POV Simeon
The sand became less frequent, while the stones appeared more often: from small gravel to boulders. The horizon wavered in the hot shimmer and gleamed with the gilded domes of a distant city.
"Mirage," said Knight Brian through his visor. His armor had become so hot that one could have fried an egg on it, but inside, the enchanted metal kept a normal temperature.
"No, noble Brian," Simeon said cheerfully, pulling on the reins. "This is not a mirage. This is El-Farrah. I am proud of you, Knights of the Inquisition! We have accomplished the impossible. We've crossed a week's journey in less than two days. Your diligence will be rewarded with rest. Dismount."
"We're still far," said Dreveen, the big game hunter, grimly, as usual. He was checking the crossbow's fastenings. "Isn't it too early for rest? We haven't entered the city yet."
"Not too early, sharp-shooter," Simeon dismounted easily from his horse and ordered,
"Set up camp. Everyone except Irwin, our master of stealth. For you, cloak-and-dagger warrior, I have a special task."
"I don't understand," muttered Knight Raymond. Looking for an answer, he glanced at the elf woman. She responded with a look of haughty disdain, as if saying, "What else to expect from primitive louts? It's all obvious to me."
But an order is an order. The warriors dismounted and began setting up camp.
"When you enter the city, head to the market," the monk instructed Irwin with a gentle smile. "There you'll find the halva merchant, Visam. The first part of the password: 'In the lands of the Order, even halva seems sweeter.' The reply: 'There's no difference between the local and the Order's.' Then you say: 'For they have the same cook.'"
Irwin nodded, memorizing the password and reply.
"The merchant will take you to a man named Akil. Tell him: 'Friends are near, let him arrange our entry. We'll wait no more than six hours.'"
"I understand everything," Irwin said cheerfully. It was obvious from his demeanor that he relished the risk, combining excitement with icy calculation.
"Any backup plans if things go awry?"
Simeon placed his hands on his plump belly.
"Figure it out. And if you can't, you know what to do."
Irwin grinned widely and quickly stuck out his tongue with a bluish capsule. Then he unexpectedly winked and swallowed his tongue, hiding the deadly poison.
"But remember, our task is to recover the Whisper, not find a glorious death," Simeon reminded him. "Now we are all depending on you. Don't fail us!"
Irwin grinned again and rode off toward El-Farrah without further conversation.
While the specialist and the monk were talking, a tent of yellow-gray fabric rose on the hard ground.
The horses were gathered together, closer to the camp. Mage Jake was already whispering a spell, concealing the camp from prying eyes. Now the knights were safe from patrols. Even at a distance of a couple of meters, they wouldn't be able to see anything except sand and rocks.
The knights removed their helmets and laid down their spears. The elf woman sat directly on the ground. Next to her, Hunter Dreveen settled in. Oddly enough, Menellanna didn't rise to choose a new spot; she just thoughtfully smoothed her hair.
"The quiver's a bit loose," Dreveen frowned.
"Yes," Menellanna quietly agreed.
The hunter reached for the elf woman's back and tightened the straps. When Dreveen touched the girl, she flinched slightly, like a wild, distrustful creature, but didn't pull away, allowing him to help her.
They didn't speak again. The archers preferred silence to words, in which there was neither tension nor distrust.
"Why all these complexities, holy father?" Knight Erik asked Simeon. "Who would dare refuse the Knights of the Inquisition entry into the city?"
"Any sergeant," Simeon replied with a smile. "The Order has no power in the lands of the Emirate. The locals have perverted the faith in the Supreme Goddess and do not recognize the Holy Church. Instead of the proper ceremonial rites, they conduct their own rituals."
"How can the Goddess tolerate such an insult?" The knight clenched his fist angrily. "Any deviation from the Supreme's word is vile heresy!"
"She did not tolerate it, my friend," the monk stated. "Long before the birth of the Corrupt Bitch, the Emirate did not accept the true faith, worshiping idols and spirits.
This lasted until the warriors of the Holy Campaign landed on the coast. Clashing with steel, the warriors marched east and fought against the united forces of the Emirate and the Caliphate. Valkyries and angels battled desert spirits.
