Apostles of Doom

Mirroring over the large distances between Freehold and Oorstemoth and Freehold and Justicia was extremely difficult, if not impossible, without assistance. It required a sanctified space, along with several wardings on multiple levels to filter out external influences. Then one had to inject extra mana into the mirrors to cover the distance, along with stability rituals. In short, it took considerable effort, so he tried to schedule them in quick succession once per week.

He’d had his scheduled 16:50 mirroring with Diocate Brisbane, who was manning the fort, so to speak, in Oorstemoth. He felt quite sorry for the poor fellow; he was certain it would have to be nearly unendurable to be stationed in Keeper’s City with all those blowhards.

Of course, he also had Verigas there with him. Verigas had been the topic that had caused that meeting to run long. The priest who had started this whole mess had finally come to Brisbane to report a suspected Dream Sending. He’d been reticent to do so, fearing it had been merely a normal dream, since it made absolutely no sense.

Verigas had dreamt of this saint; he was familiar with battling vampyrs in a forest under conditions similar to the saint’s martyrdom. The saint he believed it to be was one Saint Hilda of Rivenrock, a patron of healing and guardian against the undead.

Why on Astlan such a saint would appear to Verigas was completely unfathomable to both Brisbane and Iskerus. They would have been tempted to dismiss it, if not for the fact that the saint had essentially interrogated Verigas, seeking information on what he was doing in Oorstemoth.

She had been very interested in the disappearance of a large number of Rod members and priests near Oorstemoth, and had questioned him at length as to what he knew. Naturally, Verigas had been true to form and basically broken down and told her the entire story.

Now, obviously, if this was simply a dream it was no loss; however, if it was actually a visit from a saint, it was quite disturbing. It was incredibly worrisome to Iskerus. They had been expecting an Intercession ever since the demon had possessed large numbers of priests and Rod members, stolen mana from Tiernon and kidnapped Talarius.

Much to everyone’s unease, none had occurred. They had all been living on pins and needles for days, awaiting a heavenly host to descend upon them and start looking for answers; however, that had not occurred. This was both a relief and, oddly, a source of additional angst. It was sort of like awaiting the executioner’s axe. Add to that the disappearance of one of the possessed Rod members, the magical transformation of Ruiden, Talarius’s sword, into a golem, and finally the impossible vanishing of Excrathadorus Mortis, and everyone’s nerves were nearly shot. That nutty beggarmeister and his talk of a rogue high priestess was simply icing on the cake of Iskerus’s frustration.

In any event, they had run long on that call, trying to judge between them the credibility of Verigas’s story, which meant he’d had to immediately jump to his mirroring with the high chamberlain and high pontificate. That had been a case of hurry up and wait.

The high pontificate had been called to Toreanhold, the seat of the Holy Etonian Empire, on Imperial business. Apparently the emperor’s youngest son, Kristof, the Prince of Etonia, had gone missing in the Wilds of Eton and the emperor had called an all-hands-on-deck meeting.

Now, what a Prince of Etonia would be doing in the Wilds was an incredibly obvious question; one which Iskerus had nevertheless asked, naturally. Iskerus had met the boy, or young man, rather, on a few occasions. Barabus, of course, knew all the imperial heirs quite well, having personally appointed their knightly instructors and overseen their training, and to say he was a sturdy lad was something of an understatement. Other than the signature purple eyes of the House of Torson, he looked nothing like his siblings. Which was, it turned out, why he had been there in the first place, High Chamberlain Mericas had explained. Kristof’s mother was the daughter of Lord Narthan, the nominal ruler of the Wilds of Eton; thus, Kristof was also in line to that title, at a much closer proximity. He was seventh in line for the Imperial Throne, but thanks to yet another accident, now second in line to Lord Narthan’s.

He had apparently gone into the Wilds to learn about his maternal grandfather’s lands; lands which were not, interestingly enough, part of the Holy Etonian Empire. The empire had tried to acquire them at many points in the past, but the place was, quite frankly, too much trouble — too dangerous.