Book Four – Interlude – Part One – The Captain’s Worries

It took Fisher about fifty minutes to get from Buncombe Street to the noble district and then another thirty or so minutes to get to his actual destination. In terms of wealth and overall value, the affluent ward of nobles didn’t have any competitors. Houses were often two to three stories tall and filled with the finest luxuries on top of having personal guards. In fact, quite a few homes had two or three gates that one had to pass through. Some chose to go further and hired different security companies for each gate.  

It was frightening to see what the super-rich did with their unimaginable wealth. But Fisher thought it was better to spend money on security and houses than slaves. From what he had seen in his meetings and patrols, a few of the more ‘unfriendly’ families flaunted their cash by buying the prettiest slaves on the market. Even if they had to be ferried from Adenaford. Sometimes, they were imported from one of the two neighboring countries. In either case, they were paraded around like exotic trophies while draped in lavish fabrics. In return, they often led easy lives while enduring the wrenching task of making sure their owners never tire of them. If that happened, they said goodbye to safety and hello to poverty with unwelcoming eyes. 

During his walk down the impeccably clean streets, bypassing sharply dressed citizens in the softest lace and shiniest silk, Fisher waved to all he saw. He needed to keep a friendly and welcoming face since he was responsible for everyone’s safety. He even bit his lip and waved towards a family that was out to soak up the sun in the nearby park. There was nothing wrong with that, but what muddled the atmosphere was the aforementioned exotic slaves. It was two of them. A brother and a sister, with skin the color of dirt and sharp, pointy ears on their heads. But they were so young that they didn’t know what was going on. In their eyes, they just looked up towards the two Human-shaped angels that rescued them from a life of pain and hunger. The brother didn’t know he and his sister were being used as a status symbol of overextravagant wealth. If such a life was happening to them when they were less than six years old, then what horrors would befall them later on. It was in those situations that an Elf’s unnaturally long lifespan became more a curse than a blessing.  

To Fisher, it was sick and disgusting to use slaves, even worse if they were children, as a way of bragging about a family's financial security. Still, he kept a perfect smile and continued to walk to his destination. He wasn’t happy about it, though. 

When the orphanage is finished, it’ll fix that abandonment problem. But that’s just treating the symptoms rather than the cause. There has to be a way to completely destroy this awful practice, though.  

Once he turned a corner and found it devoid of people, he sighed. An air of annoyance passed his dry lips. Then his eyes laid on a building he wanted to refer to as a ‘palace of waste.’ Four stories tall, this large structure was the second biggest church in Lando. The only one larger resided in Adenaford, but by no means did this ‘holy embarrassment,’ in Fisher’s eyes, lack a feverish display of hoarded wealth.  

Solid white marble made up the church's overall design, which alone nearly quadrupled the cost of the building’s construction than if the designer had gone with regular bricks. But it wasn’t just marble. It was purified marble, which was stronger, shinier, and more difficult to manufacture.

Four massive 20-meter steeples, each with a mythril bell located inside an exquisite belfry, outfitted with the latest in bell-ringing technology, created an aura of oppressiveness that threatened to swallow those with weak minds. Whenever the winds blew harsh enough to send them ringing, they nearly sounded like the crackle of thunder. When lightning cascaded across the darkened sky, their frightful flashes illuminated the shadow-colored spires. The top of each of these spires contained the holy symbol of the Church of the Heavens Above, which was a series of circles linked together inside a diamond. 

The four towers had many windows to glance out of if one wanted to marvel at Canary’s skyline. It was a strikingly vivid experience to see the warm, crimson glow of the horizon as the sun went off to rest. In terms of aesthetics, the four had discordant circles and rigid squares etched into the blackened stone. The designs were zealous, almost to the point of being the result of a bout of hallucination or a fit of madness, yet that craziness didn’t overpower the architect’s original feeling. These four towers were later added on by a different developer during the church’s renovations, which was a waste of money.  

