He was outfitted in gleaming, polished plate. It looked like an antique. His helm was tucked under one arm. Its horns were not as large as Isobel’s but at least as large as Brys’. They were deadly, and covered in blood like the rest.

He carried many weapons. A dagger on his belt as well as a longsword in a scabbard. On his back was slung the same kind of longspear Aderyn had waved at Heden when they met. There was also a quiver of javelins on his back. Heden had seen men walking around with more weaponry on them, but only for show.

He was absurdly handsome. He looked like a figure stepped out of a stained glass window. His fair complexion and fine-boned features would have made even Gwiddon envious. It was hard to tell how old he was. Heden guessed, based on what he knew of Aderyn and how long one had to be a squire, he was in his late 30’s.

Seeing this knight, tall, youthful, his green hair hanging straight down to his shoulders, his face honest and open, standing there in his perfectly made and maintained armor made all the other knights look shabby by comparison. Even the Lady Isobel.

Taethan walked up the length of the nave, ignoring everyone in the priory. Heden watched the other knights’ reactions.

Isobel looked distant. As though trying to remove herself from the world around her. Brys showed opened frustration with the knight, as though he wanted to reach out and shake him. Nudd faced away from them all. Idris and his cohort looked disgusted with the knight. For once, it seemed Cadwyr and Dywel didn’t need to look to Idris from a cue.

In every way Heden could tell, Taethan’s ritual at the altar was identical to Isobel’s. Heden was searching for any sign of ‘the perfect knight’ as the others had called him. He certainly looked the part.

When he was done, he did something none of the other knights did. He walked to his crest, three horses rampant, removed his longspear from across his back, and moved to placed it on the brace under his device.

Just before he placed it in the curve of the wooden brace, he turned to look at the other knights, and let the spear drop. None of them reacted.

Taethan walked back down the nave and approached Heden. None of the other knights would look at him.

The knight stood before him, his face open. No sense of judgment on his face. Just looking at Heden. Heden turned and put one arm over the back of the bench, looking up at the knight whose face seemed carved from marble.

“You know what I think?” Heden opened without preamble. No introduction. Taethan didn’t react.

“I think every single knight in this place knows exactly what happened to your Commander.”

Taethan watched him, no expression. Just listening. Heden expected some attitude, but was receiving none.

“You should have heard them. They acted like they’d never heard of Kavalen,” Heden said, dropping the title to see how Taethan would react. Nothing. “Everyone said talk to you. I bet,” he said, “that you think that’s as much a pile of horseshit as I do.”

Taethan pursed his lips, but Heden couldn’t tell if it was in reaction to what Heden said, or how he said it.

“You want me out of here as much as they do,” Heden said, his voice dropping a little. “Ok. You tell me how your commander died, and I’ll get out of here and leave you to…whatever you do.”

Taethan looked to the other knights as though checking to see if they would interject, but it was just for show.

He turned back to Heden.

“Did you know,” Sir Taethan’s began, “that your father prays for you, every morning?”

Heden peered at him and grimaced.

“You don’t know my father,” he said, pointing a warning finger.

“Only you,” Sir Taethan said, and he pulled at the mail gauntlets, tugging them off. “You have two brothers and two sisters, but he doesn’t pray for them.”

“Why don’t you use the cant?” Heden asked.

Taethan dismissed the question. “It’s not compulsory,” he said, echoing Idris. “Why does your father pray for you alone?”

“How do you know about my family?” Heden asked. He didn’t move, but he let some menace into his voice.

Taethan didn’t relent.

“He prays to both Adun and Cavall,” the knight said, taking off his mailed gloves. “He’s entitled, I suppose. At dawn every day he says ‘Help him.’ He doesn’t say your name, he doesn’t say ‘Help my son Heden,’ even though he has many sons, but the gods know who he means.”

“How do you know my name?” Heden asked, his voice rough. He didn’t like hearing about his father like this, and knew Taethan spoke the truth.

“Prayer,” Taethan said, and the other knights turned and looked at each other in disgust. They’d probably heard the lecture, and didn’t like it, “is a meditation. You see when they start, they’re young, and prayer is just a list. What they’ve been taught. A litany they recite of all their friends and loved ones. But when things go bad, when times are hard, then they start praying over the things they think are important. And that is how they learn what’s really important to them. Discovering that changes them. It’s a kind of self-revelation. Do you see?”

