The Song of Roland Ch. 17

"The other Priests are busy administering to the flock. They preach, comfort and pontificate, teaching the faithful valuable lessons and important rules with which to worship and adhere to the doctrines of their belief." Bogdan's hands seemed drawn to the center of Kelsea's forehead, though it appeared blemishless and smooth across her skin. Roland's breath caught in his throat. "Horax, the God of the Void, is not a god for speeches, nor a god for lessons, nor rules. He asks for no supporters, demands no true adherents, save the truly dedicated. There are no sermons for the dead, piety matters not to him." The man's dark eyes looked up at Roland. "That is why I am here today: helping you while the others preach. Banish your unwarranted fear of me, for I offer you the protection of our walls and the sustenance of our larder. I have no flock, so for the time being, you shall be my audience."

The pale man's fingers rubbed across the former divot in Kelsea's head, parting her hair as her eyes became locked to his touch. Roland noticed the minute change in her expression when he did so. "Hrmm." He said. "Magic, it would seem... truly, an oddity. She's been stricken with a hex; a powerful one, if I were to guess. The spell is too slow in its application for it to be something brute-forced. I'll ask Almyra, our Priestess of Gosvin to tend to her when the sermon has finished." He looked up, matching Roland's eyes again for some unfathomable reason. "Until then: I have a favor and a boon to ask of the two of you."

"What." Roland said, wanting nothing more than to rip this unpleasant man's hands away from his Succubus.

As if sensing Roland's repressed anger, Bogdan lifted his fingers off of her, stepping back before returning to his even, expressionless face. His hands went calmly to his sides. "We shall allow you to enter the Outer Cloister, and stay within a spare room for the time being. Many of our people have been lost in the recent skirmishes, so there is plenty of room. But in exchange: I would request your aid against the creatures that threaten us."

"What creatures?" Roland said.

"Demons." Bogdan said. "The bastard children of Amphara, corrupted." There seemed to be a faintly sardonic tone in his voice when he said it. He pointed to the snow-covered peak looming high behind them. "This used to be a sacred mountain for the Dwarven folk. They dwelled here once in faraway days, when our eightfold Gods walked the earth beside us. The ironskins' ancient mining tunnels lie a short distance away, honeycombed about the summit, with hidden shafts that go thousands of feet into the earth." His lips pressed into a flat line, "Imps have begun to pour out from these caverns in masses. Many worshippers have died; still more have gone missing. The path to the Monastery is no longer safe. You chose a poor time to come to our remote Cloister."

Demons. Roland's hands tightened their grip around the woman in his arms. Of course it had to be Demons. "Why'd they come here?" He asked.

Bogdan gestured to the three, beckoning them along with a sweep of the hand as he turned away towards the gate. "Why would degenerate beings born of hatred and spite ever go anywhere? For the promise of plunder, rapine and depravity." Carl and Roland moved to follow with hesitant footsteps. "The Imps are the spawn of one God's rape, and another's eternal disgrace. They live to glorify the Goddess of Lust, their debauched mother, and pervert the works of the Seven Gods that remain pure. What could be a more tempting target to such abominations than a place that exalts the virtues of all the Gods that they despise?"

"A brothel?" Carl offered. Bogdan did not turn around to look at him. The Priest stopped short, pounding the flat of his fist against the wood three times in a noticeable pattern. The wooden gate unlatched and was slowly pushed open. At the entrance, the two guards from before stood, spears in hand as they shot mistrustful gazes at the newcomers.

Bogdan's hands spread out from his chest as though delivering a brimstone speech to them. "These men will join us, for now. The 'living' are more important to us than the 'faithful,' my brothers." The two guards bowed their heads at the man's words, stepping aside to let the three through. "Tonight, they shall test their mettle. Tell Bjor that we have two men in need of arms. And once the prayers are done, fetch Priestess Almyra. Let her know that we have an injured woman in need of help."

"Of course, Volkhv." The old man said, both men's heads bowed as they spoke in unison: "As the Gods will."

"May the Spider's gaze fall upon you, Brothers." Bogdan replied, bowing his head as well. He glanced at the mercenaries behind him. "Come. Kelsea's bed awaits."

