POST SCRIPTUM
by
Warner Scroggins
The streets of Wheeler’s Heath
were largely deserted after the early evening’s spectacle an hour before. All that remained of the Grand Inquisitor’s
bonfire-cum-funeral-pyre was a twisting vine of smoke curling upwards to the
sky from a bloom of soot and ash in the town square. The black, crisped skeletons of heretics
slumped amongst the smoking coals of their earthly doom.
Among these misfortunates was General
Helmut von Lukenstrife, a celebrated national hero of the Three Years War
against Null, the despotic Mad Prince of Krath.
The general had sparked the ire of the Osselis Imperial church with his
outspoken support of religious tolerance in the ethnically-diverse
Grand Inquisitor Rexen Avrigorn and his Talons
of Light had burned a clear and unmistakable message into the minds and hearts
of this besombered township: No man was above the authority of God’s Law… not
even a king’s most prized general.
The shadows swelled, the light
grew weak, and scattered pedestrians crossed cobblestone streets in haste for
home. Stray dogs fought for scraps in
darkened alleys. Even the taverns –
occupied though they were – were unusually sullen and quiet. Wheeler’s Heath was a place accustomed to
merriment and laughter, not the harsh and humorless ways of the Imperial
Church.
A few miles north of Wheeler’s
Heath rested the secluded walls of Blanchewood Abbey.
A rounded tower on the eastern
side glowed with orange light. Within,
the Grand Inquisitor—Rexen Avrigorn--stretched to subdue the soreness in his
joints and bent over his candlelit desk.
In the shadowy recesses of his preoccupation, he was dimly aware that
just beyond his wooden door he heard the hushed movements of his attendants and
staff organizing supplies, arranging paperwork, and counting donations.
A half- thought—and its
progeny-- formed in his mind:
There were so many acolytes and
seminarians now. So many, in fact, that
even though many of them interacted with him on a daily basis, he did not
recognize their faces. He did not know their names….
The Church was prospering in a time of
plenty—and certainly, offered more of a haven than life in these uncertain—no, dangerous--times.
And the supply of young eager men who would serve God, his holy work—or
themselves--seemed endless. As endless as the paperwork that sometimes seemed
like the reincarnation of hell on earth and brought him out of prayer or
meditation or troubled sleep with his heart beating too fast and the sense that
he had overlooked something important yet again.
Details…always there were
delicate matters and details to attend to and there was never enough time….
Avrigorn dipped the quill of his
pen into the inkwell and concluded his letter to the Cardinal.
‘…Without question, making an example of the general was
the wisest of moves on our part. The populace
of the general’s homeland has been effectively frightened into compliance with
the Word of Truth. Glory to God. The common man’s sins, once hidden in the
darkness of his closet, have been thrown into the brilliant light of day as
neighbor turns against neighbor, each hoping the sins of the next will eclipse
his own. Many wayward souls have been
cleansed by Purity’s righteous flame, and tenfold the more given correction by
way of example. The Lord’s kingdom grows
by the day.
Word of the general’s purification has no doubt reached
the crown of Voorgoth. No word as yet
regarding the King’s reaction. He
clearly has nothing to gain by opposing our sacred task; his obedient
compliance is all but assured.
The road is long
and arduous; nonetheless, the Church will persevere.
I thank you for
your prayers; and, of course, your generous support in this, my most solemn and
urgent duty.
Glory to God.
In His Light and
Truth,
Rexen Avrigorn
Grand Inquisitor, Talons of Light
Osselis Imperial
Church
Damme! Now look! His hand had
quivered—scarcely—but there was a blot on the flourish under his title. Avrigorn
held the letter up and scrutinized it more closely. The smudge wasn’t
immediately discernible…still, if the Cardinal or his assistant…
Somewhere he knew—just at his
left hand—was the blotter, and he could make amends. Then he would have to melt
the thick glutinous wax over the candle flames, drip it onto the parchment, apply
the heavy brass seal—
The door to Avrigorn’s private
study clanked open and a robed assistant cowered meekly at the threshold.
