We catch up with our noble son, Errant...

Getting the components together hadn’t been as hard as he imagined. After all, there were still shrines to Amana around, as even devotees of Huul wouldn’t chase off the Gentle Mother’s healers without very, very good reason.

Keeping one’s serfs and slaves healthy was a lot of work his family didn’t want to have to pay for, after all. If Amana’s Hands preferred to focus their efforts on the lower classes, that was fine. They were easy to coerce into service with brief periods of leniency, or the threat of punishment to the masses, naturally enough.

But they also had holy incense, candles, holy water, and blessed silver. They were confused why a member of the Duke’s family would want such things, but wise enough to say nothing, and knew enough of his reputation and standing to sympathize with him.

Errant didn’t really require it, but he also got the use of one of their shrines, with the caveat that one of the Hands would be nearby to react if he planned to despoil it or something. He had simply taken the case of blessed materials to the Mother, who had merely lifted an eyebrow and said nothing more.

He had long become an expert at leaving the castle at odd hours, and the guards at the gate had far more real respect for him than they did for his brothers and sisters, given how he excelled at their set of skills, not the Binding arts or chi-use of his siblings. If his late-night visits somehow coincided with various parties in town dying or complaining about someone robbing them, well, the guards might have noticed, but not really believed it. After all, people were killed and robbed on other nights, too.

But tonight, the doors of the simple shrine creaked open, and he walked inside.

The interior of the Shrine was plain. Simple benches that could be used as beds for injured patients were stacked against the walls, most services to the Mother being held standing up as the Duke didn’t like extended ones interfering with productivity, and as a show of power over them.

The altar was of white birch, cared for lovingly. It was just big enough to fit a gravely injured person as needed, a clean white cloth draped over it.

It was his target for tonight.

The Mother outside would have been shocked to see how deftly he placed the candles, sprinkled the dust, and poured the holy water. Every motion and gesture had an effect, the sequence powerful enough to start the gathering of magic, even if he had no ability to manipulate mana. This was old, old magic, Summoning of a special sort that had been written into the fabric of the Weft and the Weave, intended to be used by those without power when calling out for help from elsewhere.

It was answered. His Spellcraft check was more than high enough, and the site was outside the Wards of the city, on blessed ground.

The sigils of silver pulsed with new, holy light, but he had closed the shutters to make sure it was not seen by the overly curious.

His father’s dark knights would be unkindly interested in why he was Summoning an Angel to himself...

The Pact Angel who descended from the light transmitted through the ceiling, coming down along it smoothly, was only about three feet tall. However, such Pact Angels didn’t need to be big. They needed to be able to evaluate supplicants, and confirm a Pact. Heaven would do the rest.

Glowing golden eyes, filled with the warmth of the sun, washed over him, and an Aura of vigilance and readiness to do battle, yet protective and supportive, filled the interior of the Shrine.

“Mortal, you seek a Pact with Heaven?” the little Angel asked, gazing down at him with a soft yet piercing gaze.

“To be honest, I seek the re-establishment of my Pact with Heaven,” Errant replied, meeting that gaze without fear. “It was terminated by my death, and I seek approval for it once again.”

That actually managed to surprise the Angel, who looked him over closely. “I see. A reincarnation?” The androgynous being hummed for a moment. “Are you not a little young to be seeking such a thing again, Warlock? There could be consequences once you are seen to be bearing the Sign.”

The Great Pact of Warlocks meant that Signs could not be concealed by Warlocks. Upon the very first use of the powers of a Warlock, the Sign would manifest and could not be hidden again... much to the annoyance of many Warlocks who loved to lie and disguise themselves. Warlocks were meant to fight and be in conflicts, not to slink around and conceal themselves.

This both catered to and annoyed the Dark Powers, as not being able to hide their affiliation made it difficult for Warlocks to do many things. On the other hand, it sent a steady supply of souls to them, so they tolerated it, as either way they would profit.

“I actually do not intend to use the active powers of Wrath, Ward, or Whim for some time, sir,” Errant replied calmly. “The passive powers are quite useful, and I intend to undertake Angel Weight during this time period.”

“Ah, using the restrained Wrath to heal yourself.” The Pact Angel nodded sagely. “A wise move, if a bit young... but tempering yourself early is hardly an unwise thing.” The Angel straightened. “Have you Grace and Worth to declare?”

“I do.” Errant bowed his head, putting it in reach of the cherub’s hand. It descended upon him, and scanned his aura, and the memories attached to that aura.

