"Night is the enemy of man, for in it's cloak all manner of Sin can be hidden. Therefore ye men of faith keep always a candle burning that the Light may shelter you." The first discourse of the blessed Patriarch, Year 900 DF (Durus Fortuna)

April 12, 1982 IF (Inflecto Fortuna)
Church of the Blind Shepherd
Fifth Ward, Newfall, Earth.


It never fell completely silent in the Fifth ward. Even in the dark of the night sounds of the streets filtered into the halls of the Church of the Blind Shepherd. Father Donato Machiavelli knelt at the alter of the small run down church, head bowed in silent prayer as gunshots and screams echoed down the streets. There was a bleak sorrow to that bent figure that made him hard to approach. The church had promised the souls in it's charge safety and solace. Promised and in too many cases failed to deliver.

Every day Father Mac saw the results of that too often in his ministry. Children on the street, starved and beaten. Women so drawn and cowed that they never spoke a word. And those were the least of the horrors.

"Father Machiavelli?" The voice came from the side of the sanctuary, quiet and familiar. "Is there something wrong Father?"

The Father turned to study the robbed sister standing in the doorway, a form he'd not thought to see again. His aging joints protested the movement, not that he'd let that fact on. Instead he offered a warm smile in greeting "Sister Sinistrari. Maria. It's good to see you again child. How long has it been?"

"Three years Father. I've missed this place. Have you been neglecting your health again Mac?" The sister left the doorway, moving to the aging priest's side. "You know you should at least put a cushion on the floor when you kneel. Your stiff joints will be the death of you one of these days."

"You fuss too much Maria." He pretended to scold, but the Sister's concern warmed his heart. There was something about this woman, an iron core beneath the velvet robes of office. "What brings you here tonight?"

"Just a social call Mac. I've missed you, and I won't have much time for visiting soon. I've been chosen to serve the Patriarch of the First Ward. I leave tomorrow."

"I see. Well then, come sup with an old man Child, and tell me all your news.

It was just a few minutes before midnight in the comfortable offices deep within the Bascillica. The Church?s business day was well over. Yet one office was still lit and occupied. The Eminent Wayne Livingstone sat with his feet propped up on the desk, glass in hand while he read through Ludivica Maria Sinistari?s file for the third time in the last hour. He was now intimately familiar with all the small details it contained.

Before he picked up the file containing the account of the incident at the Church of the Blind Sheppard, the Lion took a sip of the vintage port. A thoughtful look settled over his face though the gunmetal gray eyes were anything but relaxed as he pondered what he knew. The woman had become far more than just a thorn in the side of the Church. That itself was something she would live to regret, but now she had his full, undivided attention.

Although details were scant on exactly how she managed to make a getaway from some of the most powerful priests in the church, he still might have overlooked the incident had she not also managed to elude a demon they?d called to deal with her. That was more than a little troubling. As far as he was concerned, there were only two possibilities for her miraculous escape.

She?s either an undiscovered mageborn or a rogue, he thought. An untreated mageborn female running free was bad enough, but a rogue? And a female rogue was practically unthinkable. Holding within them the full range of priestly energy without ever going through the initiate ceremonies, their power was inherent. The problem with these abominations was they lacked full control of the forces they could command. They were not only dangerous to the church, but a danger to society at large. In fact, it they eyes of the Church, The Abomination was a heretic of the highest magnititude.

Such rogues were the byproduct of a union between a highborn priest and an undiscovered mageborn female. This is why liaisons between the clergy and untreated females were expressly forbidden. It was disquieting that her file contained nothing in her background to indicate she had been mageborn.

To Livingstone?s knowledge, the Abomination had only appeared twice throughout the history of the Church and each time had delivered terrible consequences. Most of the clergy knew nothing of what the inner circle called haeretic abominatentum. Oh, there were rumors of course. And children?s stories along with campfire tales but they were easily brushed aside as flights of fancy.

The reality though was quite different. Knowledge of this darker aspect of the Church was available only to the highest-ranking priests and bishops of the Church. In his role as Protectorate, Livingstone had total access to every detail of that history. He considered it necessary information in order to perform his duties.

Father Livingstone placed the glass on the desk, picked up the phone and tapped the intercom button. ?Richard, prepare the car. Sister will be down to join you shortly.?

He disconnected without waiting for the reply and pushed another button, which rang the phone in Sister Eliza?s room. A sleepy voice answered, ?Hello??

?Eliza, I need you to deliver several messages.?

?Father,? the voice came wider-awake, ?it?s late. Why didn?t you tell me you were working after evening prayers? I would have stayed with you.?

