“How can you just stand there, Soranus? We should be interrogating them.” Lewis grumbled after a while.
“Those our orders. Settle down Elson.” Reiner replied watching the blank-eyed thrall staring at him, motionless. “This one will never talk.”
“Of course not. What use are they?” Elson Lewis was a veteran captain and as irritable now as the day they’d first met. Age hadn’t improved him, his grey-white hair and lined face enhanced his sour expression.
“If we’re lucky we can reverse their condition. Failing that perhaps we can extract information using a telepath.” Reiner sighed. Once captain Lewis settled on a course of action, debating with him was futile.
The older man laughed and cupped his forehead in his hands. “I told you boy, Lucia, Caelus bless her soul is dead. We’re out of telepaths. And I doubt you know any magic that can rip the secrets out of their blasphemous minds.”
“We’ll find a way.”
“Don’t need to. All we need is some sharp tools, and a locked room. I’ll find the answers. Trust me on that one boy.”
“That’s not how we do things around here.” Amelia spoke as she emerged from the shadows, causing Elson to almost jump out of his skin. “Stand down, Captain.”
“Ma’am.” He saluted. “Didn’t hear you approach.”
“Evidently not.” She glanced at Reiner and dismissed his salute. “I understand your desire for justice and answers, Captain but that just won’t do. We’re above such primitive methods.”
“Ma’am. With respect—” The captain tried but was silenced by Amelia’s raised hand.
“I’ve heard it before and your objections are noted. Confessions and information extracted through torture are almost useless at best and outright fabrications at worst. They’ll tell you anything they wish you to hear. Just to make the pain stop.” Elson Lewis seemed to balk and shrink away from her determined expression, as she pressed forwards and spoke in a hushed tone. “Taking our frustration and grief out on our prisoners is unacceptable. We’ll not disgrace our order; we are better than this captain. You are better than this Elson.”
He bowed his head in shame and stepped back. “I’m sorry Commander. I lost a lot of good men and women today. I won’t sully their memory.”
“I’ll relieve you of your post for now. Get some air. I won’t rest till we’ve gotten to the bottom of this.” She replied, her tone softened but remained firm. “Send in Captain Remus, if she’s available, please.”
The Captain saluted and walked down the darkened corridor and up the stairs, his shoulders slumped and dejected.
“I know what you’re thinking.” She turned to face Reiner and the prisoners. “He’s loyal, for now. I’ve checked. He just needs to calm down.”
“I hope so, Commander. He was right about one thing, we’re out of telepaths.” Reiner replied, his voice hushed so the prisoners couldn’t hear. “I’ve been watching some of them, I think we could get some information from them if we offered them a deal perhaps. The thralls though, no chance.”
“I suspect you’re correct, Captain. That’s why I’ve requested Laelia to join us.”
“Commander?”
“Before she joined us she spent three years working with the Night Guard, under Interrogator Niklaus Thorn. I believe he’s made Inspector since.”
“The city guard of Kriegsfeld?” He neglected to mention their role as vampire hunters.
“The very same. It’s my hope she’s brought some of the skills she learnt under Thorn to us. We’ll have to do this the old fashioned way given the unfortunate death of Lucia.”
Reiner nodded. It was their best bet and his curiosity piqued. Laelia never mentioned her past in the Night Guard before, she was a very private person.
Knight-Commander Rhae approached the cell of one of the nearest prisoners and opened the hatch. The worried face of a young man, scrawny and rat-faced jumped and backed away from the cell-door.
“Relax. Answer our questions honestly and you’ll be well-treated.”
The man nodded frantically and whimpered about his innocence.
“You called, Knight-Commander?” Laelia appeared from the corridor and snapped a quick salute. She was tired and exhaustion visible on her face but she managed a smile.
“I wish to question some of captives with your aid, if you are able.” Amelia replied.
“Yes Ma’am.”
“I didn’t know you were in the Night Guard Laelia.” Reiner said. As the Knight-Commander opened the cell and guided the prisoner out.
The Captain tilted her head and smiled. “You didn’t ask.”
“I see.”