Sir Taethan watched Heden for his response. It sounded like a speech he practiced before, but he was watching to see whether Heden paid attention or not.

Heden thought about what the knight had said but more, why he had said it.

“I hadn’t thought of that,” Heden admitted. He never minded admitting ignorance, and had never regretted it.

“Why do you think your father only ever prays for you?”

“I know why,” Heden said. “I know better than you. Probably better than he does. Why do you think the Bishop sent me? You think he drew names by lot?”

Taethan adjusted his armor and moved his helm to the crook of his other arm. Its horns were long and spindly. Heden wondered how often the knights replaced them.

As the knight adjusted his armor, Heden noticed the moss growing on him. It wasn’t as obvious as Isobel. Heden wondered if he strategically picked parts off, and left others. How much of this covering was for show.

The knight was expecting some kind of elaboration from Heden. Heden wasn’t going to give it.

“A test? Is that what this is?” he asked. “You want to see if I’m…what? What quality do you think I need to speak the ritual? How about this; I didn’t kill my commander.”

This upset the other knights. Taethan said nothing.

“Who says we need this lout?” Dywel rasped. “We serve Halcyon, not the Bishop. She will choose the next Commander. Run him out of here.” Dywel spat the last words out.

“You think I came here for my amusement?” Heden challenged, looking from knight to knight. “Curiosity? You think I’m going to head out just because I’ve had my feelings hurt?” Heden shook his head and leaned back against the bench. “We’ve got a lot to learn about each other,” he said.

“As servants of Cavall, we owe respect to the Hierarch,” Sir Brys said. “But not servitude. We serve the Wode.” He looked at Sir Dywel without approval or affection, and said; “I agree with Sir Dywel. Brother Heden,” Brys said, looking at him from halfway across the priory, “we neither seek your judgment nor respect it. This is Halcyon’s priory, not your whore Saint’s. If you will not speak the ritual now, you must leave.”

Heden looked to Isobel to see how she’d react to Brys making that kind of statement. She seemed lost in thought.

“What do you think?” Heden asked Taethan. “You think Halcyon’s just busy? You think that’s why no one’s been chosen to replace Kavalen? Or do you think she’s waiting for me?”

Taethan shook his head slowly. “I hope one, fear the other, and know not.” He seemed sad, looking at Heden.

“Tell me what happened to Kavalen.” Heden said to Taethan. “If there is justice to be meted out, you can do it. Or I can do it, I don’t care. But I can speak the ritual and one of you can take over and the people at Durham Keep will have a chance.”

None of them liked hearing about the Keep, they collectively fidgeted and avoided Heden’s gaze. Except Taethan.

“What about you?” Heden said, looking at Sir Nudd. “Are you going to stand there and hope your oath protects you from doing the right thing? You can speak, you know,” he said. “You know what happened to Kavalen, you could tell me if you thought it was important enough.”

Sir Nudd frowned sadly and held up three fingers. The third knight. Taethan.

“Balls,” Heden said, giving up.

“You are a priest of Cavall,” Isobel said, straining to understand Heden. “The oath of silence is a burdensome thing, it weighs upon him like all the rock of this priory. Thou knowest that more than any likewise. Why wouldst a priest, any priest, attempt to provoke Sir Nudd into breaking it?”

Taethan looked sharply at Isobel. Then at Heden.

“Who said he was a priest?” Taethan asked, surprised. He looked to the other knights, to see if any of them had an answer.

He looked at Heden and was obviously disappointed. Without taking his eyes of him, he said: “Did he ever tell you he was a priest?”

No one responded. Brys stood up and looked angrily at Heden. Aderyn was confused, looking frantically from Brys to Taethan to Isobel.

“Did he say anything other than letting you all assume he was a priest?”

Brys walked up the nave and stood behind Taethan. The other knights, but for Isobel, were in various states of suspicion and outrage. Heden squirmed on the bench. Taethan knew too much about him, and then too much more.

Brys was about to say something damning, when Isobel spoke.

“He said nothing of the kind,” she said. She wasn’t looking at anyone, she was off on her own.

