Chapter 409 Bloodlines

Roshan did not answer Arran’s question immediately. Instead, the Archon remained silent for a time, looking at him with appraising eyes as if he were a stable master and Arran was a newly bought horse.

“I have known Lady Merem for many years,” the man finally said in a ponderous tone, “and not once have I seen her take an interest in someone without good cause. Even had others not told me of the potential within your blood, her interest would have sparked my curiosity.”

Arran’s heart nearly skipped a beat at the Archon’s words. “The potential within my blood?” He hadn’t forgotten what Lady Merem had told him — that the church made quick work of those found to have heretical bloodlines.

“You thought we did not know?” There was a hint of amusement in Roshan’s expression, as if the very idea was absurd. “There aren’t many who have such a difficult time gaining their citizenship. You did not expect such a secret to stay hidden, did you?”

That was exactly what Arran had expected, of course. He’d journeyed thousands of miles since gaining that first lesser bloodline, and had believed the matter long behind him. But now, it seemed word had traveled just as far — and as fast — as he had.

“There is no need to be concerned,” the Archon said, giving a smile that did little to reassure Arran. “I take it Lady Merem told you frightful tales of how the church treats those with heretical bloodlines?”

“She did,” Arran replied cautiously, his muscles tense even if he maintained a calm expression. “Was she lying?”

“Not lying, exactly,” Roshan said. “But she did not tell you the whole truth, either. While it’s true that we are forced to extinguish heretical bloodlines, not all bloodlines carried by outsiders are considered heretical.”

“Then what makes a bloodline heretical?” Arran asked.

“Corruption,” Roshan replied. “All bloodlines derive from gods, both those we know and those we do not. Yet over time, as they are passed on, some bloodlines become corrupt. Those corrupt bloodlines inevitably drive those who possess them to madness, destroying their minds even while strengthening their bodies. And such bloodlines, if they are not mended in time, must be destroyed.”

Arran could not help but be reminded of how the Blood magic had affected him before he gained the Dragon’s Ruin and the two were fused into the Blood Ruin. “Corrupt bloodlines can be mended?” he asked, curious if his suspicions were correct. “How?”

“A corrupt bloodline can be purified by an intact one,” Roshan replied. “Though that will only work when the corrupt bloodline is still a mere seed. Beyond that, too much power would be needed to undo the damage.” He shook his head. “But this is a matter unrelated to you. Had your bloodline been corrupt, the strength of it would long since have driven you mad. Which means that the bloodline you possess must be a pure one.”

Arran knew the matter was very much related to him, of course. What the Archon had described was exactly how Crassus had helped him overcome the effects of the Blood magic, albeit at a scale he doubted the Archon thought possible.

Yet he also — finally — realized what Roshan’s true goal was.

“You want me to share this bloodline with the church?”

The Archon nodded. “Correct. There are many gods we do not know, and one of your ancestors was likely empowered with the blood of one of them — a gift we hope you will share with the church. But before you can do so, you must nurture its power. Only when the seed has truly sprouted will we know whether your bloodline is a lesser one or something more.”

Arran looked at the man with wary eyes. “What exactly does sharing a bloodline entail?”

“Nothing as ominous as you may think,” Roshan said with a laugh. “Once you are strong enough, a small amount of your blood will be all we need.”

For several moments, Arran remained silent. “Do you intend to strengthen me, then?” he finally asked.

“No,” Roshan replied. “The true path to strength — the path the gods have shown us — is one of toil and labor. If we were to fatten you up like a pig, we might well end up corrupting your bloodline. Your strength needs to be your own.” A small smile crossed his lips, and he added, “Though if you accept my offer, I can offer some small help.”

Arran furrowed his brow in thought as he looked at the Archon. So far, the man had proved far more reasonable than he had expected — enough that he was convinced there must be some trap lurking in the shadows.

“What exactly is your offer?”

“It’s simple,” Roshan said. “I need but two promises from you. The first of these is that when you grow strong enough, you will share your bloodline with the church. As for the second, I ask that you regularly visit me, so that I can keep an eye on your development.”