Avrigorn scowled without looking
up as he gave his signature another close look.
The acolyte cleared his throat by way of address.
“I gave specific orders not to be disturbed,”
the Grand Inquisitor said.
“Forgive me, Holy Father,” the
assistant said, bowing in reverence.
“I deliver a message.” From under his robes, he brought out a small
scroll, sealed with red wax. “It requires your most urgent attention.” The assistant moved as if to enter the room,
then wavered and balked, unsure of proper decorum and petrified of the Grand
Inquisitor’s wrath.
Avrigorn, patience wearing thin,
waved the assistant in. “Come,
then. Let’s have it,” he said. “But shut the door first. Too much noise from outside.”
“As you wish,” the assistant
said, closing the heavy door and muffling the dull commotion of the
Inquisitor’s staff.
The assistant gave Avrigorn the
sealed scroll and stood quietly at the Inquisitor’s shoulder, with eyes lowered
and hands folded.
Avrigorn broke the seal – that
of a neighboring province’s bishop. Even at first glance he could tell it was
hastily penned; the cramped, rigid hand told him it was written by someone in
an overwrought state of mind. He nearly said aloud that it was criminal how in
these days the details of things were being overlooked…and he was scarcely
aware that the acolyte had taken some few steps closer to him…and he read on--
Most Honorable and Holy Father, be advised that King
Kulnor has learned of General Lukenstrife’s demise at the hands of God’s servants. The Crown of Voorgoth has issued no word of
condemnation as of yet. Unusual, given
this kingdom’s permissive ways; its endorsement of immorality and heresy in the
name of ‘tolerance.’ We of the True
Faith are frustrated shepherds as the flock scampers away, wandering into the
arms of pagan unreligions, perversions of the One Truth, yes, even the ultimate
travesty of utter unbelief. This cannot
stand. We the faithful of the One Church
here in Voorgoth are grateful for the Holy City’s support – reinforcements, as
it were – as we wage spiritual war for the souls of Man.
In the Name of St. Yeshan, whose mercy endureth for ever
and ever, I wish you health and strength, and bid you welcome to the kingdom of
Voorgoth.
Bishop Tamerlane
Rel
Post Scriptum: Now go to Hell and take your
sanctimonious, boy-loving lot with you!
With hushed outrage Avrigorn
whispered, “What trickery is this?”
For answer, the acolyte’s swift
hands dropped over Avrigorn’s head.
A beaded choking cord constricted
the Grand Inquisitor’s neck. Avrigorn’s
hands clawed at the garrote’s cold iron pearls.
The apple of his throat strained in vain to open his windpipe. His mouth gaped and twisted, but only an
impotent croak crossed his lips.
“Don’t bother,” the imposter
said with honeyed malice. “This is not
the time to waste precious breath.”
Avrigorn’s eyes bulged wide and
white; his face darkened to a dangerous red and long ragged sounds poured out
of him.
Then, though his lids stayed wide to oversee
the details, he was unable to suck in the air he so desperately needed.
The false acolyte quickly shifted
the ends of the choking cord so that his left hand held them both. He gave them
a slight twist and Avrigorn gasped again.
“Voorgoth is a free land of free
men,” he said, “and we do not roll over like groveling mongrels when
kicked. Your pompous, would-be dictator
will learn this well enough in due course.
As for you…having just used the General as a deterrent… it’s now your
turn to serve as an example to the others.
I’m sure you understand.”
Avrigorn’s hands twisted into misshapen, white-knuckled fists.
The unmistakable sing of polished steel drawing from leather sounded
behind him.
Avrigorn made a wet clicking sound in his
throat.
“His Majesty sends his regards,” the acolyte said tonelessly.
Then his blade opened a red smile in the Grand Inquisitor’s throat.
--END-
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