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Evermore: The Gathering	By : RosaTenebrum Category: A through F > Dragonlance Views: 9663 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Dragonlance series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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CHAPTER 49

Despite what Pegleg Abner said, Maella Priece was not stupid: the minute the couple had walked into the Lame Boatman that night, she had known something was a bit off.

It was not just that he was a blackrobe and she a cleric. It was not just that she was blind.

It was something more, and Maella prided herself on noticing the little things that other people tended to miss.

For one, the lady did not smile. Not even once during the hour or so they had spent downstairs, eating the day's special.

In fact, Maella had thought, and still did, that she had never seen anyone looking so devoid of hope, so cut off, so alone. She was stunning, to be sure. Doll-like. Angelic. She had flawless white skin and shiny black hair. She had a pretty voice. Everything about her was pretty. But she never smiled.

Two, she stammered. Which meant that she was nervous, which meant that she was worried that something might go wrong, which meant that she was constantly attempting to avoid a misstep, that she was constantly tiptoeing on eggshells.

In a word: she was scared of the wizard.

Maella couldn't really blame her, for the wizard was scary. Startling, to say the least. Creepy eyes. Strangely coloured and something else too, but Maella hadn't looked long enough to discover what that something was, because she had dealt with the order as fast as she could, avoiding eye contact and skipping pleasantries; in other words making herself very small and invisible, as was her policy with customers whom she sensed could cause trouble one way or the other. Most of the time trouble came in the form of drunks much given to ass groping, fist fighting and off-key singing - the usual lot. This was different. Maella had never served a blackrobe before, and although the one sitting at the table appeared perfectly calm, she had approached him with a vague sense of uneasiness that only grew when she took the order. The wizard's manner was polite but cold, like he could turn nasty in a split second, if she brought him the wrong dish or something. Standing with her hands behind her back, stoically professional, Maella had surreptitiously glanced his way while he was asking the cleric if chicken was alright, thinking that he was handsome, would be handsome, if not for the fact that there was a viciousness to his expression that she found offputting. The lady had only said "yes" and "that's fine", and the thought had crossed Maella's mind that the wizard brooked no opposition. In anything. She had hurried away, thinking that some people were a bit intense to be around. That man was definitely one of those people.

When she had returned with the chicken a few moments later, the wizard and the cleric had been talking about going to Jansburg. Pretending not to listen, Maella had set the plates on the table and gone straight back behind the counter. It was a busy night and she had lots to do, but she kept a curious eye on the couple while she worked. It was blatantly obvious that the wizard was crazy for the cleric. He couldn't take his eyes off her. At first Maella had thought that it was kind of sweet, in a way; maybe he wasn't as bad as she'd thought. But then she had started thinking that there was actually something a little creepy about the way he looked at the lady. A sort of thin line between being crazy for someone and being crazily obsessed with someone - that's what Maella had thought. And then came the rest of her observations: the smilelessness, the stammering, the growing sense of fucked-upness that she had picked up at first sight of them.

Carver didn't believe her, of course, which only confirmed what Maella had always known: men never did notice anything. Carver had lit their fire upstairs, but all he had to say when Maella asked was that it had been a bit tense, is all: sure the lady had been quiet, sure the wizard had been giving Carver the if-looks-could-kill glare, but anyway Maella was reading too much into it and maybe she should learn to curb her imagination and keep her nose out of everyone's business. And why was she so interested in them anyway? Maybe she should get a life. So you don't find it strange at all, Maella had insisted, that a baddie wizard has a goodie cleric for a girlfriend - because she definitely found it strange: like light and dark together. Dont go into poetry, Carver had said. All sorts of things happen all the time. End of.

So Maella hadn't breathed another word to Carver the Boring, but she kept the drama going on in her head. She couldn't help but wonder how the cleric and the wizard had ended up together. He didn't look like the church-going type, for sure. The register said their names were Molly and Seamus Bredell. Funny. They didn't look like Molly and Seamus. She looked way too aristocratic to be a Molly. And he, well, he just looked like he was beyond any human connection whatsoever. And Bredell? Apparently they were married. Apparently it was a-okay in the big world outside of Relgoth for a cleric of light to marry a black magic mage. Maella didn't like it. It was a sort of nothing-really-matters-anymore scenario, which gave her the ugly feeling that the entire world was slowly going bonkers. Maella wasn't a religious woman, but she was happy to know there were people out there who were: they would keep the world in its course morality-wise and lead the rest of us from dark to dawn.

Unless you were travelling to Jansburg with a black magic man.

That was all Maella had managed to find out, wiping the tables and eavesdropping as much as she could, before the two had retired upstairs. She had watched them go, wondering whether the cleric had been blind since birth. She hung onto the wizard's belt very lightly for guidance - why didn't she simply put her arm through his? -, walking a few steps behind him, still smileless, still pale. She only came up to his chin, and the whiteness of her dress, next to the pitch-blackness of his robe, made her look all the more small and fragile. She just seemed lost in every sense, and suddenly Maella had felt a strangling urge to say something to her, although she didn't know what that would be. Or maybe not say anything. Just be her friend.

