Once the ranger lay down in his bedroll, she looked up at the stars for a long time, wondering if Taren was watching the same stars at that moment, many miles away.
Mira meditated. She sought to recapture the feeling of nearness she had felt during the day, after having found the book beneath the ruined bed, and also during her dreams. After a time, she felt a warm sensation flowing through her. In her mind, she saw the golden strands enveloping the small farm, extending to the woods and to the north, where she sensed a town lay several miles away. Most importantly, she sensed a strong beam pulling on her, extending to the northeast. She couldn’t again recapture a vision of Taren and his surroundings, but she knew a direction now. If they didn’t tarry, they could gain some ground by traveling a straight path, for she sensed his path had been twisted and winding, being forced in different directions by his pursuers.
When Kennitt awoke, she would have some good news to impart for a change.
Chapter 20
The Nebaran Inquisition entered the hamlet of Halstead before dawn. Roughly three dozen soldiers occupied the tiny village, which in truth was little more than a collection of small farmsteads. The inquisitors traveled in an octet and were dressed in livery distinctive from the regular army soldiers. They wore long sable greatcoats with stiff-necked collars and gold trim along the sleeves and stripes up the legs of their breeches.
In the history tome Taren had purchased from Gradnik, he had read a short passage about the Inquisition and their notorious reputation for stamping out witches and mages in the early days of the empire. The Inquisition was feared for its brutality and its lack of concern for innocents who might be swept up in the wide net it cast. The group had been nearly disbanded under the previous emperor, to the best of Taren’s knowledge, yet here they were in this small hamlet of a couple score of people. He had no way to be sure of the purpose of their appearance, but the words of the Nebaran lieutenant back at the farm haunted him. “All magic users and those of magical talents are to be put to death. Are you harboring magic users?”
Mages were still regarded with fear and mistrust in the lands of Easilon but had been at least tolerated until then. The exception was Vallonde, the small neutral kingdom along the western edge of the continent where a powerful cabal of mages ruled the state and magical talents were encouraged as long as mages registered with the government.
What madness has this emperor succumbed to, unleashing the Inquisition? And where in the Abyss are the Ketanian forces to drive out this invasion? Taren and Elyas had seen no sign yet of any unified Ketanian forces during their brief flight as they sought to outrun the patrols scouring the southlands. The Nebarans appeared to have been free to burn and pillage at will across the south of Ketania, thus far.
And now this. And they’ve got an ogre, of all things. Taren peered through a knothole in the wall of the barn where he and Elyas were hiding. Soldiers shouted and threatened villagers at sword point, rounding them up and driving them to the center of the commons, where they were forced to sit or lie in the dirt. The soldiers had arrived suddenly as the sky was graying, swiftly setting a perimeter around the hamlet before they began dragging people from their homes. The noose had tightened before Taren and Elyas could even think to escape.
The cousins had arrived the past evening, following five days of travel since Swanford, hungry and nearly out of food save for a few scraps of salted meat. The only game they’d found to eat along the road was a pheasant Elyas had brought down with an arrow the evening prior to their arrival in the hamlet. They were forced to travel overland north of the road after spotting a Nebaran patrol marching in their direction, and continued northeast until reaching Halstead. Upon their arrival, a kindly couple had invited them to dinner and allowed them to stay in their barn overnight in exchange for a few coppers, which they happily parted with. Taren had hoped they could purchase some extra food to take along after breaking their fast, but with all the activity in the village, that wouldn’t be happening.
We’ll likely be captured and tortured along with the others.
Elyas shifted impatiently a few feet away, where he was also peering through a gap in the boards, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword. He’d become increasingly ill-tempered over the past few days, impatient and irritable and in a rush to reach Ammon Nor. Taren could understand his feeling of impotence—he too wanted to strike out at their enemy, but so far, they’d been outnumbered and forced to flee at every turn, weary and hungry.