A single stained-glass window was installed right under the first balcony, of which this structure had three of. It depicted a holy figure with a robe of pure light. With their hands outstretched to the heavens above, it was clear that the artwork’s meaning was to impart the advantages of praying. The areas underneath the second and third balconies were empty, but that was only because the previous governor had died before signing the church’s alternation permits.  

Usually, a person or group wouldn’t have to go so far as to request permission to make minor changes to something they owned, and the church did outright own this building, but Parrel was a greedy man. After seeing how much money would have passed him by the constant upgrades happening around the noble district, he signed into a law stating that businesses that made over a certain amount of dupla each year would have to pay an extra tax. It did extend to the wealthy and their outrageously expensive homes, but outrage and pushback forced Parrel to dial it back a bit. He also needed to grease a few palms with the added income, but in his mind, that bribery was a necessary evil. And businesses did try to fight back, but by then, Canary had grown too big and prosperous to ignore.  

Between making 0 dupla and millions of dupla, the vast majority of commercialized businesses chose the latter. And it wasn’t like most of them could pack up and leave. Moving to an entirely different town, one that was lesser in both wealth and stature than Canary, was going to be difficult since the only other flourishing city was the capital, Adenaford. And that would have meant applying for a whole different set of permits and paying for expensive licenses. Of course, Parrel knew that most businesses wouldn’t have survived in transporting their goods hundreds of kilometers to a less-than-ideal location in a crowded city filled with people already loyal to their favorite stores.  

When Fisher first heard about the decree, he didn’t want to think that it was all planned from the beginning, but Parrel’s gross grin told a different tale. Now that he had thought about it, the captain wondered if the generous tax breaks Parrel offered to new businesses was just another way to trap them within Canary’s walls. 

It was ironic how the city named after a bird became a birdcage in and of itself. Though the church didn’t have that restriction. Since they enjoyed an exemption from paying taxes, they didn’t have to pay any fee at all if they wanted an alternation permit. However, as a formality, one needed to be signed since that was the law.  

Really, it would seem like the governor wouldn’t have had that much executive power. If anything, such a broad and controversial law would have to be passed by a senate or congress, but that was where Canary differed from any other city. In Canary, the governor technically had power akin to a dictator. Nearly a decade prior, Keywater had attempted a stealthy invasion of Lando, but it was stopped. In actuality, it was a false-flag operation that happened under cover of night for the sole purpose of putting pressure on Lando since it held something the emperor desperately wanted.  

It all played out as if it was a carefully constructed play. A Keywater loyalist immigrated to Lando about 20 years prior to Parrel taking governorship of Canary. Once there, this loyalist was to rise through the ranks until he had a worthy position in Lando’s military. It took many years, but this soldier was fiercely loyal to his emperor. Even if the mission took a hundred years, he would have done it without a care.  It was strenuous, though. This chosen agent endured the false life he was given, even coming to terms with the paper-thin friendships and relationships he had made along the way.  

Finally, 20 years after leaving behind his family, it was time to launch a faux invasion. Under the cover of night, this turncoat launched an attack on a village located about 50 kilometers past the northern Keywater-Lando border. Flashes of fire illuminated the air, the smell of smoke filled the air, and the raging orange flames of war could be seen for tens of kilometers. It practically lit up the docile night sky with excitement and passion. 

How did this turncoat find men loyal enough to go to war? He had to create his own faction that believed in ideals that weren’t his own. Ideas that were extremist enough to ostracize anyone sane since he needed to become the leader of a force that dared not ask any questions. The loyalist picked and clawed at society’s dredges to find those who had lost it all, then gave them something to believe in by channeling their depression into hatred.  

Right when the loyalist and his tricked soldiers were celebrating, the foreign agent felt that something wasn’t right. After a bit of investigating a nearby house, which hadn’t burnt to the ground, he discovered the impossible.  

The mission statement he had received said the houses would be empty and that there would be jars of pig guts he could spread around to make it seem as if the village was populated.