Arran’s frown grew deeper. “That’s it?” he asked, unsure whether he’d understood the man correctly. “That’s all you want?”

Yet the Archon merely nodded. “That’s all,” he confirmed. “In return for those two things, I will not only grant you the Master’s bloodline, but also ensure that the cost of your greater bloodlines remains manageable. Otherwise, with your strength, just the second bloodline you choose might cost dozens of amulets.”

Arran looked at the man in puzzlement. He’d expected some outrageous demand — that he would have to spy on Lady Merem, or fight Roshan’s enemies. But instead, the Archon had made an offer so generous he could scarcely believe it.

Roshan smiled as he saw Arran’s surprised expression. “Truth be told, Lady Merem would eventually have offered you the Master’s bloodline, as she will doubtless tell you when you next visit her. I am merely offering you a faster path, and one that does not require you to choose a faction.”

“But why?” Arran asked, almost as baffled by the Archon’s apparent honesty as he was by the man’s unprovoked generosity. 

“Too many newcomers to the Imperium distrust us, believing that we are biased against outsiders. And while that holds true for some among our ranks, the church itself exists for all within the Imperium.” Roshan made a gesture toward the statues that lined the walls of the chamber, reverence in his eyes as he looked at each. “The gods’ wisdom is available to all who wish to accept it.”

“Then I accept your offer.”

“Good,” Roshan responded with a pleased nod. “Bloodlines are granted in the Hall of Blessings. I have arranged for you to be given the Master’s bloodline when you choose to take it. I would suggest that you do so immediately, but if you wish to wait, the choice is yours.”

“You already arranged it?” Arran raised an eyebrow. “What if I’d refused?”

“I assumed — correctly, as it turned out — that you weren’t an idiot,” Roshan replied flatly.

Arran frowned, but he could not deny that only a fool would have refused the offer. In truth, it was more a token of goodwill than it was an agreement — a gift that would benefit him greatly, and at no real cost.

“But we have spoken enough, for now,” Roshan continued. “I ask that you visit me again after your first true foray into the Desolation, so that I can observe your development.”

“Then I thank you for your help,” Arran said. “It’s beyond what I had expected.”

Roshan smiled once more. “You will find that the church treats its allies well,” he said. “But for now, I bid you farewell.”

When Arran stepped outside the hall, he found the young priestess still waiting for him, and as she escorted him out of the Inner Sanctum, he pondered his conversation with Roshan.

It was clear that the Archon had planned it all in advance. The man had expertly put him in a position where he would have agreed to any demand, and had then proved his beneficence by demanding nothing of value whatsoever.

Yet although Roshan had shown him nothing but kindness, Arran could not shake the impression that the man had hidden his true motives. It was a gut feeling more than a reasoned thought, but he was nevertheless all but certain that it was true.

Still, no matter how he looked at it, he could not see what the Archon could have gained from the exchange other than fostering goodwill.

When they reached the gates of the Inner Sanctum some minutes later, Arran gave the priestess a nod of thanks, then stepped outside, where he found Kaleesh already waiting for him.

“You were gone a long time,” the captain said, curiosity clear in his eyes. “I was starting to wonder whether I’d actually have to rescue you from the church’s clutches. How did it go?”

“Better than I expected.” Arran glanced at the Paladin who still stood guarding the gates to the Inner Sanctum. “If you know where we can find the Hall of Blessings, I’ll tell you on the way.”

As they made their way through the Sanctum, Kaleesh listened intently while Arran talked, his eyes going wide with surprise when he heard about the Master’s bloodline, and again when he heard about the Archon’s offer.

“So it’s a bloodline, then,” the captain finally said, a thoughtful frown on his face. “I’m almost disappointed. I always thought they had special techniques against mages.”

“They probably have those, as well,” Arran said. “I doubt this bloodline will be enough to weather the full force of a Warlock’s attack.”

