Sanctuary, Part III

[jenova]

Egads. FINALLY!

- Part II

Sanctuary (Part III)
Author: jenovan
Rating: PG
Warnings: violence? :o
Notes: This is one of those chapters in two main parts, and while the first part came along as I expected, the second part mutated and therefore ended up taking *forever*. Ah well. ^^;



Amadeo sat on the bed -- the promised pallet had not yet arrived -- as Andelis set about making himself presentable again. He meant to go pray in the sanctuary, and that meant looking his very best. Fortunately, he always tried to choose clothing that traveled well, so his sapphire-blue and gold robes looked immaculate, with no tending needed.

"You can stay here," he said to Amadeo as he brushed out his hair, "or you could take a look around the garden, if you want. There's usually a musician or poet performing out there."

The tiefling made a noncommittal sound; Andelis wondered if he was reluctant to enjoy this place. "I think I may go meet my contact in town."

"Ahh, that is why we're here, isn't it?" The minstrel smiled a little to himself. If Amadeo go that out of the way now, they could have the whole night free. That was promising. "Do you think you'll be back in time for supper? It'll be in a couple of hours or so."

"I should think so, as long as I can find the man. I'm simply getting information."

Andelis, finished with his grooming, turned to look at his companion, who was getting dressed now that he had a task at hand. The play of his lean muscles was a joy to watch; the minstrel would probably never tire of such sights. "Well, good luck in your search, then," he said with a smile, setting down his brush and giving his face one last check in his palm-sized looking glass. "When you get back, just ask for me, they'll know where to find me."

Amadeo nodded, concentrating on the ties of his armguards. As Andelis picked up his two-stringed fiddle and walked to the door, the assassin looked up and gave him a slight smile. Warmed, Andelis beamed back before stepping through the doorway and letting the door fall quietly shut behind him.

It was unusual, he thought as he walked down the corridor, to win an unprompted smile from the overly serious tiefling; perhaps the little massage session had put him in a better mood, or maybe, just maybe, the temple was having an effect on him after all. Andelis knew that the place had a more subtle influence than was immediately apparent. Yes, there were sights to please the eyes, and sweet sounds to soothe the ears, but things like the omnipresent, but never overpowering, scent of flowers, the soft carpets and linens... even such relatively minor things lent themselves to relaxation and a state of openness.

Andelis wondered if the observant assassin realized any of that, or if he still believed the environs to be simple overindulgence. Well, if he didn't realize it, all the better; if he did, he didn't seem to be against it, and that was also a good thing, as far as Andelis was concerned. Either way, Amadeo seemed to have no complaints so far about their stay.

The priestess Emalia was tending to the niches in the antechamber when Andelis walked in. She turned and smiled brightly. "Going to make an offering to the Lady?" she asked, noting the instrument in the minstrel's hand.

Andelis nodded. "Is the sanctuary empty?"

"It is, though if I remember your playing, dear one, that won't be the case for very long," the priestess replied, grinning. "Provided you don't mind an audience, of course."

"Not at all," the minstrel assured her with a smile. He might be playing in offering to Sune, but music was meant to be shared, after all. As long as the audience was respectful -- and they had better be, in a temple -- he was more than happy to perform.

Emalia bowed and gestured for Andelis to enter the sanctuary. As he stepped into the candlelit room, he noted that it had changed little since his last visit. The central focus of the room was not the altar itself, which was an elegant marble affair, but the moving sculpture in front of it -- a sheet of water falling almost noiselessly across a vertical obsidian plate. The effect was a subtly rippling, full length mirror, where a worshiper could direct their supplications. Most Sunite temples had mirrors of some sort for this purpose, but this one was one of Andelis's favorites.

However, he was here not to make pleas, but to give thanks: for his continued well-being (including, of course, his attractiveness); for his deliverance from the incubus Fieran; and for said deliverer, Amadeo. Some people said that everything happened for a reason -- perhaps he encountered the demon for the express reason of being saved by Amadeo, something that had come to affect both of them greatly. He still viewed the tiefling as territory that needed to be conquered in the name of love, and he thanked Sune for the opportunity to do so, because creating love blessed both the giver and the recipient.

As he arranged himself in a seated position on the plush rug before the mirror, he heard quiet murmurs from the back of the sanctuary -- his anticipated audience. When he propped his fiddle on his leg in his playing pose, though, they fell into an expectant silence.

A song of thanks and joy, my Lady, he thought, bowing his head for a moment.

