Retribution (Drakenfeld 2) by Mark Charan Newton Read Free Book Online Page A

severed heads we sighted as we entered the city. It was remarkable how little graffiti there was, too – barely an insult or curse to be seen anywhere. Leana remarked to me how unusual it was to keep two sides of a city apart from each other. Even in Detrata, where the contrast in wealth between rich and poor could be enormous, there was no such barrier.
    By going door to door I was able to confirm some of what the priest had told me. The people I spoke to were generally welcoming, offering us tisanes as they went about their business in shop-fronted houses or under awnings. As I had hoped, a few of the traders frequented the temple for various religious festivals and to make donations for quiet contemplation. Everyone here knew of the bishop’s disappearance, but not everyone knew of his death. Those I informed of the news appeared distraught at first, and made signs in the air as they attempted to stifle their emotions.
    The much-admired bishop had indeed declared his plans to leave the temple, much to the community’s disappointment. He had been a kind and gentle soul who, unlike other bishops they had known, always took the time to explain some nuance of the gods Astran and Nastra, whether to an old veteran who had recently converted from one of the old gods, or a curious young child. He came across as a very pure being, had never said a bad word, possessed inspirational oratorical skills and ensured that any donated food – once offered to the gods for the first bite – was then distributed among the poor of the external prefecture. The bishop had hoped, so everyone said, to live to a great old age so he could dedicate many more years of service to Astran and Nastra. It was even why he wanted to go on the road – to bring more people into the fold of the enlightened religion, to do
more
good.
    This had not been a wasted afternoon by any means, but as Leana and I walked away from the streets surrounding the temple and we watched the last rays of the sun vanish over the prefecture walls, I felt vaguely dissatisfied with what everyone had told us. The bishop appeared very pure, too pure, and not one of his neighbours could give me any insight into why anyone would want him dead.

A Night Mission
     

     
    Night descended fully over Kuvash and the humidity and close air of the day remained. But the
mood
of the city – or at least in this prefecture – had changed entirely. It was likely that all cities were essentially the same in that each showed two distinct, jarring personalities for the day and night respectively. Unfamiliar cities tended to exaggerate these differences, as one looked with more focus at the details: the erratic behaviour of the locals and how social dynamics might alter after sunset, the different scents of street cuisine, or the noises of religious ritual. As we walked through these clean, well-behaved streets, with the occasional glimmer of a City Watch glaive here and there, all I could tell about Kuvash was that it was incredibly restrained. Anything slightly remiss remained hidden just out of sight – a contrast to Tryum where everything and anything happened on the streets in front of you.
    ‘I do not understand why someone who lives such a pure life would be killed in such a way,’ Leana said.
    ‘If he’s dead, that is,’ I commented. ‘He might well be out there still.’
    ‘He is dead,’ Leana snapped. ‘Just look at those pieces of his body. If they are an indication of his condition . . .’
    ‘I’m inclined to believe you,’ I replied. ‘Maybe someone took exception to his sermons.’
    ‘So what are our next steps?’
    ‘We’ve only seen the pleasant side of the city so far,’ I said. ‘Suppose the pieces of the arm of the bishop really were thrown over the wall. We might be able to find the rest of his remains. Besides, I’d quite like to see the
real
people – I bet some of them might give us another perspective.’
    We walked down-city from the temple towards