The Templar's Knife: Pt 1

There’s nothing like cake to get you in the mood for an execution. Not that the delicious chocolate dessert wasn’t welcome. It was, after all, the only thing she had eaten in...well a while that had anything resembling flavor. The practice, however, of a last meal, that was certainly absurd. The Father, the so-called merciful deity of the people who now ruled, had interesting ideas about what it meant to dignify a person’s end. Apparently dignity included cake. It could have been anything, but cake reminded her of childhood, about how things used to be, not that they’d ever been happy, but they’d been better. Better than this.

It wasn’t the cold that bothered her the most, or even the rough hewn cobblestones pressing against her body through the grimy, sodden remains of her dress. It wasn’t even the pitch dark that she had slowly become so accustomed too. It was the endlessness of it all. When she’d been sentenced to death, she’d expected it to be a good deal swifter. She’d seen her father execute people before, usually by hanging in the square of the town their country estate ruled over. Instead time drained by, there was no light down here save when the guards walked by to deliver hard bread and broth, a gleam of firelight from their lanterns and then nothing. She’d long given up trying to speak to them, they didn’t dare speak to her.

The truth was that the entire process of dying was beginning to get a little boring. Would it have been faster if they’d known who she was? Or would it have been slower still? Aevis Stolanis, rightful heir of a Lord and sitting member of the Imperial Council of Veranus should not be locked in a cell beneath the Hill, no more than a thousand feet beneath the home of the one she’d been caught trying to assassinate. Maybe she wouldn’t have been awaiting her death in such a bored fashion if anyone knew who she was, but the white spider web lines of scar tissue that crept up her left shoulder blade onto the nape of her neck said differently. A fact that her father had painfully clear to her every waking moment since her birth. A decision he’d made for her before she could walk or speak.

She was one of the Gifted, those chosen by the Patrons, the seven gods of the Dalelanders. Those born with Gifts were marked by the Patrons in distinct ways, in some ways she’d been lucky, her mark was subtle, easily covered up by a high collar or a scarf, not even visible to anyone not looking too closely. Those born with the mark of Rathe, Patron of the Sun had glittering orange eyes; they never would be able to conceal such a thing. Her Mark was that of Nerys, the Patron goddess of death. Or Nerys had been, but 20 years ago when the Monterian Empire had conquered the Dalelands, they’d outlawed the worship of the Patrons in favor of the Father, the one true God. Children born with any of the Marks of the patrons were now subject to the purging, a sort of baptism by the Church of the Father that removed the Marks, and the Gifts that came with them.

Adults with the Marks couldn’t be purged without killing them, or so the Church of the Father had found out, though not before killing a few hundred of them to make sure. Even if she hadn’t been caught in the midst of an assassination attempt, she’d spent her whole life doing her best to remain undetected. Of course,in the end, she had been detected after all.

So instead she sat on a cobblestone floor of a moldy cell, waiting for the end. If they were giving her a last meal though, that end must be soon. Aevis sighed, long and drawn out, just to hear something in the empty silence. The sound was muffled by the tight stone walls and fell silent quickly, just another thing resigned to a quick death. She’d considered for a time trying to take her own life. As someone with the Gifts of Nerys she should have that power within her, somewhere. In the end, as much as it pained her, she couldn’t bring herself to find out. Some small part of her held out hope that somehow her father might show up and tell her that his schemes had somehow, beyond all reason, found a way to extricate her from her mess.But she knew he couldn’t. She knew she’d mess up this time. If he claimed her as his daughter, he’d be admitting he knew what she was, he’d be putting more than himself in danger, he’d be putting all of his staff in danger as well.

It would never happen because he had trained her entire life not to ever get caught, to always think ahead. Her Mark, her Gifts meant execution if she was found, she was too old for the purge now. He’d had plans for her, raising her within the walls of the Stolanis Estate as a weapon, keeping her Gifts safe. Her father had been one of the rulers of Veranus during the war, he’d betrayed the Dale when he’d opened the gates for the enemies, ending a 2 year siege of the city. He’d always said he did what he did for the people.

Aevis had messed everything up. Whatever plans he’d had for her, she’d ruined them. She’d gone after the Marquessa on her own, she’d known what her training had meant, understood its purpose, her purpose. Yet, in the end she hadn’t been able to follow through. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe it meant that there was some hope that she wasn’t born evil as so many of those in the Empire believed. She let out another sigh.

Whatever thought had been about to make its way into her mind was interrupted by a flicker of a shadow across the wall. But a shadow so far down could only mean one thing. Light. She’d just finished her cake, so it couldn’t be another meal. It could only mean one thing. She swallowed. It was time. Her thrat tightened as she tried to swallow again, her mouth suddenly dry. She’d known it was coming, she’d been so accepting, so sardonic in her mind, but now that death was here. Now that her death was here...something about it seemed so sudden.

