The Heresy Within

by Rob J. Hayes

  Thanquil never took his eyes from the Black Thorn's back. “We deal with heresy, not petty theft. The Inquisition isn't a branch of law enforcement or peace keeping. We root out and destroy evil and not just here in Sarth; all over the world in every one of the kingdoms of man.”

  “Except the wilds...”

  “Even in the untamed wilds,” he corrected. “Only we're less welcome there than we are... some other places.”

  “Is there some place Arbiters are welcome?”

  “If there is, I've yet to find it.”

  They lapsed back into silence and continued following Thorn. It almost felt like a pleasant late night stroll and for a moment Jezzet almost forgot they were following a man with the intention of murdering him and the woman he was working for.

  Before long they found themselves in a very different part of the city. Wide streets, capable of moving three carriages were surrounded by gargantuan buildings; all built of the same white-stone and all shining in the lantern lights despite the general gloom of the night. Some buildings had grounds that at least doubled its size. Some sported fancy gardens with a wild variety of plants, trees and flowers, others were paved over with stone. All had high stone walls many complete with iron spikes to ward off potential thieves. Most were patrolled as well, guardsmen in uniforms differing from the standard white of the city watch. Some of the guards watched as Jezzet and Thanquil strolled past, others paid them no heed.

  The Arbiter caught Jezzet staring. “The Inquisitors are granted estates outside the Inquisition compound as recognition of their long service, continued diligence and as a reward for keeping the world safe from heresy.” He sounded bitter as he spat at the last few words.

  “Some choose estates within the city limits, some without. The only exception being the Grand Inquisitor who resides in the top levels of the tower within the Inquisition itself.”

  “So which of the Inquisitors live around here?”

  “I don't know. I come back to Sarth once every three years and spend a couple of weeks here at most. I've never had the time nor the inclination to learn where the Inquisitors live.”

  Up ahead the Black Thorn stopped, glanced backwards and nodded for them to join him, he stood fidgeting from foot to foot and rubbing at the burned side of his face with his three fingered hand. When they approached he pointed at an estate, somewhat smaller than most and surrounded by a black iron fence. In the distance to their right Jez could see a gate with two white clad guards loitering around. Inside the grounds stood a small building, only two floors, built from the same white stone as the rest of the city. Arbiter Kessick was nowhere to be seen.

  Thanquil pulled up the hood of his cloak and stepped up the bars of the fence, he was whispering something under his breath but Jezzet could not understand the words.

  “So... who is it?” Thorn hissed, looking like there wasn't another place in the world he wouldn't rather be.

  “I don't know,” Thanquil whispered. “All I saw was Kessick enter the building.”

  “Well we know they're both there,” Jez said, “why don't we just break in and do what we came here to do?”

  Thanquil almost looked like he was about to agree when they heard voices. The guards from the gate were talking to someone. All three of them backed into the shadows and watched. Jez heard Thanquil mutter a curse, wasn't often the Arbiter did that. The man at the gate was tall and handsome with sharp features and a bit of look of an eagle about him. He had the blonde hair that was so common in Sarth and he carried a set of two scythes instead of swords.

  Nasty weapons, scythes. Hard to defend against and cause a lot of damage when they hit. Hurt like hell too. Jez remembered a scar just below her left breast, her old master had given her that one with a scythe when Jez had got a bit too cocky and thought she could disarm him. She remembered it felt like the entire left side of her chest was on fire but she had fought on regardless of the blood and pain.

  Thanquil waited until the man with the scythes had passed through the gate then, without even so much as a word, he turned and stormed off the way they had come. Jezzet sent a confused look in the Black Thorn's direction. Thorn sent a blank look right back and as one they hurried after the Arbiter.

  Back at the inn Thanquil still refused to talk; he glared at both Jez and Thorn and then was gone, up to their room. The Black Thorn let out a loud sigh, slumped into a chair and called for a beer. Jezzet sat down opposite him and called for beer of her own.

  At times like this alcohol always helps to numb the issue.