Her voice was clear and calm, but her pronouncement had an authority none could ignore. Heden didn’t believe that some people were born to rule. But he believed some people were better at it. Hard to know Baede and Richard and not think that. Isobel ranked among them. Her sister was a pale imitation.

“It was pure surmise on our part. A fanciful illusion he invited us to share.”

“He’s not a priest?” Aderyn asked, confused.

“I knew it,” Cadwyr sneered.

Idris shot him a look. “No you didn’t.”

Nudd just frowned sadly and turned his back.

Aderyn looked at him plaintively. “Why didst thou lie to us?” she asked. And in that moment the cant sounded perfectly natural.

“I apologize,” Heden said. “It’s a…it’s a bad habit I’ve picked up.”

“You should be proud of yourself,” Dywel said, and looked to Idris for approval. “You’re very good at it. A practiced liar.”

Heden ignored him and looked at Aderyn. “Most people think I’m a priest and I…I let them,” he said.

Aderyn looked back and forth between Taethan, Isobel, and Heden. “But he,” she began. “He warded me when I fought the giant,” she said.

“Tell them what you are,” Taethan said, his voice was light and free of care.

Heden looked down at the flagstones. He didn’t like being the center of attention.

“I’m an Arrogate,” he said.

Isobel stood up sharply, shocked, and turned to face Heden. Taethan smiled widely, cynically. The others were confused. Aderyn watched them all, trying to judge how she should react.

“What is that?” she asked, and now there was anger at her own ignorance.

“Tell her,” Taethan said.

“How did you know my name?” Heden asked. “When you came in here? None of the other knights had a chance to tell you about me.”

Taethan looked as though Heden had just complimented him. He said nothing. Heden found it difficult to talk.

“You tell her,” Heden said, refusing to take Taethan’s bait.

“It’s an ancient tradition,” Lady Isobel interjected, not taking her eyes of Heden. Her attitude toward him had changed. There was respect now and, Heden thought, awe.

“Prithee,” she said, “almost as old as ours.”

Taethan seemed a little put out that Lady Isobel was letting Heden off the hook. He interrupted.

“They are agents of the church,” Taethan said.

Heden nodded.

“Then priests after all,” Brys said, seeming confused but obviously wanting to learn that Heden was trustworthy. Wanting to find a way to shape events to fit his worldview.

“Nay,” Lady Isobel said, shaking her head in disbelief. Like she’d found some plaster statue had turned out to be a priceless artifact. “They must first be annulled. The Arrogates serve the church by leaving it, and taking on those duties abhorrent to Cavall.”

“Abhorrent?” Cadwyr said, interested in spite of himself.

“Awful things,” Isobel said. “I thought the tradition dead because it destroyed those who attempted it.”

“He’s not destroyed,” Dywel said, looking to Cadwyr, who nodded approval. “Maybe he’s not an Arrogate either.”

Lady Isobel cast a glance and Dywel and Idris hit him in the shoulder lightly with his mailed glove, then pointed at Dywel and Cadwyr, scolding them.

“Thou knowest the truth now,” Isobel accused, turning back to Heden. “Should have known it from the start.”

The knights accepted this. Lady Isobel had spoken and none seemed willing to gainsay her. Heden wondered at what it meant that he’d been able to deceive the knights in the first place. Isobel’s response seemed to indicate that it should not have worked. Like Heden, like most priests who served Cavall or his brother Adun, the Knights should have been able to sense truth, but could not.

“How long hast thou been an Arrogate?” Lady Isobel asked.

“Three years,” Heden said.

Lady Isobel nodded, as though confirming a suspicion. “And has it aged thou?”

Heden shrugged. “Not as much as not being an Arrogate did,” he said cryptically. Choke on that, he thought. “Ask Taethan,” my ass.

“What would prompt one to do such a thing?” Brys asked. “Why does the church need someone like you?”

Heden didn’t respond to either question.

Taethan walked forward. Heden felt like a criminal with the knight standing there before him. He averted his gaze. Something he hadn’t felt the need to do with the other knights. It seemed like, until Taethan, Heden had never seen a knight.

“They don’t understand,” Taethan said. “Tell them.”

Heden shifted under his gaze. “It’s not just the church,” Heden said. “I…an Arrogate is sworn to find good men who’ve done or might have to do awful things, and absolve them. Take on their transgressions. Usually things Cavall forbids. Sometimes that means doing it yourself. Which means violating the speech of Cavall.”

