The Bloody Eye

2

The silver dagger's edge glowed, reflecting the sickening aura of reddish-orange that permeated the cavern. Calmet felt a surge of power as he started his thrust toward the altar and its unwilling victim. His body fluctuated between feeling flushed with heat and trembling with chills as though he were fighting off a fever. His desire for power consumed him. The frightened eye of his victim winced involuntarily and Calmet hesitated.

He hesitated in a weakness he despised. This moment should have been a major triumph. He hesitated just as he observed within the victim's frightened eye a small, inverted vision of himself-a tiny Calmet thrusting a ceremonial dagger toward the selfsame eye. He hesitated as his peripheral vision caught the smug grin of Archprelate Laud observing with approval. Calmet hated Laud. In spite of all his desire to please the archprelate and gain more power, Calmet still despised the powerful priest who had opened the passage to power for him.

As Calmet hesitated, he remembered. He recalled his island home, where he served as a missionary priest of Pelor, being invaded by Laud and his henchmen. The house, originally intended as the center of a new monastery, was burned to the ground. He suffered again the mocking of Laud as the evil one blasphemed the power of Pelor and denied the god's power to save Calmet from the transformation that awaited him.

"If Pelor is provident," he remembered the archprelate smirking, "he is not potent. If Pelor is potent, he is not provident." Calmet remembered the pain of Laud removing his eye while the villain's minions restrained him. "He who cannot see with two eyes," the vile archprelate intoned, "must find the true sight of one eye."

Laud showed no mercy as he plunged the dagger into Calmet's eye, setting the priest on a cursed path of bitterness, cruelty, and destruction.

"Of course, Pelor is not provident," Calmet observed to himself with fresh anger and resentment. "If Pelor cared about his followers, he would have protected me."

With the same merciless stroke used by Laud against him, Calmet punctured the eye of his victim. He called upon Gruumsh the One-Eyed to share the raw power he was unleashing from his victim and offer true sight to him to compensate for the vision that was sacrificed.

The sickening umber glow intensified. Calmet's mind fluttered with a sense of raw energy, as though a spiny tentacle had whipped through his brain. He sensed the presence of Gruumsh within his very being. The god's power coursed through him and Calmet sensed that he was power. Calmet knew that he was born for power and that he would wield it forever. Even Laud's smug expression could not destroy the moment. Calmet shrugged off the superior's condescension with a sense of pity. If the archprelate was so tired that he would allow others to perform the rituals, the archprelate would eventually weaken to the point where the office and the power could be seized by someone worthy of holding them.

Exulting in the afterglow of the sacrifice, Calmet remembered the words from that fateful night when he was the victim. The archprelate's words twisted pleasingly in Calmet's mind.

If Gruumsh is great, sneered the priest to himself with unearned haughtiness, he is not gracious. If Gruumsh is gracious, he is not great!

He laughed to himself as he motioned for the half-blinded sacrifice to be carried back to the lower levels of the cavern.

Gracious? The very concept of a merciful god was no more than a joke. Giving and mercy have nothing to do with Gruumsh, he reflected. They have nothing to do with power! Leave grace to Pelor-if he ever bothers to pay attention!

Then, as he had done uncountable times since his own eye was removed, Calmet pledged to avenge himself on Laud by all the horrific resources of Gruumsh's greatness. He placed his seething soul on simmer with this continuing resolution and reminded himself that his subservience to Laud was only a matter of time.

The archprelate motioned toward a mirrored plate forming the pupil of an unblinking eye etched in the center of the chamber's floor, the unholy symbol of Gruumsh. Calmet carried the bloody eye from the sacrifice to the mirror and let some of the blood drop onto the shiny surface. The archprelate muttered a gutteral incantation that seemed to echo from the underworld itself. As during the sacrifice, Calmet saw another small figure in the mirrored surface. This time, however, the figure was not an inverted image of himself This figure was a priest of Pelor riding along a trail. Calmet couldn't help but exude a renewed sense of confidence upon viewing his pursuer.

"So, Pelor sends my old student to recover his gold? Well, Jozan could never learn his language lessons. Maybe he'll learn this one."

Calmet motioned for one of his acolytes to bring the small pig to him. He nodded toward the mirrored surface and the helper placed the squirming animal on the unholy symbol. Again, Calmet stabbed with the silver dagger. Human eye and porcine eye mingled together in a bloody froth and a stream of blood splashed upon the mirror as a libation offering.

"Learn this lesson well, Jozan!" he muttered. "Gruumsh knows nothing of grace. If you cannot taste his power, you will feel his wrath!"

"Calmet!" cursed Jozan as the one-eyed boar charged.

