Seal of the Disciple

Polished — 40m04s — 2023/12/03

Cairn held an inside straight as he sat across the table from Leverkusen. He stared at the caravan captain’s shrinking stack of coin, and knew his chance of drawing a seven was faint at best, but Leverkusen hadn’t pushed the wager all that much, considering that Cairn was leaning on most of their coin. Fortune favors the bold, he thought as he pushed a ten-stack of bots and two additional diems into the pot.

“That’s the spirit!” Leverkusen smiled. “And you?” He turned to Brough.

Brough frowned at the stack of copper, topped with a silver edge, and threw his cards into the middle. “Too rich for my blood,” the guard shrugged as he tossed his cards.

“Your blood is copper if a touch of silver is too rich,” Leverkusen smirked. He slid the two of books and the jay of knives across the table and held his hand out for two new cards.

Brough glared at Leverkusen, peeled the top card off the remaining deck, and slid it face down to the caravan captain. “My blood is iron, friend. Care to test it?”

“Non,” Leverkusen began as he took the cards. “With a hand like this, I’m in search of gold!” he beamed.

Cairn dropped the three of books. He pushed it across the table and took the replacement from Brough. He peeked at the new card, sure that he’d fold as soon as the bet came around to him—then his breath caught ever so slightly as he glimpsed the seven of coin! An omen! he thought as he tried to keep his excitement from showing.

After several seconds of careful consideration, Leverkusen lobbed a massive sliver lune into the pot. It was just about all he had left.

Cairn slowly matched the bet, which made it the biggest pot of the night. He glanced at Leverkusen’s remaining coin and said, “Whatchu got left?”

Leverkusen counted the few coins before him. “Three diems, two bots, fifteen bits…”

Cairn counted out the coin and pushed them into the center.

Leverkusen stared at the man for several long seconds. A slow grin spread across his face. “Whatchu got left?” he asked with mischief on his face.

Cairn shrugged as he did some quick math, “almost six lunes,” he shrugged.

“That’s it?” Leverkusen replied—though it as a kingly amount for a working class man.

“Sure beats having nothing,” Cairn grinned.

“I don’t have nothing,” Leverkusen said, and pulled a small pouch from around his neck. He opened it and picked out a gold sovereign. “Too bad you can’t match that,” he shrugged, and began to put it away.

Indeed, Cairn couldn’t match it. Most of his coin was on the table. But he did have something rather nice. He put his hand in his shirt and pulled the seal of the disciple out of his pocket. He held it up and smirked.

“Where’d you get that?!” Leverkusen pointed an accusatory finger.

“Don’t concern yourself,” Cairn gloated. “That’s just me dessert.”

“Why is it you that always get ‘em?!” Leverkusen complained. “The Corpus don’t give the rest of us much of a chance at all!”

“Me thinks you go too light on the pretty things,” Cairn mocked. “Perhaps its because you think they like you. Now let me see your cards.”

“Well, my sovereign says that little trinket belongs to me!” Leverkusen huffed. He pulled the small gold coin out of its pouch and pushed it toward the center of the table.

Cairn snorted. “That little thing! I can almost match it with the coin on the table, and I’m not giving you my dessert for such a light touch. You want this, you pay me proper!”

“Proper, huh?” Leverkusen smirked. He reached in the pouch and took out a much larger and heavier gold coin—a sol— and placed it on the table. “Get out that seal,” he instructed. “I want dessert.”

Cairn glared at Leverkusen. A sol was a full ounce of gold, where a sovereign was a mere tenth. “What are you up to?” he half accused the guard.

“Ain’t it obvious?” Leverkusen shrugged. “I got a better hand!”

Cairn frowned. “It’s off the table.”

“Too bad,” Leverkusen shrugged as he picked the heavy gold round from the pot.

“Wait,” Cairn said as he stared at his cards. He’d drawn an inside straight and completed it with the seven of coin! It was an auspicious draw—indeed, it was a sign from the gods! He licked his lips. “Okay, let’s do this,” he said as he pulled the seal of the disciple from his pocket.

Still, he hesitated. Although he knew he was going to win, he felt it was an affront to the gods to wager the seal.

But then, the gods favored bold action. “Winner takes the rest of the night off,” Cairn continued. First, he would take this caravan captain’s gold, then he intended to do his duty by the gods.

“I ain’t working!” Leverkusen snorted. “I leave whenever I want!”

“Fine,” Cairn shrugged and began to put the seal away.

“Wait, wait, wait!” Leverkusen nodded his head. “If you win, I’ll finish your shift so you can go have dessert,” he agreed.

“You ain’t too good to look after this lot of criminals?” Cairn teased.

“This ain’t no real work,” Leverkusen frowned. “You guard the prison to keep close to Fedring. Wouldn’t be surprised if you do it just to get the seals.”

