Chapter 17: Seal of the Disciple

Cairn held an inside straight as he sat across the table from Leverkusen. He stared at the caravan captain’s rising stack of coin, and knew his chance of drawing a seven was faint at best—but it was the best hand he’d seen in the better part of an hour.

Fortune favors the bold, Cairn thought as he placed a diem in the pot and prayed.

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

Brough frowned and threw his cards into the middle. “Too rich for my blood,” the guard shrugged as he tossed his cards over a measly pot of two diems, three bits.

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

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

“Non,” Leverkusen began as he took the card. “I’m in search of gold!” he beamed.

Cairn dropped the jay of knives and pushed it across the table. Brough passed back a card. Cairn’s breath caught ever so slightly as he glimpsed the seven of coin. A lucky card, indeed, an omen! Cairn thought.

After several seconds of careful consideration, Leverkusen lobbed a lune into the pot.

As if he contemplated a tough choice, Cairn slowly matched the bet. His turn to raise or call, Cairn stared at the caravan captain, then slowly tossed in another lune.

Curious, and with a devilish smile, Leverkusen matched, though he did not call. Instead, he decided to bully Cairn and threw in five lunes.

Cairn smiled. He grinned as he pushed his entire stack of coin into the pot. “Seems you want to be serious. Let’s be serious,” he nodded as he pushed eight lunes, fourteen diems, and a handful of copper bits and bots into the center.

With a whistle, Leverkusen leaned back. “So you finally have a hand, do you?” The caravan captain knew if he called and lost, it would breathe new life into a dwindling opponent. He scratched at the whiskers on his face. “Do you bluff once more?” he asked as he counted out the proper coins. “You’ve seen what I do to bluffers.”

Cairn shrugged as he sported a confident grin.

Leverkusen counted out a matching bet and slid it into the middle. “I shall be sad when I take the rest of your coin, for it is not always the winning that is most most fun, but the play,” he said with an easy grin. “Now let us see this magic hand of yours.”

A cold hatred burned in Cairn’s belly as he fixed his eye on the caravan captain. Few things wore on his nerves as much as a gloating opponent. “Nah, let’s make this truly interesting,” he beamed at his colleague with mock enthusiasm. He put his hand in his shirt and pulled a sovereign from his pocket along with the much larger and heavier seal of the disciple. He set them on the table and pushed the sovereign into the pot, then tucked the seal safely back into his shirt once more.

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

‘Just a bit o’ the yellow metal,” Cairn stated as he spun the sovereign.

“Not that!” Leverkusen frowned. “That!” he pointed at the Cairn’s pocket, where he kept the seal.

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

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

“The seal?” Cairn smirked. “Me thinks you go too light on the pretty things. Perhaps its because you think they like you. Now push the rest of that pile in the pot and let me see your cards.”

“You’re not the only one with a knock of gold at his heart—but I don’t carry no light weight,” Leverkusen smirked as he set the gold sol Fedring gave him on top of his other coin. He stared across the table at Cairn. “You think you got a hot hand?! Get that seal!”

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.

Leverkusen shrugged. “Ain’t it obvious? 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. He licked his lips. “Okay, let’s do this.” He pulled the seal of the disciple from his pocket and placed it in the pot.

“Winner gets the rest of the night off,” Cairn continued.

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

Cairn smirked. “You win; you do what you want. I win; I leave and you finish my duty. Call me hasty to use the seal—but I think it’s worth more than your plain metal—or you too good to look after this lot of criminals?”

“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 we got the political connections,” Cairn replied.

“Fine!” Leverkusen snorted. “You want time off?! I’ll watch your half-dead charges ‘til switch!”

With a smile, Cairn dropped his cards on the table. “Ain’t no bluff,” he grinned at his friend and began to gather the pot.

“A straight,” Leverkusen sighed. “The gods indeed gave you a high hand.”

“Yup,” Cairn clucked.

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

Cairn rose from his chair and glared at the caravan captain. “You first rate shit lord,” he accused.

Leverkusen shoveled coin into his purse. He 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.

“Don’t be sore, my brother! I love you still, so let me prove it!” Leverkusen dug in his bag of coin. “I can’t take a man’s gold—not when he has given me so much more,” he lifted the 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!”

Cairn took the sovereign and rolled it between his fingers. He knew he didn’t deserve the coin. 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 a lesson,” he shrugged. “As for lessons, 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. “You know the one?”

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

Cairn shook his head, “Nothing.”

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

Leverkusen stood at 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. “Is that...?” Horror caught in her eyes, for 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 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.

Leverkusen grabbed her 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 grabbed Wenifas, pulled her close, and climbed over her.

Wenifas continued to fight the captain. She gouged at his eyes, and kicked at his crotch, but he was a fair deal bigger than her, stronger, and trained to fight. Tears ran from her eyes as Wenifas was systematically subdued.

As Leverkusen struggled with the priestess, the old woman with red hair slunk about on quiet feet. She jumped on Leverkusen’s back and 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.

Leverkusen turned on the old woman. Despite her aging frame, the lanky redhead stood and a vicious smirk crept across her face.

The look angered Leverkusen. He picked up the boy’s dagger. “It’s death to interfere with discipline!” He roared at the stranger. 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.

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, the serpent 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 even more accomodating as they knocked and summoned the Majoris uon seeing the seal.

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. Four watchmen over a straight,” he grinned, proud of his winning hand.

Fedring spit. “Fools! 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.

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 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, what I have said is largely inaccurate—mere subterfuge in order to get into your office. I was unable to discipline the priestess. I meant to, but I was met by a most unusual creature,” Leverkusen admitted, then whispered into the Majoris’s ear, “The beast has me.”

Fedring’s eyes grew wide as he blanched.

“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.

The shaman’s belongings were not the only interesting things in Fedring’s closet. There was also a musket of fine crafting, a valuable and deadly object, so long as it was a true weapon, and not a Gaurrish fake. Despite his reservations, Leverkusen took it and slung it over his shoulder.

With this treasure in hand, Leverkusen opened the window and climbed onto the windowsill. He took one final look at the bound and covered form of Fedring before he leaped to the ground.

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

Leverkusen set the shaman’s staff, cloak, and bag on the rug before Wenifas and Meu, then produced the massive purses of coin he took from Fedring. “I also found this,” Leverkusen said as he set the holstered musket on the floor. “Be careful with it. It is more dangerous than it looks.”

“What is it?” Wenifas stared at the contraption.

“A musket—if it is true,” the captain stated.

“What does it do?” she asked.

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

“And?”

“And it kills,” Leverkusen shrugged.

“Like magic?” Wenifas asked.

Leverkusen shook his head. “I do not know the specifics. Do not play with it. They are extremely loud.”

“You say if it is true...” Wenifas prompted as she gently cradled the weapon.

“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. “No one I know cares to adopt them when a bow is no less dangerous and so much easier to reload.”

Wenifas turned to Meu. “Now what?”

Leverkusen spoke for her. “Derris 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 we 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 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. I can and I will, once I am done with him, she replied as the venom took hold once more.

“And when is that?” Wenifas huffed.

Once we are safely away. Meu stated. Patience, my friend. We have a long night ahead of us, and much danger to face.