I'm looking forward to it, my love. The goddess's reply carried an overtone of a pleased smile.

Closing his eyes, Andelis began to play, his music springing from the bow unplanned and unrehearsed. He simply played his heart out loud, the eerie human-like voice of the strings providing a wordless song of deep contentment. Alone with his music and his deity, he was no longer aware of the small crowd behind him; he didn't see the blissful smiles on the faces of some, or the awed expressions of those who had been moved to tears by the pure sound.

He continued in that fashion for half an hour, until he finally felt that his gratitude had been adequately expressed. When he tucked the bow back up against the neck of the fiddle, there was no applause -- that would have been somewhat vulgar right there in the sanctuary -- but there seemed to be a silent undercurrent of approval and appreciation.

Wishing to make further devotions, the minstrel sat up on his knees with his feet tucked under him, regarding the water mirror. He heard the temple folk begin to disperse, leaving him to his prayers.

Perhaps not as articulate as a poem, my Lady, but thus is my heart, he thought, looking beyond his reflection at the water itself.

With or without words, my dear, it was beautifully eloquent, was Sune's reply. You are glad, then, to have this rogue in your life? She called Amadeo a "rogue" playfully, knowing Andelis would take no offense.

He felt the smile come to his lips at the merest thought of the assassin. I am, my Lady. Very glad indeed.

Fortunately -- both for Amadeo and the man he was trying to find -- the information the assassin had about how to contact the fellow was accurate. As he stepped into the rather seedy tavern, most of the conversation stopped while the patrons sized up this grim-looking stranger. He was Turami, like most of them, but his white hair and blue eyes would stand out anywhere; all around the tavern, glances seemed to slide uncomfortably away from the tiefling. Perhaps he had been recognized -- or perhaps the crowd simply realized that he should not be trifled with.

A small, wiry figure, draped in a hooded cloak even inside the taproom, beckoned him over to his table against the wall. As Amadeo walked over, he heard a few whispers and mutterings of "Shadow Hound". He had heard the epithet before -- he was a known Shadowmaster and a "hound" of the Church of Mask, credentials that kept even the most troublesome ruffians out of his way. More often, these days, when a rogue approached him, it was to recruit him rather than to challenge him or question his presence. It amused him a little to think about how his reputation had spread, but if it enabled him to accomplish his tasks faster, he didn't mind the recognition.

Silently, he sat down across from the cloaked figure, who peered at him from the shadows of his hood.

"We did not meet here," the little man whispered, barely audible.

"But of course." Secrets were Amadeo's business, after all. This particular encounter was to gather information about the activities of Alaghôn's largest assassins' guild; rumors had reached the Church of Mask that this band of assassins had fallen in with followers of Cyric, the Prince of Lies, and their guildmaster -- a priest of Mask! -- had chosen to follow his fattened coffers rather than his sworn tenets.

Amadeo wasn't exactly the most pious of Mask's servants, but this disgusted him. Cyric had long been a rival and foe of Mask, and for a priest to simply allow his flock to enter the service of another god -- especially that god! -- was unthinkable. The church would not tolerate this. Greed was one thing, and the Church of Mask was the second richest in Faerûn for a reason, but betrayal of the faith at this level was something else entirely.

"Do you have names?" Amadeo murmured, his lips barely moving. That was what he had come for -- the names of the turncoat assassins, as well as Cyric's agents among the guild.

The little man nodded and reached into the folds of his cloak. Amadeo's right hand went automatically to the kukri at his side, an instinct that had saved him from more than one surprise attack in settings just like this one.

But the hooded informant blanched at the Seeker's apparent threat and slowly drew out a small scrap of parchment. Seeing both of the man's hands above the table, Amadeo relaxed slightly and took the parchment, reading it quickly.

"All right." He silently passed a small sack of coins to the rogue, who scooped it up just as quietly. "If you have trouble, go to the church; they will give you sanctuary on my behalf," the assassin instructed, still speaking in a low whisper.

Of course the man was placing himself in clear danger by informing on his guildmates; if it came to the point where he needed the church's safety, they both knew, he might be dead before he could get there. But he had decided to speak out, regardless. Amadeo cynically wondered what his motivation was; the monetary reward was more of a gesture than anything, so what else might be worth the man's life? Perhaps he was more dedicated to the church than most, or perhaps he simply hated Cyric's people. Or just maybe he saw an opportunity to rise in the guild if the Cyric-sympathizers were removed or demoted. But the tiefling didn't really care, so long as he got his needed information. This was a matter for the church proper to figure out.