“Perhaps,” Kaleesh said, though he sounded doubtful. “I’m surprised that Archon gave you the bloodline so easily, though. I’ve never known the church to be especially generous.”

Arran shrugged. “I doubt it was simple generosity. I imagine Roshan thought this the best way to get what he wanted.”

“Now if only we knew exactly what that was.” Kaleesh sighed, then gestured ahead. “But we’ve arrived. Behold the Hall of Blessings.”

The building that lay before them was built from the same white marble as most of the other buildings in the Sanctum, but many times larger than the ones Arran had seen so far. Tall and imposing, its facade alone already resembled a small palace, with two rows of massive columns on either side of the entrance.

“I can see why the church needs so much coin,” Arran said, raising an eyebrow. “You could buy an entire village for just one of these pillars.”

“Just wait until you see the inside,” Kaleesh replied with a grin. “I had a look when you were talking to the Archon, and…” He shook his head as he chuckled. “You’ll have to see it for yourself.”

Arran looked at the steady stream of people entering and leaving the building, many of them soldiers and Rangers, with no few bearing nervous expressions. “We can just walk in?”

Kaleesh nodded. “The Hall is divided into three parts. The first is for the lesser bloodlines, and anyone can enter that. The second part, however, requires you to show a Reaver’s amulet to enter, and the third a Warlock’s.” He cast a sideways glance at Arran. “I didn’t get to see that part.”

When they stepped inside the building some moments later, Arran’s eyes immediately went wide with astonishment. They had entered a vast hall, with numerous elaborate murals painted on the walls, most of them depicting various people and animals.

Yet what made Arran do a double take was the ceiling. It was high and featured many intricate carvings in various geometric shapes. But most surprisingly, it appeared to be made completely out of gold.

“Is that actually gold?” Arran asked in a low voice, uncertain if his eyes were deceiving him. Even if he had more gold than he could ever spend, to use so much of it just to decorate a ceiling almost seemed obscene.

“I can’t see them using fake gold,” Kaleesh said. “Not here. To the Darians, this is as holy a place as the Imperium holds.”

As Arran looked around, he quickly saw that his companion was right. While there were many soldiers studying the various characters in the murals, he also saw many people kneeling before the painted figures, touching their foreheads in reverence as they did so.

“These paintings,” Arran said, “they represent the gods?”

“The lesser ones,” Kaleesh confirmed. “Of course, the gods all have their own temples in the gardens, but the gods’ blood is supposedly kept in the catacombs beneath this place.”

Arran watched the soldiers and worshipers for a time, then finally asked, “So how do we buy bloodlines?”

“From what I gathered, you just approach one of the priests,” Kaleesh said. “You tell them which bloodline you’ve chosen, and they take you apart to receive your blessing.”

“Did you see any interesting bloodlines here?”

Kaleesh shook his head. “As far as I can tell, the bloodlines of these gods mostly do ordinary things.” He lowered his voice as one of the priests glared at them — apparently, calling the gods’ bloodlines ordinary was frowned upon — then continued, “I saw at least half a dozen different ones that all claimed to enhance strength.”

Arran furrowed his brow. “Then let’s move on. I want to see what greater bloodlines there are to be had.”

They walked to the far end of the room, where a pair of large closed doors stood guarded by half a dozen white-clad Rangers and twice as many soldiers. As they approached, one of the Rangers stepped forward. “Are you worthy of entering?”

Kaleesh gave the man an annoyed look. “I was here barely half an hour ago. Do you think anything has changed since then?”

The Ranger did not respond. Instead, he merely repeated, “Are you worthy of entering?”

Kaleesh sighed and produced two of the Reavers’ amulets he’d gotten from Arran. “See? Still as worthy as I was half an hour ago.”

The Ranger gave a calm nod, unperturbed by the captain’s blunt manner. “Open the doors.”

The soldiers behind him immediately opened the large doors, and as Arran and Kaleesh stepped into the next hall, they saw that it was much smaller than the previous one, though no less ornately decorated.

This hall, too, had murals painted on its walls, albeit far fewer than the previous one. There were fewer people, too — only Rangers and priests, along with a single Knight.

