Annika turned to examine her new charge with some interest. Cranmers comments suddenly made a good deal more sense. This knight, Orion Pentecost apparently was a handsome man with the statuesque features she had come to associate with the Hawkwood family. The al-Malik had always been cosmopolitan but since the accession of Alexis to the Imperial Throne there had been an increased number of intermarriages. No scion of one of the great noble houses could claim to be ignorant of politics, but it had never been of particular interest to Annika. Still she understood that most of those marriages had been somewhat disappointing as Alexis had distanced himself from his family since taking the throne. To the cultured al-Malik the Hawkwood had a rugged, almost brutish marshall simplicity, something that had served them very well in the wars preceding Alexius’ succession. Orion certainly fit the mould with a muscled armored frame and chiseled jaw. The electronic eye was simple and obvious, something that would have been crude in the League friendly halls of the al-Malik was none the less surprising to find in a Hawkwood fief where ties to the League and their borderline heretical tech was far less common.

“The blessings of the Pancreator be upon you Sir,” Annika said formally, the slightly musical lint of her Isktar accent particularly prominent in the formulaic phrasing of the blessing. 

“Get out of my sight,” the bishop sneered, sitting down and pointedly returning to his paperwork.


Annika exchanged a look with Orion and then offered a formal bow to Cranmer. The bishop made a flicking gesture with his right hand sending droplets of ink spattering over a nearby decree about the evils of Pagan Freethinkers. Annika shared a look with Orion who gave a somewhat less respectful bow and then turned and lead the way out of the office and into the knave of the cathedral. 

Although it was by now local night, Gwyennth’s bright spring moons poured silvery light through the great stained glass window in the nave of the Cathedral. Beams of light colored gorgeous rose and gold shone from the ceiling painting the Celestial Flame on the stones of the basilica. Even the Orthodox, hidebound and half blind as they were, did not seem to be completely blind to beauty.

“My apologies,” Annika tried again, “it appears that neither of us are in Bishop Cranmer’s good graces. I am Sister Annika.” It was not necessary to mention her house as that would have been a sin of pride. 

“The bishop told you to get out of the cathedral,” snapped a voice from behind them. Annika turned to find the obnoxious novice who had accosted her in the square. Despite her best efforts she felt her anger rising.

“That is quite enough sirrah,” she snapped, her voice like a whip. The novice recoiled as though slapped, but after a moment his shock was replaced with indignation.

“How dare you…” he began but Annika didn’t allow him to continue. Instead she stalked towards him, eyes blazing. She wasn’t a physically imposing woman but the look on her face and the fury in her eyes gave her a presence she would otherwise have lacked.

“Perhaps things work differently among the Orthodox, but in my order one speaks with respect,” she observed in a deadly voice. Confusion and anger warred on the novices face for a moment.

“According to the Edict of…” he began but she cut him off with a sharp gesture.

“According to the Edict members of the Eskatonic order have to obey members of the other sects of the same rank, yes. However, as you appear to be deaf as well stupid, allow me to remind you that your own Bishop just granted me the rank of Deacon,” she blazed. The novices face flushed as the realization took hold.

“If you do not apologize at once I will file charges with the Curia. As you are probably too ignorant to know, cases are decided by members of the sect of the senior member in any dispute. I suspect that will mean a trial would not go well for you.”

“The bishop…” the youth stuttered.

“Is not here, I am the ranking member of the clergy here and if you are not out of my sight in the next thirty seconds I will have you whipped for insolence.”

The novice broke and fled, the fall of his heavy leather shoes ringing on the stone floor. Annika turned back to her new charge, her anger melting into embarrassment.

“My apologies Sir,” she repeated, “it has been rather a long day.”

[@POOHEAD189]