In celebration of the re-release of my Falhorne novels this year, I look back to where it all began - Chapter 3 of my debut novel. (Read the Prologue here)
“Gormani take them…”
Tagus clutched the sealed parchment roll tighter in his hand and quickened his pace.
Behind him, the market had emptied and the bells continued to ring out over the squalid tenements of the Ox Guts and the Asylum’s dank hovels beyond as the city’s churches and the pinnacles of the new cathedral joined their hateful noise with the belfry of the guildhall. The Day of Blood had come.
He could hear the distant drone of hymns as he walked, dodging past the few people who remained on Silo Street. The enemies of his people would be out in force today, and, as had been the case since the days of Ishan the Founder, it would be up to the Falhorne to ensure their protection.
“I will be back, my love,” he had told Corrie that morning, caressing one of her pale cheeks. “We have faced this day so many times, it will be fine.”
“Too many times,” she had whispered back, “More than seven hundred times. And how many deaths and losses over seven hundred days across seven hundred years. I don’t want it to be my husband this time.”
She had kissed him again before pressing her face to his shoulder. Tagus had kissed her on the forehead, and gently slid his fingers down the skin of her back. They were almost the same height, the two of them, standing barefoot on the splintered floorboards of her attic room.
“And I do not want it to be my wife, either,” he had whispered in her ear.
“Then promise me we’ll live,” she had said sharply, “That we’ll hold each other in a sleep without nightmares.”
It was a promise that she knew he could never make. He might have died already on Fire Day if the noble Sir Cosimo, who had mistaken him for a wayward slave, had had his way. But now there were more lethal threats to be feared. Vitus had given him the message before departing to the royal court. It was an urgent warning. And, as the mid-morning sun climbed high over the tenement roofs and shot blades of light into the dingy alleyways between them, he saw that the warning had come too late. Far too late.
The gateway to the Asylum pierced what was once the external wall of Fiore city, before the ancient metropolis had expanded its sprawling bulk down the gentle slope toward the waters of the River Tio. It was crowded with white robes. The pungent scent of incense blocked the filth of the streets from his nostrils and he could identify the hateful words of the Gloria Invicta Solaris rising into the stagnant air. Even though he could not see him in the press of bodies, Tagus knew that Theophilus had returned. Just as Vitus had predicted.
He forced himself to keep moving forward, though fear was rising in his chest. Squinting against the glare, he picked out a dozen priests of Solar Dominatus, their identities given away by the gilded tassels on their belts and the sign of the four-pointed sun emblazoned on their muddy white robes. But this time they had not come alone. They were leading their congregation in prayer, which must have been at least two hundred strong, strung out along Silo Street in a vast procession of hooded figures, some of them bearing gilded standards and richly patterned banners bearing the sign of the Almighty Sun, sagging beneath a windless sky. Sol, the Sky Lord, was making his disfavor plainly known to the servants of the Betrayer.
Now Tagus could hear the shouting from beneath the gateway. It was the Day of the Almighty Sun, and Church processions were to be held throughout the city. But this particular procession of the Most High’s faithful was attempting to enter the narrow lanes of the Asylum, from which they were permanently barred under the terms of the Treaty. They had been attempting such an incursion for the past three years. It was the ultimate insult to the rights of those who remained faithful to the Old Gods, for whom the Asylum was their sovereign domain under royal authority.
A lone black figure, Tagus elbowed his way through the press of churchmen and their followers. The tall robed figure of Brother Tarquinus and his gaunt olive-hued face soon came into view beneath the arch, standing at the head of a rough wedge of armed watchmen. The bulky leathered form of Skarlos could be seen at his right, while the lithe twins, Remus and Valens, stood to his left in their rough jerkins. Even old Arbaces was there, though he had officially retired from the Watch last year. His wrinkled face grim as he fingered the hilt of his ancient sword, an aging and tarnished breastplate hanging awkwardly from his torso.
None of the five defenders had raised their weapons. Yet they remained on conspicuous display, especially in the case of Tarquinus, whose great sword ran down his back, its tip almost touching the cobblestones. Skarlos held his mighty axe in full iron door, as he had on Fire Day.
Tagus noticed that the presence of the city guard had decreased significantly. Only two guardsmen, bearing long pikes rather than billhooks, and clad in the same golden lion livery of Prince Chero, stood impassively between the shouting Tarquinus and the irate priest that was facing him. Tagus had to force his way past three more of the white-garbed supplicants before he was able to stand beside his brethren and truly see what they were up against.
Almost immediately, he noticed two things: The bishop and the men-at-arms. Theophilus, as predicted, was standing at the fore, his staff of office taller than the man himself. Although this time he was letting his lackeys do the ranting.
But that was not what made Tagus’s heart sink and every sinew of his body tense.
Amidst the throng of white-robes, the bright light easily caught the glint of steel. There were at least half-a-dozen men behind the bishop with armor under their vestments. A glance at the gilded sun talismans about their necks left no doubt as to their identities. They were Templars of the Host, the same knights of the Church that the Falhorne had fought ten years ago at Fallonier Fields. Now they were at the very gates of the Asylum and threatening its people. Far from the loud-mouthed priests and unarmed throngs of past years, this was an invasion.
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