The light drew closer, illuminating the hallway and her eyes struggled to adjust against the warm orange glow already flooding into her cell. She struggled to stand, every bone in her body ached from the stone. If she was going to be taken, she wanted to do it with some dignity. That was the Stolanis way after all. As she gazed towards the bars that kept her, she noticed the shadows on the wall. Two of them. The guards that fed her were almost always solitary. Maybe they feared she’d try to use her Gifts on them, maybe they thought she could kill with a touch. It wasn’t an ability she had, not that most of the Heartlanders knew that.

Finally the light flared as a lantern came around the corner, her eyes tearing up and her head swimming, this one was not covered by a hood, the light playing out in every direction. As her eyes hastened to adjust, she took in the figures before her. One was certainly a guard, the armor distinct, the white cloth with the silver wings of the Father, a sabre at his belt and his hands holding a ring of keys and a lantern. He fumbled for one and unlocked the cell, giving a nervous look at the other man, who nodded once, calmly. It was the second man that held her interest

His wavy black hair held streaks of white as it brushed over the collar of his uniform. The collar of the uniform I wanted to see least in this moment: the black and silver coat of the Templars, the inverted sword and wings emblem emblazoned on the shoulder. The zealous organization that existed for the sheer purpose of hunting down and killing the Gifted. The Templar’s ranks were made up of the Blessed, those with Gifts similar to the Patrons, but bestowed by the Church at a young age. The Templar was a young man, tall and lean with his leather coat and white shirt over broad shoulders. A sword hanging at his belt that was finely made, nice enough that he must come from money. She met his eyes, gleaming platinum they almost seemed to glow with their own light.

The Blessed were able to freely use their magic, the magic of the ‘one true god’ without reprisal. The guardsman left, taking the lantern with him once more. The door remained open. She could feel his eyes on her as she stared at that open door longingly, she knew she couldn’t get through it, couldn’t escape here without dying. He knew she knew. As the orange light faded away, it was replaced by a faint silver glow that didn’t seem to emanate from any specific point, simply permeating through the space. The Patrons curse him, he was mocking her.

She couldn’t help but feel a quick pang of jealousy. He was so free to use his Blessing. He probably had no idea what it was like to be born like her, to be unwanted by all. As she looked at the sharp lines of his jaw and the calculating look in his eyes as he measured her up, she was sharply aware of her own dishevelled and likely deathly appearance. Fitting all things considered.

She found it hard to continue staring into those eyes, the ones that were probably here to kill her, the ones that looked at her like she was a rabid animal. She took a few deep breaths, calming herself. He might be able to use his own abilities more openly, but she had some of her own. Her Gifts were more subtle. She took another deep breath and then reached out in her mind, she could feel his heartbeat, soft and steady. He wasn’t afraid of her. How unusual.

She looked back up at him, his eyes still looking her over. He was standing stiffly, almost uncomfortably, he was hesitating. Something strange was going on. She knew Nerys, even more so than the other Patrons had quite the reputation in the Empire, but she didn’t think her execution warranted a Templar.

Finally, he drew in a deep, unsteady breath, she felt his heart flicker just for a second and he stepped into the room, sliding off his coat as he did. He did it slowly, as if worried sudden movements might scare her into bolting. As if she could go anywhere.

“Here,” he said, his arm outstretched, offering the coat to her. “Please, you look cold, and I’m not here to hurt you. We need to talk.” He could see her hesitation. She was sure, but she slowly stepped forward. She reached out, expecting him to flinch at any moment as her hand came close to his. Much of her power from Nerys was transferred from touch, as a Templar he should know that. Yet as her hands neared his, he didn’t move. His eyes locked with hers, his heartbeat didn’t change. She took the coat.

Retreating a few steps she slid it over her exposed shoulders, the weight settling onto her, the leather was warm and surprisingly soft and flexible. She closed her eyes for a second, embracing a second of comfort before looking back at him to find a bemused expression on his lips. Before she could make a remark, he put a hand up.

“I didn’t mean to offend, truly. Is there anything else I can do to make you feel more comfortable?” She raised an eyebrow.

“You could get me out of here?” her voice cracked as she spoke, so unused and her throat dry. She laughed as she said it, but he nodded.

“You’re in luck then, because that’s exactly why I’m here.” A gleaming silver ring in his hand caught her eye, the tiny script running its length gleaming in the light. “Do you know what this is?”

. “A cinch?,” she’d only heard of them before, never seen one in practice. Used by the Church of the Father to limit the powers of the Gifted until execution mostly.

