Chapter 16

Only two days previously, Sybelien had been afraid Jabbit might encounter the Alorian priesthood or its henchmen, the Bhansun, but she was no longer worried about Jabbit now. She calmly watched from her hidden lookout as a group of order-warriors approached him and the beggar sitting at the foot of the obelisk. From her new point of view, she decided Jabbit wasn’t in any danger - if someone was in peril, it was the Bhansun. A little smile flit across her face as she thought about the past two days and tried to imagine some kind of improbable incident which undoubtedly would save him once again.

Sybelien hadn’t even finished the thought when she caught sight of a regiment of soldiers on the serpentine road leading up the hill.

The twenty Bhansun had surrounded Jabbit and the beggar when one of the dark-cloaked figures stepped forward.

“You,” he said, pointing at Jabbit, “Come with us. His Excellency, the Alorian High Priest, wants to see you.”

Jabbit looked at the beggar by his side. “When I meet the High Priest, I’ll ask him if he betrayed you,” Jabbit said and smiled.

The beggar mutely nodded in response and the expression on the scarred face of the man still showed his surprise as the Bhansun escorted Jabbit to the largest of the temples on the hill, the High Priest’s residence. Before they could reach the temple, a regiment of one-thousand-six-hundred soldiers, wearing the colors of Tunapor, marched onto the courtyard and positioned themselves in front of the temple. The regiment stood between the Bhansun guarding Jabbit and their destination.

The officer on horseback wasn’t aware of their problem; and even if he would have been, he had his orders to care about and probably wouldn’t be interested in additional trouble.

“In the name of Dharos of Tunapor, I demand the immediate release of Rhaseris, Princess of Danuba, into my custody,” the officer in charge loudly proclaimed. “Should the Alorian priesthood refuse to obey this Imperial decree, we will search the vicinity for the Princess and any resistance will be seen as the priesthood’s rebellion against Aloria’s rightful ruler.”

Not long after the officer’s announcement, three priests showed up at the entrance of the temple. One of them stepped forward and faced the officer on horseback.

“I am brother Urshan Calabree, secretary of the Alorian High Priest, and his Excellency personally authorized me to speak in his name,” the priest introduced himself. “The priesthood isn’t aware of the Princess’ whereabouts and denies any knowledge that she is anywhere within the temple grounds. Furthermore, we adamantly protest any intrusion onto the Alorian gods’ holy grounds.”

The significant situational change distracted the Bhansun guarding Jabbit and they didn’t react in time to prevent his advance through the lines of the Tunapor soldiers. Helplessly they watched as he approached the officer in charge of the regiment.

Jabbit looked up at the mounted officer. “The Princess you’re seeking is my priestess,” he stated. “I wouldn’t mind it if you’re here to release her from her prison but I want to know where you plan to take her afterward?”

The officer’s heated glare turned from the priestly target in front of him to the young man, standing beside his horse.

“And who are you?” He sneered at Jabbit, looking down at him from the back of his horse.

Jabbit frowned; the horse suddenly neighed and reared-up, throwing the rider off its back, and then galloped off, escaping the situation, while Jabbit thought about an answer to the officer’s question.

“I’m the Princess’ boss,” he voiced his chosen answer, looking down at the groaning officer lying at his feet.

“Search the temple grounds for the Princess and arrest this hoodlum,” the officer ground out, wincing in pain.

Sybelien had heard the officer loudly demand to hand over Rhaseris but she was too far away to understand the priest’s response or the exchange between Jabbit and the officer before the latter fell off his horse. However, she now saw the soldiers start their search of the temples and Jabbit was apparently arrested. As the soldiers swarmed to scrutinize the property, she also noticed activity at one of the side entrances to the temple with the dungeon below, where the princess was imprisoned.

While she thought about whom to follow, she saw a large number of crows rising from the roofs of the temples. They parted into two flocks; one flock circled the group from the side entrance of the temple - who obviously tried to remove Rhaseris off the priesthood’s property - and the other flew southward, towards an unknown destination.

Sybelien decided to leave the shadowing of the Rhaseris group to the crows and followed the eight soldiers taking Jabbit away.

Evanis had a good idea where Jabbit was off to. It rankled her greatly that he had gone without her and didn’t even ask for her... advice to do so. So she wasn’t in the kindest of moods as she and her squad of patch-men marched through Katerra toward the Temple District.

The patch-men had disguised their appearances by covering the most obvious patchwork done to their bodies with rag bandages in addition to the ordinary clothing they wore. Some of them had to hide their faces and none of their covers would withstand a close scrutiny but to an unsuspicious glance, they looked just like some of the many thousand pitiable poor human creatures to be seen everywhere in Katerra.

Evanis roused from her silent brooding when they came to a turnoff. A line of crows blocked the road leading to the Marble Cemetery up on the hill. On the road circling around the hill, a big, single crow stood and looked at her. The big crow then stalked down that road; stopped, looked back at her, moved on, looked again and screeched.

“Now I’m even given orders by a stupid bird,” Evanis groused as she and the patch-men followed the crow along the road it had chosen for them.

As luck would have it, at the end of the road - which was adequately named ‘Holy Man’s Turnaround’ - they turned around a corner and encountered a group of Bhansun and their captive, Princess Rhaseris of Danuba. Done with its task, their crow guide rose to the sky and joined its circling conspecifics.

Suddenly faced with Evanis and eighteen somewhat creepy looking and obviously armed men, the eight warriors immediately drew their weapons.

