The Blood Sigil (The Sigilord Chronicles Book 2) (30 page)

"Get back! The way we came!" Goodwyn yelled as he unfurled his suzur. The trio of street kids might be helpful—skilled, even—but he couldn't have them standing around in a fight. He didn't need to tell Therren to take up a distant position. His friend was already leaping over pews, slashing at scarabs with his sword.

He swung the suzur wide, ducked, and spun on his knee as the whirling chain of death sliced just inches above his head. A quick tug here, a pull there, and the blade and mace ends of the weapon exchanged places, killing everything between.

Barely aware of the sounds of the children scrambling to escape, Goodwyn couldn't stop to keep track of them. The friars swarmed like ants. How had they all been able to hide without him seeing even a single one of them in his visions? Even now, as he fought, Goodwyn knew that something was wrong, for his attackers were solid and unpredictable. He saw not a single translucent hint at where an enemy's next attack might strike.

The next few seconds passed as a blur of carnage as he slashed, stabbed, rolled, and kicked his way through the throng of attackers. Even without the ability to predict their attacks, he still knew how to defeat them, and they were no match for his skills, even with overwhelming numbers.
 

He was invincible…until something slammed into his head from behind. He had no warning, no hint that such a thing was in his near future. As he dropped to his knees, unable to hold onto the suzur, the weapon flung away into the distance and a hail of blows hammered into his sides and back. Fists and feet pummeled him everywhere, until all he could see was a swarm of scarabs smothering him, holding him down.

He prayed to Hol for a miracle as they dragged him across the church and dropped him before the commander's heretic pyre. Therren hit the floor shortly after that. Goodwyn tried to look around for some sign of the children, but got kicked in the face as he turned.

"Tie them up!" ordered a man from somewhere inside the church—exactly where Goodwyn could not judge from the deceptive echo. The bellowing voice belonged to the same man who had ordered the attack. "Let the devils hang up there with their leader."

The scarabs rolled him over to a wide, wooden post, tied his hands behind the post, and then stood him up in the fireplace next to Aegaz, who seemed conscious but hadn't said a word, his eyes unable to focus and a trickle of drool running from his mouth. They tied Therren the same way and stood him up in the other wide of the fireplace.

From his new vantage point, elevated above the church floor, Goodwyn saw Owl, Ferret, and Spider. Bound and gagged, they lay on their sides on pews, surrounded by armed scarabs.
 

Thank Hol they're unharmed
, Goodwyn thought. Even from as far away as he was, Goodwyn could see the tears running down Spider's face as he convulsed and coughed. The poor boy was terrified, and, for all he knew, likely facing death. All because of him.
I am going to save them, and then I am going to kill every last one of these scarabs.
This was the second time the band of thieves had been harmed because of him.

An elderly man approached and stood before them, his hands clasped behind his back, his face a mask of smug self-satisfaction. He was the only one of the friars not wearing armor, his purple shirt made of fine silk, his heavy, fur-lined cloak almost regal. Thin, gray hair covered a head marred by liver spots and wrinkles.

"I am the Right Reverend Abbot Zol Argent," said the man, his voice as silky smooth and rich as his clothing. He reminded Goodwyn of Kebetir, the former high shaman of Kest, in more ways than one. Kebetir had betrayed Kest to the blood mages, and this
right reverend
had the same scheming eyes as that shaman.

Zol dies first
, thought Goodwyn.

"Goodwyn," Aegaz wheezed, struggling to lift his head, his voice raspy. "How did you find me?"

"We warned you before about speaking, devil," said the Abbot. "Do not force me to administer another lesson, as I doubt you would survive it this time."

"How," Goodwyn started, finding it extremely hard to talk, the back of his head still throbbing from the earlier blow—the one he hadn't seen coming. "How did—"

"How did we ambush a devil with the foresight?" Argent said, his expression radiating superiority and condescension. "Our kind have been protecting the world against the likes of you devils since the dawn of time. We know a thing or two about neutralizing foresight."

"Neutralizing?" called Owl from the floor, spitting out her gag. "He killed fifty of you guys before one of you got lucky and hit him with a statuette."

A statuette? That's what hit me?
Goodwyn thought.
Unbelievable.

"My dear child, he would have killed all of us and laid waste to the entire city had we not neutralized his vision," said Argent. "These foul creatures have brought a dark evil upon this city, and we will put an end to it."

"Really?" shouted Owl. "Have you looked around? Who's the real evil here? Tying up innocent children!"

One of her captors kicked Owl in the stomach to shut her up. Another stuffed the gag back in her mouth and tightened it.

"There is a great evil poised to take this city, and we are the only ones who can protect it," said the abbot. "Our God is the only God who entrusts his power with us, to act as his sword and shield on this earth and to do his bidding." As he spoke his rhythm and tone gained a preaching, chanted quality. The scarabs in attendance were clearly moved by the sermon.

"God demands a sacrifice. We must show faith in Him, and we must expel this evil from this city. It is therefore my duty to obey, to purge you from this world and the evil that spreads from you like a plague. You will be burned to death, and with you will burn the dark curse you bring to this city."

"We bring no such curse to this city nor anywhere else," shouted Aegaz. "Neither our skin nor our heritage make us evil."

"The great and holy texts tell us of your lies," said Abbot Argent. "You are deceivers, vile tricksters who will say anything to sow the seeds of your evil beneath an innocent city such as this, to lure our people into the darkness."

"If you ask me, I'd say you folks are already there," said Therren.

"Enough of this banter," said the abbot, turning and waving his arm. "Light the fires so that we may be rid of this foul presence. I feel the need for a bath merely from standing this close to the creatures."