?Yes, I know. Actually, I was restless so I came back to look over some files. Now get dressed and come to the office. The car is already waiting downstairs.? He hung up knowing she would arrive quickly.

Livingstone then penned three short messages to be carried to three separate locations. Each plain white envelope was sealed with a dab of hot wax, which in turn was embossed with the signet of the Protectorate before it cooled. The crouching lion prepared to strike.

Old fashioned? Yes, it was a bit archaic Livingstone had to admit. Yet the significance of that bit of wax and its seal was a signal itself, an immediate call to action and His agents would understand instantly the cryptic message that contained only four words.


The Lion seeks prey.

Father Livingstone?s day had been a busy one. Almost as soon as he entered his office, he?d began barking orders to his staff and set them to the task of connecting with his many contacts in the private sector. The wheels he?d set into motion today were meant to achieve what the Church led search had not yet produced. His patience was wearing thin and he had decided the time had come to step the hunt up to a next level.

Nearly had week had passed since call to action had gone out. With every Crusader under the jurisdiction of the Protectorate on high alert, there should have been a wealth of information to sift through. However leads had been extremely sparse. Those few his investigators had managed to obtain were quickly proven worthless. Although Livingstone had given some consideration that she might have fled Newfall completely it was his intuition more than real knowledge, which led him to believe she was still in the city. Even if she had somehow managed to escape Newfall, the net would begin to tighten after today.

Tomorrow morning every radio station, television network, newspaper and magazine would be running stories about the grisly murder of Father Donato Machiavelli right at the foot of the altar within his beloved Church. The news would provide vivid detail of the murder scene in both print and video clips. It would be said the authorities, with the aid of Church investigators of course, had settled upon a prime suspect; a sister from the Order of the Virtuous Daughter.

Along with a picture of the suspect to be carried on the front page of newspapers for the next week, there would be feature articles surrounding the murder. Mostly in the form of human-interest stories about Machiavelli who had spent a lifetime shepherding his flocks and providing for the poor, down trodden members of his ward, there would also be stories about how he had taken Sister Sinistrari under wing; how he had nurtured her and brought her along in the Church and how he had grown to confide in and trust her only to be struck down viciously by the very one he had mistakenly placed his faith in.

With a call to the police commissioner who was a devout follower and well-respected member of the Church, he had secured a promise that her face would appear on wanted posters throughout the city later in the day. Every storefront, lamppost, utility pole and public venue would bear her likeness. Finally, a substantial reward would be offered for information leading to the capture of the wanted woman.

All of it was designed to provoke outrage and elicit cooperation from the public. From the highest members of society to the lowly street slugs, they would become unwitting but willing accomplices to the search. Even though he was privately in favor of extermination for the vermin-like dregs of society, he thought they might prove a valuable asset this one time in their miserable lives. Afterward they could crawl back under their rocks as far as he was concerned.

The Protectorate?s reach extended far beyond the city of Newfall; the same reports would be transmitted to the far corners of the globe until every law enforcement agency on the planet was on the watch for her. Livingstone intended to give her nowhere to run and nowhere to hide.

Twelve hours later, tired but satisfied, he placed the phone on its receiver. He had taken both lunch and dinner in his office. Livingstone had even eschewed evening prayers, delegating that task to one of the minor priests in the Bascillica. So important was the work; he had personally spoken with many high ranking Church officials and secular members of society to impress upon them the importance of their cooperation in this global effort.

Most were quite willing to give that cooperation, though there were a few that balked at joining his crusade. For those, the thinly veiled warning of excommunication in a very public spectacle had brought them within the fold.

Church officials like Maxwell Bernard were particularly obstinate until Livingstone reminded him of the missing records. Even then, Bernard had been reluctant to throw the support of his organization behind the effort. While Livingstone could ill afford a civil war between wards, he reminded Bernard in no uncertain terms that the reason he was permitted to keep his underworld business intact was because the Protectorate allowed it be so. Bernard finally relented because he knew the Lion had both the power and means to follow through on his threat to shut him down.

There was one more thing to do before he retired for the evening. Livingstone turned his head toward Sister Eliza who run messages for him the entire day.

?Tired Sister?? She looked exhausted but he had one more errand for her.

?Yes Father,? she replied softly.

?I?m sorry to hear that, but there?s one more message for you to run before you rest for the night.?

Livingstone spoke to her as he wrote a short message. ?Take this to Kendrick Landry in Farnhold. You need say nothing. He?ll know what to do. I don?t expect you?ll be back until the early hours of tomorrow morning, so you may sleep until 7AM. I expect you to be ready to carry out your regular duties by 7:15.? He sealed the message in an envelope bearing the Church?s Protectorate logo then held it out for her.