The High Inquisitor sat impassively upon an enormous black steed, waiting for the residents to be herded into the square like sheep. Beside him hulked a ten-foot-tall ogre. The burly humanoid shifted his bulk from one foot to the other in barely concealed excitement. The beast wore a ragged pair of breeches and a vest of hairy brown hide. From beneath his heavy brow ridge squinted a pair of small, beady eyes. A thick club the size of a tree trunk was clutched in one hand. Seemingly out of place on such a brute was a large sable cape with the insignia of the Inquisition, a golden device with a sword above a burning candle.
Illumination and penance, he thought, remembering the Inquisition’s motto.
“Good morning to you, good folk,” the inquisitor called out with barely any accent, his voice smooth and cultured. He nudged his horse forward and studied the gathered villagers.
Six other Nebarans in the same livery as the inquisitor and the ogre ringed the frightened villagers, with swords drawn. The ordinary army soldiers kept their distance, seemingly wanting little to do with the inquisitors. Taren could see the elderly couple who’d showed Elyas and him hospitality among the group, the husband with his arm protectively encircling his wife’s thin shoulders. The townsfolk all were terrified, yet a few faces also registered anger and defiance.
“I am High Inquisitor Tellast. We have word that a fugitive magic user has been hiding in the countryside around these parts. His Majesty, Emperor Ignatius the Third has decreed all magic users heretics to be scoured from the face of Easilon. I know nobody here would be so foolish as to harbor a renegade mage, am I correct?” He waited for a reply.
The villagers looked around, frightened and confused, some shaking their heads, but none voiced a reply.
When Tellast saw no response was forthcoming, he gave a curt nod and continued. “This mage, who travels with a warrior, ambushed a patrol of His Imperial Majesty’s troops at a farmstead a few days to the west of here. That farmstead was not so different from those outlying this community. Several good, loyal men were murdered in cold blood, their bodies left to the scavengers.”
A realization struck Taren, with it a sinking feeling in his gut. They found the book. They think me a mage because of the damned book I left back home. And now these people are about to pay the price. This bastard twists the truth to try to gain their cooperation. He hoped the couple wouldn’t sell them out even if they figured they were the ones the Inquisition sought.
“You have exactly five minutes to turn this fugitive in. If not, then it will not go so well for your village. I’ll have to take a more… personal approach, shall we say?” Tellast pulled a shiny timepiece on a slender chain from his pocket and observed it. “Think over your responses very carefully!”
He nudged his horse back a few paces, nearer the ogre.
“Me get to ask questions now?” the ogre asked, his voice a deep rumble. Drool dripped from one corner of his broad, thick-lipped mouth, and yellowed tusks poked up from his lower jaw.
“Not yet, Glurk. I have hope these good folk will wisely make the honorable decision and truthfully answer our questions.”
The ogre’s face fell. “Me hope not. That no fun.”
Taren could only chalk up to Sabyl’s luck the fact he and Elyas hadn’t been spotted up in the hayloft when a pair of soldiers had poked their heads into the barn during their search earlier that morning. The men had seen only the horses stabled inside and glanced into the stalls before leaving, one of the soldiers cursing the inquisitors under his breat
h. Taren had said a quick thank-you to Sabyl for the Nebarans’ laziness in not searching it more thoroughly. However, that seemed only a momentary reprieve. Only one brief word from the village folk would alert the inquisitors to their presence.
He wondered if they could flee out the back of the barn. A quick glimpse had revealed no visible soldiers around the rear though they were actively patrolling the village. The barn didn’t have a back door, but he figured he and Elyas could loosen a couple boards and squeeze through although the noise might draw any soldiers within hearing range.
If we do get away, these people have no chance. They’ll be beaten and tortured until they confess to being shapeshifting goats if that’s what the inquisitor wants to hear. Damn it—and there’s no way to fight them all either.
He looked at Elyas’s face flushed with anger and thought that even if he could convince himself to escape, his cousin would be difficult. The big man was tired of fleeing and feeling powerless. He wanted someone to answer for Wyat’s death, and the price would be blood. And these simple townsfolk could have been any of the same people they’d known their whole lives. To abandon them was cowardice.