Since the young priest started tracking his former tutor, one-eyed monstrosities kept appearing, and with increasing frequency. Jozan used the apostate priest's name as his epithet of choice, so it leaped quickly to the young priest's lips as the half-blind beast gored his mount. He knew he should have been more alert, but the beast's gray fur provided deadly camouflage while it lay in ambush within the low-lying mist and underbrush along the trail.

Blood spewed and muscles tore as the filthy tusks ripped across the mare's chest. The little horse shuddered from the blow and Jozan performed a minor miracle by dismounting before the mare counterattacked. She reared and screamed the tubercular wheeze common to her kind, intending to smash her tormentor with her front hooves. Pain tearing through her belly destroyed her aim so that the valiant effort looked more like a stumble than an attack. Fortunately, it gave Jozan enough time to draw his mace. He advanced as the mare limped away. The boar misjudged the horse's position as it slung its head in another attack.

Jozan stepped behind the boar so that the beast was between himself and the retreating mare. He swung the mace in a well-aimed arc, but watched the weapon graze the quick-stepping boar's thick fur harmlessly. The animal pinwheeled in an attempt to skewer the cleric, but Jozan was quick, too. He stepped back, dropped his mace, and ripped a small bag off his belt. The boar's one good eye fairly glowed with a malevolent hatred and the empty socket made Jozan feel queasy and uncomfortable. Pulling a candle from the bag, he intoned a psalm to Pelor as Creator and envisioned two large hounds on each flank of the boar.

The boar snorted and charged, but Jozan sidestepped without missing a word of the summoning ritual or even compromising a sacred gesture. As smoothly as if he were speaking the sacred prayer at a dawn mass, he watched the words come to life. Alluvial-shaped lightning danced on the flanks of the boar and two celestial hounds appeared, lightning and thunder announcing their presence. Jozan immediately dropped the bag and candle and retrieved his mace as the boar charged half-heartedly. The priest gave thanks for the confusion provided by the two new and otherworldly scents.

This time, Jozan's mace smashed across the snout of the boar. The familiar vibration assured the priest it was a solid blow. The enraged boar did not turn aside, however, and its tusk struck glancingly against Jozan's armor. Then the beast learned the threat posed by the two newcomers. Both of the golden haired dogs snarled and bit at the boar, tearing away fur and blood but not distracting it as Jozan had hoped. Celestial hounds or not, the angry boar focused its single eye on Jozan and Jozan alone. When the cleric's mace scraped across the animal's matted hide, the beast retaliated so fiercely that one of its tusks wedged between pieces of the cleric's leg armor. Jozan felt the flesh tear and knew his fresh blood would only arouse the beast more.

With measured relief, Jozan saw one of the summoned hounds rip past the boar's hide. Canine fangs opened a portion of his foe's neck as cleanly as would a butcher's knife. Still the boar did not let up. Even with the second hound pestering it, Jozan felt the wedged tusk gouge deeper, causing his knee to give way. The man crumpled to the ground. In desperation he swung the mace and it smashed through the boar's skull, driving shards of shattered bone deep into the primitive brain.

Even that terrific wound would not stop the boar. Blinded by pain, spattering blood and gray matter with every shake of its massive head, the beast fought on with a perverse, unearthly ferociousness.

The hounds pounced again. Their fangs slashed into the boar's ribs and neck, opening new wounds and clamping down on bone and muscle. Still, the boar thrashed on. In spite of his awkward position and damaged leg, Jozan's mace struck again, crunching sideways through the jaw to splatter brains and tusks against a nearby tree trunk. The deadly beast tumbled onto its side from the force of the blow. Jozan watched the carcass shiver with the last tremors of life and he exhaled heavily in relief. He lay on his back for several moments more until his celestial allies shimmered and returned to their home dimension.

"Calmet!" he cursed, telling himself that if it hadn't been for that foul apostate, the pain would not be searing his thigh and he wouldn't be on this reckless quest. "How am I supposed to face an evil priest who knows everything I know and more?"

In anguish he removed his armor and gingerly massaged the wound. Jozan breathed a prayer for healing. He even uttered an obligatory hope for Calmet's redemption, though he sincerely doubted its likelihood. A glow mirroring the beams of the sun shone from the young priest's hands and pulsed around the wound. The entire thigh glowed with the healing radiance of Pelor as Jozan breathed a psalm of gratitude.

He knew there was no chance of catching the mare. She would still be running in fear, her blood and panic making her a tempting target for wolves and other scavengers. He couldn't help her. Worse, he couldn't help himself very much. He had his weapons and a few pouches at his belt, but most of his equipment was in the pack strapped to the mare's rump. Here he was without gold, bedroll potions, scrolls, or even his flint and steel.

