Page 430 of Of Empires and Dust
“He has a seal from the emperor himself. Waves the damn thing around like a sword.” Adama handed the newly bound and inked books to Garramon. “He came to two of my colleagues first. They have subsequently vanished. I would like not to join them.”
When Adama made to offer the original copies, Garramon waved a hand. “Would you keep them for me? Just for a few nights.”
Adama agreed, and Garramon left the workshop as swiftly as he could without making a scene. He followed BrotherPirnil from the Exucendi antechamber and out into the tunnels beyond.
Pirnil was so absorbed in his own thoughts, Garramon didn’t even have to pretend not to be following him. The man took turn after turn, ascending and descending staircase after staircase to a point that even Garramon wasn’t quite sure where he was going. Eventually the man stopped at a thick iron door. Pirnil pulled a key from his pocket with his free hand, balancing the two thick books in the other. He unlocked the door and slipped through.
Garramon flitted across the stone and jammed his boot in the door before it closed.
The chamber within was enormous. The air clung to Garramon’s throat, thick with the pungent smell of death and char and burning. He pinched his nostrils as he stepped into the windowless room. Stout candles sat all about, lodged into piles of melted wax, providing the barest touch of warmth.
Wooden benches lined the walls on either side of the room, each fitted with straps and buckles and occupied by bodies in various stages of mutilation, flies swarming about them. The sight on its own would have turned Garramon’s stomach, but combined with the putrid stench, he had no choice but to swallow the vomit that flowed into his mouth.
“What in The Saviour’s name is this place?” He stepped further into the dark, desolate chamber, his hand over his mouth.
Pirnil was perched over a desk at the far end of the room. He scribbled furiously into a journal while Garramon approached the body closest to the door. It was an older man. His hair was brittle and white, while his frame still held a notable amount of lean muscle. The flesh on his arms and legs had turned black, and his fingerbones had broken the skin, snapped and twisted at odd angles. Rough-carved runes marked a large portion of hisbody. The runes looked like those Pirnil had inscribed into the candidates who had volunteered to become hosts for the Chosen. But if that were true, why was Brother Pirnil still carrying out his work… and why did he have Fane’s seal?
What have you done, old friend?
Garramon lifted his gaze to Brother Pirnil, who still hadn’t even noticed Garramon had entered the room.
A noise drew Garramon’s attention to the cot at Brother Pirnil’s left. He approached to find a young man strapped to the table with a rag stuffed in his mouth. Judging by the loll of his head and his drooped eyelids, he had consumed enough Altweid Blood to dull a horse.
Garramon drew a sharp breath and rolled his shoulders back. “Brother Pirnil,” he called, imbuing his voice with the same sense of authority he had wielded as the Arbiter all those years ago. “The emperor demands a report.”
“What?” Pirnil twisted to look at Garramon, his eyes wide. “Garramon Kalinim? What are you doing here? You’re not supposed?—”
“Do you truly believe you have the power to question me, Drakus? The Arbiter is above questions from the likes of you.” He moved closer to Pirnil, looking down at the notes the man was scribbling. “The emperor has sent me to procure an update from you, seeing as you are behind schedule. I would advise not wasting my time.”
The man stared back at Garramon for a moment, clearly trying to decide what his wisest course of action was. But Garramon knew a thing or two about men like Pirnil. All cruel men were cowards at heart. A fear of their own pain led them to inflict it on others.
“I… I am… I am ready as he asked. The journals have been copied, and I am almost certain I have the runeset he has asked for, but I?—”
“But what? Do you question the emperor?”
“No, no…” The man’s hands trembled, but not from fear. Garramon knew the signs of excess Essence consumption. It was like a drug. The pale skin, the dark eyes, the short temper, and the constant state of panic and paranoia. He had seen it a thousand times over, particularly around the time of The Fall and the years after. Fane had made sure to curb such usages since. But clearly Pirnil was an exception. “No,” Pirnil muttered again. “I don’t. I am simply trying to say the runeset he asked for is not optimal. There is a weakness in it. I cannot understand why?—”
“You do not need to understand why, Drakus. Have you made your concerns clear in your notes?” Garramon nodded towards the man’s scribblings.
“Yes, I have shown quite clearly that there is a stronger runeset and outlined my reasoning.” He raised a finger in the air, seeming to entirely forget that Garramon shouldn’t be there at all. “One more specimen.” Pirnil glanced towards the semi-conscious young man strapped to the bench nearest him. “The same relative height and age as the candidate. I will inscribe the optimal runeset and make detailed notes. I believe that the emperor will see the error of his ways.” He immediately looked to Garramon. “Not… not the error, but simply the miscalculation.”
“Those are the same thing, Pirnil.”
Pirnil moved across the room and opened a large chest sat atop an old wooden desk. The red glow of Essence shone over Pirnil’s face as he opened the lid and removed a pulsing gemstone. “You can inform him that I will bring the report myself within the hour. We will be ready to move to the Sea of Stone as soon as the Heart is found. Please, step out of the way.”
Pirnil pushed past Garramon and squeezed the young man’s cheeks, moving his head left and right, inspecting him.
“Why has he taken so much Altweid Blood?”
“It makes them easier to handle. Now let me return to my work, and I will provide the report myself.”
“I thought all hosts must volunteer for the?—”
“Not in this case!” the man roared, a sudden rage blazing through him. The whites of his eyes had taken a reddish hue. “Now get out!”
Pirnil turned back to the young man, humming to himself as though Garramon had already left. The man had completely lost his mind.
Essence pulsed from Pirnil as he tapped into the gemstone in his hand.