?Yes Father.? Sister Eliza took the message and silently left the office.

Fortress of Farnhold
Halls of the Order of the Fallen Soldier
August 17, 1989 11:59 PM IF

It was an unexpectedly cool night in August even for Farnhold. The light mist which had begun to fall as the car left Newfall had turned to a steady cold rain as they drove north. Three hours later as the car made its way up the long incline to the Fortress perched high on the hilltop the rain had eased but a fog had descended. Sister Eliza was thankful that they were nearly at their destination. She glanced out the window.

Rising through the fog like a medieval castle of old, the Cathedral towers shined, providing a beacon through the haze. The church, its support buildings and the Halls of the Order of the Fallen Soldier were within a high stone wall that encircled the entire complex. The stonework was broken only occasionally by double wide arches which housed heavy iron gates. The car rolled slowly past the Cathedral and around to the east side of the grounds where it turned onto a drive also bordered by the stone wall. The car crept up the arch then halted before a pair of iron gates.

A pair of guards emerged from the gatehouse and approached the vehicle. After a brief conversation with the driver and cursory inspection of both the rear occupant and the vehicle, the all clear signal was passed to the three still manning the station. The gates slowly lifted and the car was permitted onto the grounds.

It was late and Father Kendrick Landry wasn?t particularly happy to be called away from his pleasure with the nubile young initiate when the phone rang in the sound proof chamber deep within his luxurious suite of rooms. A few moments later, he replaced the phone in its cradle and hung the riding crop on peg next to the other implements used to evoke contrition.

?I?ll return shortly in order that you might continue your atonement. Thus far I have not seen proper repentance,? he remarked while he pulled on the cassock. The young woman looked up at him with pain glazed, tear filled eyes. He found it satisfying and a little amusing to hear her choked voice begin to recite the Prayer of Propitiation as he left the room.

A few moments later Kendrick strode through the doors of his office to receive the visitor from the Office of the Protectorate where she waited with one of his deacons. ?I told her you weren't to be disturbed; that you were conducting evening confessions,? the deacon began to explain. ?I asked her what her business was, but she said the message was to be handed directly to you. I'm sorry..?

?As it should be,? Landry cut him off then added curtly, ?Leave us.? The deacon bowed to his superior then cast a scorn filled look at the messenger before he departed. When the door closed Landry looked expectantly at the Sister who took a moment to open her pouch, withdrew an envelope and held it out to him.

He asked her name while he ran his thumb under the flap to open it. His own expectation was Livingstone was simply following up on their conversation earlier that day, though Landry found it than a little irritating for the Lion to be reinforcing his message so soon. He was after all, no wet behind the ears first time pastor and knew what was expected of him.

?Sister Eliza Tillman from the Office of the Protectorate,? she replied quietly then dipped her head to show respect.

?Yes, I can see you've been sent from the Bascillica by the seal.? Kendrick looked at the messenger as he removed the letter from the envelope; coal black eyes raked over her face and figure. The light brown hair which augmented her clear complexion and doe-shaped dark brown eyes gave her an innocent look. Her white robes did almost nothing to hide her well-proportioned form behind them. All in all, he found her rather tantalizing. Livingstone?s tastes have improved. I think I?ll ask him to send her my way when she?s completed her time in Newfall.

His eyes drifted down to the message. Instead of what he had been expecting, Landry?s brow raised. He read the message again.

I hereby authorize the Inquisitor to reopen the Grottos of the Penitent without delay. A Colloquy of the Sanctified will be convened to render judgment.

Even though he held the title of Inquisitor, it was largely a ceremonial designation in this time. There hadn?t been full Church Inquisition in almost two hundred years. If he recalled history correctly, the last time had been when a splinter group residing in Keladan Crossing had attempted to undermine Church authority. Found guilty of blasphemy, heresy, and the worship of false gods, the entire populace and the town itself had been put to the torch. What little remained standing after the sacred burning had been razed. To this day, nothing grew at Keladan Crossing.

?You may tell His Eminence that I will carry out his wishes with all due haste and report my findings when the assigned task is complete.?

Cathedral of the Divine Harvest
August 20th, 1989 IF 9:50PM


Followed by his chosen three, Livingstone was met by Father Mathers outside the residence where the summoning would take place. It was apparent that the new head of the cathedral was more than a little nervous. Livingstone noted he was clutching his crucifix. ?Is everything ready, Don??

?Yyes, yes i..it is,? Mathers stuttered, then continued, ? If you don?t mind me saying so, the g?guidelines we..w..were v...v?very unusual.? He lowered his voice, speaking furtively, ?I mean it.. it see..s..seems almost like ..s..sacrilege.? His eyes darted to the other three for a moment then beyond down the hall as if someone from the staff might have heard.