With few other options, Jozan struck out on foot, a painful sting in his thigh reminding him that he needed more healing before continuing his quest. To date he'd found no specific evidence of Calmet's location, but he know that the enemy was aware of his pursuit. Everywhere the cleric turned, he faced one-eyed monsters. They could only be coming from him.

Jozan plodded onward, hoping beyond hope to see signs of the little mare, or even bits of scattered equipment or a lost saddlebag. But the horse undoubtedly had plowed through the forest. The man needed to keep to the trail in hope of finding a settlement. The ache in his thigh grew worse with each furlong.

Fired by his imagination, the young priest trudged along the trail until he caught a glimpse of a temple. At least, he thought it was a temple. It was so dilapidated that Jozan thought for a moment it might be a barn.

"No," he reasoned aloud, "no one builds ceremonial pillars in front of a barn." Please let it be Pelor's, he added silently as he turned up a footpath leading to the temple.

The old temple wasn't dedicated to Pelor. The carving on the door portraying a fist holding a lightning bolt showed that clearly enough. Still, Jozan was relieved that the temple was consecrated to a good deity, even if he considered the priests of Heironeous the Invincible to be somewhat arrogant. He hesitated before entering, meditating upon Pelor's goodness and asking for his guidance before seeking another deity's aid.

The doors creaked as they opened, a mournful protest to their neglect that audibly interrupted the elderly priest praying before the altar. In one fluid motion, the priest raised the holy hammer from the altar and turned to face whatever bold intruder had entered the sanctuary. Jozan couldn't help but be impressed. There was no flaw in the old priest's martial technique. The intruder smiled, recognizing a fellow pilgrim who tried to practice what he preached.

The armed cleric immediately recognized the wooden sun symbol around Jozan's neck and lowered the hammer. As calmly as though interrogating a novitiate in a familiar catechism, the priest queried Jozan. "Why does one who serves the sun seek the hammer?"

"My name is Jozan," answered the young priest. "I serve the Soldiers of the Sun." He paused, but when the old man said nothing, he felt uncomfortable and rushed to fill the disconcerting silence. "I haven't actually attained full rank in my order." When the old man merely waited for him to continue, Jozan tried to summarize his story. "My training was interrupted when King Ingemar the First heard of the wealth of our order. He declared us to be state criminals and commanded our gold to be confiscated."

When the old man only nodded to inform Jozan that he was paying attention, Jozan explained how his Master General divided the treasury in half and sent the two groups in opposite directions. He spoke of their charge to establish new monasteries beyond the boundaries of their homeland, the Kingdom of the Schnai.

"And you were with such a group?" suggested the older priest.

Jozan shook his head. Then, feeling defensive, he hurried to explain himself. "I stayed with the Master General until he was arrested. When he knew that his death was imminent, I was sent here with messages for the Prior who had led the expedition to this land. I sought out this Prior, Augustin Calmet, my former tutor and chaplain, but learned that there was no new monastery. I was directed instead to the burned ashes of a house. Underneath the house was a cavern warded by malformed monsters and the twice-used skins on which Calmet had written a diatribe against Pelor."

"Is that all you found?" queried the older man.

"No, your grace, but all of it was the work of a madman," asserted the younger cleric. "The writings proclaimed that Calmet no longer serves Pelor and that he has tied himself to another apostate named Guillaume Laud. He has stolen our order's gold and is apparently using it to rebuild the power of Gruumsh in the mountain settlements."

"And what else?" asked the older priest, in his direct and simple manner.

"After I left the cavern, I tried to pick up the trail of Calmet. I've had no luck, but I have been assailed by monstrous creatures and mutilated animals. There is a bizarre sameness to all of them. All are missing their left eye, as the writings claimed Calmet and Laud do, and as did Gruumsh before them. Even the beast I fought this morning, and which drove off my horse and wounded my leg, was blinded in the same way. Its left eye was entirely gone."

"Ah," sighed the older cleric, "you are on a quest?" Jozan nodded. "Then do you seek revenge, restitution, or reputation?" asked the old priest.

Jozan was confused. When he paused, the old priest continued, "Think on it. Pelor's radiance preserves the figs placed upon the rocks to dry, but the same heat rots the figs that fall to the ground. The anvil of Heironeous can temper a blade for battle or transform it into a shovel. Dried figs and rotten, shovels and swords, all have their place in this world. Still, I'd rather eat dried figs than rotten ones, and I'd rather carry a sword than a shovel into battle. So, again, I ask whether you seek revenge, restitution, or reputation?"