"I, uh..." The informant looked around furtively, then continued, "I think I should go there now."

So, he suspected that he was already being watched -- quite possibly true. Amadeo sighed mentally, knowing his duty. "I'm going there now, anyway; I can escort you there, if you wish."

The little man nodded, for a moment looking like a child in need of reassurance. Pathetic. He's a guild assassin! Are these Cyricists that fearsome?

"Fine, let's be off, then. I have other appointments to keep." The Seeker stood and made for the door, not waiting for the little man before he stepped out into the twilight.

Of course, Amadeo had expected a sneak attack, as soon as the little rat's fears had been made clear. He swatted two throwing knives out of the air and caught the third between his fingers, throwing it back not at its owner, but at the crossbowman in the window above him. Struck in the throat, the sniper slowly fell back, dropping his crossbow, which fired into the wall with a loud twang.

Not waiting for the knife-thrower to adjust to the new odds, Amadeo called upon his shadow-walking magic, the gift of his guild, and seemingly vanished, to the dismay of his informant. The knife-thrower looked around in a near panic, but when Amadeo finally materialized in the man's own shadow, the fool was completely unprepared.

If this had been a normal inter-guild battle, the tiefling might not have fought with lethal intent, but these were hated Cyricists -- hated by all, not just Mask's people -- and a few less of them in the world was a good thing. Amadeo struck efficiently, his kukri slicing the man's throat from ear to ear.

No further assailants made themselves apparent; the Seeker had to be satisfied with that, for now. "Come, quickly," he called to the miserable informant, who scampered to catch up with his all-too-temporary protector.

There were no other attacks while they made their way to the well-hidden church of Mask in the eastern quarter of the city, but Amadeo's mood was dark. Surely, word of the confrontation in front of the tavern had spread, and while an assessment of the Shadowmaster's prowess might keep some more cautious types from antagonizing him, he would become a target to others -- particularly that sect of Cyricists.

If any of them followed him back to the temple of Sune, things could get ugly, indeed. This would require some thought.

Amadeo was well-acquainted with Alaghôn's small church of Mask; the same man, a crafty, but mostly retired, burglar, had been the High Priest for all of the years the Seeker had known of the place. Accordingly, it was simple enough for him to gain entry by simply showing his face and giving his name. The junior priest at the door -- he looked like a fellow assassin, to Amadeo's trained eye -- let them in and informed them that Marcello was expecting them, so the Seeker led his charge towards the soundproof meeting room adjacent to the tiny chapel.

Despite its shabby, dilapidated exterior, the inside of the church was furnished richly, as was fitting for a branch of one of the richest religions in Faerûn. The place looked like an infrequently lived-in second home of a wealthy merchant with a penchant for expensive objets d'art. Amadeo wondered, not for the first time, how many of these pieces were stolen, and how many were honestly bought. Knowing the typical Maskarran, it was probably a pretty even mix.

He was unsurprised to find Marcello, a wiry man perhaps twice the assassin's age, already sitting at the hardwood table in the meeting room, smoking a pipe of Thayan tobacco. Amadeo bowed and directed the informant into one of the tall, elegant chairs.

"Welcome back to Alaghôn, young Amadeo," Marcello said, gesturing for the Seeker to seat himself. "I understand you've arranged some interesting accommodations for this visit."

Of course, the priest would make note of the fact that Amadeo was lodging in the house of another faith. Before the assassin answered that comment, he handed over the scrap of parchment the informant had given him.

"Ah-ha, names. Capital, my boy. I trust that this is your source?" the priest asked, looking up at the nervous little man.

"Yes, sir. We were attacked exiting our meeting place, so I expect he may need some protection."

"Ah, yes, of course." Marcello waved for the informant to exit the room. "Go on, young Paolo out there will sort you out."

Hesitantly, the man rose from his chair and looked to Amadeo, who nodded. "Th-thank you, sir," he stammered as he backed out of the room. The junior priest, presumably Paolo, spoke to him and pushed the door closed, leaving the Marcello and the Seeker in silence.

"How determined did the Cyricists seem?" Marcello asked, looking at Amadeo keenly.

"There were only two in the ambush, but I believe they were not expecting me," the assassin answered, with no hint of pride. "I eliminated them both, but there is a chance that they had allies who simply did not show themselves."

"Of course. Well, we'll get to work on this immediately," the priest said with a nod. "Another job well done, my boy. I'll send my compliments to Evander."