His contact in Keywater had lied for years whenever it was time to check-in, and the loyalist actually committed treason by slaughtering his fellow countrymen in their sleep. The betrayal clawed at his mind like ravenous rats trapped within a cage. In a rage, he drew his blade and slaughtered the loyal men that came with him in hopes of being forgiven. 

Two acts of betrayal had played out, and before the night came to an end, there would have been a third. As if this whole song and dance had been practiced to perfection, a division of Keywater’s military teleported onto the village outskirts. It took them seconds to gain control of the situation, including a bloody, dazed, and perplexed loyalist.  

Hours later, a messenger bearing the Keywater imperial symbol was sent to Adenaford with details of the ‘invasion.’ Since the loyalist had risen to the rank of Colonel, the king couldn’t shake it off as some hot-blooded youth who had something to prove because he had placed a medal of honor upon the loyalist’s chest months prior. To say that the king and his advisors were thrown into chaos would have been the biggest understatement of the decade. With hasty breaths and sweaty palms, the king and his sharpest minds agreed to negotiations in a neutral location under the curtain of utmost secrecy. 

The emperor had a staunch list of demands that the king had no choice but to accept, but two of the conditions were odd. First of all, the king had to pick a city for one of the emperor’s children to run. Said child would have absolute control over the area. In terms of allegiance, on paper, it was still a part of Lando. In secrecy, however, it definitely belonged to the empire.  

Befuddlement blanketed the king’s face during those strenuous negotiations, but he could not refuse because the militaristic might of Keywater threatened to flood Lando in a baptism of flame and death. Canary was but a shell of the thriving, flourishing city it was now known for, so that was an easy choice to give away something that only brought pain and bad news. The second demand that didn’t make sense was a ‘gift’ that was to be delivered later, and it had to be looked after. Other than that, the other concessions were the standard restitution that often came when conflict came to an end, but they were barely more than what a farmer made in a year.  

The king knew something was amiss, but he truthfully lacked the manpower to negotiate back and refuse the demands because Keywater was a military empire. In terms of strength, it went them, Westera, and then Lando. The only advantage Lando had was its vast, plentiful, and healthy farmlands. The kingdom made most of its money through food, and nearly every living person needed food to survive. In a sense, it was an excellent bargaining tool, but one that had to be trodden carefully.   

The information about all of this was only known by a handful of people, and Fisher wasn’t one of them. Details of this stressful time would not have been written into any records. And in all of the chaos, only Virin Keywater, the all-powerful emperor himself, knew the method to his madness. Though by this point, very few people had suspected the emperor was suffering from some sickness of the mind.  

Later historians who were privy to his sexual assaults on the Imperial Guard’s captain regarded this decaying of his mind as the reason he committed treason against the leader of the group responsible for his protection. Was it true? Was it falsified? Not a single person knew, but what could they do against the most powerful man on Gea, who arguably commanded the most powerful nation in the world?  A word from him and a dissenter could disappear as if they had never existed in the first place.  

Fisher sighed a second time and started to ascend the stairs to reach the front door of a place he had negative feelings about. He stared at the spot above the entrance, his eyes glued to the magnificent arches that danced all around. Below that, surrounding his destination, was a set of shiny pilasters. Their smooth surfaces had been carved into with a language the captain couldn’t read. If he could, he’d have known it was a prayer of protection to ask the Gods to watch over their holy building.  

Finally, he reached the top and went to turn the handle on the solid marble door. It opened before he had a chance to touch it, and a business suit-wearing Dwarf hobbled his way out while not-so-gently shutting the door behind him.. “Don’t even think about coming in if ye ain’t got an appointment. It’s just a big ole waste of time…” He grumbled on for a few more seconds before waddling down the stairs. The captain only proceeded to grasp the handle and entered for himself.  

Inside, Fisher stepped from out the harsh sun into a wonderfully cool room. It was like the waiting room of a doctor’s office, only it was spacious and large, with more than fifty chairs set up. Pretty carpet lined the floor, and the walls had quite a few religious-like paintings that were supposed to depict the creation of the world.  