They stepped through the gateway, walking out onto the main road of the rectangular fort. Immediately they were accosted by the vision of a second set of walls that encircled its interior: stone ramparts almost as tall as the outer stockade, set in a perfect circle like a pupil in the center of the fortress' square eye. The white, pitted rock was weather-worn and smoothed, diminished by uncounted centuries of occupation and snowfall. A thin gate, with half-crumbled crenellations above watched them with a yawning mouth. The door was made of wood and studded iron sheeting, closed in its entirety. The Gods only knew what lay beyond the portcullis.

To their left, a small cluster of homestead farms with thatched roofs and rounded doorways huddled within the shadow of the wood stockade. The tiny fields were fallow, with only an occasional plot planted with turnips or adolescent cabbages. The late season freeze had not set in, and thus the hardy crops were still growing. To the right of the main road, a long stretch of graves sat within a cemetery, demarcated by the rickety line of a waist-high rusted fence made of black iron, lashed together by tall, wooden poles. The rot was so deep in some of the posts that the pine timber itself had grown purple bruises, wasting away at the core. A rickety metal gate sat at the entrance, and inside against the back corner of the stockade, a lonely stone building of imposing stature waited like a necropolis in its core.

The most striking thing that Roland noticed quite quickly was that the place was empty: completely, utterly devoid of life. Nothing but the wind stirred as the dark-clad man with the grave voice led them quickly down the roadline to his left, weaving between the villager's huts with a familiarity borne of intimate knowledge of the ins and outs of his isolated community.

"Where is everyone?" Carl asked, picking up upon the same vibe that filled Roland with such nervous disquiet.

"Afternoon prayer." The Priest said. "The town is more bustling than this, I assure you. You happened to come to us at a quiet moment. We used to hold our congregations in the evening, but with the Demon attacks..."

Roland looked down at Kelsea, her breath ragged as she bend the whole of her concentration on maintaining her appearance. Sweat beaded down her brow, and she looked for all the world to be in the midst of a heavy fever. "How long has this been going on?" He asked, glancing up in time to see Bogdan staring at the two of them from the corner of his eye.

The Priest turned forward again, trudging through the road. "It began months ago: small parties of the roving creatures would attack stray livestock, and the odd hunter in the woods. It was a trifling really, less than an annoyance. We didn't even realize what was happening until a young man came back, speaking of animal-faced monstrosities. But in recent weeks it has escalated. Every few nights the town itself is now attacked, the beasts swarming like an anthill upon our shoddy defenses. Our power, our prayer, and our righteous conviction have protected our families so far, but we fear that if the tide does not ebb soon, we shall all of us be swept away. It is the reason why we hired that mercenary company in the first place."

"The ones who haven't shown up." Carl said. Bogdan stopped, turning in a slow circle on his heels to face them. A frightening look came to the man's face.

"Yes. The one's who didn't show up. Yet you did. What mundane task has brought you to us?" Bogdan said, the smoothness of his words caused the bristles to build on the back of Roland's neck. He was glad for the unholy warmth that Kelsea provided, for he felt a chill run up his spine. "Why have you come here, to this far-flung place?"

"For her." Roland said, lifting Kelsea in his straining arms.

"We were on the High Road." Carl added, "The Hautviech attacked us; some of us were wounded."

"...How did you scale the cliffs, then?" The Volkhv responded, a dead sparkle coming to his eyes. "A wound is not exactly an ideal affliction to have, whilst climbing a hundred feet of sheer rock face. Did you carry your 'wife' in a sling?"

There was a loud cry, far above. The whoosh of something falling cut the air and caused everyone to look up. Suddenly, a bloody corpse dropped from the clouded heavens, landing in a heap right in front of Roland. For a long moment, all three men stood in stunned silence. The body that had fallen from the sky was a white horned goat. A claw mark near its neck indicated it had been slain by some large creature. As if on cue, a familiar figure came down from the heavy fog.

Roland jumped back out of the way just in time to see the Harpy land with the grace and subtlety of a falling boulder onto the earth, squashing a portion of the garden she landed in with her claws. The bird spread her cerulean wings wide and let out a screech of welcome. Turning to Carl, she pointed with her human hand at the unmoving creature. She held her hands up, as though she were peering over them with her yellow eyes. She wiggled her fingers, simulating the rising heat of a fire burning it to a delicious meal. She cawed again, ecstatic at her predatory success.

"Uh..." Carl said, as unready as anyone for the unexpected appearance of the bird woman. "-She carried us."

