Shadowdance 01 - A Dance of Cloaks

bleed to prevent the darkness spreading to others. We must give all to defy the chaos of this world. Your pain is nothing compared to the suffering of thousands.”
    Haern crawled along the right side of the pews. Time was running out. The hallway leading to the center aisle clearly looked like an exit, but if he didn’t reach it before the circling priest came up behind him, he’d be spotted.
    “Karak be praised!” shouted the mutilated priest. Haern felt his stomach tighten at another cry of pain. He didn’t dare look, but it sounded like one of them was sobbing. The dire hymn continued in its low, maniacal consistency.
    At last Haern was at the final row. He lowered himself to the ground, looking for the feet of the circling priest. Once he was on the opposite side yet again, Haern ran toward the center.
    He immediately fled when he saw what awaited him down the long entryway hall: two priests leaning against the door, their heads bowed and their arms crossed. He couldn’t see their eyes in the split second before he rolled to the pews on the other side. Their hoods were pulled low. They might be asleep … or they might have spotted his roll.
    No shouts of warning came from the doors. He had gone unnoticed.
    “Thanks, Ashhur,” he whispered under his breath. There was no way he could sneak past the two of them, nor could he subdue them with his bare hands. Only one option remained. He made his way back toward the front. The bleeding priest had stopped crying, instead sucking loud, labored breaths in through clenched teeth. The other had begun reciting a series of scriptures that cooled Haern’s blood.
    “Only in death is life reborn. Only in blood is sin denied. Only in darkness is the world saved. Only in absolute emptiness is there order. Praise be to Karak.”
    “Praise be,” the other priest stammered.
    The circling priest switched hymns, his voice deepening and the words slowing. Haern couldn’t understand the lyrics, but the song gave him the shivers. The two priests up front weren’t helping either. Judging by the song, the man was near the door. Time was short.
    Haern looked around the pew to the statue. The first priest had placed the dagger upon the altar, its hilt and blade covered with blood. Beside it was a severed hand. The other was clutching him, repeating scriptures while blood seeped into the bandages wrapped around the stump.
    “Forgive me my theft,” the wounded priest murmured, his skin pale and his eyes rolled back in his head. His words mingled with the scriptures, blending in perfect harmony. “Forgive me my theft, Lord. Wounded I enter, but enter I will.”
    “Only in blood is sin denied.”
    “Forgive me my theft, Lord. Whole I sinned, but wounded I enter.”
    “Only in darkness is this world saved.”
    “Forgive me my theft, Lord. I deny myself the chaos.”
    “Only in absolute emptiness is there order,” the two repeated as one.
    Haern chose that moment to strike. He kicked the unwounded priest behind the knee, the man’s head smacking the altar on the way down. Planting his feet firm, Haern rammed his body against the other, elbowing the bloody stump. The priest cried out, staggering backward on weak legs.
    Giving neither time to respond, Haern scooped up the dagger, spun, and slashed open the first priest’s throat. As his body spasmed, Haern turned to the other and lunged. The dagger pierced the man’s chest.
    “Only in blood,” the priest whispered with his dying breath.
    A bolt of shadow struck Haern’s side. He cried out, stunned by the immense agony. It felt like every nerve in the area was firing off sensations of pain. Rolling to avoid the next, Haern clutched the dagger with both hands. The hilt was slick with blood, and he might lose it if he wasn’t careful.
    “Killed amid worship!” the third priest shouted, his deep voice booming in the great room. “You will suffer for such blasphemy!”
    Two more bolts of shadow flew from the priest’s hands, splintering wood and cracking stone where they struck. Haern ran between the pews, using their wood for cover. The priest was halfway down the center aisle. Close enough. Haern stepped onto a pew and leaped with all his strength. His body stretched, the dagger lashing out. The priest, stunned by the sudden assault, tried to ward himself. The spell died on his lips as the dagger slashed his face.
    Then their bodies collided. Haern screamed as his shoulder rammed the priest’s chest, wrenching his