Arran’s eyes only lingered on the murals and the Rangers for moment before he fixed his attention on another set of the doors at the far end of the second hall. These doors, too, were guarded by half a dozen white-clad Rangers, although they had no soldiers to accompany them.

“No point in wasting time here,” Arran said. “Let’s head to the third hall.”

They reached the second set of doors a moment later, and the Ranger who stepped forward asked with a single glance, “You are Arran?”

“I am,” Arran said. “May we pass?”

“You may,” the Ranger replied. “But your companion…”

Before the man could finish the sentence, Arran produced his two Warlocks’ amulets. “This makes us worthy, I assume?”

“It does,” the Ranger replied with a respectful nod, while the other Rangers behind him already began to open the doors.

As they stepped into the third hall and the doors were closed behind them, Arran saw at once that this hall was markedly different from the previous two. There was no more gilding to be seen, with the walls instead painted a simple white.

And while there were nine paintings with various imposing figures on the walls — three on the left wall, three on the far wall, and three on the right — there were no elaborate murals that surrounded them.

Moreover, there was only a single person within the hall — a white-robed priestess, who looked up as soon as she saw Arran and Kaleesh enter.

“Be welcome,” she said, giving both of them a small bow. Turning to Arran, she continued, “Archon Roshan has ordered that you be given the Master’s bloodline, and at no cost to yourself.”

Arran raised an eyebrow as he realized that Roshan had done him yet another favor. Apparently, the Master’s bloodline was normally not granted for free even to those who were judged worthy of receiving it.

“Since you will receive the Master’s bloodline as a gift from the church,” she went on, “it will not count as your first greater bloodline. If you possess a Warlock’s amulet, you can choose another, as well.”

“And what would a third cost me?” Arran asked, glancing at the paintings on the walls. Now that he got a closer look, he could see that none of them clearly showed the faces of the figures they depicted. Instead, they showed only vague features.

“The cost will depend on the strength of your blood,” the priestess said. “In your case…” She hesitated, then continued, “Archon Roshan has instructed us to be generous, but if what he said is correct, the third bloodline you take will require at least ten amulets, and the fourth ten times as many as that. Without the kindness he has shown you, it would be twice as many.”

Arran gave her a wry smile. “I don’t suppose I even need to ask about the fifth, then.”

“Few Knights ever gain four bloodlines,” she replied, some surprise in her voice. “And to gain five is only given to the strongest of Lords and Paladins.”

“Very well,” Arran said. “Can you show us these bloodlines, then?” As the paintings carried no writing, he’d already deduced they would have to rely on the priestess for information.

“Of course,” she said. “Please, follow me.”

She walked over to the nearest painting on the left of the room, giving it a pious bow and touching her hand to her forehead before turning back around. A hint of unease flashed across her face when she saw that Arran did not repeat the gesture — though Kaleesh did — but it disappeared an instant later, and she indicated the painting with her hand.

As Arran studied it, he saw that it bore the image of a giant man, thickly muscled and radiating an aura of incomparable strength.

“This,” the priestess began, “is the Titan. It is said that he has the power to shatter mountains and tear even starmetal with his hands. In his battles against the Blight, he destroyed entire armies through sheer force, even their strongest champions no match for his power.”

Arran listened with great interest. “So what does his bloodline do?” he asked when the priestess finished talking.

“The gods’ bloodlines are reflections of their abilities,” she replied calmly. “None among us know the full extent of their power, however, and the shape each takes depends not just on the bloodline, but also on its recipient.”

“In other words, this one grants strength.” Arran quickly decided that this would be among the bloodlines he took before leaving the Imperium, and ignoring the priestess’s irritated look, he turned to the next painting, which held the image of a vicious-looking man. “What about this one?”

“The Devourer is often said to be the most ferocious of the gods. He is thought to have the ability to draw strength from those he slays, their deaths feeding his fury and healing his wounds as he cuts an unstoppable path through all he encounters.”