  Thorn smiled at her, he was the ugliest man she'd ever met and yet somehow he just didn't seem to care. He waited until the beer had arrived, took a huge mouthful and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. Jezzet sipped at her own beer, staring into the murky water.

  “Jezzet,” Thorn began. “Me an' you, we've both been party ta a bit o' murder in our time. Some we done a'selves, some jus' watched others.”

  “Got a point somewhere in there, Thorn?”

  “Aye, I do as it happens. We both know what murder looks like. Real murder born out o' anger an' hatred. We both seen it, in a'selves, in others. So you tell me, what was in our witch hunter's eyes jus' now?”

  He was right.

  “Might be ya want ta go up there an' calm him down a drop. Stop him from doin' somethin' rash an' stupid. Don't worry 'bout ya beer, I'll look after it.”

  Jezzet raised the mug to her lips and drained it off in one then stood and made for the stairs. Thorn's hoarse laughter rang in the common room behind her.

  She found Thanquil in their room, pacing the small length over and over again. His jaw was clenched hard, his hands curled into shaking fists and his pretty eyes were two chips of ice. He didn't speak to her when she entered, just kept pacing, his shadow dancing a mad jig in the flickering lantern light.

  Jez closed the door and stood in front of it. He looks like Constance when she saw me. Jezzet thought she knew why he was so angry.

  “Who was he? The Arbiter with the scythes?”

  “Kosh.” Thanquil glared at her when he spoke then went back to staring at the floor, his hands opening and closing with each step he took. “His name is Arbiter Fenden Kosh.”

  Jezzet waited but Thanquil didn't seem to want to volunteer any more information. “And who is he to you?”

  Thanquil looked to be grinding his teeth so hard Jezzet thought it a wonder she couldn't hear them scraping against each other. “He is... was my friend. We trained together, graduated together, drank together.”

  Jezzet nodded. “There's a saying in the wilds, 'There's no such thing as friends, just those who haven't turned on you yet.'”

  “We're not in the wilds, Jezzet. We're in Sarth!” Thanquil shouted at her, first time she'd ever heard him shout. “I've known him for forty years!”

  “I forgot you're so much more civilised here in Sarth. I suppose you wanted him to let you know before he stabbed you in the back? Maybe a polite letter?”

  Thanquil shot her an acidic warning glare but Jez ignored it. Never was very good at calming people down. “So you've been betrayed. Now what?”

  Thanquil stopped pacing and stalked towards her, he was taller but only just. In the face of his rage some people might have quailed but Jezzet Vel'urn was not such a person. “Now I'm going to kill him.”

  “How?”

  “By walking into the Inquisition compound and shooting him.”

  Another brilliant plan. Jez almost sighed. “Then what? You kill an Arbiter and then rest of them kill you. Me and Thorn are out of a job, stuck here in Sarth and your precious Inquisition still has a traitor in its midst.”

  Thanquil's breathing was a short, shaky flaring of his nostrils. “Get out of my way, Jezzet.”

  “No.”

  He reached out to move her but she brushed his hand away and pushed him in the chest. The Arbiter stumbled backwards, a look one part shock, one part righteous indignation on his face. He came at her again and again she pu
shed him back, this time following and grabbing him by the shirt. Her feet left the floor as Thanquil picked her up, twisted and slammed her down back first onto the bed. Without thinking Jezzet leaned forwards and kissed him. There was a moment of shock in his eyes and then he was kissing her back, pushing her back down onto the bed.

  Fight or fuck, Jez. Why not both?

  She wriggled and squirmed underneath him, pushing herself further onto the bed as he started pulling at her clothing. She tore back at his, ripping the shirt from his body. They both pushed and slapped, twisted and wrestled, grunted and growled. It seemed to take forever before they were both naked and by the time they were Jez was wet as the sea and the Arbiter was as hard as a rock.

  As he rammed himself inside her with an angry grunt and Jez gasped, whether from pleasure or pain she wasn't sure. She scratched at his arms as he started fucking her, each thrust accompanied by a grunt and a soft wet slap. One at a time he grabbed hold of her hands and pinned them back on the bed above her head.