Evander Westlin, the Maskarran high priest in Teflamm and the leader of the Shadowmasters, was doubly Amadeo's direct superior. He took pride in his Seeker, and perhaps rightfully so, since he had undertaken much of Amadeo's training himself. Amadeo no longer craved his mentor's approval -- not since he was a child -- but he did take satisfaction in a job well done. He nodded in thanks to the master thief.

"So, do tell me, young Amadeo, why are you staying in the temple of Sune?" Marcello chuckled as he refilled his pipe. "You've never struck me as the self-indulgent type."

"I've been traveling with a minstrel -- I protect him on the road, and he acts as my cover," the Seeker explained matter-of-factly. That was the true enough, although it was an oversimplification. He certainly had no intention of discussing his more nebulous, emotional reasons for keeping company with Andelis.

"Ahh." The priest nodded in understanding. "Clever. I doubt many would suspect a master assassin traveling with a Sunite songster!"

Amadeo put on a smug little smile. "Indeed. But, speaking of the temple, I think I may need a disguise and a different exit to get out of here," he said more seriously. "I don't need those damned Cyricists following me there."

"Of course," Marcello agreed. "We can send you down into the sewers and out at Fox Street, and a disguise is easier done than said."

The assassin nodded; Fox Street intersected with the large avenue where the temple of Sune was situated. But the sewers! He restrained a grin. It was a perfectly normal mode of travel for a guild thief, but the reaction from Andelis (or, likely, any of the Sunites) would probably be quite comical.

"Do you have anything else to report?" the priest was asking. Amadeo shook his head. "All right. Let's get you out of here."

A half-hour later, the Seeker stood on the steps of the temple of Sune, his way to the door blocked by a young novice.

"I'm sorry, sir, but the temple is closed to the public after nightfall," she said, her voice remarkably steady in the face of the dark-clad, imposing figure in front of her. Indeed, with most of his head and face covered, and an ugly cutlass tucked into his belt, Amadeo looked more like a thug now than ever.

"I am a guest of the temple," he said, his voice muffled by the cloth across his nose and mouth. "Ask after me with the Lady Emalia, or with the minstrel Andelis; he is the one whom I serve." That was harder to say out loud than he had thought, but of course, the girl couldn't see his annoyed expression.

She couldn't just leave her post to go ask, so she reached behind the frame of the door and rang a little, chiming bell. "I'm sorry, sir, but I really must check..."

Amadeo nodded patiently. If I was really here to cause trouble, however, she would already be dead. The simple unwariness of most people never failed to astonish him.

In a moment, they were joined by an underpriestess. She gave Amadeo a suspicious look as the novice explained the situation to her, then nodded. "Simple enough. We'll do a Discern Lies spell."

Only years of iron control kept Amadeo's eyes from widening in surprise and dismay. Oh gods, no. Half of everything he and Andelis had told the priestesses were lies -- this could turn sour very quickly.

But the underpriestess was already casting the spell, while the novice seemed to be in some gesticulating communication with someone further inside. Amadeo could do nothing but silently grind his teeth and hope that the questions the woman asked would be safe to answer.

The first question, however, crumbled that hope. "Do you, in fact, serve honored Andelis?" the woman asked, cutting straight to the point.

Damnation! "No," he said reluctantly, earning a stare from the underpriestess. "I'm not his servant."

"Indeed," came Andelis's voice as the minstrel stepped through the doorway, a small flock of temple folk behind him. "He's my lover."

Amadeo felt the blood drain from his face, but Andelis wasn't the one in the grip of the lie-detection spell, and the Sunites were all tittering in amusement, even his interrogator. Grinning smugly, the minstrel beckoned for him to enter the temple, and now none barred his way.

"Will you be joining us for the evening meal?" one of the priestesses asked as Andelis started to lead Amadeo away.

"Of course -- after a suitable interval to make ourselves presentable," the minstrel cooed, sending half of the women into giggles again. Amadeo shook his head, half amused and half disgusted. While the assassin could do with a change of clothes, Andelis looked immaculate, and his implication for the true purpose of the "interval" was clear enough.

"I am going to strangle you," he whispered as they walked down the hall to their room.

"If you must, but I've a few other places I'd prefer your hands besides my throat," Andelis retorted with a wicked grin, knowing he already had the tiefling off-balance.

Amadeo, his face growing hot behind his concealing mask, had no reply.

- Part IV