by Rob J. Hayes
A hundred years ago the Inquisition had gone to war against a cult of warlocks. The dark sorcerers had hunted Arbiters across the world and had dealt a serious blow to the Inquisition's numbers. The Inquisitors had marshalled and attacked the warlocks head on as they marched on Sarth. Five of the twelve Inquisitors died that day, the worst loss in the history of the Inquisition, and still the warlock army was unbroken.
A young Arbiter by the name of Artur Vance had entered the battle and he alone turned the tide. The Judgement of the Righteous, the Inquisition's most powerful weapon and one usable only by Inquisitors such is its power. Magic deadly to all those with the dark stain of sin and heresy upon their soul. Arbiter Artur Vance called down the Judgement of the Righteous six times that day and stood in the centre of the searing light each time. As if calling down the judgement six times in one day wasn't unprecedented enough the young Arbiter emerged from each without injury, proving there was not a single stain of sin upon his soul. Arbiter Artur Vance was named Inquisitor that very day and only a handful of years later attained the rank of Grand Inquisitor.
By all accounts the Grand Inquisitor had lived a life of uncompromising virtue with only one questionable action; his union with a woman who had the sight. The sight was known to be an affliction of witches. In women it manifested as the ability to see into a person's past, viewing the things they had done through their own eyes. In men it manifested as the ability to glimpse a person's future, maybe even their end.
Thanquil bowed to the circle of Inquisitors and prepared to leave the chambers. Then Grand Inquisitor Vance spoke again.
“Why did Emperor Francis request your presence?” the Grand Inquisitor said and the words were like a vice closing in on Thanquil's will.
He had felt the same thing earlier, in the imperial palace, only different. The compulsion. It should not have any effect on him, a trained Arbiter, but here he was experiencing it first hand and for the second time in one day. Before, when the Emperor had used it, the compulsion had been strong but unfocused, Thanquil had managed to squirm his way free from the question. Now it was different, it lacked the same strength but the focus more than made up for it. Thanquil could think of nothing else but the words, the answer to the question the Grand Inquisitor had asked. The truth bubbled up inside of him and demanded to be set free.
He couldn't hold it back any longer. Thanquil opened his mouth to speak, gasped and then the words fell out.
“He wished to thank me for finding his sword. He wanted to know where and how I had attained such a powerful artefact.”
The pressure eased and then lifted. Thanquil gasped and sputtered. The cold room felt hot and sweaty and the weight of all those eyes on him felt heavy.
“You did well, Arbiter Darkheart,” this from Inquisitor Heron. “Not many have lasted so long against the Grand Inquisitor's compulsion.”
“Seems your will is still uncontested, Vance,” the voice from behind Thanquil was brutish and accented. Without a doubt it came from Inquisitor Dale.
“Enough,” the Grand Inquisitor's command cut through the atmosphere like a knife and left only silence behind. “If the Emperor should ever wish to talk to you again, Arbiter Darkheart, you will come to the council to explain why. Do you understand?”
Thanquil nodded. “Yes,” he managed to croak. He was still shaking and could feel his heart pounding in his chest, in his ears. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so weak. It took every bit of effort he had to stop his legs from buckling.
“We have a new assignment for you, Arbiter,” Inquisitor Downe. Thanquil squinted in her direction, a middle aged woman with plain features and a heavy brow. There was not an ounce of softness to Inquisitor Downe. “The free city of Chade has requested an Arbiter to question someone they have taken into custody and believe to be a dangerous heretic.”
“The Inquisition has no authority in the free cities,” Thanquil said, his mind struggling to catch up with the day's events.
“They have granted an agent of the Inquisition temporary rights in order to question the prisoner.”
Thanquil nodded. “You're sending me to the untamed wilds then.”
“Correct,” Inquisitor Jeyne. “You will leave immediately, there is a boat departing tomorrow at dawn. You will be on it, Arbiter Darkheart.”
Thanquil nodded again, his head searching for something witty to say and coming up blank. “Of course. With your leave.”
