The Traitor's Tale by Jonathan Moeller Read Free Book Online

perhaps a
sarcophagus. The altar stood in the center of a stone nave, thick
pillars supporting the arched roof. The blue light came from the
far end of the nave, near an archway containing a set of
stairs.
    Calliande sat motionless for a moment, listening to
the silence.
    She had no idea how she had gotten here. Nor, for
that matter, did she know where she was.
    And, with a growing sense of panic, she realized she
could not remember who she was.
    Calliande, her name was Calliande. She knew that
much. But the details of her past turned to mist even as she tried
to recall them. Shattered, broken images danced through her mind.
Men in white robes, warriors with eyes of blue flame, armies of
blue-skinned orcs…but all of it slithered away from her grasp.
    Something, she realized, had gone terribly wrong.
    “They were supposed to be here,” she whispered, her
voice cracked and rasping. “They were supposed to wait here.”
    But who?
    She didn’t know.
    Her panic grew, her hands scrabbling over the altar’s
stone surface. After a moment she realized that she was looking for
something. A…staff? Yes, that was it. A staff.
    Why?
    Calliande looked around in desperation, her panic
growing.
    “They were supposed to be here,” she said again.
    But through her fear, her mind noted some practical
problems. She was alone in a strange place, her stomach was
clenching with hunger, and she was so thirsty her head was
spinning. Despite whatever had happened to her, she could not
remain here and wait for someone to find her.
    Calliande took a deep breath, braced herself on the
edge of the altar, and stood. Her boots clicked against the stone
floor, and her legs felt as if they had been made of wet string.
Yet she did not fall, and after a moment she took a step
forward.
    Something brushed her left arm and fell to the
floor.
    She looked down at herself and saw that she wore a
robe of green trimmed with gold upon the sleeves and hems, and the
left sleeve had fallen off, exposing the pale skin of her arm. Once
it must have been a magnificent garment, but now it was worn and
brittle, the seams disintegrating. The leather of her belt and
boots was dry and crumbling, and the few steps she had taken had
already split her right boot open.
    The clothes looked centuries old.
    Her fear redoubled. Was she dead? Had she been buried
alive?
    Another part of her mind, the cold part that had
urged her to find food and water, pointed out that a dead woman
would not feel nearly as hungry as she did. Had not the Dominus
Christus eaten food in front of his disciples to prove that he was
not a spirit?
    Whatever had happened to Calliande, she was still
alive.
    But she needed to take action to stay that way.
    She crossed the nave, her boots crumbling further
with every step. A thick layer of dust covered the floor, and she
glimpsed more cobwebs stretched between the heavy pillars
supporting the ceiling. No other footprints marked the dust. It was
clear that no one had entered this chamber in a long time. Soot
stained the pillars, and here and there Calliande saw piles of
burned wood that had once been furniture.
    Had this place caught fire?
    She saw the first bones after that.
    Three skeletons lay in the dust nearby, clad in
rusted armor, swords and maces lying near their bony hands. She saw
the marks of violence upon their bones. Plainly a battle had been
fought here, long ago, and it had been followed by a fire.
    How long had she been lying in this place of
death?
    Calliande reached the archway at the far end of the
nave. A skeleton lay slumped against the stairs, clad in the ragged
remnants of a robe.
    A white robe.
    She remembered the image from her dream, and reached
to touch the bones.
    As she did, the blue light brightened, and a specter
appeared on the stairs.
    Calliande took a step back in alarm, but the specter
made no move to harm her. It looked like an old man in white robes,
his head encircled by a tangled mane of gray hair, his eyes deep
and heavy