Holy power—against magic created by black sorcery of monsters. Heavy paladin cavalry—against light, maneuverable cavalry.
The battle was fierce, but the Goddess blessed our ancestors, and they won. Thus, the Eastern Lands became part of the Order, and the leader of the campaign was declared a Prophet."
"Then why did the Emirate leave the fold of the Church?"
"Very simple," Simeon replied kindly, explaining to the knight, as to a beloved but foolish child.
"As is known, water wears away stone. And not just water, but also sand. And most effectively, time deals with stone. When most of the knights left the Emirate, the remaining warriors mixed with the locals and gradually, imperceptibly, adopted their customs, from which the people of the Emirate never fully abandoned. Over time, their faith changed. And, what is especially bitter, the Emirate is convinced that their worship of the Goddess is correct, while ours is mistaken."
"When the Demon Queen ascended the throne, the Order lacked the strength to return these lost sheep to the common fold," the monk concluded.
"But sooner or later, the situation will change. We will crush the monster-girls prowling around our borders. With righteous words, love, and humility, we will establish the power of the Order worldwide. And for those who reject the bright preaching, we will find hot and heavy arguments."
Erik thought for a moment, trying to figure out what words to use to admonish the heretics and the wicked. Seeing his confusion, Knight Brian came to his friend's aid.
"Fire and steel," he said. "Correct, holy father? These are the arguments you mentioned?"
Erik beamed, and Simeon gently smiled at the insightful warrior and said,
"Yes, my son. It is not our place to judge the enemies of the Goddess: the Supreme will judge the sinner's guilt herself. Our job is to arrange their meeting early, so the heretic does not manage to completely soil his soul. Now, my children, share the belated meal."
With these words, the monk waved the squad toward the tent.
"And you, holy father?" asked Knight Raymond respectfully.
"I'll stand guard while you eat. You need rest," Simeon said with fatherly love. "As for me," the monk smiled kindly, patting his plump belly, "I have many internal reserves."
***
The Knights of the Inquisition barely had time to eat their lean porridge— the first meal in a day and a half—and rest their tired legs, when a signal whistle sounded nearby. A few seconds later, Simeon and specialist Irwin entered the tent.
"You worked fast," said the monk to the scout. "Less than two hours have passed. Tell me what happened."
"I did as you instructed, holy father," Irwin reported succinctly. "I hid the horse outside the city. Entered without incident. The guards are weak, in the heat, they watch with half-closed eyes. No one noticed. No mages. Could be a trap."
"Could be," Simeon agreed kindly. "What happened next?"
"I found the halva merchant. Password, reply, password. All as it should be. He took me to Akil."
"Today, Akil can't help with the entry. He needs two days. He said the cell had to go underground. They are just gathering information now. He says Harazmi is a traitor. At least for the past six months."
Simeon's eyes flashed, shedding the guise of a peaceful monk, but he said nothing, instead falling into deep thought.
"Who is this vile traitor?" the mage asked.
"That's not for you to know, my dear friend," Simeon said after a brief silence. "It's enough that we've been receiving disinformation for a year. The East, greed. No loyalty! Yes... Waiting two days is a luxury we cannot afford. Since there are no mages at the gates, you will use your magic to conceal our small group. Can you manage?"
"Invisibility spell, for an entire group," the mage Jake murmured. "There will be a lot of gray hairs on my head."
"The sorrowful vale is but a prelude to eternal bliss," Simeon responded confidently and added meaningfully,
"Fate has chosen you to burn, my friend. To burn brightly, lighting the way for some, and punishing others with fire. Is it worth worrying about such trifles as whitening hair, when angels will greet you in Heaven with joy?"
The warriors reacted differently to the monk's consolations. Menellanna raised her head, as if nothing concerned her, the knights frowned slightly, the hunter snorted, and the specialist's smile grew so wide that it seemed ready to break out of his face.
The squad knew very well about the school of the Candle-in-the-Dark, where mages were taught to take spiritual energy on credit from themselves. And the terrifying price paid for it with interest.
"It's not worth it," the young mage replied hoarsely, with a gray head and the face of an elderly man. "Not worth it."