The next morning she was disappointed to find out that they had left before she had come to work.

The door opened; startled, Maella looked up from her nails and saw Abner limping through.

"Your turn," said Abner somewhat tensely. Limping closer and leaning down towards Maella, he went on in half whisper, "No cock-ups, alright? Just tell 'em what you saw. This is big. It's huge, okay? We don't wanna be involved."

"How come?" Maella whispered back, nervously excited. Too bad Carver wasn't on shift today. She could hardly wait to be able to tell him I-told-you-so.

But Pegleg Abner only said, before limping off, "Don't keep 'em waiting, for heavens' sakes, Maella."

A little more nervous and a little less excited, Maella entered the back room, where she found gathered around the gambling table the two white-robed clerics and the three heavily-armed soldiers who had arrived at the break of dawn. But they were not gambling, and the atmosphere of the room, normally alive with chatter and merrymaking, was about as hilarious as a hangover. The unsmiling clerics, flanked on both sides by the standing guards, were sitting rigidly upright, hands folded on the table, eyes fixed on Maella. It was like walking into a funeral. My own funeral, Maella thought as she directed her steps towards the lot.

"Miss Priece, is it? Please," one of the holy men said to her, indicating the opposite chair with a stiff nod.

Smiling insecurely, Maella took the offered seat and sat still as both clerics studied her closely in an uncomfortable silence. The one who had spoken was older than the other, closer to forty, and he had a short-cropped dark beard that didn't match his reddish hair. His younger colleague was beardless and blue-eyed, so blonde that one could barely see his eyebrows. Their sparkling white robes seemed to glow in the dim room, forming a strong contrast with the guards' metallic looks. The three were clad from head to toe in armour; their hands were covered by thick gauntlets, and their faces could not be seen behind the lowered visors. Long broadswords dangled from their belts.

"The mage and the cleric that were here four nights ago", started the younger cleric out of the blue, drawing Maella's attention from the soldiers, piercingly staring into her eyes, "you served their table, is that correct?"

Maella was surprised by the man's tone of voice. He didn't sound like a cleric. He sounded harsh and to the point, not at all like a person whose calling in life was to exercise divine compassion and concern for the weak and vulnerable.

"Yes," Maella managed to stutter. "That is correct, sir. Your Holiness."

"What was the conversation?"

"It was - I don't know. They ordered some chicken, sir."

The cleric looked fixedly at Maella without even a hint of a smile. "I'm sure they did. You do understand, miss, that it's not the chickens that concern us here."

"Right. I just thought that. That maybe if." Maella found herself unable to put together a coherent sentence. But even greater than her nervousness was her curiosity, so she steeled herself and breathed out the question she had been waiting to ask all morning: "What did they do?"

The clerics exchanged long looks. The one with the beard cleared his throat and took the lead in turn.

"Do you know, Maella, who that woman was?" he asked, sounding friendly enough, yet staring at her as intensely as the younger priest.

Maella raised her eyebrows. "Molly Bredell?"

The bearded one gave a dry smile. "That's the last thing she was. Let me tell you who she was. Her name is Crysania Tarinius. The name ring any bells?"

Maella shook her head.

"She was supposed to become the leader of the Holy Church of Paladine," said the cleric. "Do you know what that means?"

Maella shook her head.

"It means that she is - she was - a very high-ranking member of the church. But she did something bad, something very wrong, and that's why we need to find her."

"What did she do?" Maella asked again, dying to know. This lady - Molly, Chrisana, whatever the cleric had just called her - she hadn't seemed like the type of woman who would do something awful.

At her question, the younger cleric leaned forward over the table towards Maella. His blue eyes had grown cold, and he spoke very quietly and with terrible intensity, holding her gaze. "She's a whore. A vile, worthless blasphemer whose very existence is an insult to the Platinum Father. That's all you need to know. Now," he said more loudly, straightening up again. "If you could tell us what they talked about."

Shocked by the unexpected malice in the man's voice, Maella uttered the first thing that came to her mind. "They were going to Jansburg, sir."

The cleric's eyes narrowed. "What would they be doing in Jansburg?"

"How should I know?" Maella cried, confused.

"I don't know. Maybe you could tell me?" said the cleric meaningfully, never looking away from her, and as Maella remained quiet, he added, this time with a feigned smile, "In your own time, Miss Priece."

Maella dropped her eyes to her hands in her lap; she could no longer endure the zealous gleam twinkling in the eyes of those fanatics.

She took a breath, searched her thoughts and finally spoke as calmly as she could.

"She said she had a friend there, I think. Yes. She said they'd stay at her friend's place. No. In Gaarlus, actually," Maella corrected herself, suddenly remembering. "They were heading for Gaarlus through Jansburg."

"Are you sure this is what she said? Paladine is watching you, my child."

Greatly startled by these words, Maella raised her head. Still smiling that fake smile, the younger cleric leaned over, cupped his hand over the bearded one's ear and whispered. The man nodded in perfect understanding and turned over to Maella with a smile that was almost identical to that of his partner.

"Would you call yourself a religious person, Miss Priece?" he asked in a voice that was now overly amiable.

