Holy Opposites 53

	Darius Vorthane looked over the pitiful remnant of his attack force and sighed.  Three men had returned, from a group of twenty-one.  Toller captured, fewer than half a dozen sacrifices reclaimed.  The operation was a technical disaster.  “Go and rest, brothers,” he said.  “We must prepare for retaliation.”

	“Yes, sir,” the trio said, and quickly withdrew.

	Vorthane waited until the others were gone before looking over the pile of sacrifice choices on the floor.  There were a few children added to their selection, at least, and one was the sister of the Paladin who opposed them.  She would make a perfect sacrifice.

	All five children were bound, but it wasn’t really needed.  Each had had the talismans of restraint affixed to them, like the Grist in the bags below.  They would be prepared and inserted into the order of sacrifices like any other.  At least the ritual now had sufficient raw materials.

	The real problem was Toller.  In his mind-shattered state, he was at best a non-issue, but if he had the passwords to the portal network still locked in his mind, it could cause all the problems in the world.  Now, he had to harden his temple against attack, since the very real possibility of Toller’s fragile mind yielding the passwords existed.

	After a moment’s thought, he rose from his throne and walked down the stone steps to the main floor.  He strode past the unconscious sacrifices-to-be and into the inner halls.  The path branched in a triangle at the spoke.  One led back to the main temple and the hidden door to his private study where his psionic artifact sat, one led to a short flight of stairs, up and down to barracks, and the third to the laboratory where his subordinates were patiently unlocking the secrets of Bane’s higher arcana.  He took the left route towards the barracks and walked up the half-flight to the upper level.

	The air was heavy in this part of the temple, since it was farthest from the surface vents.  Unlike Undermountain, the Temple of Fear did not have its own internal portals to circulate air.  Machines of gnomish and dwarven ingenuity kept the air breathable, but this was where most of the personnel slept, so it was still a bit thick on the breath.  Vorthane walked to the back of the barracks level and looked out over the room that filled most of the rest of that floor.  A huge armory, easily forty-five feet high and well lit, with stairways connecting it to the both barracks floors and the portal room, sat sprawling in the large room.  Racks of arms and shields filled the bottom of the room, while empty stone shelves sat above, accessible by ladders that rolled around the room on casters.

	He had been slowly purchasing weapons for the last eleven years, so the temple would be ready for Bane’s arrival.  The setback of losing his attack force had cost him much.  He doubted the Ryairans would find the weapons to be of much use, but the Watch would almost certainly take it for themselves.

	He sighed.  There was no use in weeping for what would not return.  He climbed the ladder down into the armory and walked towards a small door on the other side, one that he ensured had a guard around the clock.

	The guard snapped off a razor-sharp salute and stepped aside.  Vorthane walked through and turned his little metal key in the large, locked door on the other side of a small antechamber.  Decorative artworks dotted the walls in the antechamber, in stark contrast to the room beyond.

	This was the back entrance to the dungeon.  A trio of soldiers stood at attention as he walked into the corridor.  He returned their salutes and walked up to the railing over which they stood guard.  “Any problems today, men?” he asked.

	“Nothing new,” one guard replied.  “It’s always noisy, but, well, what can you do?”

	“Indeed.  You’ll be getting five more today,” Vorthane informed him.

	“The more, the merrier,” the guard replied, to which the others chuckled.  “How long until the ritual is complete?”

	“I’d say two months, but we may come under attack before then,” Vorthane said.  “We can’t really speed things up, I’m afraid.”

	“Should we stock up on supplies, sir?” one guard asked worriedly.  “Is this a siege scenario?”

	“It may be,” Vorthane said sadly.  “I am sorry, my friends.  I know you did not sign up for such an inconvenience.”

	All three men stood proud and tall.  “We’re ready, sir,” their leader said firmly, and Vorthane smiled warmly.

	“Your piety warms my old heart,” he said kindly.  He turned back to look over the rows and rows of bloodied, sniveling children, bolted to the floor in the dark chamber below, in the aptly named Grist Cage.  “Well.  I simply wanted to let you know the state of things.”

	“Always appreciated, sir,” one guard said.  “Stop by any time.”


	Suivi Embersson fought back fatigue.  The stones in the walls of the basement around the portal wardrobe glistened with fresh paint.  He felt his fingers tingle and he withdrew his wand.  “Here,” he said.  “It points due south this time.”

	A Watch Sword – the equivalent of a Guard Corporal – painted a line on the compass they had sketched on the floor.  “Think that’s it?” he asked.

	Embersson blew out a weary breath.  He hadn’t eaten in fifteen hours, he hadn’t slept in forty.  “Yes.”

	“Good job, Master Embersson.  Go get some rest,” the Sword said.  “I’ll trace the compass and run it up to the temple.”


	Shaved and fed, Embersson sat back against the wall in the ruined garden and looked around.  He wondered… would the Baneites have known to hit the temple if he hadn’t told them that Axiopistos was leading the investigation against them?

	Of course they would, he rationalized.  The massive Aasimar had ripped the roof off the bookstore that one time.  He was impossible to miss.

	Still…

	“Hard to see, isn’t it?” a loud voice asked.  He looked up to see a friar in damaged robes standing across the ruined vegetable patch.

	“Yeah.”  Embersson squinted.  “Cadderly, right?”

	“Yes.”

	“Suivi Embersson.  Axiopistos hired me as a consultant,” he lied.

	“Ah, yes, the portal tracker.”  Cadderly crossed the messy garden and shook his hand.  “Good to have you on board.”

	“Mm.”  Embersson stared at the devastated garden.  The bodies had been carted off for cremation, but there were still discarded smoke bombs and swords scattered about.  “I just came to tell Axiopistos about the progress of the tracking we did in the basement of the… you know, the house,” he said, jerking a thumb in the general direction of the wardrobe.  “I got distracted.”

	“I see.  Do you need somebody to talk to?  I assure you, I can help,” the friar asked.

	“Kind of you, but I’ll be alright.”  Suivi stood and dusted himself off.  “In fact, I think I’m just going to go to bed.  This was a long day.”

	“Don’t I know it.”  Cadderly sighed.  “Poor Brother Maynard.  He’s with Ryaire, now.”

	“There were monk casualties?” Suivi asked.

	“One.”

	“I didn’t see.  I’m sorry,” Embersson said, at a loss for anything else to say.

	Cadderly looked up at the setting sun.  “It hurts, but the day will break once more.  Axio and Cavria will put things right.”

	“You have a lot of faith in them,” Suivi said.

	Cadderly nodded slowly.  “Yes.  Yes, I do.”