Madman's Gambit - Part 3

Church Sanctorum

Lucinova, Casteria

~

The Sanctorum refectory was a bleak and dimly lit space. Oftentimes, he would catch some comment or another from a newly ordained brother, comparing it to some barbarian, Krovic feast hall. The joke was entirely on them - Angelus knew it right well - but he couldn't speak out in defense of his homeland. Even if the vivid memories of Krovic holidays were stirred.

They were impossible to forget entirely - Krovic celebrations were lively affairs. If the stringed instruments of the Mad Lands were not being plucked into spirited jigs, the whimsical and otherworldly whistles of the Dreyfnije flutes were provoking dance or song. The dark colored woods would be decked with bright clothes and ribbons. Hundreds of candles were lit, to give the illusion of daytime - even when the merriment carried on deep into the night. For the sake of Deus, any holiday - big or small - would grant a foreigner a chance to see at least one bear, and an unchained one at that. Who chains their dearest family pets, after all? And the food...

There was absolutely nothing bleak about a Krovic feast. Sanctorum food, on the other hand, might as well have been flavorless mule shit, though, that was the last thing Angelus needed to ponder as he carried his porridge towards the south wall of the refectory. At an otherwise empty table sat Praefectus Diego.

It was not customary for lowly Brothers to sit beside the exulted Praefectae, but learning of the fate of his family was far more important to Angelus than the useless etiquette of the church.

"Praefectus," he greeted, taking a seat to the right of Diego.

The old man looked up and, after a moment of coasting his gaze over Angelus' face, offered a tempered smile.

"Brother Angelus, good evening."

"Good evening to you, as well."

"And how was your time of reflection?" Diego asked with no sense of urgency.

Ineffectual. Mind numbing. Find a rusty spoon to gauge out an eye kind of sensation.

"Enlightening. I offered my thanks to Pater Deus, that I was blessed enough to have been provided a church senior who cares for not only the wellbeing of myself, but of my relatives, as well."

The old man chuckled.

"Hopefully your prayers did not revolve only around me, child."

Angelus exhaled an amused breath.

"No, master, I also gave my thanks for the safety of Nikolai."

"Master." Diego repeated the word as if pondering it. "My, has it been a while since someone has referred to me as that. But Brother Angelus, while memories of the past can be a blissful escape in times of longing or suffering, all must come to an end. Henceforth, I am no longer your master, nor any sort of spiritual guide or guardian. I am merely a man, and because of this, I must implore you to refer to me only as Brother Diego."

Angelus furrowed his brow. As liberal as Diego was with his ideologies, doing such a thing would be a direct violation of the Church Canon.

"I couldn't possibly do that, Praefectus." Or, rather, he could, but he didn't want to face the wrath of the rack. "'All must provide title to Elders of Church, without hesitation and without fail. For, those who do not, are faced with the severest of-'"

"Brother Angelus," Diego interjected. "I always admired the way you utilized scripture as a weapon against the clergy."

The younger priest stiffened.

"I do no such thing."

"Oh, come now," his old master scoffed. "Don't play the fool with me." And then, in a hushed tone, he added, "Kazbirati's can always be trusted with taming words and making hypocrites out of the rest."

Angelus looked to Diego with an expression he was not able to suppress in time, spewing the kneejerk response he spat at anyone who was brave enough to bring up the Krovic royal house in his presence.

"I am an Aquiladessi."

At this, his master grimaced, his brow knit tightly.

"For the sake of your life, Brother Angelus," he whispered. "I hope that is not true."

The comment made Angelus' hands go cold.

"Praef-" He cut himself off with a huff, ardent eyes boring into Diego. "Brother Diego, I don't understand what you are... doing, or what you are saying, here."

"The death of your father has struck a fire, and soon it will ignite an explosion of chaos." Diego placed a hand upon the table, indicating the urgency of the statement. "This world around us is far bigger than us, far grander than the Sanctorum, and I fear it is time for you to learn such harrowing truths."

"I don't..." Angelus trailed off, placing his spoon in the porridge he was no longer hungry for. In fact, his stomach was coated in a sour tasting pain. If he didn't know any better, he would've assumed that this was some sort of test - a trial of faith - but those were not the kind of games Diego ever played.

"The things that I am about to tell you, child, will not be easy to face, nor do I expect you to accept them blindly." Diego sighed, looking down at his hands, as if he was the sole cause of all of this confusion. When he continued, there was no hesitation in his words. Angelus had never seen an elder of the church this flustered, let alone the ever-steady Praefectus of Medicine. "Nevertheless, the knowledge will come, and at speeds that will either fell you or bolster you - the decision of which it will be, child, is yours."

"Brother Diego..." Angelus wasn't sure what he was trying to say - or if there was anything at all. Perhaps it was just his instinct, trying to get his master to stop saying all of these bewildering things - not because he was frightened by them, but because he was exhilarated.

"This church was founded on the ideals of a beloved and just god, but it is infested with rats of many colors." The blasphemy spilled from the master's mouth so effortlessly. "As is the entire West Continent herself. Perception is never to be trusted."

"You speak of duplicity, Brother Diego," Angelus countered. "But you have yet to tell me what any of this has to do with my father's death."

The old priest put down his spoon and turned his body to face his old apprentice.

