Sword of the Gods - Bruce R. Cordell [109]
“Ah. Yes, I suppose.”
Demascus said, “Don’t worry, I’m mostly joking.”
“ ‘Mostly’?”
He shrugged. “I do what the gods need doing and attempt tasks they couldn’t ask their goodly servitors to accept. Sometimes that means getting my hands dirty. I don’t enjoy it.” Usually I don’t anyway, he kept to himself.
“I would hope not.”
“Believe me, if I ever find myself edging close to the line, I’m hanging up Exorcessum. If I lose my principles, my existence is forfeit, at least as I am now. I’d find a punishment too ghastly to describe.” Again, he kept his doubts to himself. In truth, he sometimes luxuriated in his abilities so fully he risked everything. It was only by Fate’s grace he retained the thread of his purpose when his body challenged the energies of divine retribution. That exultation was too fantastic to give up, no matter the risk.
“Sorry, I didn’t meant to give offense,” said Tarsis.
Demascus said, “I know.” The priest merely wanted to know more about his role as the Sword of the Gods. Asking questions was part of the man’s nature. But Tarsis seemed too pleasant a fellow to burden with the ambivalent truth.
Time passed. They watched elementally colored genasi load and unload ships in the shadow of towering cliffs.
Finally Tarsis said, “Then we need to take a desperate measure.”
“If you’ve got a new idea, I’d love to hear it.”
The priest’s complexion grew a shade paler. He said, “The avatar said that if things remained as they were, the entire Oghmanyte church would come unraveled.”
Demascus nodded.
“I can’t allow that. I’d give my life to preserve the church, in Oghma’s service. And I’ve just thought of a way to convince Landrew that you’re on his side, not mine.”
“If I could gain Landrew’s confidence, that would certainly help,” Demascus said, and waited. The priest was wringing the symbol of his faith and his mouth was twisted with indecision.
Tarsis blew out a breath and said, “All right. You’ve got to prove, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that you’ve received secret instructions from the Binder. You have to convince Landrew that you’ve broken with the Orthodox Church and want to meet Undryl to pledge yourself to the Church in Exile.”
“Words aren’t going convince—”
“Kill me.”
“What?”
“Confront Landrew with my body and tell him you’ve made your choice.”
“I’m not going to kill you!” Demascus said. He reassessed his earlier opinion—Tarsis was a lunatic.
“Just hear me out,” said Tarsis. He licked his lips and continued, “I’m a senior priest in Oghma’s Procampur temple, on a mission to save the church from dissolution. If I die, my fellows will pluck me from Kelemvor’s judgment, in the name of the Binder of All Knowledge.”
“Tarsis, rituals that tread upon the territory of the lords of the dead are not guaranteed. Kelemvor is jealous of his perquisites. I’ve seen such rituals fail more often than not.”
The priest swallowed and said, “I know that. It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”
“I’m not,” Demascus said. “This is a crazy, ill-considered plan, and I’m not going to give it another moment of discussion, because it’s off the table.”
Even as he denied Tarsis, Demascus realized the scheme had a certain lethal merit. In the face of the failure of all their other tactics, it might be their only option. He knew then, with a sick certainty, what he would have to do.
He wrangled with Tarsis for another bell anyway. He hoped their heated words would pry some new idea loose. They walked the ship, as they traded arguments in low, hushed tones. Finally, as they walked the length of the hold, Tarsis convinced him.
He decided nothing would be gained by waiting or planning for the deed. It had to look authentic, and to that end, the assassination had to be authentic.
Demascus stepped behind the man and looped the Veil twice around Tarsis’s throat before the priest realized they were done