Sixteen
The Tabernacle, Myst City
The corridors of the Tabernacle were dark, lit only by a few holy candles in incense fonts dotting the walkways, and what little moonlight shone through the skylight.
The marble floors and granite columns were indicative of the Purist cathedral's affluence. The First Cleric herself was rumored to have a golden lavatory and famous artwork on her chamber's walls.
The occasional abbot would patrol the halls at night, their heads buried in sacred books and their habit hoods up. Any stealthy assailant could easily evade these monks as they strolled around the dim hallways.
'The Maker is my shield' they were known to say. Weapons were forbidden in the Tabernacle; even magical staffs were to be left at the entrance.
This assailant had left all but two weapons behind, wielding only a pair of freshly-sharpened cleavers.
After a while of effortlessly evading the monks, the hooded figure reached the main auditorium.
This mighty chamber had dozens of long pews to seat clergy and parishioners during sermons. The pews encircled a modest Purist altar. Modest for the Tabernacle meant only one gold figurine of the revered Maker.
The hooded intruder had grown careless and expected no interference as she walked down the aisles.
"I knew you would come," Gladius sighed looking up from his hymn book. He was sitting in the pews as the intruder crept past. "Robyn, you have always been so predictable."
Robyn froze in her tracks and winced. She drew back her hood to face the silver-haired soldier.
Gladius shook his head, disappointed. Robyn was wearing her armor with cleavers at her belt.
"It's not wise to bring weapons into this sanctuary." He stood up and closed his book. "Are you going to kill that young man in these holy halls right under the eyes of The Maker, Ms. Finch?"
Robyn hung her head. "Monk, he is a maleficus, why do you shield him?" Robyn had met Gladius many times over the years, often crossing paths on her journeys; there was never any hostility between them. She actually admired his honor.
"That he likely is, but he has been turned over to us for inquisition and faces a long detainment." He reminded her: "You were there for his trial. The boy was not hostile."
Robyn was surprised that Gladius had noticed her in the crowd. "So, he gets a slap on the wrist because that blonde bimbo sorceress is in love with him?" She hated how hypocritical the Tabernacle had become.
Gladius frowned. "This is a Tabernacle matter now. The Inquisitors and the First Cleric decide his fate; Her Holiness doesn't believe in bloodshed,"
Gladius was secretly just as frustrated. He knew well that maleficae were sinners in the eyes of The Maker, practicing their heretical rituals and violating the sanctity of life. His own rage had subsided after hours of prayer and assurance from the First Cleric: that humility, not anger was befitting a man of the cloth. "She'll devise a suitable punishment," he assured Robyn.
"According to The Slayer's Guild, there's a bounty on some bandits terrorizing the western trade routes. Why not go chase them?" Gladius suggested.
"Well, if you have the balls to execute him, make sure you bury him deep this time," Robyn didn't make a habit of abandoning her hunts.
Despite her protests she had developed a deep respect for Gladius, he was well-known as an honorable man. "Your Tabernacle is getting too soft on these heretics," she turned around shaking her head and departed for the exit.
If he escapes, he is fair game.
She was eager to see how Umbra would fare in single combat. For now, she would return to her hideout in the Rumble Mountains and get some rest; she was tired of the lumpy beds of the nearby inn.
I was just as fiery in my youth. Gladius lamented as he sat back down and opened his prayer book.
She isn't even looking in the right place.