Smoke rose wearily from the hastily made fire, as it spluttered in its grate. Whoever had attempted to light the mish-mash of wood and sticks was no expert, and small flames licked futilely at the oversized blocks in the fire’s centre. Large drapes were pulled tight against the windows, blocking the ingress of all but the smallest of lights and candles burned waxily on the central table.
A large, overweight man in a stained cassock sat in the room’s single chair and gazed pensively at the young man in front of him. In contrast, this individual’s dress was pristine. A brilliant white surcoat overlaying what appeared to be a chainmail vest. On this surcoat was emblazoned the seven point design of those belonging to the Church’s Militant Order, the Brethren. Close inspection would have shown the pistol holstered in the man’s belt and the pair of short swords crossed and held snugly against his back.
“Cardinal Krun,” the young man began arrogantly, his disdain for the obese and food-spotted clergyman obvious, “you summoned me?”
Krun smiled depreciatingly and then spoke, “Sir Franklin, that is true, and yet you actually came.”
Sir Franklin snorted in disgust and replied, “You are an instrument of the Church, My Lord,” he pointed out.
“Yes, and such a disreputable one, my dear Franklin,” replied the Cardinal, ineffectually trying to straighten his cassock.
“What is it that you want, my Lord, “ asked Franklin flatly, “there is much for me to do yet this day, so I would appreciate it if you were brief.”
Cardinal Krun laughed, his eyes glinting dangerously and belying the carefully maintained impression of ridiculous incapacity for his lofty position that he cultured.
“You,” he said flatly, the timbre of his voice changing, “will make time for me, sir!”
Surprise flashed across Sir Franklin’s face, but Krun held up his hand, forestalling further speech.
“And, you will do exactly as I say,” he spat viciously, “if, Sir Knight, you damn well know what is good for you.”
*
The Church and the One True Faith had begun as more of a political exercise. During the time of Urion, there had been clashes between the priesthood and Urion’s followers. This had basically been over wealth and power, more explicitly, the control of such. Urion had won, as he had in many other things, the debate by might of arms. He had ruthlessly forced the corrupt religious leaders to bow to his commands and had allowed them to practice a reformed version of their Faith. They worshiped the Great One, or at least the general populace did, the Hierarchy of the Church, in fact, only worshipped what they could personally see and touch and ruthlessly exploited their followers.
Urion had needed money to fund his campaigns and he had taken over the Church, filling his coffers with their followers’ donations. It had neither been his best, nor one of his most well-publicised acts, but it had in fact served as a real tool for change.
Militant Orders had been created whose function was two-fold; to fight at his side in the name of the Great One and also keep the machinations of the higher members of the Church in check. As time passed, these original purposes had been lost to all but a select few as the decline of Urion’s Empire signalled the rise once more to the power of the Individual Houses. Within that rise, was also a return to the exploitation of the masses by the priesthood, and in particular their return to the battlefield of politics.
Within the Church, there now remained one true arm of the Militant Orders, the Brethren, who prided themselves on their strict adherence to the tenets set down by Urion, and as such this explained the arrogant attitude of Sir Franklin, towards the overly proportioned Cardinal.
Krun, however, was not all that he seemed, he was also a member of a secret Order. They were the one’s responsible for spiriting away the last of Urion’s sons and keeping his family’s existence hidden. Unknowingly, it was them that Hyas worked for, as they kept tight control of the whereabouts of the holder of the fabled Belt.
Had he but known it, and the capacities of the Cardinal before him, Sir Franklin would have started his conversation with the man differently. Unfortunately, it was now too late, and the overbearing Knight was due a rapid and very rude awakening.
*
Cardinal Krun’s chubby fingers closed around the neck of a golden goblet, which lay at rest on a small table by the arm of his chair. Picking up the vessel, he swirled the ruby-coloured liquid within it gently, sniffing appreciatively before delicately sipping at it. Sir Franklin sneered, his contempt for the over-sized man before him poorly masked. This was, however, yet another of Krun’s little games; the liquid was nothing more than fruit extract, prepared to look exactly like the local wine, but with zero alcoholic impact.
Sighing contentedly, the cardinal smacked his lips and gently placed the goblet back on the table, his lips stained slightly with the rich colour.
“Oh, this is ridiculous!” snarled Franklin, turning sharply to leave.
“Enough!”, roared Krun, the irate Knight spinning back to deliver a cutting rebuke, but any such retort died on his lips as he stared into the open mouth of a flechette pistol. Neither was it just any such weapon, its deadly lines spoke volumes and the rock-steady and confident manner in which it was held, caused a rapid re-evaluation of the situation.
Involuntarily, Franklin’s hand strayed towards the butt of his own pistol, but the slight shaking of the Cardinal’s head forestalled any such move.
“You will listen to what I have to say,” stated the corpulent cardinal, “think carefully on your response and then give me your opinion. The manner in which you comport yourself and the basis of the aforementioned opinion, will determine your fate. Now, make yourself as comfortable as you can under the circumstances, and I will begin.”
As the Cardinal began to speak, Sir Franklin’s face displayed incredulity, dawning comprehension, amazement and then awe-struck wonder in swift succession. At last the large man finished and waited expectantly.
Tears formed in the Church Knight’s eyes and he crashed to one knee, his head bowed. Gently, the Cardinal reached out his hand and placed it on the now contrite Knight's head, “I know, I know,” he said gently, “and he needs you and your Order as much as his ancestor ever did.”
Then, more business-like, he continued, “I have a ship waiting, to take you to him. You can only bring a small contingent with you, for now. A full mobilisation of the Order would ring every alarm bell the Church has ever owned.”
“The Order has waited many years for this,” replied Sir Franklin, the change in his demeanour striking, “a short while longer will cause no harm.”
“Good, then it is agreed,” confirmed Cardinal Krun, “be off with you then, my boy. Get your men and equipment and meet me at the Spaceport, we will leave as soon as you are ready!”
Krun watched the Knight stride out of the door, his arrogance temporarily banished by jubilation. That won’t last, thought the Cardinal as he chuckled to himself, but it will do for now.
*
Sir Franklin took the front steps to the Order’s main Chapter House two at a time, his exuberant demeanour spilling over and affecting his normally reserved and respectful facade. It was his self-congratulating behaviour which blinded him to the strange situation facing him; the presence of Church soldiers guarding the front entrance to the Chapter House was more than unusual, it was impossible.
He was brought back to his senses by the flat of the hand placed against his chest, barring him entry. Looking up, he saw that the hand was attached to a Captain, whose white uniform, with blue piping clashed with the dark wood entrance.
“Halt!” commanded the representative of the Church, “and state your business!”
The Cardinal was not mistaken, the Knight’s arrogance surged to the fore, as he batted the restraining hand aside, ignoring the insistent official. A barked command set four armed soldiers in his path, their rifles pointing unerringly at the Knight’s chest and the sneer on their faces saying loudly that something had changed. Never would they have dared to impede the work of the Order, unless...
Franklin turned to face the now smirking Captain, his quick glance through the doorway revealing a slumped figure against the wall, a dark stain spreading around its feet. Apart from the Captain, the other four soldiers were the only visible Church presence, but he knew that this would not last for much longer.
“Your weapons!” snapped the Officer, his hand waving imperiously, full of confidence.
“Of course,” responded Sir Franklin, a disarming smile on his face, as he slowly withdrew his pistol and held it out by its muzzle.