“Give them an example,” Taethan said, pushing him.

Heden gave them the canonical example. “A giant is pillaging your herd,” he said. “It’s a big, stupid thing, can’t be reasoned with, but it’s not doing it out of malice, it needs the food. You need the food. So you resolve to kill the giant. But that would make you a murderer,” he said, and Aderyn interrupted him.

“Not in defense,” she objected. “Not to defend your land! The law permits!”

Heden looked at Taethan and tried to hold his gaze. “You tell that to the farmers who’ve come back from killing the thing. Covered in blood. Can’t speak to their wives, can’t sleep with them, ignore their children. You ask them if the law matters. They’re the ones who had to go out and do it. They still feel like murderers.”

Taethan, some secret knowledge firing him, held Heden’s gaze. Heden found himself looking away. He looked at the floor, and then at the back of Sir Nudd.

“They know the giant had as much right to live as anyone.”

Sir Nudd half turned, aware the comment was directed at him.

“So you do it for them. You murder the wretched thing, so they don’t have to. So they can go on being…normal people.”

Taethan nodded approval at Heden’s explanation and turned to the other knights.

“That is an Arrogate,” he said.

“What an awful way to live,” Sir Idris said. Heden noted the rare moment of compassion or introspection from him.

Heden shrugged. “It’s not so bad.”

As Taethan retreated and tucked his mail gloves into his belt, Brys walked forward and confronted Heden.

“You lied to us,” Brys said frankly, pointing an accusing finger at Heden. “Not an auspicious way to begin.”

“He goes,” Idris said. “He is not fit to judge the death of Kavalen, he has no authority to judge, and he has worn out whatever welcome we were foolish enough to grant.”

“Aye,” Cadwyr said.

“That’s what I said,” Dywel said, looking between them.

“He must stay,” Isobel said. “For he is the only way.”

This seemed to satisfy Aderyn.

Brys and Nudd both looked at Taethan. Taethan turned his back on Heden.

“It doesn’t matter,” Taethan said. “The result is the same either way.”

Nudd held up two fingers. The second knight, Isobel. He was siding with her.

Heden stood up and looked at each knight.

“Someone needs to explain something to me, because I don’t get it.” They all turned away from him, could see where he was going and wanted to ignore him. This angered him more. “All I want to do is grant absolution or justice to whoever killed Kavalen. So you can go back to being Knights. So you can save the people at Durham Keep. Every time I bring the Keep up you all look like you’re going to going to vomit. You hate that you’re all sitting here while the urmen march. I can see it. But you won’t ride out against them because of what happened to Kavalen. Ok. I don’t know why that matters, but I can see it does.”

He looked at Brys.

“So tell me what happened. Let me do my job, so you can do yours.”

Brys said nothing. Heden got very angry.

“Why are you all fighting me on this? What possible reason could you have for sitting on your asses and doing nothing while people die?” Why did Taethan matter so much?

Brys was pained, and looked at Taethan, who seemed in some kind of meditation. Lost in thought.

“He goes,” Brys said finally, ignoring Heden’s plea. That made it four against, two in favor, and one abstention.

Heden stepped forward.

“Don’t do this,” he said, his voice low.

Brys turned and looked at the stained glass window.

“You are an interloper here. You may return to the Hierarch and explain to him that you failed, and more that he was wrong to send you.”

“If I leave here,” Heden said clenching his fist, “then that’s it. No one replaces Kavalen. No one else will come up here. And a thousand innocent people die.”

Nudd turned back to them, and walked over. He was almost twice Heden’s height. He was one of the biggest men Heden had ever seen.

Sad, in some kind of pain, Nudd pointed to the archway. Heden liked Nudd, and didn’t want to fight him. More, he didn’t want to cause him any more pain.

Idris put his hand on his sword’s pommel. Aderyn looked confused.

Heden grabbed his pack from the floor, turned, and walked down the nave to the archway. His boots rang out on the stone floor. No one said anything.

He walked outside into the center of the clearing. Saw the setting sun stabbing wan fingers of light through the trees. The warm light of the priory bled out into the clearing.

Heden dropped his pack on the ground.

“Shit,” he said.

Chapter 29