"Yes, your grace," said one of the scarabs. A group of them piled up kindling at the base of the tall poles, then fetched torches. With no ceremony, they tossed the lit torches onto the wood piles. The heat drifting up from the fires felt good as it warmed Goodwyn's toes in his cold, soaked boots.

The irony wasn't wasted on him, and he chuckled aloud as he thought about how all night he had felt cold and wet, and how he had longed for the heat of a fire. This wasn't the kind of fire he had been hoping for, however.

It wasn't long before the tips of the flames licked at his boot heels, the heat thawing his toes enough so that he could now feel how close they were to burning. As Goodwyn grimaced and clenched his teeth against the heat, he wished for the numbness of his almost frozen toes.

Owl and Ferret kicked and struggled, flailing about on the floor in a futile attempt to do something, anything, to escape. Spider lay motionless.

Smoke filled Goodwyn's lungs and stung his eyes. He coughed and struggled for air. He saw Aegaz and Therren both squirming on their high perches, fighting to breathe in the plume of smoke. Goodwyn knew that within seconds, the flames would be high enough to burn their feet.

He said another silent prayer to Hol, the protector, hoping beyond hope that Hol's influence over this world would be stronger than whatever god seemed to give the scarabs their power and drive their blind zealotry.
 

A moment later the doors to the church burst open, admitting a phalanx of soldiers who charged down the main aisle, shields up and spears pointed forward. Behind them a dozen more soldiers spilled into the church and took up defensive positions on either side of the aisle.
 

Perhaps Hol really is listening to us
, Goodwyn thought.

The captain of the watch strode into the church, brandishing a wicked-looking spiked mace and an equally wicked scowl. When they had met earlier, Jols had seemed angry, but now he seemed like a man possessed of an inner fury, just barely contained.

"Douse those flames before I haul every last one of you buggers into the dungeon!" shouted Jols.

"This is church business, Captain. You have no jurisdiction here," said the abbot, his voice as calm and smooth as ever.

"Men, cut those prisoners down," Jols ordered. "And anyone who gets in your way gets a spear to the face, understood?"

"Yes sir!" shouted a group of soldiers, who broke off from the main group and sprinted for the fireplaces and the almost-roasting Kestians.

"You have no right!" shouted Argent, losing some of his composure.

"Stand down, Abbot, or there will be an even bigger bloodbath in this so-called holy place of yours," Jols raged as he stormed down the aisle toward the fireplaces.

The soldiers kicked over the kindling, keeping the flames away from the prisoners. Within seconds their ropes had been cut, and Goodwyn and the others were hauled away from the fire.

Without waiting for the soldiers, Goodwyn raced over to the children and cut them loose. Owl and Ferret stood and looked around, their faces filled with horror and fear. Spider sat up but stayed on the floor, hugging himself tightly and rocking back and forth.

"Captain, I demand to know what you are doing in my church," Abbot Argent thundered. "You are interfering in private church matters."

"Abbot," said Jols. "I have neither the time nor the patience to deal with your church rubbish right now. There is a real problem in this city, and that young man is going to help me with it."

Me?
Goodwyn thought, seeing Jols pointing at him.
Why would he want me? I wasted his time yesterday when I couldn't find the creature.

"Young man, you need to come with us," said the captain, coming to stand face to face with Goodwyn.

"I'm sorry, what? What's going on here?" asked Goodwyn, his mind reeling, still trying to recover from almost having been burned alive.

"G-g-good," said Spider, still rocking back and forth on the floor. "Wyn."

Goodwyn held up a finger to the captain and knelt, gently touching Spider on the shoulder.

"Spider," he whispered. Spider said nothing in response, his eyes staring off into the distance. "Spider, I am so sorry."

"I…I…I didn't," he stammered. "I don't want…I didn't…"

"It's okay," Goodwyn said. "You don't need to say anything. It's all over now. Nobody's going to hurt you now."

"D-d-don't let them k-k-kill me," Spider sobbed. He lunged forward and wrapped his arms around Goodwyn, squeezing tightly. The boy sobbed into Goodwyn's neck, his breathing ragged and uncontrolled.

Owl and Ferret exchanged glances. "He's never hugged anybody before," Owl said.

"I hate to break up this touching moment," said the captain, "but I was told that you can help me, and we are running out of time."

"Who told you that I could help?" asked Goodwyn. "And with what?"

"I told him," came a deep, rumbling voice that boomed throughout the church. Goodwyn rose, lifting Spider with him, the boy clinging to him with an iron grip. Goodwyn stared across the church, where stood two grey-skinned men, a tall one with a sour look and the shorter one with a wide grin.

"Murin!" Goodwyn shouted.

"We have to leave," said Murin. "Now."

Chapter Twenty

"This is fun," Lu signed, her mouth moving to match the words. Urus had spent the better part of the past few days teaching her tradesign. She was a voracious and quick learner, picking up on even the subtleties of facial expressions and mouth movement—important cues that Urus could miss in dimly lit rooms and dark corners.

It had been three days since Urus had cast the sigil that would detect anyone using sigilcraft, anywhere in the world, assuming it didn't fail completely. But after so much time, the only source of hope Urus had that the sigilord might be alive was that if his net hadn't located Autar yet, then the arbiters couldn't track him either.

Despite the boredom of waiting for the sigilord to trigger their net sigil, he had found the past few days some of the most entertaining and relaxing that he could remember. He had actually laughed out loud—something he couldn't remember doing in a long time—when Lu's silver fox and familiar, Mist, kept mistaking the tradesign symbols for an invitation to play with, and chew on, their fingers.

Urus took another bite of a sweet roll they had found in a store room up on the main level of the library. Lu had explained that the sigil on the door had kept the food fresh, even after being submerged in an abandoned city for millennia. The roll tasted a bit stale, but it was remarkably good given its age.

Lu signed, her face glowing. "Learning is never a waste of time, no matter what we're learning."