Jozan proudly responded that his quest was for justice.

"Justice?" beamed the older priest. "Then you've come to the right temple." He smiled enigmatically and went on to ask, "Did you not mean to say Grace rather than Justice? After all, this fallen cleric is one of Pelor's own. Are you not all children of Grace?"

"What do you mean?" retorted Jozan. "Even though Pelor chose Calmet, Calmet has chosen against Pelor."

"But is it possible to choose against Pelor?"

Jozan's head reeled. The old priest's philosophy, the ache in his leg, and the heavy incense swirling near the altar pounded in the younger cleric's brain. His vision blurred and he swayed slightly on his feet, then reached out a hand to steady himself against a pillar. When Jozan's vision cleared, he was surprised to see that he and the priest of Heironeous were not alone. A third person rested within the much-neglected chapel. Whether she had been there all along, hidden in shadow, or had just entered, Jozan didn't know. She reminded him of stories of the eternal warriors of Ysgard, a perfect blend of strength and well-toned beauty. Jozan couldn't understand how he could have missed her. Had she been kneeling at the altar, or did she suddenly appear like a Celestial?

The cleric had a discomfiting feeling as the woman raised her eyes and moved her hands with palms facing up. Her outstretched arms formed a semicircle encompassing both priests. Jozan felt as if he were being scrutinized with waves of divine energy, as if someone or something was peering into his soul looking for evidence of goodness or evil intent. After a long minute of concentration, the woman seemed satisfied with her divination and spoke. Instead of the melodious chimes of the supernal voice he expected, he heard the quiet, confident voice of a human.

"I am Alhandra. I serve Heironeous."

Jozan knew he should respond, but he felt his normal calm and confidence desert him. Any word would come out as a stammer.

Mercifully, the woman continued, "The one you seek may be nearby. The locals tell of a one-eyed cleric, sometimes seen in the hills beyond the village of Pergue. He is said to wear the solitary eye of Gruumsh, deliberately fashioned from what was once a silver sun symbol of Pelor."

"That's him," shouted Jozan with excitement, "it must be!"

"Take caution, soldier of the sun," warned the old priest. "You may be trained in the secrets of your order, but Calmet will bend the very brightness of Pelor into your eyes. He will blind you with questions against your own faith."

Before Jozan could ask what the old priest meant, Alhandra spoke again. "I was journeying toward Pergue. Along with the tales of your tutor, I have heard rumors of orcs forming slaving bands and stories of mass mutilations. When I prayed to Heironeous for guidance, I was told that the source is 'one who seeks that which shines like Pelor, but burdens like stone.' I've seen with my own two eyes that an evil is spreading through the mountain towns and clans."

"Something besides Calmet?" asked Jozan.

The woman nodded and continued speaking in a way that simultaneously aroused curiosity and slight embarrassment in the cleric. "The mountain clans have a fierce pride and a distrust of the civilization our lord sovereign has brought them. We think of it as civilization. They think of it as conquest. Gruumsh represents the old ways. Even with all of its abominations, with all of its evil and cruelty, it has become a rallying point for all who feel wronged."

"Or powerless?" suggested Jozan.

"Or hopeless," responded the woman. "The trouble is that the ointment is worse than the wound. This return to Gruumsh must be stopped before the people jump out of a cookfire and into the fires of Baator itself."

"How can it be stopped?" asked Jozan, some of his evaporated confidence returning to his voice. For the first time, he noticed a spot of color on the woman's cheek as she responded.

"I intend to recruit a citizen army to chase down the slavers. Heironeous is sure to help me trace the source through any slavers I capture."

"Is that why you were praying, just now?" asked Jozan.

"I asked Heironeous for an ally. You appeared and spoke about the same source of evil that I want to destroy. It seems we have a common cause, Jozan. You can seek justice against this Calmet and I will seek justice on behalf of the enslaved. Together, we may save many from a hell of their own making."

As Jozan listened with a combination of comprehension and bewilderment, the old priest slid into a prophetic rhythm and spoke louder, with even more assurance than before. "Take heart, soldier of the sun. Heironeous joins Pelor in seeking this justice, though justice may well be Grace." The monk's eyes rolled back and a voice as cold as steel recited, "The radiance shines upon cold metal. Judgment shall burn like molten metal and illuminate like the sun at midday. Revere the day, revere justice, and beware the Black Carnival!"

As Jozan pondered those words, the old priest stepped toward him. The cleric pounded his fist against his chest in a martial salute to the young cleric and began to sing, "Bound in faith, bound in blood, bound in power!"

In the midst of the hymn, Jozan found both healing and the assurance that Pelor could speak, even in the Temple of Heironeous.