As it was to be expected, the Cathedral dedicated to the Craftsman God was enormously impressive and reflected all of Zenithar’s glories. It was by far the largest, tallest and grandest building in the entire city, towering over every other building by dozens of metres. The dual belltowers alone were seventy metres tall, and the central stained-glass window depicting the God Himself was easily ten metres in diameter. Every column, overhang and centimetre of the cathedral was intricately carved into the likenesses of saints and heroes of great renown and it was somewhat confronting to walk towards the oaken doors with the gaze of dozens of stone figures watching you every step of the way.
Although with my obvious nervousness and unease approaching or entering holy places was not being helped that myself and the group with me was drawing the attention of everyone living within sight. At the best of times Viconia and I turned heads on our own even if we dressed shabbily and left our signature armours behind, but our increasing fame was making it even more difficult to go unnoticed. Our group also consisted of most of those who had journeyed with us into Blackmarsh and between Falid’s enormity, Mazoga’s force of personality and Alexi’s appearance of unperturbed amusement we were practically swamped with citizens with every step.
What I did find amusing was that we didn’t actually find it difficult to move through crowds despite all of this. Viconia’s expression that somehow conveyed the high likelihood of dying messily in the gutter if anyone considered getting in her way was usually enough but with individuals like Mazoga and Falid it was as easy as though the streets were deserted. Falid simply strode forward and appeared to simply not care or take note of the dozens scrambling out of his path. We had been travelling together enough to know that it was for the most part an act. While he might look as though to try to stop the giant in black plate would be to attempt to stop an avalanche by raising your hand and asking it nicely, he was also controlled enough to ensure that he would never bump or touch anyone as he moved.
Entering the subjective cool of the Cathedral’s interior and immediately being assaulted by the smells of incense we also laid eyes on the dozens of priests, worshippers and visitors filling its space. It may have been Middas but there were still quite a number of petitioners and faithful attending private sermons or their own prayer sessions.
“Security has definitely increased.” Alexi muttered offhandedly at my side as we entered and I couldn’t help but nod. While this was my first time within the Cathedral it was obvious there were a considerable number of armed men and women scattered about. Some were city guards, but there were others who varied from the odd one or two members of the Fighter’s Guild, to travelling knights, or priests who had shrugged on chainmail or a breastplate and found a weapon somewhere.
“It’s about time they starting looking out for themselves.” Viconia’s voice was a low hiss and her tone was enough to tell more than just myself how she thought about the Nine and its followers. “What use is a church that can’t defend itself from attack? All the others I have seen have been ripe for plundering if not for the proximity of the city guard.”
I gave a shrug and bowed very slightly to one of the priests who waved us to the left. “Until Umaril there wasn’t much of a threat to be worried about. There might have been an odd thief or two who would clean out the poor box or steal some of the silver but they didn’t have to worry about being massacred.”
All of us were left cold from more than just the temperature within the Cathedral. During our recovery of the Shield the Church of the Nine had publicly admitted that they had been suffering attacks and the faithful were dying as a result. The fact that they had done so had sent shockwaves to every corner of Tamriel that worshipped the Nine but it was obvious to those such as ourselves that they had only admitted so to deal with the backlash. Too many places of worship had been desecrated after the attendees were slaughtered like cattle and the Church couldn’t contain the secret any more. They had been aided by our own success in recovering the relics, as my recovery of the boots and the quest for the Shield had allowed them to counter the revelation of Umaril’s return with the fact that the weapons to defeat him were being gathered for the first time in centuries.
If I was to be truly honest with myself I despised the fact that Viconia and my actions, and in turn those of our comrades were being distilled into propaganda but it was providing us all with a fighting chance. With something like the reclamation of the relics and the reestablishment of the Order of the Nine fuelling hope, there was also greater banner to rally behind.
“Good morning Sir Vanevius.” One of the robed priests said as he bowed to Alexi. The movement made the teal robes flow like water as he bent at the waist.
“Good morning Kantav. Blessings of Zenithar to you.”
“Thank you, my son. Have you come to try your luck again?”
Alexi smiled, trying his best not to appear to be turning his head to the side to hide his injury. “Not myself, but my friends here would like to.”
The elderly priest looked at the rest of us in turn, smiling pleasantly as he nodded to each of us and trying not to look intimidated as he tilted his head up to meet Mazoga and Falid’s gaze. “Well, I trust that you know the routine by now. May Zenithar grant you his blessings.”
Without further word the priest had turned and shuffled away and Alexi noticed my bemused expression.
“Just how many times have you tried to retrieve the mace?” I asked.
“One or two times.” He replied, turning away and motioning for us to follow. “Or a dozen or more. It’s almost a hobby for a lot of us in the Order.”
Seeing the splash of colour from the various surcoat wearing knights throughout the cathedral I could easily believe that. It was almost a rite of passage for the Order, or indeed any of the militaristic organisations within Leyawiin to try to retrieve the Mace. There was no doubt at all in my mind that all the lustre and religious significance for such an event was long diminished over the centuries of failures, especially as Alexi led us over to a small table where another acolyte sat.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
“Names and ranks.” He said, his tone almost as weary as his ink splattered robes and I felt uncomfortably reminded of my arrival at the Imperial Prison. This time I was not a condemned deserter dressed in sackcloth, but a Knight Commander in armour of moonstone and ebony.
Heeding Alexi’s wave of a hand and before the long-suffering priest could sigh with annoyance I stepped forward. “Knight Commander Kaius Desin.”
Normally my name would have sent at least a tremor of recognition through anyone, even without my recent honorifics but the priest didn’t so much as twitch. Not that I could blame him as I watched him write my name and date into the book on the table and managed to read a couple of other names off the list. Apparently I was the second Knight Commander that same day who had tried along with a dozen or so other minor nobility and the usual collection of commoners. I had also managed to see the names of at least two Counts or equivalent from Highrock and other provinces who had tried to retrieve the mace in the past days before he looked up, gave me a brief nod and looked for the next person to record their name.