“You caravaners may make the money—but its hard to win favor when you’re never in the same place for more than a week,” Cairn replied. He dropped his cards on the table.

“A straight!” Leverkusen stared. “The gods indeed gave you a high hand!”

“Yup,” Cairn clucked.

“Shoulda given you a better one,” Leverkusen said as he dropped four watchmen. “Looks like I still have the day off,” he smirked.

Cairn rose from his chair and glared at the caravan captain as Leverkusen shoveled coin into his purse. “You first rate shit lord,” he glared.

Leverkusen grinned and held out the seal of the disciple. “Who’s it for?” he queried.

“Go to hell,” Cairn snapped.

The captain frowned. “Now, you and I both know it can’t be used for just anyone...”

Cairn shrugged.

“Hey, my brother! I love you still, so let me prove it!” Leverkusen dug in his bag of coin. “I can’t take so much that I might leave a man destitute, not when you have given so much!” he lifted the slight gold sovereign and slid it toward Cairn. “Now, if you still can’t tell me who it is I mean to see, that’s fine! Really it is! But you keep that! It don’t belong to me. If you still can’t tell me who’s the seal for, that’s fine too! It’s a nice trophy nonetheless, and I’ll see one of the priesthood all the same—just gentle like!” he stated. “Or maybe I’ll just go ask the Corpus…”

Cairn took the sovereign and rolled it between his fingers. He knew he didn’t deserve the coin. Indeed, it was more than he brought to the table. Silently, he watched Leverkusen pack up and head for the door.

The caravan captain talked the whole time as he slowly made his way out. “I don’t know how much coin has passed between us, brother, but its more than this slim bag of pickin’s. I hate to see you sore over a bit of discipline—but it ain’t fair that you’re the one always selected to teach the ladies their lessons,” he shrugged. “Well, some days the gods give, and some days the gods take. Can’t say I’m sorry it was a day they took from you, because that means it was a day they gave to me,” he finished as he pulled the door closed behind him.

As the door swung closed, Cairn called out to the caravan captain.

Leverkusen opened the door and poked his head back into the room. “What was that?” he asked.

“Wenifas,” Cairn said the name. “You know the one?”

Leverkusen smiled. “I’ll find her. What am I to tell her?”

Cairn shook his head, “I was told to say nothing.”

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.2 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Leverkusen stood at the front of Wenifas’ tent as a wicked grin cracked his lips. He couldn’t believe his good luck! Only two more days until the next caravan of slaves and he just happened to win a seal of the disciple?! He rang the slight bell with one hand as he fondled himself with the other.

Wenifas pulled the thick canvas aside and stared at Leverkusen. “I’m sorry, fine sir,” she began with an apologetic smile, “I’m not seeing anyone today...”

Leverkusen lifted the seal and hung it on the bell in one smooth motion.

Wenifas glanced at the medallion. She had not seen one at her own door in years. “Is that...?” Horror caught in her eyes, for of course she recognized it. Under the seal, this stranger had the full authority of the Corpus and could do as he wished with her. These sorts of visits were never pleasant. “No!” she snapped at the captain. Although it was against the law, she attempted to close her tent to him.

Leverkusen put his hand on her face and pushed her roughly back into the tent. Wenifas caught her heel on the rug and sprawled out on the floor. With fear in her eyes, she stared up at the caravan captain as she crawled away. “What have I done?!” She begged.

Leverkusen peeled off his shirt and undid his belt. “It is only you that suffers when you ignore the proper respects,” he leered at her.

Anger and frustration lit across the priestess’s face. “Get away from me!” she hissed and struck out at the man.

Leverkusen caught her hand, then slapped her. Wenifas crumbled, stunned by the blow. “That’s proper respect!” he said as he pinned her to the floor. He grabbed a fistful of her dress and yanked. The garment ripped. He yanked again and the tear increased. After a third pull, the dress was almost completely off. Wenifas screamed and kicked and struggled—but to no avail.

A boy of nine years appeared from the other room. He glared at the caravan captain, pulled his dagger, and ran at the man with rage on his face. Leverkusen turned on the boy, shocked to see the slight form as it charged him. Still, Leverkusen was a trained soldier, and knew how to deflect a blow. He knocked the dagger from the child’s hand, and smashed the boy in the chest.

The child lost his knife and crumbled like a rag doll.

“Claiten!’ Wenifas screamed, as she reached for her stunned child. She turned back on her attacker and clawed at his arms and face.

Leverkusen dodged her nails as well as he could, grabbed her hands, and pinned her to the floor once more. “Interfere again, and you’ll get worse!” he scolded the boy. “Now, watch how it is between a man and a woman!” Leverkusen said as he licked the side of his mother’s face. He climbed over her and jammed his knees under her thighs. She continued to fight him, until he put an elbow in her neck. “Keep it up, and I’ll really hurt you,” he told her.

