I doing?’ he muttered to himself, waiting until the sun had disappeared once again before setting off down the driveway. There were few people about in the outer grounds today, and none willing to pay too close attention to the High Cardinal.
‘For the first time in years, perhaps in my entire life, I feel like praying,’ he murmured to himself with a wry smile. ‘Has that ever happened before? Before I was old enough to understand it I knew my family were different, that Nartis was not our lord. Did I ever make that choice, or did I just do what I was told?’
He shook his head, knowing he was well past questions such as that. ‘And now I have an urge to pray. And what holds me back?’ He paused, considering. ‘I suppose it is the fear of what might happen. However weak my link to Nartis might be these days, he might respond to the office I hold, even if the man himself is nothing to him.’
Reaching the central quadrangle he looked up to the windows of his private rooms and saw his aide, Brother Kerek, looking down from the chapel window.
What’s he doing in there? Certinse wondered, and stepped up his pace a little.
Nodding absentmindedly to priests on the way, he made his way to his rooms, ignoring the salutes of his guards as they opened the doors for him. As he walked through the austere audience hall used for greeting chaplains and low priests he realised a monk holding a letter was waiting on him . . . and the letter in his hand reminded Certinse that he had written to several abbots recently and had no response . . . but that was something that could wait.
‘Brother, I have an urgent matter to attend to. Please wait here and I will have my aide summon you presently,’ he said, barely pausing.
The monk bowed his assent as a second pair of guards admitted Certinse to his formal reception room, used for more notable guests but presently containing only Senior Penitent Yeren, who was sleeping off his latest hangover.
Certinse scowled, ignoring the guards chuckling at their commander’s state, but he didn’t bother to start another argument. Most likely Kerek had news for him; one of the few places they could talk without other priests listening in was in the High Cardinal’s private chapel, which was forbidden to those of other cults.
As he walked through his private study to the chapel he called softly, ‘Kerek?’ The vicious little clerk turned, an enquiring look on his face. ‘Yes, your Eminence?’
‘Well? What is it?’ Certinse asked gruffly. ‘I assume you’re in here for a reason and I don’t believe it’s a love of Nartis.’
His aide frowned. ‘Your Eminence, you ordered me to wait for you here.’
Certinse opened his mouth to deny doing any such thing when he heard the door open behind him and the Senior Penitent strode in. Before Certinse could protest, the mercenary had his left arm out wide and was hugging Certinse to his chest.
A white-hot pain flared in Certinse’s back and wrapped its way around his body. He felt as though his ribs were on fire. Yeren kept on moving, his powerful arm keeping the High Cardinal upright as he bore him backwards.
Kerek started to move, but he faltered at the sight of Yeren storming towards him, so shocked that he didn’t even raise his arms to defend himself as Yeren hacked his broadsword into his scrawny neck.
The aide dropped like a stone, blood spraying out over the highly polished wooden floor. His legs kicked once and fell still, but Certinse, himself paralysed with pain, saw none of it. He stared up at Yeren as the mercenary surveyed the room, then checked back the way he’d come. Certinse’s body spasmed and he wheezed in pain, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t find the strength to scream. His body rigid in agony, he watched Yeren’s expression change from grimly professional to calculating wariness, until, finally, he allowed himself a small smile of relief.
‘That went well, don’t you think?’ Yeren said quietly to Certinse. ‘Weren’t sure how quick Kerek was going to be there. Still, he were just a priest in the end, however much he liked his knife.’
All Certinse could manage was a small ‘gah’ of wordless pain, which served only to increase Yeren’s smile.
‘Aye, hurts like a bastard, don’t it? My advice is to try not to scream, not when you got a