Page 123 of Reap & Sow

Fane was halfway out of his seat, cheeks pink with pleasure, when a grinding noise filled the templehouse.

Martine Tenelle appeared from the chantry. She marched onto the dais, hand on her sword hilt. Behind her, two burly Blades pushed Mr. Night’s mirror—the Shaws’ mirror—on a wheeled platform. It was crisscrossed with heavy chains, propped up by a supporting strut. The mirror did not shine in the motley light but rather absorbed it in a way clearly unnatural.

Confusion rippled through the crowd. The clerics looked about in alarm. Fane stood deathly still, color leaching from his face.

A man in the front row stood. He was bald and stocky, with an air of authority about him that spoke to his station more than his ceremonial plate armor. “Commander, what is the meaning of this?”

“That’s Grand Marshal Tiernan,” Ben whispered in Eda’s ear. “Highest-ranking Blade in the country. He is the Order.”

“Please forgive the interruption, sir. Your Holiness.” Tenelle bowed to both men in turn. Her face was unrepentant. “I regret that I must sully this most auspicious ceremony with base matters, but I cannot allow corruption and evildoing to be rewarded in the Lordfather’s own house. If I may, Your Grace?” She gestured to the golden lectern.

Quite baffled, the Patriarch nodded and moved back, allowing her to take his place.

“Martine,” Marshal Tiernan warned.

She held up her hand. “I will submit to any and all punishment you deem fitting, Grand Marshal, but not before this congregation hears the accusations I bring forth.” She pointed at Fane. Her voice cracked like a whip. “Bishop Florian Fane has consorted with demons and is responsible for the fiend attacks in this city. This Gateway belongs to him.”

A wave of gasps rolled through the crowd, breaking like sea-foam into whispers and exclamations. Some yelled in outrage. In the margins of the room, Blades shifted uneasily.

The Patriarch gripped his attendant’s arm. The clerics sent looks of disbelief at Tenelle, then at Fane.

“This is outrageous!” the Marshal cried.

To Eda’s surprise, it was High Governor Wolfram who rose to his feet on the other side of the room, hand raised toward the crowd. “Peace, good people. Marshal Tiernan, we must allow the commander to say her piece.”

“She has no such right! This Conclave is sacred!”

“All the more reason to hear any objections to its ruling before a successor is agreed upon.” He raised his voice. “Would you not concur, Your Holiness?”

The Patriarch gaped. “I…Yes, I…”

“My soldiers discovered this Gateway hidden in a saint’s mausoleum, with fiends protecting it. This is how they have infected Blackbridge. Florian Fane was there at the scene, in the dead of night.”

Fane gathered himself. Though pale, his expression fixed upon bafflement. “Commander Tenelle, you are quite confused. Eda Shaw was also there. It was her, the witch, who slaughtered my men. You and your soldiers saw their bodies with your own eyes.” He held his arms out to the crowd. “Have we not all witnessed the way the girl commanded the beasts? How, by my own power, they were sent running?”

“Yes!” the crowd cried back. “Yes, it was her! It was the Shaw girl!”

Eda sank into her seat. Her heart thundered.

“Why would I, a man of faith, harm my fellow priests?”

The crowd bellowed in agreement, incensed.

Tenelle said, “You have long used Eda Shaw as a scapegoat for these atrocities. I, too, was once convinced of her guilt. But I see now that you are more than capable of slaying the innocent, Bishop, in order to accomplish what you’ve always wanted—the adoration of an entire city and a council of clerics to ensure your ascension to Patriarch.”

She beheld the seething crowd and cried, “This man has lied to us all since arriving here. It is my supposition that Bishop Fane made a bargain with a demon, using this mirror, in order to set the fiends upon us. They answer his call. Can any here claim to not wonder how, exactly, a common bishop can turn away evil with a mere wave of his hand?” Among the cries of anger, some looked at one another warily. The air swirled with outrage and unease and confusion.

“That is all you have?” Marshal Tiernan said. “A hypothesis? You have no evidence!”

“I have no irrefutable proof; that is true.” From inside her tunic, Tenelle drew out the silver hammer and chisel. “If Bishop Florian is innocent of all wrongdoing, I will be the first to beg the forgiveness of all those gathered here. And as an innocent man…” She held out the Breakers to Fane. “He will take no issue with destroying this Gateway here and now.”

Fane blanched. “Come now, Commander. The destruction of a demonic artifact is a dangerous undertaking. I would not risk harming anyone in the act, least of all those in this place of worship.”

“He is correct,” Tiernan seethed, taking a step up the dais. “This has gone far enough, Martine. Stand down.”

“No.” Bishop Amabel Hughes stood. The one who voted against Fane. “Let him do it. A Gateway should be dealt with without delay, and if Bishop Fane is so imbued with holy power, he will surely keep these people safe. Will you not, Florian?”

Fane did not look at her. His smile froze upon his face, grotesque and grimace-like.