“Ow!” she cried as she went limp.

Leverkusen was getting his clothes out of the way when the old redhead jumped on his back. Before he could do anything about it, she sunk her teeth into his neck.

Leverkusen screamed. He reached over his shoulder and grabbed a knot of red hair. In a rage, he spun her around and sent her crashing into the boy. Slowly, the lanky redhead stood as a vicious smirk crept across her face.

The look only angered the caravan captain. He picked up the boy’s dagger. “It’s death to interfere with discipline!” He roared at the strange old lady. He took a step forward. He meant to stick this old hag in the heart and have her bleed out as he took the priestess—but he couldn’t move as the old woman stared him down.

Now, now... A voice whispered in his head. Leverkusen relaxed his grip and dropped the knife.

Wenifas dove for the weapon. She grabbed it up and held it toward the man as she gathered her boy and retreated to the far corner of the tent.

Leverkusen ignored the priestess as she cowered away. His mind was utter confusion as he stared at the redhead. “What are you?” he asked.

“Now you’ve done it!” Wenifas snarled at the caravan captain. “For the gods have given me friends!”

A darkness surrounded the old woman. For a second, she was impossible to see. Then, the darkness faded and the woman was gone. The dress slipped to the ground as a magnificent serpent with wide wings and fangs like knives lifted out the dress.

“A skin walker,” Leverkusen whispered, astounded. Fear raged through him. He wished to fight this beast, but he could not. He was petrified.

The wyrm continued to speak in his head. The priestess may know of the things you speak, but you must tell me of this proper respect—of this discipline.

Though he wanted to run screaming through the camp, his muscles refused to budge. Instead, Leverkusen simply spilled his thoughts to Meu, as if she were his confessor.

Having the whole story, Meu grinned at Leverkusen. With the blessing of Fedring, you have upset my friend, she said. So now I shall send you back, and with my blessing, you shall upset his eminence.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.3+_)(*&^%$#@!~

Leverkusen approached the apartments of the Holy Order of the Twin Gods, and saluted the guard. “Good eve,” he said, his manner calm, though his nerves were on fire. “Is Fedring in?”

The guard frowned. “What business do you have?”

Leverkusen pulled the seal of the disciple from his pocket and held it up. “I have finished his good work and mean to report.”

Upon seeing the seal, the guards cleared a path.

The guards at the door were just as accommodating as soon as they saw the seal. “Corpus Fedring! Captain Leverkusen is here to report, your eminence!”

Fedring answered and glared at the caravan captain. “What is it?!” he snapped.

Leverkusen lifted the seal so Fedring might see it. “I have met with Wenifas. I wish to report what was said and done,” he stated.

Fedring snatched the seal from Leverkusen and held it toward the man in an accusatory manner. “I did not give this to you!” he roared. “Where is Cairn?!”

“He lost the seal to me, but I have done his holy duty, as required,” Leverkusen reported.

“You have done his holy duty, have you?!” Fedring glared at the man. “Tell me, did you use his weasel to do it?!”

“I don’t understand,” Leverkusen replied.

“Of course you don’t!” Fedring snorted. “The messenger was the message, you dolt!” After a long second, he sighed and continued in a calmer voice. “Let me guess, the fool lost it in some game of chance?”

Leverkusen nodded. “Cards, your holiness. Five watchmen over a straight,” he grinned, proud of his winning hand.

Fedring spit. “Fools! You’re a bunch of damned fools, I say!” With a sigh, he pushed open the door to his room. “Very well. Come in and tell me what has happened. What did the priestess say and do?”

Leverkusen stepped into the room and Fedring shut the heavy door behind them.

“Well?” Fedring prompted the man as he began to walk past.

Leverkusen took a step toward the Majoris with his hands up and open. “She was quite surprised by my appearance,” he began. “I held her down and ripped off her dress.”

“Yes, yes, I know what you did,” Fedring huffed. “I wish to know what she did!”

“She was defiant from the beginning, so I subdued her—much like this,” Leverkusen said as he took a cheap shot at the Majoris. The swing caught Fedring off guard, and the captain’s fist smashed into the large man’s temple.

The blow stunned the Majoris and he crumbled to the ground. Leverkusen grabbed the man before he could stand from the floor and wrapped him in a choke hold. Unable to fight back, unable to scream, unable to breathe, the Majoris went limp.

Leverkusen lowered the large unconscious man to the floor. He gagged the Majoris and tied his arms and legs behind his back with a slender rope he brought for just that purpose. Fedring woke. He lifted his head as he struggled with his bonds. Leverkusen pulled his sword and placed the tip on Fedring’s shoulder. The Majoris held still.