Arran frowned as the description immediately sparked recognition in his mind. Unless he was very much mistaken, this was a bloodline he already possessed. “Narzhan?” he guessed, recalling the name the woman in the mines had used.

At once, the priestess’s eyes went wide with shock. “To speak the gods’ names is blasphemy!” she hissed, almost seeming fearful that someone might overhear her.

“I apologize,” Arran said. “But it’s him, isn’t it?”

Though she did not answer the question, her uneasy expression told him all he needed to know. Narzhan was the Devourer, then, whose bloodline he already carried.

Yet even if the priestess could tell him anything he did not already know, he doubted she would choose to do so, and he quickly moved to the next painting. “And this one?”

Some relief in her eyes, the priestess said, “The Sage is thought to be wisest among the gods. His comprehension of the world is said to be so complete that there is nothing beyond his understanding.”

“The Sage?” Arran rubbed his chin as he stared at the painting, and although he had a hard time imagining what exactly the Sage’s bloodline would entail, he decided that he would definitely need to acquire it.

Yet a thought came to him as he looked at the painting and considered the priestess’s words. “You speak of the gods as though they are still alive,” he said. “But didn’t they sacrifice themselves to drive back the Blight?”

The question earned him a dumbfounded look from the priestess. “Gods are eternal,” she said, with a tone in her voice that suggested even the smallest child should know this much. “Though they sacrificed their bodies, their immortal spirits live on.”

Arran gave her a puzzled look, but quickly decided against asking more. Interesting though the matter might be, right now, he was more concerned with the bloodlines he had to choose from.

On the far wall they found the Hunter, who the priestess said could find any prey, even from a thousand miles away. This bloodline, Arran suspected, had to be related to the senses — which made it another one he needed.

Then came the Immortal, who could heal instantly from even the most grievous wounds, shrugging off even mortal blows without ill effect.

And third was the Gale, a god whose speed was said to exceed the impossible — a description that immediately drew an intrigued look from Kaleesh.

And finally, on the right wall, they found the last three paintings. 

First of these was of the Guardian, whose body was said to be unbreakable to starmetal and magic both. And as Arran heard the priestess describe him, he could not help but imagine having both the Guardian’s bloodline and the Immortal’s.

Then came the Champion — a god the priestess described as an incomparably skilled swordsman. It was a description that hardly seemed to match the others in the hall, yet the priestess’s tone suggested she held him in even higher regard than the others.

And last, there was the Shade, who was said to move without being seen, striking down his enemies without them ever knowing he was there. And as Arran heard his description, he was immediately reminded of Nisra’s Knight — the one who could somehow mask his presence.

As the priestess finished the last of the descriptions, Arran knew he had a problem.

There wasn’t a single one among the bloodlines he did not desperately want. Even the Hunter’s bloodline would be invaluable in studying the seals he had to break, and the others seemed more valuable still.

Yet another thought came to him, and he asked, “The Master wasn’t among these. Is his bloodline not a greater one?”

“It is, of course,” the priestess replied. “But not all the gods are represented in these halls, and there are some bloodlines that cannot be bought with amulets alone.”

Arran narrowed his eyes at these words. From what she said, it seemed the Master wasn’t the only one who was missing. “What about Mardek?” he asked, taking the risk of offending the priestess to see if he could glean some information from her reaction.

If the mention of Narzhan had shocked the priestess, this time she stared at him in horror, pale and at a complete loss for words. Several moments passed in silence, before she finally whispered. “The Ruiner’s bloodline is not present within these halls. And I beg you, do not speak the gods’ names again.”

“I apologize,” Arran said, although he was not the least bit sorry. Her reaction had exactly what he had hoped for — an unmistakable sign that Mardek’s bloodline not only existed, but that it was important, as well.

When the priestess had finally regained her composure, she faced Arran uneasily. “Have you made a decision?” she asked, clearly eager to see him leave sooner rather than later.

Arran thought for a moment, rubbing his chin as he considered his options. Finally, he gave the priestess a short nod.

“I believe I have.”