Livingstone calmly ignored the reference to blasphemy because it only showed Mathers? ignorance of the very old symbol. Instead he looked the priest in the eyes, ?What of the penitent I requested??

?I..inside. S..sleeping.?

?And this wing is now empty but for the penitent and those of us here in the hall??

When Mathers bobbed his head, Livingstone seemed satisfied. ?You can relax, Don.? He reached out and placed a hand on the other priest?s shoulder. ?You?ve done everything required. In just a few moments, you?ll walk down the hall and lock the door behind when you leave. You will join the rest of your staff within the cathedral?s lower chapel where for the next hour, you will lead them in prayer for the repose of the soul of the dearly departed Jasper Constantine. When the bell tower intones eleven times, you and the others will return to your normal activities. Most importantly, you?ll forget that we were even here tonight. Do you understand?? Livingstone?s tone had changed imperceptibly during his instructions.

Mathers shook his head slightly as if shaking off sleep, then realized he had called for prayer service to remember Jasper Constantine. The others had probably already gathered and it wouldn?t do to keep them waiting. After all if he intended to place his own stamp on the Cathedral, he needed to start immediately. ?Yes,? Mathers replied as suggestions given to him began to take hold. ? Do you require anything else, Excellency??

?No, thank you.?

Mathers dipped his head and started away with a slightly bewildered look. The other priests watched him go. After the heavy oak door thudded shut and the lock gave a satisfying click, Livingstone led them into the private quarters.

The room was dimly lit by the soft glow of the fireplace. Without needing direction, the three other priests took tapers from the mantle and began lighting the five candelabras that had been placed at the points of the pentagram drawn with tape on the floor of the study. Livingstone had chosen these three for two reasons; 1) they knew how to keep silent and 2) they wouldn?t interfere with what was about to take place. He only needed their presence if something went awry during the summoning and then, it would be one of them not he who would suffer the consequences. Of course they would pray, but if they knew how ineffective those prayers really were, they would have been less eager to participate.

While the candles were being lit, Livingstone walked over to check on the sacrifice that was sleeping in a large overstuffed chair. He had likely come to the back door looking for a few scraps of food, which the sisters always gave to the less fortunate. Today those scraps had been mixed with a heavy dose of narcotics, taken from Constantine?s own cache of drugs. The beggar was a male of approximately forty years of age with long unkempt hair, a knotted, tangled beard and dressed in filthy, disgusting fragments of clothing. From his labored breathing, Livingstone assumed the man either had pneumonia or emphysema. Mathers had selected the penitent wisely. It was very unlikely his absence from his usual haunts would be noticed by the destitute of Newfall. When the night was over there would just be one less mouth to feed.

As Livingstone crossed back to the pentagram, he removed a pendant on a gold chain from his pocket and placed it around his neck. Fashioned from a piece of the pure rock crystal, it was embossed with very old, ancient symbols; a crude circle which represented the eternal nature of life itself; the pentagram for the five elemental planes of Earth, Air, Fire, Water and Spirit; the pentacle, representing the interconnection of all things and the triquetra to symbolize the unending cycle of life, death and rebirth.

The crystal had been in his family for almost seven hundred years. Passed from father to son, most believed it to be a mere trinket of an heirloom with little significance other than its age. It suited Livingstone?s purpose to let everyone think it was simply a useless, sentimental bauble.

When cathedral?s bell tower struck the hour, the three priests, now stationed on the right side of the symbol, began to recite their prayers. Livingstone raised his hands and intoned the words of summons, ?Audite mihi creatura of barathrum. Audio ut meus ordo pro EGO nomen vos Helat everto patronus!?

Almost immediately a cold wave swept over the room threatening to extinguish what little light there was in the study. The fire in the hearth dimmed even further. The candles flickered, undulating wildly while at the center of the symbol, a dark mass materialized. Varying degrees of emotion assaulted Livingstone?s senses; rage ? that was to be expected; remorse ? to a lesser degree, but the spirit knew it had failed in its assigned task as a protector, and pain. This surprised Livingstone. He hadn?t expected it nor was something he was accustomed to seeing. His gray eyes narrowed slightly when the demon lurched unevenly to the edge of the symbol, stopped before him and inquired about the payment.

When Livingstone pointed to the man sleeping in the chair, the demon indicated it wanted more than the beggar to reveal what it knew. Livingstone realized if he didn?t act quickly the information he sought could be lost. Without hesitation, he offered the priests who had accompanied him as further payment. With the negotiations concluded, the demon began to tell him what it had learned.

Twenty minutes later Livingstone left the cathedral alone.