  Jez wrapped one leg around the Arbiter's arse and pushed on the bed with the other, squirming underneath him as he thrust hard into her again and again. She twisted her wrists, pulling, pushing, trying to free her hands and let a low, ragged, growling moan as she stared into his pretty blue eyes.

  She snapped at him, trying to bite at his lip as his face moved above her own. Then a shiver of pleasure coursed through her and she gasped again. Then his mouth was on her own, kissing her, his lips hard and bruising so she returned in kind.

  Her hands pulled free just in time and she grabbed hold of the bed post with her right while digging gouges into the Arbiter's back with her left. The shuddering, electric pleasure started in her groin and spread outwards and upwards until her back was arched and a throaty squeal was slipping between her lips.

  The Arbiter wasn't far behind. A few more hard, pounding thrusts and then he stopped, his mouth open, his breath rushing in and out in short grunts. Then he rolled off of her and collapsed onto the bed with a weary sigh.

  For a long time they both lay there in silence, heavy breathing, both soaked in sweat.

  “Sorry,” Thanquil said. He wasn't looking at her; he was staring up at the ceiling.

  Jez snorted out a laugh. “What for?”

  “Didn't mean to be so rough.”

  Rough? It ain't rough as long as I can still walk after.

  “But you did mean to fuck me?”

  He hesitated. “Yes... or no... I don't know what I meant but I wanted to.”

  “Well that's something, I guess,” Jezzet said with grin. She rolled over and took Thanquil in hand; short, slow strokes. Fact was Jezzet hadn't had a good night of sex since Eirik's fort months and months ago, she had no intention of leaving it at just the once.

  They went at it twice more that night. The first time Thanquil kissed her cunt before sticking his cock in. Jezzet was never sure she liked the feel of a tongue between her legs but she didn't feel much like complaining. The second time she rolled on top and rode him, her hips grinding against his until they were both satisfied. Afterwards they lay there, exhausted and covered in sticky sweat. She waited until his breathing became slow and rhythmic, waited until she was certain he was asleep then closed her eyes and let the darkness take her.

  The Black Thorn

  For two days Betrim found himself alone in Sarth, not a single sight of either Jezzet or the Arbiter. He crawled out of bed every morning, itching from sleeping on the uncomfortable and scratchy mattress and more grateful than he'd ever known it was possible to be that the Arbiter had given him the charm that extinguished hangovers. Betrim discovered if he never took the charm off he needn't ever feel the effects of a good night come the morning, though that didn't stop him from waking up still drunk.

  After a breakfast, complete with a morning beer to wash down the food, Betrim waited around in the common room until midday. When neither of his two companions showed themselves he left in search of a more hospitable tavern with better beer and women who weren't afraid of a few scars. The latter proved to be elusive at best but at night, whether he found one or not, he would pay for a woman and if they looked at his face in disgust he'd just turn them over and take them from behind instead. Made little difference to Betrim, none of them reminded him of Rose.

  When he stumbled back into his own room at night he would only be able to keep his eyes focused long enough to collapse into his bed. When he slept Betrim found himself dreaming of the dead southerner and the murderous little imp, of that half-blooded bastard, Swift and his friend, Bones. They weren't pleasant dreams, sometimes he saw them dead, sometimes alive but they were never pleasant dreams, always woke him sweating and shivering. The beer helped him forget though. Forget about the dreams, forget about his friends.

  On the third day after they had followed Kessick, Betrim's companions left their room. Jezzet was the first to appear. Betrim had half expected her to be grinning like a thief in a safe but she looked dour striding down the stairs to the common room with purpose in her step. She sat down opposite Thorn and waved for something to eat and drink. Betrim grinned at her.

  “Well I don't reckon you two were murderin' no one,” he teased her,” not unless the noises have changed since I last did it.”

  Jezzet stared at Betrim so he met her eyes with his usual impassive glare. “You stink of beer, Thorn.”

  “Aye,” he agreed. “An' you stink o' sex but I ain't gonna make a deal of it.”

  Jezzet Vel'urn snorted out a laugh and shook her head. A short while later the Arbiter made his appearance. He looked somewhat changed. The lines of his face seemed harder, more severe. His manner seemed less casual, more purposeful. Seemed a couple of days of rutting had done them both a bit of good.