Viconia, Mazoga and Falid followed suit and had their details recorded. Alexi hung back, choosing to be part of us but distancing himself. Our conversations through the morning had let me with full knowledge that he didn’t intend on trying for the Mace again, but there was nothing stopping the rest of us.
Without a further word from the priest and little more than a gesture from him, one of the several armed men leaning against the wall lifted himself up and walked over to us. He was well into his fifties with salt and pepper hair, a neatly groomed goatee wrapping around his lips and surprisingly enough, a solid appearing, if worn set of Legionary armour.
“Good morning Sirs,” he said with a smile that showed that he was missing a few teeth. “and Madames. My name is Carodus Oholin and I will be your guide for the day.”
“Were you a legionary?” Viconia asked, a split second before I could get the words out of my mouth and judging by her expression she did it to tease me more than any desire to personally know.
“Indeed I was Madame. In a previous life I was Centurion Oholin, but now I am merely Citizen Oholin.”
“Retired?”
Again his smile was large enough to show exactly how many teeth he was missing. Like some I had served with, missing teeth was to be expected, especially for those who fought in the shieldwall. Although, most who lost their teeth was as a result of tavern room brawls or the usual bouts of boxing and fights between cohorts or castas than in actual combat. This fact alone even without seeing the old, yet well-kept armour that he wore was enough to know that Carodus was a fighter and an experienced one at that.
“Indeed I am Sir. Going on six years now but one cannot simply sit around his house all day, so here I am helping keeping an eye on things.”
“And give tours it seems.” Despite her words Viconia’s tone was more teasing than her usual harshness but unknown to the rest of our group she was just as uneasy in being in the cathedral as I was. I was doubtful whether she would ever truly be comfortable in any houses of the Surfacer Gods.
“That’s just an added bonus Madame.” The accent of the retired Legionary made several of his words blur together and each time he spoke Viconia’s title it sounded very close to Ma’am. “I know some of you are more than familiar with the history of the Cathedral and the story of Saint Kaladas but is there anyone interested in the usual tour or would you all prefer to get down to business instead?”
Almost as a single mind we all went to move in the direction of his urging but a voice towards the rear of our party spoke up. “I would like to know a bit more about the place.”
Mazoga had a habit of almost blending into the background at times, which was a semi-remarkable feat for a being that weighed over a hundred and fifty kilograms. She had been looking about the interior of the chapel for some time with evident interest and had practically leapt at the chance to learn.
Carodus in comparison looked just as pleased to teach and had the sudden appearance of being about to regale his grandchildren tales of his youth. “Really? Excellent. Follow me please and try to contain yourselves from acquiring mementos or the like otherwise I will have to beat you.”
The way he framed the statement and the grin didn’t quite remove the seriousness in his tone or words despite the fact he was addressing some of the most capable beings in the Empire. Like many old legionaries there was a strange streak of confidence that was impossible to remove and he was not making idle threats or speaking from bravado. The fact that he had lived long enough to retire from the Legion was more than enough to show that he meant every word. It was an unspoken rule or law to be wary of those who survived a life where almost all died young.
“The legends say that in the wake of the Alessian Rebellion,” he began, his face cheerful as he took a freshly lit lantern from the hands of the stationed priest before leading the way down the stairs to the catacombs. “and when Pelinal Whitestrake was slain by the Ayleids, a messenger carried the Mace to the human settlement of Leywindium as a message. The ancient city is well and truly gone these days but on the very spot that the kings of old received the message the great Saint Kaladas began constructing a monument to the gods, the victory over the elves and in glory to all mankind. For most of his lifetime he supervised and poured all of his worldly possessions into the construction of this very cathedral in tribute to that very legend.”
“Seems to me that he merely bought his way into Sainthood.” Viconia muttered bitterly, framing her words as a mixture of a statement and question at the same time.
For a brief moment Carodus couldn’t decide whether he was being insulted or asked a serious question before he chose to provide an answer. “You are partially right of course Ma’am. Saint Kaladas is more widely known and regarded for building this cathedral but these days it is merely the last of his works that still exist. Much of what he had accomplished is long since dust and rubble, but in more ways than one he laid the foundations of what Leyawiin is today.”
Moving into the ancient halls under the cathedral I suppressed a shiver from the obvious difference in temperature and saw that the catacombs were extremely old. They left me remembering the way the tunnels and passages under the Imperial City where the Emperor died had been before they had been filled with violence and blood.
There were others moving back towards the surface and the ground level of the castle as Carodus led us through with the utmost confidence that experience and routine provided. “When the Saint finally died and was laid to rest, those who prayed to Zenithar at his tomb began to receive visions of the Mace of the Crusader.”
“How long have pilgrims been receiving these visions?” Mazoga asked again from the back of our group.
“You’d have to ask one of the priests for a more definite answer but this cathedral was built in the late First Era, so for two thousand years or so at least.” He gestured to the dozens of passages leading off the primary room connecting the stairs to the rest of the catacombs. “This was apparently the first portion built shortly after the Cathedral was finished but now I know that at least one of the primary passages is over three hundred metres long and connects to the rest of the Undercity. Some of the younger guards do regular patrols to keep out grave robbers and other less reputable individuals.”
“Two thousand years’ worth of attempts and no one has succeeded?” I asked this time, somewhat knowing the answer but still feeling uneasy with the question.
“Not yet at least my Lord.” The twinkle in his eye could not be undimmed even with age. “Someone will reclaim it, but only if they are truly blessed by Zenithar.”
