritual?” One of the priests had spoken, and clearly not the original one – this voice was female. Why would they want that? Watching the ritual wouldn’t teach us how to do it – I knew that it required very specialised training and a very particular faith in Morta to function. The only other explanation was that they didn’t want us to hear the discussion that they would have with the dead man. Which meant they had something to hide from us. “Of course,” I said, turning towards the door and taking Annette with me. “In fact, we should be getting back to our barracks – perhaps you could have a message sent if there is anything we need to know about?” The two priests nodded in unison. “That would be acceptable,” said the senior one. “Go now, and walk in Morta’s shadow. Serve him in life and death.” We both bowed, showing the appropriate respect they were due, and we departed. Quickly. As we returned to the barracks, Scar and Blade recognised our urgency, and they immediately drew weapons and looked to us to see if an explanation would be given. Annette moved to close and bar the entrance whilst I brought the two of them up to speed. They nodded, understanding the potential risk. I hoped that they, like myself, were struggling to believe it, to believe that the Priesthood of Morta might have cause to kill us. And then we waited. I’ve never been sure how long we waited for – it felt like hours, though it was probably only a few minutes. Our barracks has two entrances – the front which was small enough that Blade could likely hold it themselves, the back larger so that the horses could move in and out that way. Scar and I held that one, whilst Annette readied her crossbow to provide support wherever it was needed. “For what it’s worth,” I said during that nebulous wait, “I’m sorry for bringing this down on you all.” Scar grunted – she didn’t tend to say much since the scar that informed her nickname was across her jaw and neck, making it painful for her to speak. “You hear that, Blade,” Annette called. “Sarge says he’s sorry.” Blade didn’t look back – they simply said, “Sarge is Sarge.” I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to take that. When the attack came, it was swift and, if we hadn’t been prepared, it would have been surprising. The front door banged open and Blade immediately leapt to action, slicing with their twin swords. I heard the sound of Annette’s crossbow shooting as I watched to see if Blade required any further support. Scar’s attention was completely on the other door, trusting that I would warn her if she was needed elsewhere. It didn’t take long to realise what Blade was fighting against – the dead. All of Annette’s concerns were playing out – either somebody had learned to wrest control of the dead forces away from the Priesthood, or the Priesthood themselves were trying to kill us. Quite aside from the danger this brought to us, it was sacrilege – the dead were for the war and weren’t supposed to be active in the city. I hoped that the Priesthood had simply lost control somehow – perhaps the following of the Lords of Light was greater in the city than I’d appreciated – but a part of me knew that this was wishful thinking. The stable door burst open, and I turned my attention to it. It was too wide for Scar to defend it by herself, and so I moved up to support her. Fortunately, the dead were not skilled at combat, and so we could keep many of them at bay. They were dangerous in numbers and so, if we worked to keep our entry points secure, we shouldn’t have been in too much danger. Then I noticed one of the dead. “Jackson?” I stumbled as I recognised the body of my dead friend, and that settled the argument in my mind. Jackson’s body had only been re-animated within the last hour – for some reason, the Priesthood, specifically the ones we had visited earlier that same day, were trying to kill us. When Jackson reached the front of the crowd of dead, I could see that he was not like the others. This dead looked aware and moved with grace rather than lumbering around. Its mouth had been sewn shut, and it swung its weapon with deadly precision. Scar had also recognised it and had leapt to the attack. I called for Annette, who continued to shoot her bolts where she could find openings. I tried to get to Scar’s side – she was a strong and skilled fighter but, in life at least, Jackson had been better. I didn’t know how much of his skill his corpse might have retained, but this one was different from the rest and I didn’t want to chance it. However, the pressing numbers kept me from her. As I chopped and slashed, desperately trying to move through the throng, I saw her take a blow from Jackson’s corpse and fall. The other dead around them immediately leapt to the ground, to keep attacking her whilst they more easily could. I roared, moving with renewed vigour and seeing Annette take down the dead where she could. I destroyed the dead, only my training allowing me to continue in spite of the screaming in my head that this was wrong – a body should not be wasted, should not be destroyed. All were needed for the war. However, no matter how wrong my current actions felt, I could be spurred on by the knowledge that the Priesthood had done worse and done it first. All bodies were meant for the war. I prayed to Morta as I fought, seeking absolution for my actions, and condemning those of his clergy. By the time I reached Scar, I was surrounded. I dared to glance down and saw that my comrade was dead. Suddenly, Blade was at my side, their swords spinning in the darkness. I moved to parry the attack of another of the dead, and a crossbow bolt embedded itself in its head, making it fall. “Time to go, Sarge,” Blade said conversationally. “There are more of them than we can defend against, especially now they’ve gotten in.” Blade was right. They’d forced themselves in whilst Scar had fought with Jackson, and then more now that Blade had moved to support me. The horses were already dead and our options were looking scarce. I nodded to Blade. “Aye. To stay will be death, and I don’t feel as ready to meet it as I might normally.” “I’ll hold them off, Sarge,” Blade replied. I nodded again. Blade was the best fighter of us and would have a far greater chance of holding off the horde of dead whilst I worked. I moved swiftly through the dead whilst Blade worked swiftly to reduce their numbers and Annette alternated between supporting our friend and keeping the dead from me. I reached the chest on the back wall and pulled out our emergency supply of incendiaries. We didn’t use fire often – too great a risk of damaging the bodies – but we always had some in case. I aimed the first one directly at Scar’s body and a part of me howled in pain at what I was doing. Bad enough that I was destroying a body, but it was that of a friend – a friend that would now not be able to fight in the war. However, I wasn’t going to risk having her sent against us as Jackson had been, and I didn’t want the Priesthood to have the chance to call her back to answer their questions. We had safe houses scattered across the city, and Scar had known where they were. The fire spread swiftly, finding fuel aplenty in the dried-out bodies that were attacking us. I threw several more of them, targeting the largest groups of non-burning dead and quickly setting them alight. “More incoming, Sarge,” said Allette. Her vantage point afforded her a good view out through the stable door. I climbed up to join her, whilst Blade worked furiously to keep the horde from us. I could see that she was right – how many were they going to send? In a distant way, it almost seemed a compliment, but the fact that they had so many to send raised questions. Had they been drawn back from the war? The fires had given us some breathing space, and so I called for a retreat. The front entrance to the barracks was now clear, thanks to Blade’s earlier efforts. I threw one more incendiary to give Blade a chance to fall back and we all ran into the night. Once we were clear of the place, we looked back and watched our old barracks burn, along with another friend. “Well,” said Annette whilst we were catching our breaths. “I suppose they do have something to hide.” I nodded. “Yes,” I replied. “And we’re going to find out what it is.”
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