Chapter 72: Pyromancy

The bishop took the pale gray, stone steps two at a time, racing up to his offices. He ignored everything and everyone in his mad dash up the stairway. The entire city was filled with gossip about a burning blue knight fighting against mages in one of the marketing districts. At first, he’d heard the blue knight had fought against only three mages, but by the time he reached the castle gate the count of mages had risen to a full score. That only the body of one mage could be produced meant nothing to the gossipers; some said the remainder of the mages had fled for their lives while the rest indicated the blue knight had turned the rest into ash before collapsing in exhaustion.

The idiot must have stolen his armor back from the locked room. It was the only explanation. Well, Renud had him now. When the armor turned up missing, coupled with the eyewitness accounts of a burning blue knight, it would be the end for the blacksmith’s unfortunate foray into things that were none of his business. He’d be jailed in the dungeon at the very least and the bishop could ensure he never exited from those dank cells.

Only a minor disparity tweaked the bishop’s confidence in Tulat having stolen his armor. The still form of Yren Dray-Tulat had been carried almost reverently back to the castle by a full half-dozen large men. He wore no armor. At first glance, the bishop had been thrilled, hoping the blacksmith’s still form was because he was dead. He wasn’t thinking in terms of the armor. Those thoughts only came later, after the men carrying the blacksmith said he was still breathing.

So, where had the man hid the armor? His lips curled southward as the thought bounced around his brain. It was an annoying detail but one the bishop could work with. With the armor missing from his offices, it would be enough that the blue knight had been seen – and, in the vicinity of the blacksmith. That should be enough to get the man arrested and, ultimately, killed.

The bishop gnashed his teeth as he ran. The gossip, though, was annoying. The city was inundated with stories about ‘the heroic blue knight’, valiantly fighting against hordes of mages eager to destroy the kingdom. He could almost hear the bards tuning their lutes, competing with each other about who could make the blue knight more heroic. It was enough to make him nauseous.

He passed Kirendell as he was running up the steps. He didn’t bother stopping to acknowledge the man. He just continued racing up the steps.

“Your eminence?” The new First of the Third called, bounding up the steps after him. The man was dressed in his armor. As was normal when armored in the castle and not on duty, his helm was hanging off his left hip and his gauntlets were hanging from a loop on the right-front side of his armor. “Is something wrong?”

“No,” the bishop called back. Then, he changed his mind. “Yes. I don’t know. Come with me, man, come with me.”

Kirendell caught up with the bishop as the holy man was unlocking the door to his office. Both men were completely out of breath as they stumbled into the room. They stood for a moment, bent over, working to catch their breath. Kirendell was watching the bishop, trying to understand why the man had been rushing up the steps.

Renud, however, only had eyes for the chest. It was sitting where he’d left it, against the side of his desk. It looked the same. He could not see even the slightest difference from where it had been set earlier in the day. All he’d done at the time was open the chest to ensure the armor was inside. Well, that and spit on the evil, glowing sigils of the false goddesses Kyr and Deia. Grinning as the spit slid down the sigils, he’d re-closed the chest, content in his possession of it. He needed adequate time to investigate the armor thoroughly. At the time, it was enough to deny the blacksmith access to it.

Only he’d evidently failed in that task. Otherwise, how could the blue knight be seen in the city? How could the blacksmith be seen wearing the armor?

“The chest,” Renud wheezed, pointing to Yren’s arms chest. He needed to see the armor. He needed to make sure it was still in the chest. “Open it.”

Kirendell, huffing, moved to the chest. He reached over to the corner of the desk, where he’d earlier in the day watched the bishop place the arms chest’s key into a small wooden cup and extracted the key. He unlocked the chest carefully and opened it, revealing the blue armor lying inside. “What am I looking for?” he asked the bishop.

Renud walked over, gasping, and pushed Kirendell out of the way. He looked at the armor critically. He could not see his spittle on it, but that likely would have long ago dried. “Does it look the same?”