“Right, if you wear this I can take you out of here. You’ll come with me. No execution.” He nodded to her, as if imploring her to make the right decision. If she put it on, she’d never be able to take it off. She’d lose her freedom.

“I don’t need your help, you kill people like me,” she said, doing her best to spit the words, but the act of defiance came out sounding sadder than aggressive. He nodded, and as her mind still drifted along the edge of his consciousness she could feel the wave of sympathy that wafted off of him. The pain he felt was almost enough to hurt her. Nerys’s Gifts weren’t always fun.

“I did.” he said, eyes downcast. “Kill people like you that is.” He looked her in the eyes again.

“Well what’s one more?” she leaned back against the wall. She was tired.

“I don’t think anyone needs my help,” ignoring her question. “But if you come with me, if you work for the Church, you live. If you do it well, we take you across the border to Emerion, you go free, that’s what I’m offering you.” The Mountainous lands to the north still weren’t under the control of the Empire, she had heard of more than a few Gifted fleeing north. But the Church.

“Not a chance soldier boy, let me die.” She sat down on the stone floor once more, closing her eyes. She could hear him let out a sigh of exasperation.

“So you’re going to let them kill you for being alive?”

“For attempting to kill the Marquessa,” she corrected him.

“Far as I heard it you were apprehended leaving the Hill, leaving with poison in your pocket. You didn’t attempt to kill anyone. At the most you broke into somewhere you weren’t supposed to be.” As he spoke he took a few steps across the cell, kneeling down in front of. He was within her reach. She’d been told the Blessed were resistant to the Gifts of the Patrons, that's why they’d been so effective in their conquering of the Dalelands. She could still feel his heartbeat, calm and slow. She could change that.

She sat up, fast as she could manage in her weakened state. He didn’t move, but the flicker of ear that coursed through him was like a slap in the face. She could feel it race along his spine as if it were her own. He wasn’t any different from anyone else, just better at hiding it.

“You’re right, so let me go. I didn’t do anything, by your own admission.” She looked him right in the eyes.

“You know I can’t do that. Even without anything else, you’ve got the Mark.”

“And so it’s alright, I might as well be killed right?” She laughed. She felt another wave of sadness, and a little anger.

“Did I say that?” He stood up. “Listen, I can’t get you out of here. I don’t care what you did, or almost did. I don’t care why you did it. I don’t care who helped you get that close. All I want to know is whether you’ll help us.” Help us. He meant the Church, or maybe the Templars. Either way, she wasn’t working for an organization that threatened the safety of people like her on a daily basis. Or one that essentially ruled over her city, her people.

“No.” She closed her eyes again, relishing in the warmth of the coat. A coat she wasn’t giving back out of spite. She could hear his footsteps nearing the doorway of the cell, hear his heartbeat getting fainter as he moved away.

“They’re taking kids.” He’d stopped in the doorway. “Kids like you.” Nerys take him, he knew that would get her. She thought of her twin sister, playing in a field, the two of them laughing. Tears began to pool in her eyes. No one had seen her since they were nine. Seven Patrons above.

“What would I have to do?”

“There’s an organization, we think. A man, taking them. You’d have to help me find him, and then...” he hesitated, she knew what he was going to say.

“Kill him?” she said, her voice a whisper. She looked up at him, his eyes so sad she barely needed to reach out to feel his emotions.

“Yes. Can you? You didn’t kill the Marquessa, you could have, why didn’t you?” she considered for a second, there was something unnerving about him. About the way he was so open, she knew he wasn’t telling her everything. The entire situation was strange. The Templars letting a Marked out of jail, letting a Marked go free, even having them let her abilities at all. On the other hand, if he left...her odds in this cell looked bleak. She couldn’t answer him, didn’t want to.

“Do you give me your word?” she said. “Give me your word that if I succeed you take me to Emerion, I go free.” A smile flickered across his lips. He stepped back into the cell, took another deep breath and stepped across its length. He reached out a hand to shake hers.

“I swear. You have my word in the light of the Father.” She reached out to take his hand, his heart was beating much faster now, but beneath the fear was something else. Something warmer and solid. Like a pillar supporting him. It took her a moment to realize what it was.

This was what faith felt like. The Templar, whoever he was, had true faith in his god.

She took his hand. The first person to willingly touch her in well over a decade.

“What now?” she asked.

“What we’re about to do isn’t going to be safe. Even the Church is worried about these people, if we’re going to do this, I need to know that we can trust each other. So..” he hesitated. “If you’re going to kill me, do it now.” Well at least he didn’t know that wasn’t one of her Gifts. She met his eyes and shook her head slightly.

“Good,” He smiled again, “Then let’s get you the hell out of here.”