“Go,” The last word, of course, came from the Grand Inquisitor.
Thanquil turned and hurried from the room. His legs felt like jelly and it was he could do not to collapse into the nearest dark corner and spend some time weeping. Instead he walked, aiming for his bunk in the barracks and hoping his tired feet remembered the way while his mind worked on other things.
He had learned something very important from his meeting with the council. Something he'd never known before and something he now wondered who else knew. There was a loop hole to the compulsion. The target could release it by telling only a part of the truth.
The BladeMaster
The noise was one of the most terrifying things Jezzet had ever heard. Swords and spears and hammers and axes being bashed against wooden shields and all at the same time. Sounded like thousands of them. Looked like thousands of them if the amount of torches were anything to go by.
Large fires had been built up at regular intervals just beyond the tree line, just out of bow shot and Jez could see figures moving around in front of the fires. The sun had disappeared long ago but the moon was full and close and bright and lit the ground between the fort and the forest well enough to see. Gave the troops in the fort some sort of hope anyways.
For hours Jez had heard axes going at wood out beyond the forest but they had gone silent now. No doubt the ladders and rams had all been built. All the enemy were waiting for now was the call to attack. Quite why they hadn't attacked yet was a source of some confusion for Jez, unless the enemy commander wanted to scare the soldiers in the fort into surrendering. If so it was working on Jezzet.
The clamour of weapons banging against shields died down and a single figure rode on horseback towards the front gate holding a white flag high up in one hand. The signal to parley.
First comes the talking, then the killing. Somehow Jez doubted Eirik was the type to spend too much time talking.
She pushed her way along the battlements, moving ever closer to the front gate, closer to Eirik, closer to where the brunt of the fighting would take place. Jez couldn't say it was where she wanted to be but it was where Eirik would stay and she had to keep him alive if possible.
Or you could just hide with the whores and fuck your way out of the fort later, Jez. A bitter thought and not one she entertained for long
“Ho there, Eirik.” As soon as Jezzet heard that voice drift up from below, her spirits sank. It was both masculine and feminine at the same time. Hiding with the whores seems a good option now, Jez.
“Come to see my little fort have ya, Constance?” Eirik called back over the battlements. Jez could see the warlord she shared a bed with grinning from ear to ear through his stubble. She sank down behind the walls and prayed for a miracle or at least she would have if she could remember the names of any of the Gods.
“The hospitality seems a little poor, Eirik. How about you just open your gates and let me in like a good host?”
“Alas, we're full up on whores at the moment, Constance. Nowhere to put you.”
“Yes I can see that, Eirik. Three hundred whores my scouts tell me. Do any of them know how to hold a sword?”
Oh the banter of warlords before a battle. Like foreplay without the pay-off.
“Reckon we have least one,” Eirik called out still grinning like a wolf. “Got an old friend of yours up here with me. I'm sure you remember Jezzet Vel'urn.”
Why, Eirik? Why?
Silence. It seemed to stretch out for somewhere close to forever before the reply came. “Where? Show yourself, bitch.
”
Jezzet sighed. She wished Eirik hadn't told Constance about her. Then Jez realised all eyes on the battlements had turned to her. Hiding wasn't an option any more.
She stood up and gave a little wave towards the single figure down below. A stupid wave. Like I'm waving to an old friend. Constance's horse fidgeted below her, sensing the rider's anger. The woman warlord looked as well as she ever had. As big as most men, almost as big as Eirik both in height and brawn. She wore a suit of tight ring mail armour dyed red and her long mud coloured hair was tied up in a warrior’s tail. A livid white scar ran upwards across her left eye and ended just below her hairline.
“How's the eye, Constance?” Jezzet called down.
“Don't see so good no more, Jez. Still remembers your fucking face though.”
That wasn't surprising. The tip of Jezzet's sword was the last thing that eye had ever seen.
“Could be worse,” Jezzet shouted back. “Could remember your partner's face. What was her name again?”
“Catherine,” Eirik shouted out, his grin wider than ever.