Kirendell looked down and shrugged. He’d not looked at the armor closely enough when they’d opened the chest earlier in the day to note any minute differences now. To him, it looked like armor stored securely and conscientiously in a chest. It was strange armor, to be sure, with it being colored blue and filled with intricate script work, but it was still just armor. Well, the glowing sigils were troubling. He wasn’t sure how that had been done – perhaps with glowing ink or something similar. It was nothing to worry about, surely. “I don’t see any differences. It’s ... it’s armor in a chest.”

The knight reached for the chest piece. “I’ll make sure all the pieces are...”

“STOP!” Renud yelled, startling the knight into inaction. The knight remained stooped over the chest but looked up at the bishop. “Don’t touch the armor. I’ve heard it may be trapped somehow.”

Kirendell looked at the bishop curiously. “Trapped? How do you trap armor?”

“I don’t know,” the bishop admitted. There was a lot about the armor he didn’t know. Maybe he should have made the time to investigate it more thoroughly. How could he know, though, that it would be stolen and used? “There are rumors that anyone who touches the armor burns, though.”

Kirendell rolled his eyes. “There are rumors there are twelve gods, too, when you and I both know there is but one.”

He reached into the chest before the bishop could stop him. He lifted out the blue breast plate. “Is this...?”

“Don’t do it,” the bishop yelled, taking several steps back as the armor began glowing with a faint, blue light. By then, though, he realized it was far, far too late.

The knight screamed as blue flames flickered over his fingertips and ran up the backs of his hands. The screaming continued as the flames began to melt the knight’s flesh. Still, the fire crept higher, its flickering tongues lapping up and under the knight’s vambrace. Moments later, blue fire flickered at the elbow joints of his arms where the vambrace and rerebrace met. It was only seconds later that the fire peeked out of the shoulder joints and still the man’s screaming went on, stopping only as he drew breath to feed his screams anew.

“Drop the armor, man,” Renud yelled, starting forward but stopping himself short of actually making contact with Kirendell or the armor. He didn’t know what to do. To touch the armor might save the man’s life, but he was pretty sure it would start him burning as well.

The bishop watched in morbid fascination, unable to move even a muscle, as blue fire crawled out from under the man’s shoulder guards and slowly crawled up his shoulders. Renud was trembling, his face aghast at what he was witnessing. He couldn’t pull his eyes from Kirendell and his breathing was coming in terrified little gasps. He watched as blue flames danced out of the neck of the man’s breast plate and undulated up and over the man’s head.

He watched horrified as the fire spread, flames licking out from under the man’s tasset in all directions. Kirendell’s scream had become a gurgling moan mere moments later as the flames were flickering out of the knee joints, rolling up the edges of the fan plate. Then the ankle joints, where the greaves met the man’s sabatons, released blue fire and still Kirendell held the armor in hands now incapable of letting go. Renud’s mouth dropped open as he noticed the knight’s fingers, nothing more than blackened bones, were fused to the armor. The flesh of his arms began to drip down out of the elbow joints in thick, tearing ropes resembling wax more than flesh. Then his legs buckled, driving the man to his knees, his blackened head thrown back and looking up at the ceiling where blue flames reached the ceiling, leaving scorch marks in the stones wherever they touched.

Even the gurgling moans had stopped by now and the knight fell backward, the burning blue breast plate coming to rest atop Kirendell’s chest. By then, men had come running, stopping swiftly at the acrid odor of burning flesh and the sight of a man burnt to death. Kirendell’s armor was red hot, filled with thin, blackened sticks.

Renud, suddenly freeing himself from the disbelieving paralysis that had held him in place, rushed to the bucket of water he used to wash his hands and face. He tossed the bucket over the burning man, but it was far too little, far too late. Not all the flames were doused, but the ones that were showed that only a crisp skeleton was left of the First of the Third.

---- ∞ ----

“He should be hung from the gallows,” Renud relayed hotly, his patience with the current monarchs running very thin. He couldn’t get the sight of the burning First of the Third from his mind. It haunted him whenever he closed his eyes. “He should be beheaded.”

The queen and king, Honor Kotliss, Honor Vonet, and Bishop Renud were meeting in the royal antechamber behind the throne room. It was a convenient place for the king and queen to meet, as they left the throne room for a late supper; the crown business had gone long that day. Bishop Renud had caught the four as the monarchs were taking off their state crown and robes.