He had been covering for the mistakes and errors of his servants for years, insuring they did not get punished for minor errors. Sleight of hand slipping coins here and there, unknown to them, unrewarded... and unexploited, as some of them would certainly try to gain more from him if at all possible.

He had constantly and subtly undermined the harsh rules of Huul with knowledge that there was a better way, of camaraderie and respect, of hard work rewarded, and treating people what they were worth. People called him weak because he would not punish, torture, or revel in the pain and misery of others... until a point was reached where it would be worse if he did not react, and then he showed them what it was like to be under pain with his fists.

When he had felt himself ready to do so, he had begun his vigilante work, knowing that the law here was something exploited by the high-born, not something that could be relied on for justice. Stealing from the wealthy, killing the murderous and demented with stealth and skill, especially those of low birth who preyed upon their own, or were minions of more ruthless masters he could not afford to touch at this time.

He was one of the largest donors to Amana in the city. He supported the quiet work of some adherents of Good gods he had been introduced to in passing, and had seen to encouraging his own small network of stout and hard-working souls who hoped for something better and endured this rigid and merciless land only because things seemed often to be worse elsewhere.

He had broken Procius’ arms when the humiliated idiot tried to poison him, but that was another matter. After the follow-up investigation, his father had ordered his brother lashed, and now Procius really hated him.

That was one of the reasons he was doing this now. His brother was certainly going to get other, more competent hands to do his dirty work, and he needed the edge of a Pact to survive that. Resistance to poison, fast healing, and other Resistances to complement his Vajra were all going to be welcome.

“Well played. For your age, and the environment you are in, you’ve done well.” Errant nodded without pride. He’d put up with a great deal of abuse, emotional and physical, that a boy his age simply shouldn’t have been able to, astounding his whole family. They were less impressed than intrigued, however, trying to find new ways to cut him down and break his will.

After all, he was not Powered. His worth was determined at his birth, just like any peasant.

“I approve a Pact with Heaven. Are you ready?” the Angel said calmly.

“I am,” replied Errant.

“Are you prepared to sacrifice, and to serve?”

“I am.”

“Agree you to serve the Will of Heaven?” There was a pause to receive his assent, and the questions continued. “To defend the weak, to protect the innocent? To defy the Diabolic? To hurl back the Demonic? To thwart the Daemonic? To embrace virtue and to scorn sin? To be shield and sword, spear and hammer, hand and foot, word and song of the Empyrean Sphere? To seek out those that serve Evil, and stand between them and their ambitions upon this mortal world?!”

The Angel’s voice was ringing with divine Thunder, its eyes blazing with the Light from beyond Heaven, making it abundantly clear that this was no mortal creature.

Errant faced it squarely. It had been only a game in his memory, but he remembered these very words, this very feeling of transcendence, as he came to serve the Will of Heaven directly, bypassing the need to be Powered.

Light flared over his Vajra soul, and began to carve into it.

His resistance was immaterial. He had invoked a Pact, and this was being backed by the full force and power of Heaven. Indeed, it might be said a Vajra soul was the perfect material for a Pact to be written on. He wasn’t a Null, but he was close, and he stood there as beams of The Light cut into him, and made him a conductor, channel, and capacitor for the Light of Heaven.

It was timeless, taking forever, and yet done very quickly. Light shone through his soul, glaring on the lights of his little sins, pausing over his inability to fight sin when he saw it, for lack of power, and what came of it.

Things would change.

A Heavenbound was meant to fight, to do battle for Heaven... but that did not mean Heaven wasn’t wise, and couldn’t wait and plan. He was indeed young for what he intended to do, and waiting a few years to consolidate his power was certainly something that Heaven could wait for.

He would join the fight soon enough!

Errant found himself on the floor, glowing smoke rising from his skin. Beneath his skin, he could see the pulsing of Runes older than recorded time, a Pact struck in the language of Heaven, girding his soul with the powers of The Light.

Within his mind, he saw a whole bunch of glowing Patterns suddenly light up, injected with eldritch power. They’d been completely invisible before, since they were totally useless. But with the addition of a Pact, suddenly they had a great deal of relevance, indeed.

------

Errant smiled as the faint music began to rise from his Pact, swelling him with the courage of all those who had fought in the name of Heaven before. He rose from the ground, and calmly cleaned up after himself. Most of the candles and incense had simply burned away, as had the silver dust of the circle, so there wasn’t all that much to actually do.

He handed the small box of things to the Mother waiting outside, a knowing expression on her face. She stared into his eyes as he handed the things to her, and seemed to want to ask a question.

“Not until they are openly used,” he said to her silent question. Her dark eyes glittered knowingly, and she silently sent him on his way.