“That's right,” Jez continued. “I forget, Constance. Was she your sister, your lover, or both?”
If looks could kill then Jezzet's heart would have exploded in her. However, looks couldn't kill and right now, thirty feet up and behind a wall Jez felt brave enough to rub it in the warlords face. So she smiled back as sweetly as possible.
“Still opening ya legs for every man in the wilds then, Jezzet?” Constance's rock-like jaw was locked tight, thick cords of muscle writhed together as she ground her teeth. Jezzet had always been able to get under Constance's skin even before she'd killed the warlord's sister.
“Just the one at the moment.” Jez nodded towards Eirik. “Why, would you like a go? Have you finally managed to grow a cock that would have matched your sister's balls?”
Eirik let out a bellow of laughter that sounded so jovial even the men around him joined in despite the sheer weight of numbers aligned against them just beyond the tree line. “Ladies,” he began, “while this banter is fun an' all I believe we have a...”
“Surrender the fort, Eirik and hand over that whore trussed up like she deserves and I’ll let you and yours go.” Constance interrupted him.
Eirik paused and looked over towards Jezzet. Jezzet tried her damned best not to look as scared as she felt. If Constance got a hold of her Jezzet could count her days left on one very painful, very humiliating hand.
“'Ost wants the fort. I want the bitch. Nobody else has to die today,” Constance continued.
Terrifying silence seemed to hold for a long time. So long Jezzet wanted to scream to release the tension. Seemed Eirik was taking his time thinking about the offer which was a bad thing seeing as how it was likely his only way out of the situation that didn't involve dying.
“A tempting offer, Constance, and we all know she deserves it but I’m afraid I have to decline. Dolsedge would have me strung up if I surrender the fort without a fight.”
“Then you all die.” With that Constance whirled her horse around and set off for the tree line at a gallop. Jezzet met Eirik's eyes and he grinned at her.
Bastard he may be but at least he's a brave one.
Moments later a thunderous roar went up from the enemy camp and Jezzet could see the soldiers start to move forward. She had been right about the ladders and about the ram. She counted eight ladders in all, built in a rush, no doubt, but still sturdy enough to do the job. The ram was long, carried by twenty soldiers each holding a shield in their other hand and charging forwards with the giant tree sharpened to a point.
Jez swallowed down her traitorous, fraying nerves and waited. Each moment accompanied by a deafening heartbeat drumming in her ears.
The archers charged forward in front of the enemy lines and each thrust a torch into the ground, pulled arrows from their quivers, lit them and then drew the bow string back. For a moment they all just knelt on the ground with bows ready and then someone shouted the order and a hail of flaming arrows arced towards the fort. Jezzet ducked behind the wall again as the arrows hit. Those in the wall were no problem but those that landed inside the fort could catch fire forcing the defenders to fight the flames inside their gates as well as the army outside.
“What do we do?” a young soldier beside her shouted. He was young and pretty in a boyish way with a small strip of hair on his chin and eyes wide as the moon.
“How the fuck should I know?” Jezzet shrieked back at the stupid boy.
“ARROWS!” roared Eirik from close by and Jezzet heard bows being drawn then, “FIRE!” And the ‘twang’ of bow strings accompanied by the screaming of men from below.
The boy beside her was still staring, wide eyed, into space. Jezzet slapped him and then crouch-walked past, unwilling to poke her head above the top of the wall, unwilling to present a target. She found Eirik shouting orders this way and that, his handsome grin replaced by a commanding frown.
“Get some damned stones on the ram,” he shouted to someone and looked out towards the approaching army. His bowmen were firing at will now, the enemy archers had stopped. The men carrying the ladders were reaching the base of the walls and started pushing the ladders up against them. “Repel the ladders!”
Eirik spotted Jez and took two steps towards her. For a crazy moment she thought he would try to kiss her and she was pretty sure she'd have had to punch him but instead he stopped and his grin returned only for a moment.
“I think we pissed her off, Jez.”
Jezzet didn't smile back. “I fight for you and after this you let me go. No more keeping me prisoner here just so you have someone to fuck!”