Maella looked from one severe face to another. "Yes," she whispered at length, trying to put on an appropriate expression of face.

"Religious how? As in you pray daily, attend divine worship?"

"Something like that," Maella muttered, wondering if Paladine was watching her from somewhere above or perhaps from somewhere within the gambling room.

The older cleric fell back in his chair, his bushy brows knitting into a suspicious frown. "You call yourself a religious person, yet you didn't know the name of the future leader of the church. How's that?"

"We don't get much news around here," Maella replied in a voice that was growing even more quiet. She was starting to have a very bad feeling about the situation, and the fact that the two clerics were eyeing her as if she was some sort of a religious deviant herself did not do much to boost her confidence.

The bearded cleric cleared his throat again and folded his hands back on the table. "Listen very carefully now, Miss Priece. That woman has compromised every aspect of Paladine's sacred law. The mage she was with - her lover - is a murderer. A mass murderer. Yes. That's the kind of company she keeps," he added, when he saw Maella blink in surprise. "A holy cleric sleeping around with a man who's pledged himself to chaos and destruction in the Dark Queen's name. Does that sound morally acceptable to you, Maella?"

"No," Maella agreed promptly, hoping to get the hearing over and done with through eager cooperation. "And that's exactly what I thought when I saw them, Your Holiness. That those two definitely shouldn't be together."

"So why protect them?" asked the younger cleric in a low tone.

Maella's jaw fell open. "Protect...?"

"A whore and a murderer. Ask yourself, Miss Priece: Do you really want to be helping such persons?"

"I don't understand," Maella whispered and glanced at the guards, feeling her heart beat faster and panic starting to set in.

"Let me remind you once again: the Platinum Father can hear you. He has descended among us, into this very room, and is paying close attention to every word that comes out of your mouth."

Maella glanced around her, terrified.

"You can't see Him, my friend," said the blue-eyed cleric in a paternal tone, "but I promise you He's here."

And the bearded fellow chimed in: "Do you know what happens to those who protect enemies of the faith?"

Maella shook her head wildly, her eyes large with alarm. "I'm not protecting anyone, Your Holiness, I swear! Why would I want to protect them? I'd never seen either before! They were going to Jansburg, and that's the truth. In the name of Paladine, I swear it."

She was panting; her hands were grasping the arms of her chair.

The clerics said nothing; they kept watching her for signs of impending confession. But then the older visibly relaxed and said, "Come now, Miss Priece. Tell me, does the name Raistlin Majere mean anything to you?"

Again Maella shook her head, relieved beyond measure by the change in the man's attitude. "No, sir."

The clerics exchanged an incredulous look.

"What about Tanis Half-Elven or Sturm Brightblade?" asked the beardless one. "You've never heard of them?"

Maella shrugged. "Can't say I have, Your Holiness."

His Holiness was flabbergasted. "These people are in songs."

"Which songs?"

"Every other song, basically."

Annoyed at the way the man was looking at her, as if she was a complete dimwit, Maella raised her chin and said with dignity, "I guess I've only heard the ones in between, then."

The cleric gave a frown. But just as he was about to speak, the door opened and in walked the other two clerics, who had demanded to be shown the room the so-called Bredells had stayed in.

"Find anything?" the blue-eyed interrogator enquired, leaning his elbow on the table and placing his forefinger on his cheek.

"Nothing, Hob. Except a comfy bed for two."

Hob gave a disgusted scoff, which was echoed by a sigh and a weary shake of the head from the older cleric, who then said to Maella:

"Listen, Miss Priece - during their stay, did you see the couple upstairs?"

"Not me," Maella answered, feeling more confident now. "Carver did. He works the rooms."

"Is he working today?"

"No. Tomorrow. Today is his day off."

Hob and his partner glanced at each other and nodded, and then Hob addressed the other two:

"The girl here says they were off to Gaarlus through Jansburg."

"Jansburg? What would they be doing in Jansburg?" asked the short cleric standing by the door.

The bearded one shrugged. "Could be a ruse."

"Or not," said the other cleric by the door, shrewdly eyeing his colleagues. "We all know what's in the East."

Hob looked emptily at the cleric who had spoken. Then a quiet, almost dreamy smile appeared on his face. "Neraka," he said softly. "Of course."

The room came alive with energy.

"Todmas, Gordon," said the bearded cleric, "Send a note to Farag, immediately. Hob, let's go find the room attendant. Just to make sure."

In her chair Maella looked on, forgotten and invisible; the clerics had lost all interest in her. As she started to rise, Hob looked up as if remembering her presence.

"If you have lied to us today, miss," he said sternly but without much emotion, "you'll answer to Paladine."

Maella muttered something in answer and hastily made her way out through the door.

Once she was outside, she stopped to draw in a deep breath that she let out very slowly. Her heart was thudding, and her armpits were damp. She felt rather sick.

The clerics were still talking in the room behind her. Making plans. Violent plans.

Swallowing, Maella started to walk away, and while she walked she added another prayer to the ones she had already said in her life and which could be counted with the fingers of one hand.

She walked and she prayed that she would never have to have anything to do with clerics ever again.
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Evermore: The Gathering