A pallid smile built upon the stoic Priest's face. His dark eyes seemed to gleam. "Hm. Now isn't this a surprise: a Child of Excellia! Your group just gets curiouser and curiouser with every passing moment. Are there any other secrets that you'd care to share with me, while have the luxury of solitude?"

I'm carrying a Demon in my arms. Roland thought. "No." He said.

Bogdan stepped towards the Harpy, extending his hand. "How did you corral her? This one seems... familiar. I believe we've seen her before, in recent weeks. She tends to hunt in the nearby mountain peaks."

"We came upon the Hautviech attacking her." Carl said, pointing at the bandages around her waist. "I killed it before she could get skinned. It's been in our debt ever since."

"Harpies do not keep 'debts,' Mercenary." Bogdan said, watching as the bird let out a worried chirp and hopped backwards, away from his extended hand. He let the pale limb drop to his side, turning to face the men again. "Most would eat you after mating with you, in gratitude for saving her life. It's a fortuitous blessing that you've managed to make a friend out of so wild a creature."

"She loves my hair." Carl said, tossing his blonde locks from side to side in the cold air. Bogdan did not so much as blink.

"Indeed." He said, his voice toneless. "At least my peer, Varrn will be pleased: it is rare to see one of the Beastfolk so far south, the old Shaman will likely enjoy the company of a fellow adherent to the Goddess Excellia. She can stay with him, assuming you can convince her to join him at his church?"

"We will." Roland promised, "But first Kelsea."

The man's eyes were fixated on Roland's. An amused bend grew on the corners of his thin lips. "Of course." He led them the last few feet, the Harpy tilting its head in confusion as the party walked away from her. She leapt over the small wood fence of the garden, grabbing the dead goat with both feet before lifting off into the foggy air again, trilling.

The group arrived at a lonely looking hut, sitting perched against the edge of the stockade. With nimble fingers Bogdan unlocked the door's heavy, iron latch and stepped inside. It was a simple house: a thatched roof with dirt floors, several straw beds - little more than large cribs filled with loose hay and cushioning - and no furniture.

"You will sleep here, when the opportunity arises." The Priest said, turning to face them. "Though I doubt you will get much rest tonight; the Imps are coming. A few of our hunters have seen packs of them roaming the woods near the summit; they are gathering yet again for an attack. It's fortunate that you came from the opposite direction, else you'd have likely been assaulted. Your bewitched Succubus there would have been prime meat for her fellow demonspawn."

The silence in the building was as complete as it was deafening. Roland stared, dumbfounded at the man who met their open astonishment with cold indifference. Carl moved to draw his dagger but Bogdan put his hands behind his back, clasping them together. For some reason, the act of supreme unconcern stymied him, and the wiry mercenary merely stroked his fingers across the hilt. Bogdan smiled, this time genuinely: a true grin that stretched like ripping parchment across his face; it was dreadful to look upon.

"Were you really expecting to deceive a follower of the very God who helped to sire her kind?" He said, sounding delighted by the lack of response he got. "I saw what she really was the moment I laid eyes upon her. Her petty illusions do not work on her father's followers, it grieves me to inform you."

"Let us leave." Roland said, turning Kelsea out of the path of any potential spell. "We mean you and your cult no harm."

Bogdan's brow lifted in surprise. "...Is that what you think the point of this discussion has been? Depart, if you wish, but it would not be conducive to your mistress' well-being. You might not be able to fool me, thanks to the wisdom and magic bestowed upon me by holy Horax, but that doesn't mean the other Priests will see through the disguise - provided she can keep it going."

"Then why did you let us through the gate?" Carl said.

The Priest's smile was so disturbing in its geniality that Roland had to look away from it. "Because I learned two things from you in our discussions just now: that the two of you have been allowed an astonishing measure of personal will under your owner's influence, and that you genuinely have no idea what is going on atop this mountain." He chuckled, the sound was like crackling ice. "The timing of your arrival could not have been more fortuitous: in any other circumstance your life would have been forfeit when I first saw you."

"All that I care about is the safety of my brothers and sisters; religious zeal alone will not save us from our fate. Right now, we need warriors on the walls more than dead thralls hanging from them." He looked from Roland, to Carl, to Kelsea, who opened her eyes to stare at him in a daze. "...From here on out, your loyalty to her is the same thing as loyalty to me. Until such time as we can cure her, you will help us protect this holy place. And if you prove to be a problem-" The man's hand reached out, a dark light coming to his fingertips. Roland felt something stop beating in his chest. His eyes widened as a sudden blindness took his vision.The hand dropped, and his heart resumed its normal course, his eyes snapping back like a blanket being pulled back from his face. "May the Spider's gaze fall upon you."