"King Bozhidar was the political linchpin of the entire West Continent. Despite the madness that plagued him, he singlehandedly held together the spokes of this massive wheel - and gave them sufficient space apart from one another. He was a genius, your father. His relationship with your mother solidified peace at the Tomiti border and his open dialogue with Praxicles deterred any idea of favoritism toward one or the other- along with his refusal to enter the Casterian Conflict. To the west, Bozhidar fostered relations with Vukland by instating an embassy for them within the very walls of the Krovic capital. And one mustn't forget the bond the Kazbirati's formed with the Dreyfnije, who, themselves, have their reaches all the way out to the Khamgalian Khanate in the East Continent."

It was true. Angelus knew of his father's brilliance - but not quite to this extent. Most exploits of his were written off as strokes of luck in Casterian literature and it wasn't as if Angelus believed them to be true, word for word, but more so that he didn't have the opportunity to discern every fine line and detail.

"Now, with Bozhidar gone, there is nothing capable of keeping every spoke in its proper place," Diego concluded. "Not without bloodshed, at least."

Bloodshed? Angelus narrowed his eyes, suddenly quite aware that they were not the same golden color as his brothers - aside, of course, from Nikolai.

"I pray you speak boldly, Brother Diego, for my mind pulls towards notions that don't seem in conduct with the teachings of the Sanctorum."

The old priest hummed contemplatively.

"Do you know," he posed eventually. "Why men necessitate a peaceful, kind god, child?"

"Forgiveness."

It was an existential question he considered often, since the Krovic gods possessed no such softness of character. The answer, though, was one that was provided to Angelus by a vengeful vicar after he was reprimanded by fifty lashes and twenty hours of kneeling reflection.

Brother Diego nodded. "Forgiveness, indeed. Men are not peaceful creatures. Conflict is in their very bones. They are born with it, and if they don't die from it, they die with it. True peace can only be found through the merciful gift of death, when the soul ascends to the warm and welcoming embrace of Pater Deus."

Angelus placated Diego by bringing two fingers to his forehead, and then to his heart, but for naught, as the old man seemed unmoved by the display of faith.

"He accepts the fact that our constant conflicts are inevitable, for why else would he offer endless forgiveness? Transgressions do not spring from peace."

"Are you implying," Angelus began, appraising Diego's expression. "That there are proper justifications for transgressions against god?"

"Not justification, child – necessity. The death of your father - may his soul now rest in eternal peace – has initiated your submergence into the shadowed realm of this world. You are both a Kazbirati and an Aquiladessi - an heir to two very powerful kingdoms."

The more he spoke, the more confused Angelus became, and yet, the anticipation was invigorating.

"I wanted to wait for confirmation, before imparting... disagreeable news to you, Angelus - especially if it was only speculatory - but time is now of the essence."

"Confirmation for what, Brother Diego?" Angelus pressed.

"The ascension of your brother, Rens."

The priest's stomach turned to led. "The… ascension…"

"The emperor of Casteria has made it his duty to place the blood of Aquiladessi on the Krovic throne."

"What of Nikolai?" Brother Angelus demanded. "What of his right? His… his earned crown? What of that?"

"He has no right to the crown, according to your grandfather," Diego reminded.

The very words made Angelus seethe. What did his grandfather know of Krovic Law? No, this had nothing to do with inherent right - it had to do with personal profit. And Nikolai in a position of power was no more of a profit to him than Angelus freed from the cloth, where he could strike significant damage to the honor of the Aquiladessi name.

"And according to Krovic law," Diego continued. "Succession is not singular, and thus, every child with Kazbirati blood has a gods-given right to the crown. This includes you."

"Me?" He demanded. "I would not be braindead enough to get between Nikolai and that throne. It is his, and I quite enjoy my life."

Diego hummed.

"Nikolai is the kind of soul that is made but once in an eternity. It is out of necessity and desperation, and it is so convoluted with superior faculties that its suffering is inevitably immense."

Angelus grimaced. "What do you know of Nikolai, Brother Diego?"

"I know that you hold a greater affection for him than you do for your maternal relatives." The old man seized his gaze and studied him earnestly. "And I know that Pater Deus made you this way because he knew that, in the end, this will keep you alive. My associate in Mechigra tells me of the child's brilliance - brilliance that trumps his father's, brilliance that would have him flayed for devilry in Casteria."

"An associate?" It sounded odd coming from the Praefectus' lips - since when did the church utilize spies?

"When your brother Rens demands the throne," Diego continued, dismissing his inquiry. "Nikolai will do one of two things - kill him or retreat. Either way, it will cause an uproar that will spiral into an egregious war, the likes of which this continent hasn't witnessed for millennia. We must ride out at the hour of the wolf, Brother Angelus, north towards the Duchy of Tomiti and learn of Nikolai's intentions."

"We're leaving the Sanctorum?" Angelus hissed the question, leaning towards his master so as not to draw too much unwanted attention with his outburst.

Diego placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing the muscle a bit harder than necessary - it was enough to put Angelus' anxieties at a temporary bay.

"As I said," he pressed on, surveying the young priest. "There is more to this wretched world than meets the eye. There are powerful shadow beings at work who may find your youngest brother a problem that needs sorting, or worse, talent worth seducing."

Angelus creased his brow. "Shadow beings, Brother?"

"Terrifying ones," Diego agreed, ending the conversation where it began. "We must pray your brother is willing to divulge his stratagem."

"What of your associate?" Angelus questioned. "Wouldn't he know of Nikolai's plans?"

"I'm sure he does," Diego replied. "But not a single word of it will pass his lips."

"A spy more loyal to the subject than the master?" It came off far snider than he intended, so Angelus decided to supplement with an apologetically meek counterquestion. "Who is he, Brother Diego?"

The old master turned to face back to his porridge and mechanically returned to his meal.

"Who else, child, but Praefectus Vitale?"