Growing a spine, are we? A little late for that, I think.
“Agreed,” I said firmly to Sir Adalbrand as we joined the others in following the impatient Sir Owalan. “We should stay together.”
“Well, what’s all the fuss about then?” Sir Sorken’s booming voice asked from the front of the group.
“We went into the room and it’s magnificent,” Owalan said as he led us. He moved like a dog, dancing first forward and then back, impatient that we only moved at a quick walk when he wanted to run. “Whoever built this place had an eye for beauty, don’t you think? And for punishment? It makes me more penitent. More certain that I must bow and receive what lashes are given.”
These Penitents turned my stomach every time. I didn’t like their approach to the God. It was the opposite of mine. People think the Prince Paladins are the opposite of the Beggars, for they have wealth where we have none. But I think sometimes they are the closest to us in attitude, for both our Aspects look to the God with open hands and both practice a faith that has no actions, only uses us as conduits for the work of the God.
The Penitents, on the other hand, think their self-mutilation will reward them, that pain brings blessing, and that the God only listens to one with mortified flesh. This deprivation — though it looked like my poverty on the surface — was not at all the same. It was far more like the High Saints with their attention to every detail of liturgy.
I didn’t trust Sir Owalan. Or his putting keys into locks without talking about it first and possibly trapping us all in here to die. Or how he clearly had taken that key from the Seer’s hand, more intent on seeing what was behind that door than on keeping me from being executed for a sin I didn’t commit.
“How nice for you,” Sir Sorken said placatingly, and beside me Adalbrand snorted under his breath. He scratched the side of his face though there was only a shadow of hair there, his eyes roaming ahead of us, more impatient than the rest of him.
I rested a hand on Brindle’s head as we reached the door. Was he coming in or staying out?
And miss you making a fool of yourself over a man sworn to reject affection? I’d never turn my nose up at that kind of entertainment.
I’d glimpsed the hall into the new room on our way past, but it curved in such a way that I’d seen no more than the smooth white stone walls and empty insets where the other hall had cups.
“Was this place raided in the past?” Hefertus asked as we entered the hall in a cluster. The man was ridiculously unflustered for someone in a trap. Did he think he could wish his way out of it?
Perhaps. And perhaps you could, too.
Prayers weren’t wishes, though sometimes they felt the same.
“Can we hurry and forget the empty shelves?” Owalan asked, agitated.
“Perhaps one of us should wait with the golems,” the Inquisitor suggested when he was still just outside of the door. He stood with his body turned back the way we came, the picture of reluctance. Until he’d spoken, I’d forgotten he was there. Some people disappear into the background, but he seemed to disappear into the foreground — there, but forgotten. With his flamboyant flag of long white hair and his black fitted clothing adorned with silver, you’d think he’d be more noticeable.
I could see his point. The last time we walked through a door as a group, it had gone poorly. Why do it twice? It made sense to leave someone to watch our backs. Almost superstitiously, I looked up at the ceiling. Was it just me, or did the demon seem to be breathing?
Sir Owalan shook his head vehemently. “We need everyone. You’ll see when we get there. I can’t explain.”
“I need you to explain,” the Inquisitor said quietly. His fingers danced up and down the hilt of his sword. “Or I won’t be going anywhere.”
Sir Owalan’s dark eyebrows met in the middle. “Some things must be seen with your own eyes, Inquisitor. Stop questioning and believe.”
What a ridiculous thing to say. Worse, he trotted off down the hall the moment he was done speaking and no one could ask for further clarification.
“The golems are by the stairs,” Sir Coriand said with an assured smile. “I’m sure they’ll keep an eye on things.”
Which was no comfort at all. Did they have the ability to think for themselves?
I should hope not.
Or the ability to rescue us from this room if we became trapped?
The laughter echoing in my head was all I needed to hear from the demon.
There’s no turning back now. Hold your faith fast and ignore the demon. I’ll keep him in check.
The Inquisitor cursed under his breath, but after one longing look backward, he joined us in the hall. Before we reached the end of the hall, we found words carved into the stone of the floor. They seemed like a continuation of the verse from the plaque in the main room.
“Can you read it?” Adalbrand asked me, but before I could answer, Sir Coriand read the verse aloud.
Choose now holy vessel,
