Chapter 89 – Conceiving the Plan

The Temple of the Four stretched across the top of Cairnmouth’s second great hill. Four colossal statues of the Gods looked out across the city from each corner, and behind them lay the monumental architecture of the temple complex itself. The temple resembled a fortress as much as the Cairnmouth Castle did on the other hill; huge walls stretched between each statue, and several towers surrounded the domed keep in the center. Unlike the small temples in towns, this one was the seat of an archbishop, and therefore had a contingent of Luminate Guards. Two stood by each of the four gates wearing their shining ceremonial armor atop their dark robes. The gold leaf on the pauldrons reflected brightly where it caught the morning sun.

Large gardens, full of stonework and magical fountains surrounded the temple, while beyond that lay dozens of mansions housing many of the richer families in Cairnmouth. This meant in addition to the Luminate Guards, Mirian could see private mercenaries observing the area from balconies, and the Cairnmouth Guard routinely patrolled the streets of the area. Mirian’s clothes weren’t even shabby–her parents had spent quite a lot of coin on them–but the haughty looks she got just walking through the neighborhoods surrounding the hill made it clear she was out of place.

It was not the ideal area to attempt any sort of prison-break.

Mirian analyzed the styles of the various nobles, noting the embroidery and fabrics. She found a tailor who was happy to tell her all about the latest trends in fashion (Mirian knew just enough terms from talking to the tailor in Torrviol who’d helped make her Akanan uniform disguise), and it was a good thing she did. Apparently, each piece was not just a statement of wealth, but of political allegiance. Mixed gold and silver embroidery signaled an alignment with the financiers of the banking families, and adding silver tassels to that signified a relationship with the noble Allard family. Wearing imported silks from Zhighua, dyed with indigo imported from Tlaxhuaco, on the other hand, signified an allegiance to the circles of prominent merchants and several of the guilds.

The tailor advised her on several neutral options–that was, that she was rich enough to belong, but not rich enough to be tied up in the games of the affluent. Mirian thought that a deep violet dress and a matching coat with brass buttons fit her style, though it was far more expensive than the coin she had. She also didn’t want to set up an account at any of the banks to get a loan, as that might offer a way to track her.

Instead, she used a major illusion spell. After that, the glares faded away, and she may as well have cast a spell of invisibility.

Walking the neighborhood was helpful, as it helped her pick out the major routes and minor ones, as well as get a sense of the guard patrols. The wealthiest people didn’t even walk the streets, they rode by horse-drawn carriage or a fancy spell wagon. The guards seemed to know all the drivers, as all it took was a mutual nod and they were waved through the decorated arched gates that divided the Second Cairn district from the poorer sections beyond. Merchants delivering goods had their carts routinely searched.

She headed for the temple next. Despite the Temple of the Four supposedly being open to anyone—they were all supposed to be equal in the eyes of the Gods–there were barriers on who could actually come hear the sermons, be blessed, or see the resplendent statues and paintings that lined the halls.

Mirian dropped her illusion as she approached the temple. There would be suppression wards because magic was forbidden in temples, and there was no sense getting arrested on criminal mischief charges.

She walked the corridors of the Temple of the Four, both appreciating the monumental architecture and detailed artwork and casing the routes she might take. Like most temples, this one was lit by torches and candles, with few windows for sunlight. The stone reliefs loomed out of the walls as if to confront any passers by. The flickering torchlight illuminated grand paintings of the history of the Luminate Order, though the only scene she recognized was from the Unification War.

The sheer number of gates, wards, and people roaming the halls quickly dissuaded her from trying to simply break Priestess Arenthia out of her holding cell. The cells were in one of the towers, and the tower Arenthia was in could only be entered in through a hall that was barred with a steel portcullis. Beyond that, it was protected by two guards, and she could tell the door they stood before was using glyph keys and anti-divination wards. The windows of the tower were only just wider than arrow slits and had iron bars across them. Given enough cycles, she knew she could likely solve all the defenses, layer by layer, but with this Sulvorath looking for her, the repetitive attempts would be too easy to detect. Dying or being captured early in the cycle would put her at a disadvantage; she would have that much less time to learn and grow compared to her fellow travelers.

She wandered out to the walled garden in front of the statue of Shiamagoth instead, where they were already preparing for Arenthia’s semi-public execution. It would be the usual death by firing squad.

One of the guards saw her spellbook dangling from its chain by her side. “No spellcasting near the temple,” he said, as if she didn’t know the rules of the Luminate Temples.

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” she said.

The walled garden had a large open plaza where the execution would take place. The colossal statue of Shiamagoth loomed over it, wearing His crown of eyes that stared down. The aegis He wielded was made of old myrvite bones, while the scepter He carried in His fourth hand had a fire burning in it, maintained by faithful acolytes day and night. The beds of flowers and saplings in the garden around the plaza gave no cover—but spellcasting didn’t require Mirian to see the area she was divining. The same walls that protected the plaza of Shiamagoth would be perfect cover, and the other gardens were more verdant and wild, giving her far more places to hide from patrols.

Mirian only had a single divination spell she’d been able to scribe at the inn. She found a secluded spot behind a rotunda at the edge of the gardens where the brush was thick and cast it. It didn’t give her any details, but it did tell her what she suspected: that both detection and suppression wards were all over the gardens.

She also suspected there were wards using celestial magic, which she wouldn’t be able to detect without a focus.

Since there was no way she could rescue Arenthia this cycle without sending out a flare that would mark exactly where she was, she sat down on one of the wooden benches prepared for the event and watched.

High Priestess Arenthia–introduced simply as ‘this convicted heretic,’ by the guards, was short, boney-looking, but had a stern presence to her. Her peppered gray hair was cut short, and from the cuts and bruises about her, she had not been treated well during her short stay in the tower dungeon.

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It went about much the same as other executions Mirian had seen. The executioners wore smooth bone masks, with lines painted on them to make them look as if they were full of cracks. The lead executioner asked first if she wanted to be blindfolded. She gave a terse, “No,” and then when asked if she had any last words, she repeated her answer. She looked worried as the four guards each raised a rifle, but also resigned.

The crowd that gathered was small, and watched mostly in silence. Most of the crowd was made up of older adults, but a few parents instructed their children on how to behave and feel. One young boy looked terrified, while another sat with perfect poise, as if he were simply attending a sermon.

The Luminate Priest gave a brief speech on the dangers of heresy, and then blessed Arenthia.

Four rifles cracked out, echoing loudly off the stone walls, and Arenthia fell, blood spattering the short stone wall behind her. She crumpled to the ground soundlessly. The priest covered her body with a yellow shroud, and then two of the executioners picked her up and brought her back through the gates of the temple.

The crowd began to disperse, murmuring softly.

“I like it better when they beg,” an older woman complained to her husband. “Didn’t even give a speech!”

“One less criminal heretic in the world,” a father told his daughter. “The world is safer now. Nasty work, but it must be done. Do you understand?”