Time ticked by, and the townsfolk shifted anxiously, eyes fearful. Taren caught the older couple glance nervously at the barn a few times and was afraid they would either turn them in or the inquisitors would notice their glances. Sweat trickled down his back as he waited, frustrated and not knowing how to help.
Should I turn myself in? Will they torture and kill me if I do, or will they simply capture me and take me elsewhere? He had nearly convinced himself the better option would be to take his chances by surrendering rather than watch innocent people be harmed, when Inquisitor Tellast spoke up.
“Your time has expired! Where is the renegade mage?”
Nobody answered although the townsfolk exchanged nervous glances. Tellast nudged his horse forward, nearly trampling a pregnant woman, who scrabbled away.
“You’d best answer me now, or Glurk asks the questions. You won’t like that much, I assure you.”
“We haven’t seen any mages around these parts,” an older man spoke up. He had thinning gray hair, sun-browned skin, and the sturdy build of a farmer or laborer. “We don’t get many visitors out here.”
“Ah, someone who isn’t shy. And who are you?” Tellast asked in a jovial tone.
“I’m Rhett, the alderman of this village.” Rhett had a resigned look on his face, yet he stood fast before the inquisitor’s icy gaze.
“Well, Rhett, I think you may be misremembering. Either that, or you’re lying to me. Either way, I think your memory needs some prodding.” He waved a couple fingers at the ogre, who lumbered forward eagerly. “Take my friend Rhett to that barn so we can discuss his faulty memory in private,” Tellast commanded.
Glurk reached out and roughly seized the alderman by the arm, his fist enveloping the man’s entire forearm. A sharp snap sounded, and Taren winced. Rhett made a strangled cry before the ogre lifted him into the air by the arm and stomped toward the barn. A woman screamed and tried to follow but was restrained by a couple neighbors.
Taren hurriedly ducked down in the nearest stall. He lay flat behind a small stack of hay. “Elyas, get down,” he hissed.
For a moment, Elyas looked as though he would argue. A mixture of emotions warred on his face before he reluctantly took cover in the next stall.
The barn door banged open with nearly enough force to shake the entire building. The frame cracked, and the door sagged as one of the hinges tore loose from the wood. The horses in the barn whinnied nervously, snorting and stomping.
Glurk came to a stop a few long strides inside the door, about ten paces from Taren, waiting impatiently as Tellast followed. The inquisitor dismounted outside and entered the barn.
Taren saw why Tellast favored such a large steed—the diminutive man was barely over five feet in height.
Glurk released Rhett, and the man stumbled and fell on his backside, clutching his broken forearm to his chest. His nervous glance darted back and forth between the ogre and the inquisitor.
“Now that we can speak in private, why don’t you tell me what you know of the mage?” Tellast asked cordially.
Rhett shook his head. “I already told you, I haven’t seen any mages around these parts. Whoever you seek hasn’t been through here.”
Tellast sighed. He sat down on an overturned wooden bucket a short distance away from Taren. “Glurk, I think he needs his memory jogged.”
The ogre grinned, showing crooked yellow teeth resembling tombstones. He reached down and ripped off one of Rhett’s shoes then brought a huge foot down. The alderman screamed as his bones snapped like dry twigs. When Glurk lifted his foot again, Taren could see Rhett’s foot had been crushed almost entirely flat. Broken bones jutted through the skin, and blood leaked onto the ground.
Taren had to clamp a hand over his mouth, for he nearly cried out in horror. He gripped the hilt of his dagger so hard that his hand started cramping up. A glance over at Elyas in the next stall showed the big man’s face a mix of anger and anxiety. He apparently couldn’t see the damage to Rhett’s foot.
Come on—think! We need to get out of here somehow. If we can draw them away, the village might be spared. He glanced past Elyas and saw the nervous movement of the nearest horse. Four animals were back there, all unnerved by the ogre’s presence. We could possibly escape on horseback, but we’d have to ride bareback. He and Elyas had ridden Wyat’s old draft horse bareback around the farm before, but never at a full gallop with soldiers in pursuit. Desperation, but it might work.