  “Thorn,” the Arbiter said as he sat down. It still worried Betrim how normal the witch hunter looked without his coat. Made him think Arbiters could be anywhere, there could be another in the room with him right now and he wouldn't even know it.

  “Aye. Reckon I'm gonna need a few coins. Seems I gone through 'em faster than I'd hoped while you two have been... occupied. Ya got some expensive whore houses in Sarth.”

  “I seem to remember we already had that conversation and it ended with a 'no'.” The Arbiter's voice was severe, angry. Not enough to scare the Black Thorn.

  “Aye well what have you two been bloody doin' fer the last two days?” Thorn waited for the Arbiter to look up before continuing. “'Cos I happen ta know who ya traitor is.”

  A strained hush fell over the table as the serving girl brought over a plate of food and a mug of dark brown beer. Jezzet took a swig out of the mug and a moment later the Arbiter had himself a mouthful. Once the serving girl was good and gone Jezzet asked the question.

  “How?”

  “Well I ain't got no magical powers o' question askin' but ya might be surprised at what ya can get from a bit o' listenin' an' a well-placed comment or two.”

  “You're going to make me ask you who it is...”

  “Inquisitor Heron is the only one that lives round there. The other one...”

  “Downe.”

  “Aye. Her, she's got a place outside o' the city but she never leaves that big black fort o' yours.”

  “Inquisitor Selice Heron,” the Arbiter said more to himself than to the others.

  “Good lookin' woman if the drunkards at the Sleeping Sickle are ta be believed an' I don't see no reason why they'd lie 'bout it. Though one o' them claimed she used ta suck his cock, I reckon that one was lying.

  “So how 'bout it? Reckon I can get a few o' those gold bits? Call it a loan if ya want.”

  The Arbiter looked up from Jezzet's beer. “Sure. On one condition. You stay sober until this thing is done.”

  “Well ain't that a hell of a condition.” Betrim picked up and drained his mug. “Done.”

  The Arbiter nodded once, reached into his purse and slid five gold bits across the table. Betrim snatched them up. Staying sober didn't mean no
beer at all and it didn't mean no whores.

  The next two weeks Betrim counted as some of the dullest of his life. He spent a good portion of them baking in the hot, indomitable sun upon the streets of Sarth while watching the Inquisition main gate with fruitless vigilance. Arbiters came and went, messengers ran to and fro, servants hurried about everywhere but rarely did their three targets leave their fortress.

  They took it in shifts; watching, waiting, the occasional dabble into following. Thanquil was the worst of the two companions; each day the Arbiter seemed a little angrier and the times when he saw the Arbiter known as Kosh he was worse. Betrim recognised the signs of barely restrained violence when he saw them. Jezzet was a far more sociable watch partner and a damn sight easier on the eyes but even she seemed taught and high strung. During the few times he was not on watch Betrim found himself alone and missing the company.

  Fact was the whole situation stank of indecision. They discovered that the Inquisitor made for her own estate most nights just after sundown. She went in a fancy white carriage drawn by four white horses, big stallions and all of them gelded, and she was guarded by six of the city watch also clad in white. Made for a pretty sight watching all that white come from the black of the Inquisition compound, something about contrast, Jezzet said, not that Betrim knew what the hell that meant.

  The tall Arbiter with the pretty face and the scythes only left the compound one day in every three, seemed even witch hunters got the odd day off and Kosh was partial to a bit of beer and cunt. When he did leave the compound he stopped off at a couple of inns; the Golden Giant and the Merry Harpist. Always he'd have a couple of drinks in each while folk came around and slid him the odd coin or two. Betrim had seen the like before more times than he cared to count, the Arbiter no doubt extorted money with the threats of righteous burning or the like. After collecting his ill-gotten bits the corrupt witch hunter would always visit the same place, a whore house called the Pink Purse. Seemed far too flowery a name considering what went on inside but it was a fancy place all the same, the type of place a man like Betrim Thorn couldn't even get into.