Chapitre 43: Chapter 43: Successor

The inhabitants of the cathedral fell silent as he entered. Pain sliced through his head and Cerant faltered to a stop, hand tightening around Neikirk's. He just shook his head when Neikirk gave him a look and resumed walking. Leaving Neikirk at the bottom of the altar steps, Cerant began to climb. With every step the pain grew, until his eyes blurred from the agony and tears and he was driven to his knees. It felt as though hundreds of people screamed in his ears, clamored for his attention, each voice demanding a different thing. Cerant bit down on his lip to avoid crying out and was only distantly aware of the taste of blood in his mouth.

A hand landed on his back, right between his shoulder blades, and something cool was pressed to his lips. Water, he realized, as he swallowed a sip and the taste of blood was washed away. He forced his eyes open and stared at the priest kneeling in front of him. "Is this what I get for standing on the altar without permission?"