Part XIII
“They’ve stopped…ahead, sir. Seems…they’ve…reached the…village.”
Stephen Abimelech had barely been able to squeeze the sentence out between long draws of breath, the young Templar obviously out of breath. He had been acting as reconnaissance for the seven others, huddled within a limestone quarry no more than five hundred yards from the Archbishop and his caravan of faithful. The eight had been following them for what seemed like hours, the night growing darker with each pace taken.
Now, their mark had reached their destination. The time was growing closer; soon, the Archbishop’s true nature would be revealed.
Johan Landcaster smiled thinly, patting the young Templar on the back.
“Good work Stephen. Rest thy heels for a few moments, for we meet with destiny soon enough.”
Abimelech nodded, and then joined the others laying in wait within the quarry, leaving the Bishop to observe his prey. For a few long moments, the former Inquisitor simply stared out into the thick darkness, watching shadowed figures disembark from the three wagons that comprised the Archbishop’s caravan.
His attention had been interrupted by an unnerving feeling, that of someone watching him. The Bishop looked to his side, and immediately recognized the figure beside him. The Garden Tender responsible for unearthing the secret of the Archbishop and his treachery, Xtopherus Von Aequisnox. The tender stood in silence, peering into the darkness.
“You move more quietly than some of the Enclave’s best saboteurs, my friend.”
The Bishop exhaled softly, studying the Tender’s features. His garments had been simple enough; a hooded robe, black as the night they had found themselves within. What lay beneath that robe could be anyone’s guess, however. The Tenders were known for their desire of anonymously and veiled appearances, and to look upon the face of one was a rare occurrence.
The Tender spoke up, his voice low and barely audible over the evening winds.
“Such is the gifts the Garden bestows upon it’s Tenders.”
Un-amused, the Bishop looked towards the scene before him once again. The caravan had stopped outside the outskirts of a dilapidated village, a long abandoned scattering of a few houses and shops that once served as a stop between the capital and the territories father west.
“Why did you come to me, my brother, with such news? Why expose the Archbishop for what he is, and not follow suit with the rest of the Garden and remain silent?”
The question was simple enough, yet the answer the Bishop received had been nothing short of complicated.
“I’ve my own reasons, Bishop.”
The uneasy exchange was quickly broken up by approaching footsteps. From the shadows behind the two, a figure emerged. It was that of Adamus Christoverus, a rather hearty warrior from the Church’s Templar Expeditionary Forces. He was a trusted man to Landcaster, a devout Decusian who had served with his own son in the colonies no more than four years ago. He was one of the first to be called upon earlier that day for evening’s task.
“The boys are ready, Johan. We’re itching to get our hands dirty.”
The Bishop nodded, forcing a smile. It was inevitable that the night would end in bloodshed; he had prayed that he and his men would be the ones left standing.
“Very good. Bring them forth.”
Nodding, Adamus retreated to the darkness. In a few moments, he had returned with five others. Amongst them included the young templar Stephen Abimelech, a young warrior within the ranks of the Church Templar the Bishop had taken under his wing years ago. Aside him stood the towering Naum Alexandrov, an Inquistor of intimidating stature. The Bishop had taken a keen liking to the hardened warrior, as he was one of but a few Republic soldiers that survived the retreat from the western territories ordered by the College in 1317, during the first years of the Torment. Since his arrival in Tor, the Inquisitor had provided the Bishop with invaluable information relayed from the blackland frontlines.
The three others comprised a motley crew. A one Jacoba Augustus Onoria, a hardened Templar that Landcaster himself served with when he was an Inquisitor, stood with sword in hand, ready for the bloodshed to come. Aside him, a rather peculiar figure stood, a meek old man propping himself up with a gnarled staff. Tobias Walker had been a long friend of Landcaster’s, and served as a very influential member of the Church’s Circle of Illumination, lore keepers and librarians of the faith’s most guarded secrets. And last but not least stood yet another Tender, a companion to Xtopherus, a mysterious young man known only as “Julian”. Xtopherus claimed that the man was quite handy with a sword and bow.
Together, the eight stood, gazing upon the Archbishop’s caravan in the distance. From their position, they watched as several robed men exited the wagons, while others donning the colors of the Diaconate Templar, the Church caste devoted to the protection of the Archbishop and the Bishop College, worked to unload what appeared to be a large cage from the rear of the final wagon.
“I would assume there to be at least a dozen of the Garden with him, and a handful of Templar guard. Not to mention the creature they’re working to unpack now.”
Xtopherus’ words settled amongst the eight for a few moments as they watched the scene unfold, each contemplating the events to come. At last, the Bishop spoke up, drawing his eyes away from the caravan, and looking upon his fellow brethren…
“The time is nigh, my brothers. Let us see what our Archbishop is up to this Soul’s Eve, stirring around in the shadows like a thief in the night.”
Those around the Bishop nodded in agreement, and together, set off across the moonlit quarry towards the abandoned village.