Bogdan glided past Roland and Carl, sparing the barest glance down at the Succubus. He paused as he came to her. "To tell you the truth," He said, his dark gaze causing Kelsea's vision to cloud with pain. "You intrigue me, child of the lost Goddess. Here you have a man utterly enslaved to your every whim, yet you make the one with most of his mind intact claim you are his wife. It's a poor lie, and one you ought to rectify in the future, if you wish to be convincing." He continued his walk to the door. "Tend to her, while you wait. The sermon will still be for some time. I do, however, have need of one of you. There is a task I would have you help me with."

Carl sighed, "Sounds like a job for you, Roland. You always were a fan of manual labor."

"No..." Kelsea whispered, turning her head to look at Carl. "You go. Roland, stay with me, please."

Carl cast an irritated glance Kelsea's way, but saw the hard look in her eye and shrugged. Moving with the kind of indignance worthy of a pouting child, the blonde bowman followed the Volkhv out into the air of the Outer Cloister, leaving the two alone. Roland said nothing to her, kicking the door to the hut closed before carefully carrying her to the largest of the beds. He laid her out across the mattress, leaning her head against the lone pillow before collapsing to a seat on the floor, leaning his back against her bed. His legs stuck out as he huddled against the bed board.

"...Fuck." He growled under his breath. He heard Kelsea let out a pained whimper, her body shuddering as she shifted back to her normal features. The demonic side of her returned like an exhaled breath that had been held in for far too long. Immediately the Succubus' body language sped up, her muscles relaxing against the covers as she took in deep inhales. "This is bad, Kelsea." Roland muttered, holding his forehead in his palm.

"I know." She said in reply, "My little one didn't even get to cook her food."

Roland let out a terse huff of air despite himself. "I'm serious; we're straddling a knife's edge. We should never have come here."

"We'll manage." She said, her voice soft in the low light of the windowless room. "We always do."

"This is different." Roland said, clenching his hand into a fist. Why did she always seem to think that he knew what needed to be done? "At a word, that man can sick the whole damn town upon us. That'd be bad normally. But with you like you are..." The mercenary swallowed.

"At least if that happens," Kelsea said, putting her hand gently against the back of his head, toying with his red mane of hair. Her fingernails scratched at his scalp. "You can run; you'll finally be rid of me."

Roland reached behind his head to grab her hand, pulling it around his head to face him. His grip was tight against her slender fingers."Gods, would you kindly jam that glum misery someplace up yer arse?" He pressed her hand to his face, planting a hard kiss against her palm. "I don't want to be 'rid' of you, Kelsea. Any more than I want those mongrels outside to burn you at the stake."

"You always told me I'm a burden." She murmured. Her lips were so close to him, just feet away on the bed.

"I've also claimed to have a cock that goes down to my toes, yet somehow I manage to put on trousers each morning." He said, feeling frank with her in a way he'd never been before. She laughed. Roland always marvelled at the honest sweetness of the sound, like the taste of springwater mixed with the slightest hint of honey "Don't take my words to task like I mean them all. I... things have changed; you know they have."

"Roland, I'm just a-"

He overtopped her words, "A sultry whore, I know. There are worse causes to die for, than for the sake of someone like you." His choice of words stung like a hornet in his head. Someone like you. Roland remembered dimly her saying something to him to that effect, once. He thought of sunflowers, and those three words Kelsea kept saying to him. "Even selfish cunts like me can stand for something, from time to time."

Kelsea laughed again. The return to her natural state seemed to have rejuvenated her strength. She rolled to her side on the bed, spooning the back of Roland's head with her ribcage. "My Knight." She said, placing her hands across his face. Her grasp warmed his cold cheeks. "Sir Roland, Savior of the Succubus. His shining sword stretching down from his waist to his toes-" She giggled. "Gods, it feels good to lie here with you. It seems like it's been weeks since we just stayed somewhere. Would you..." She trailed off, "Would you mind joining me?" Roland turned his head, matching Kelsea's red-rimmed eyes. The look on her face was hopeful. "It's a comfy bed!" She added.