There was a rather large desk to the side, and four people were sitting behind it. One was a woman with hair that was on the cusp of turning gray, and the others were three young bald boys in white robes. The boys had their heads buried in a book of scripture and didn’t look up. The woman did, though, and she greeted the captain by name and with a pleasant smile. He asked to see Bishop Nicholas, the man in charge of the church.  

“Usually, we require all visitors to make an appointment beforehand, but I believe we can make an exception for you, Captain Fisher. Bishop Nicholas doesn’t have anything going on, so he should be in his office. Michael, would kindly escort our proud captain?” asked the woman. Michael, the middle one, immediately closed his book, greeted Fisher with a bow, and escorted him through the leftmost opened door. He tried to make small talk, but the boy just remained quiet, almost as if he wasn’t allowed to utter a single sound. He led Fisher through a few different hallways, bypassing an open set of double doors that gave the captain a sneak peek at just one of the many luxurious worship rooms. It was just a glimpse, but his jaw wanted to drop to the floor.  

Exquisite cherry hardwood made up the floor, while the 40 rows of pews were carved out of wood imported from the Divine Principality of Tobris, the country that housed the church’s headquarters. There was also a rather large stage with a Voice Loudner slotted into the center. Golden silk drapes hung down above the stage, providing much-needed color in a room full of brown. It also closed off the area backstage, hiding whatever was there from sight.   

Beautiful lights hung down from chains attached to the ceiling, but the most striking centerpiece of all was the glorious chandelier. Made out of pure glass, it shimmered in the overabundant radiance, sparkling as if it was a bright star in the dark sky. Whenever light was cast down through the chandelier’s column, the prisms on the end of each arm would glow as if it housed a rainbow, sending glimmers of spots across the ceiling. It really did make for a pretty sight, especially when it was the dead of the night. If one was to lay down and stare up, it would almost be the same if laying down under the night sky. 

There was far more to the room than that, like the delicate carvings on the pillars to either side of the door across the room, or the ancient tapestries that depicted the birth of the Gods and Goddesses, but there just wasn’t enough time for Fisher to properly analyze it all. He wanted to, of course, since he was a man who immediately scanned everything he saw. Since he couldn’t do that, he made sure to properly scout out the priests and nuns he passed by, internally calculating their threat level by the way they carried themselves. It wasn’t something out of malice, and it wasn’t a foreboding hint of violence. This analysis was just something a younger, bloodier Fisher had to do to survive, and the instinct followed him into fatherhood.   

His close examination also revealed a rather subtle smell… He was faint, but it was there, though it wasn’t enough to be overly concerned about.  

About thirty seconds later, Michael left Fisher in front of a door that had the nameplate ‘Nicholas Constantius’ beside it. Without making a sound, the young bald boy gave a small bow and made his way back to the lobby through the winding hallways. 

He didn’t say a single thing… How odd… With a small sigh, Fisher gave the door a few knocks and adjusted his armor.  

“Yes, come on in,” replied an experienced voice. Fisher turned the handle and opened the door. Like everything else he had seen, this room wasn’t lacking for much. The main thing he immediately noticed was the size of the office. It was nearly twice as large as the headquarter’s biggest meeting room. The desk in the back, which sat in front of a window draped with blackout curtains to block the light, was at least two meters long. It was littered with papers that needed to be read, documents concerning the upcoming festival that must be signed, and letters to be mailed.

To the left was a massive display case, which only held two items. One was an iron scepter, and while it looked plain and generic in every which way, it had the distinction of being the home of a rather large jewel that was in the shape of the church’s symbol. The outer diamond was carved out of a ruby found after a volcano had erupted. The interlocking circles, likewise, were cut from a sapphire that was discovered after a terrible flood had wiped out a seaside city. Both events happened well over two hundred years ago, but proof of their existences were right in front of Fisher’s eyes.  