“Deal,” Eirik nodded. “Long as I get one for the road after all is done.”
Jezzet span as she heard a ladder hit the wall close by. Eirik's men were already trying to push it back to the ground but there were too many holding it still at the bottom. The first man pushing on the ladder looked down just in time to take a spear thrust up through the face. The unfortunate soldier was dead before he hit the floor and then the dying started in earnest.
All around it was the same scene. Men pushed on ladders to no avail and other men climbing the ladders, trying to establish a foothold on the wall for more to rush up behind them. Arrows flew both ways now and blood and screams of pain became a constant both inside the fort and outside.
A face appeared on the ladder closest to Jezzet. Her sword, a slim long sword as sharp as a razor, slashed out and took the face just above the nose. Bone shattered and flesh sliced and the man dropped with a gurgling scream that ended with a dull thump. Another face appeared and Jez stabbed at it. This time a shield appeared and managed to block the strike but a moment later a spear thrust from the other side of the ladder and took the climbing soldier in the throat. Eirik's men had given up trying to dislodge the ladders and were attacking the men as they climbed up them.
A worrying crash of wood on wood sounded from close by followed by a scream from Eirik to shoot arrows down on the battering ram.
A large soldier armed with a rust-spotted long sword jumped from the ladder onto the battlements, followed by another and then a third. The first man advanced towards Jezzet and muttered something about fighting a woman. Then he thrust with his sword. Jezzet span on her feet and brushed the attack away with her own sword, a moment later her hand darted forward and her blade slid in between two of the man's ribs puncturing his liver. The man dropped to one knee screaming and with a heavy push Jezzet sent him off the battlements to the hard earth below.
The second man came at her a moment later. Jezzet span, ran two steps then launched herself off the wall back towards the approaching man parrying his sword away as she flew towards him. Small as she was she was still heavy enough to knock the man to the floor and landed on top of him. Too close for swords she dropped her blade and pulled her dagger from its sheath on her belt and stabbed him once, twice, three times full in the face.
Definitely dead. S
he thought as she looked into the bloody mess she'd made.
Jez stood, her dagger still in her right hand and picked up her sword in her left. The third man that came over the wall had been dealt with by some of Eirik's troops and they were again stabbing down at the climbers with spears.
Jezzet looked around. Constance's forces were up on the wall in several places already and more were pouring up all the time. A loud crack signalled the gate was already on its way to giving in and Eirik was fighting with three men who had somehow scaled the wall without the use of a ladder.
All three of Eirik's assailants had their back to Jez so she rushed them. The first went down with a slash from her sword opening up his back from arse to neck. The second turned in time for Jezzet to thrust her dagger just below his armpit and into his heart, she'd long ago made sure the blade was just long enough for such a kill. The third man panicked and Eirik took his head clean off with a chop from his axe.
“Thanks for the help, Jez. I...” Eirik was cut off as an arrow thudded into his shoulder, spinning him around and sending him careening off the battlements to the ground below.
“FUCK!” Jezzet screamed as she watched him fall. No stairs close by and a good twenty five foot to the ground.
“Shit,” she said and launched herself off the walkway onto the roof of a nearby building. Her ankle twisted as she landed and she fell, rolled off the roof and hit the ground with a heavy and painful thump that drove all the air from her lungs. Somewhere close by a great crack signalled the gate had given way and the clash of metal on metal started.
Jez pushed herself to her feet, sucked in deep breaths of air and dust through gritted teeth and limped over to where Eirik had fallen. Smoke and the smell of burning wood filled the air and the screams of the dying echoed around the fort. Jezzet realised her hands were slick with blood. Looking down she was spattered with it all over. None of it was hers though, it was so rarely hers.
She found Eirik crumpled on the floor lying face up with arm underneath him at an impossible angle and the jagged bone of one leg showing through skin and armour both. A steady pool of blood was leaking from him somewhere but still he managed to open his eyes a crack as Jez approached. She'd never seen him look so pale or so young before.