“Unfortunately, all that I have said until now is largely inaccurate. It was mere subterfuge in order to get into your office,” he confessed. “Indeed, I was unable to discipline the priestess at all. I meant to, but as I proceeded, I was met by a most unusual creature,” Leverkusen admitted. He leaned down to the Majoris and whispered into his ear, “The wind serpent has me, the basilisk, the wyrm. You remember the power of her kiss?”

Fedring blanched and his eyes grew wide.

“She thought you’d remember her,” Leverkusen noted. “She is pleased. She certainly remembers you,” he added with a wicked grin. “She means to leave you alive, but if you make a noise, I will be forced to kill you,” the caravan captain confided. “I do not want to,” he shrugged. “But you know how it is: she’s impossible to deny.”

Leverkusen dragged the Majoris across the room and close to the bed. He pulled the blankets off the bed and draped them over Fedring one after another, then leaned heavily against the blankets. “Not a sound now,” he whispered, then proceeded to rifle through Fedring’s apartment.

Thanks to Meu’s memory, Leverkusen knew exactly where to look. He gathered three heavy purses of coin from their hiding places. He opened the closet and took the plain half of the shaman’s staff. He was surprised to see that Fedring also had the shaman’s cloak and bag. Meu wondered what this meant for the shaman as she ordered Leverkusen to take these too.

Leverkusen peeked under the blankets. “Where is he?” Leverkusen asked the Majoris. “Is he still under the stone tower?”

Fedring nodded.

“He better be. If I return, it’ll be for your blood,” Leverkusen said as he dropped the edge of the blankets.

The shaman’s belongings were not the only interesting things in Fedring’s closet. There was also a musket of fine crafting, a valuable weapon, especially among the Gaur. Leverkusen slung it over his shoulder. With so much treasure in hand, he opened the window and climbed onto the windowsill. He took one final look at Fedring, under a small mountain of blankets, and leaped to the ground.

~!@#$%^&*()_+ 17.4 +_)(*&^%$#@!~

Leverkusen set the shaman’s belongings on the rug before Wenifas and Meu, then produced the massive purses of coin, and also the musket.

“What is this?” Wenifas asked as she lifted the pistol.

“Be careful with it,” Leverkusen told her. “It is more dangerous than it looks.”

“Shall I call it dangerous then?” Wenifas stared at the contraption. “What a strange name for any object.”

“It is a pistol musket—if it is true,” the captain stated.

“What does it do?” she asked.

“Point it at your enemy, and pull this lever,” he showed her.

“And?”

“And it kills,” Leverkusen shrugged.

“Like magic?” Wenifas asked.

“There is a bit of metal in it that flies like an arrow,” Leverkusen began, then shook his head. “I do not really know the specifics. Do not fire it. They are extremely loud, and we will have all the wrong sorts of company if it goes off.”

Wenifas pushed it into its holster. “You say, if it is true?”

“The Gaur have created no end of false muskets so they might keep the technology for their own. Often a false musket will kill the man that fires it, instead of the man he aims to kill,” Leverkusen explained.

“How can I tell the difference?” the priestess asked.

“The only way I know is to fire it,” Leverkusen shrugged. “For this very reason, few I know care to adopt them, especially when a bow is just as dangerous and so much easier to reload.”

Wenifas turned to Meu. “So now what?”

Leverkusen spoke for her. “Derris is in the other fort, playing the part of a Gaur, and watching the prison. He is on shift until the early hours. I have left a message for him. He will attend us as soon as he can. For now, I have another task. Then, once we are all here, we devise a way to escape this place.”

Wenifas turned to Meu, “And he comes with us?” she pointed at Leverkusen.

“For a time. Until she cannot control me any longer,” Leverkusen smiled. “Then I go free.”

“What do you mean, you go free?!” She turned on Meu, “He can’t go free! We’ve robbed the Corpus! If you let him go, he’ll turn us in! They’ll strip me of everything I have and banish me! Sure enough, they’ll kill you!” She pointed at Meu.

“Would you have her kill me?” Leverkusen asked.

Wenifas stepped forward and slapped the man. “You are nothing to me!” She roared in his face.

Leverkusen stood and stepped out of the tent. “I go to free the shaman.”

“The what?!” Wenifas turned to Meu. “You can’t let him go!”

Meu licked her lips and kissed the priestess once more, that they might commune directly. Once I am done with him, I can and I will let him go.

“And when is that?!” Wenifas huffed.

When it is safe to do so, she stared.

“How long can you control him?”

For a day or two—that is, if I’m not using my venom on you, Meu winked. Be calm. There are bigger concerns than Fedring ahead of us.

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