“My, you’d better think harder before you answer again, Rhett.” Tellast wagged a finger at the alderman.
Taren turned his attention back to the inquisitor, studying the man’s narrow face and cold gray eyes. The Inquisition—one of the most hated factions to ever walk the face of Easilon. They would eradicate mages simply for being who they were. He imagined his hands going around the man’s scrawny neck and throttling the life from him.
The beginnings of a desperate plan began to come to Taren.
“I repeat my question: what do you know of the fugitive mage lurking in these parts?”
Rhett’s eyes filled with a resignation that tugged at Taren’s heart. The alderman remained silent and simply shook his head. He obviously didn’t know of Taren and Elyas’s presence and was well aware no answer he could provide would satisfy Tellast.
The inquisitor gestured to the ogre. Glurk grasped Rhett by the thigh and shoulder, lifted him overhead, and dropped him to the floor. Rhett groaned as a dislocated joint made a sharp pop.
While Glurk and Tellast kept their attention on Rhett, Taren crawled over to the slats of the next stall where Elyas knelt. The big man’s face was red with fury, and his knuckles were white on the hilt of his sword. He opened his mouth, but Taren spoke first.
“I have an idea to get us out of here,” he whispered, wincing and having to raise his voice slightly over Rhett’s renewed cries. “Hopefully, we can get them to chase us from town and leave the people be.”
Elyas nodded slowly, a hopeful gleam in his eyes at the prospect of doing something besides hiding like a coward.
“Let the two closest horses out of their stalls and spook them. In the confusion, I mean to put a dagger to that inquisitor’s throat. We’ll take him hostage and force his men to maintain their distance while we get to the edge of the forest. Then we’ll ride off on the other two horses. We can let that bastard go outside of town.”
“I say we just kill the scum. What about the ogre?”
“He won’t do anything unless his master tells him.” Taren hoped that was true.
“And we’ll steal the horses?”
“I think it’s a small price to pay for the townspeople’s lives in return.”
“Aye.” He nodded. “Sounds risky, but I don’t have any better ideas.”
“Best do it now before they kill the poor man.” Taren gripped his cousin�
�s shoulder.
Elyas nodded then crawled over and squeezed his bulk through the slats and into the next stall. The horse within stomped and snorted but then calmed when he patted its neck.
Rhett’s cries abruptly choked off and the latch on the stall door squeaked loudly in the sudden silence as Elyas eased it open.
Tellast glanced over his shoulder for a moment, eyes squinting as he peered into the shadowy rear of the barn. Glurk apparently hadn’t heard—the ogre’s eyes gleamed feverishly as he stared down at Rhett’s broken form. His excited panting was as loud as a bellows.
Elyas was crouched down, frozen in place, his eyes wide and brow shiny with sweat. Taren could feel a cold sweat on his own back as the moment hung there poised, full of danger.
“Why don’t you just kill me, you Nebaran dogs?” Rhett cried, spitting a glob of bloody saliva at the ogre. “I told you I don’t know nothing, and I won’t know any more by your pet beast beating me to death.”
Tellast turned back around, staring hard at Rhett. “That’s unfortunate you feel that way. Perhaps your wife or children will prove more cooperative.”
Taren waved to Elyas, who slipped the stall door open. The next door across the aisle, fortunately, made little sound, and he eased it open as well. Elyas nudged the two horses into the aisle between the stalls.
“Yaaah!” Elyas bellowed at the top of his lungs, swatting the rumps of both horses. The animals bolted for the open barn door, charging toward Tellast, Glurk, and Rhett.
The inquisitors spun around in shock as the two horses barreled toward them. Tellast nearly fell off the bucket as he lurched to his feet, reeling away until he backed into the wall of the barn. Glurk merely stood staring stupidly. Rhett remained hunched over on the ground, holding his head in his hands.
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