“We are of the Order of the Bhansun and on a mission for the Alorian High Priest; move out of our way!” The leader of the order-warriors demanded.

“I’m Evanis Danjala and I don’t obey anyone’s command. Your mission ends here,” Evanis replied and brought out her weapons too; as did the patch men, simultaneously.

“We’ll kill the captive before you can rescue her,” the Bhansun threatened.

“Are you seriously threatening to kill a little girl?” Evanis asked and slowly shook her head. “Almost two decades have passed since the last time I met your kind but you’re still as brave as I remember.” But suddenly a smile brightened her face. “Although I’ve to admit, a few times I wanted to kill the Princess myself. I had to realize she isn’t easy to kill and I’m sure you’ll come to the same conclusion. Anyhow, that’s beside the point,” she said and changed her addressees. “Patch-men! I want these holy warriors dead and their corpses so thoroughly mutilated that even a certain someone wouldn’t even think about reviving them.”

A hoarse “Aye, Commander,” out of eighteen parched throats resounded her orders and led by Evanis, the patch-men attacked.

The ensuing fight was short but brutal ... very brutal. Evanis’ explicit command and great dislike of the Bhansun apparently goaded the patch men to do their worst - and they proved to be very good at doing very bad things.

Only one Bhansun tried to harm Rhaseris, but his attention on her was misdirected by the rag doll in her hands. He couldn’t pry his gaze from the doll’s eyes. The doll’s eyes were simple wooden-nubs and only a few tiny blotches had remained of their probably once light-blue color. Nevertheless, those eyes seemed to pierce his soul. In a fight, it’s not a good idea to get distracted; standing motionless while staring at the eyes of a rag doll, for example. The transfixed man didn’t even notice the patch man whose mace bashed his skull in.

When the fight was over, Evanis haltingly freed Rhaseris of her gag and fetters - maybe she was a bit reluctant to do so.

“What is he doing?” Once freed, Rhaseris wide-eyed asked, watching a patch man chopping off a dead Bhansun’s arm.

“He doesn’t like the arm your god provided and wants him to replace it,” Evanis nonchalantly replied. “Sometimes Jabbit works rather sloppily.”

“I see, so he’s still only MY god,” Rhaseris replied, grinning at Evanis. “And do you still also own my god?”

“Who’d want to own such a sloppy worker,” Evanis grumbled. “Let’s go. I still have to figure out what happened at the Marble Cemetery; I got sidetracked to rescue you, Princess.”

“No,” Rhaseris stopped Evanis. “There are many soldiers searching the temples; that’s why the priests took me out of my cell. I guess the soldiers are searching for me and the priests didn’t want them to find me. If you go up there now and start your own manhunt, with your band of... ,” she paused.

“I named them the patch-men,” Evanis assisted.

“Thank you. It’s a very fitting name; I’ll use it too,” the princess approved. “Where was I? Oh, I remember - if you go up the hill with your band of patch-men, searching for Jabbit, it will be a disaster.”

“Did you notice the colors these soldiers wore or maybe their insignias or banner?” Evanis asked.

Rhaseris nodded but hesitantly. “I only got a glance, so I’m not quite certain. It appeared to be vermilion on the verge to amaranth. Although as distracted as I was, I wouldn’t even rule out cerise - sorry.”

Evanis gawked at the princess. “Did you lose your mind? What are you talking about? I asked for colors or insignias.”

“I know what you asked and I answered,” Rhaseris replied a bit peeved. “Wait, I forgot to mention the trims; they were rather pewter-blue than silver - definitely,” she added proudly.

Evanis sighed. “Can you translate what you just said, for the color-blind like me?”

Rhaseris needed a moment to think about it. “The uniforms of the soldiers were ... dark red ... but with a hint...”

“Stop!” The warrioress cut her off. “So their uniforms were red with silver? Just nod!”

The princess nodded defiantly.

“The colors of Tunapor,” Evanis pondered. “How many soldiers were there?”

Rhaseris shrugged. “Many; hundreds, maybe thousands.”

Evanis looked at the sky and shook her head. “I wish your sense for numbers were as educated as the one for colors. However, and I say this with utmost repugnance, but you are right. Let’s get you back to the hideout. It isn’t much of a secret anymore - if it ever was - but the patch-men are really good sentries and won’t catch as much attention at the Last Retreat as they would at the Banyan Dream or anywhere else in Katerra.”

“You want to go and leave all the dead men lying around?” The princess asked.

“Look at the sky,” Evanis coolly replied. “The crows have earned their feast.”

Dharos of Tunapor had spent the entire day in his private quarters within the White Citadel; just like the previous day and the day before that and ... like every day for the past three weeks, since the latest attempt to assassinate him had failed. It had been the fourth attempt within the last three moon cycles and the most determined and vicious at that. Escorted by a hundred guards, Dharos had traveled in a closed coach toward the harbor. When his convoy passed through a narrow road, some assassins threw amphorae filled with oil in and around his carriage and others struck with burning arrows, setting the coach ablaze. It still appeared as a miracle to him, he had survived the attack and a greater miracle still that he had survived it relatively unharmed. Many of the men in his escort and most of the assassins hadn’t been as fortunate.

Unfortunately, the remaining assassins had refused to reveal the one who’d bought their services – even under the most ‘diligent’ interrogation. Sadly, none of them had survived the questioning, not that it mattered. Dharos knew his enemies and at the very top of that list was the Alorian priesthood. Rightfully so, the old man thought as he contemplated the past, sitting in his comfy upholstered leather-chair and watching the ashes of the dead fire in the open fireplace of his study.