Not that he knew anything about that, however. To him, he just saw a somewhat fancy scepter and a leather-bound book, the second item in the display case, which also had the church’s symbol carved onto the cover. Both were important to the church, but Fisher didn’t know how or why. And rightly, he didn’t particularly care.  

The man behind the desk, Nicholas Constantius, was around fifty-five years of age. The sleeves of his black bishop robe swept across the desk’s surface as he put the finishing touches on a letter. He looked up as he returned his quill to its holder, then smiled at his unexpected visitor. Standing up, he held out a slightly wrinkled hand. The red stole hanging around his neck danced back and forth. Fisher walked forward and gave the bishop a fair and proper handshake, and it was then he noticed the man he came to meet had a strong grip. He could feel it through his armor.  

This Nicholas Constantius wasn’t nearly as weak as his somewhat frail appearance led the captain to believe.  

“Captain Fisher, it’s good to see you,” said the bishop. His wrinkled face gave a friendly and reassuring smile. Fisher returned it.  

“And it’s good seeing you, Bishop Constantius.” Fisher had met him a few times in the past, though it was always just a passing hello and goodbye. Not once had he ever had a chance to sit down and talk with the man of holy faith.  

“So, what can I do for you? If I’m remembering right, this is the first time we’ve actually shared more than a sentence or two,” said Nicholas. He sat down and carefully folded his wrinkled hands on the desk. Fisher took a seat in one of the two chairs sitting opposite the table. It was made with exceptional care since it didn’t whisper a squeak of protest under the weight of him and his armor. “You’ve never visited me at the church before. Really, the only times we were in the same location is when the late governor used to hold parties at his mansion. May his soul find peace in the Heavens Above.” Nicholas put his hands together and prayed.  

Fisher wanted to groan, but he wasn’t in the mood to act ‘dishonorable’ even though he knew what a monster the previous governor was. He copied the bishop’s prayer.  

“Bishop Constantius, are you familiar with the church on buncombe street?” Fisher asked when Nicholas had placed his hands back on the desk.  

“I am. If I recall correctly, it was just recently built. And a rather brutish Kobold was assigned to it by the Cardinal in Adenaford. Between you and me, captain, I don’t rightly agree with the Cardinal's decision.”

“Oh?” Fisher was surprised by the bishop’s straightforwardness in his distaste for the sapphire-scaled priest. From what he had seen, the Kobold he had earlier met was pleasant, kind, and full of friendliness. Fisher wanted to press the subject, but that wasn’t why he was here. “Err, never mind that. Do you remember a visit from the Kobold and the members of his church?” 

The bishop nodded his wrinkled head. His eyes stared hard enough to dig a hole in his visitor’s armor. Still, he kept a practiced smile while answering the question. “I do. His visitation to this church is something like a small ritual that’s within the Church of the Heavens Above. Once a priest has their own church and congregation, it is imperative they pay a visit to the head church in their area to receive a blessing and their orders. Before I continue any further, may I ask why you want to know this, Captain Fisher? Does it have anything to do with the incident near one of the gates?” 

“Ah, so you’ve heard about that?” 

Nicholas nodded. “I have. If I’m not mistaken, Jeri and Sea were two guards who suddenly attacked a pair of adventurers, am I right? Word of such an incident spread like wildfire. You do know how chatty people can be, yes? I’d say it was proper news within an hour of it happening.” 

After clearing his throat, Fisher answered. “You’re right. I can’t say anything more than that, but Jeri and Sea’s disturbances were witnessed by many.” 

“I see… And the nature of your visit to learn more about them? I assume you would have all of their information since they do—did—work for you.” 

“I’m not after that, Bishop Constantius. The two suspects were never one for religion. In the years I’ve known Jeri, he never once mentioned anything about the church. And Sea was someone who actively hated the idea of organized faith. Even though she’s blessed, she was an atheist. I was just so surprised that the two of them had started to take it so seriously.”