She delicately moved Reiner aside and followed Amelia and the bound prisoner to the interrogation room and sat him on a desk. The room was old and dusty, disuse and time had been unkind to it but it would suit their needs. Laelia sat opposite the prisoner and flicked through some of the papers they’d hastily compiled on what little they knew. Feeling out of place Reiner found a wall by the door to stand aside and watch the interview, his arms held behind his back and stood in what he assumed to be a non-threatening manner. The Commander closed the door and stood beside him watching the discussion, her own arms folded.
“Let’s start with your name.” Laelia’s voice echoed around the cold iron room.
“Rickward. My name’s Rickward, Miss.”
“Tell me about the cult, the group of people that attacked us today.”
Rickward looked nervously between the three armoured and stern Caelites before him, and twitched his rat-like face.
“I don’t know much. Honest. They don’t tell you much. They just offer you things. I only joined this week.”
“Go on.” Laelia replied, scribbling notes down on her sheet of paper. “Who is in charge? A man named Inquisitor Horus?”
The man raised a confused eyebrow.
“Haures. Haures sorry. Who wrote this? Awful handwriting.” She glared at Reiner behind her with a knowing look.
He bit back a retort and returned the glare as Amelia stifled a laugh.
“Anyway, Inquisitor Haures correct?”
The rat-faced Rickward nodded again, and winced.
“Something wrong?”
“No Ma’am. H-Haures promised us many things, he promised us he could cheat death.” He stuttered.
“Desecrating dead bodies into mindless slaves is a poor way to cheat death Rickward.” Reiner said.
“They’re just disposable warriors. He can resurrect the dead. Proper like. I’ve s-seen it.” The man winced again.
“Proper like?” Laelia repeated, making sure she’d heard him.
“Yeah. True revival. He brought back one of his followers as a show of faith.”
Reiner and Amelia exchanged a dark look.
“Where did you first meet him?”
The man winced and a gasped in pain, nearby one of the candles flickered and blew to one side.
“What’s wrong, Rickward?” Amelia asked, detaching herself from the wall. The candles flickered again, but there was no breeze in the room. No windows or drafts.
“Noth—” Rickward started but his eyes rolled back into his head and he twitched on the spot. Blood poured in thick torrents out of his nose and ears and he collapsed hard onto the metal desk with a painful thud.
Reiner ripped open the door and shouted down the dim hall at one of the Caelites on guard. “Get a healer down here now!” He shouted.
“Sir! You’ve got to come see this!” One shouted back, the voice stirred the others into action.
He ran to the cell at the end beside the Caelite. Inside the prisoner lay dying on the floor, twitching and bleeding.
“They’re all doing it sir! They’re all dying.”
The man was right, in each cell, sealed and warded against external intrusion their prisoners convulsed and died. Their last chance at answers dying in a pool of their own blood.
“What’s going on Captain?” Knight-Commander Amelia appeared he
r voice wavered.
“They’re all dying. Something’s killing them!”
“Impossible.” She muttered in disbelief, unlocking the cell door with a clank of keys from her belt and checked the collapsed figure on the floor. “Did you sense any magic?”
“No Commander. None.” He knelt down and looked at the prisoner, blood from the nose and ears, just like the one being interrogated. “These cells are lined with lead and iron. There’s no magic here. I have no idea what’s happened to them.”
In the darkened library of the Caelites, Alvis Razakel poured through countless tomes and volumes of lore. The sorcerer remained oblivious to the priests and monks scurrying and the howling blizzard enveloping the stronghold throughout the night. He sat still in the semidarkness lit only by a candle and small lantern. His desk was a mess of piles of books and a crude stack of empty plates and mugs congregating around him. The strain of today had evidently given him a ravenous appetite. The world beyond his desk might as well have not existed, he was unaware of Claire’s approach.
“I thought I’d find you here. What are you doing?” She asked sitting down opposite him on the table.
He didn’t respond for several heartbeats until he shook himself out of his trance.
“My apologies.” He looked up and adjusted his spectacles. He seemed far older now; even in the dim lighting he looked ancient and exhausted. His skin pale and almost translucent; the after-effects of his powerful magic left him drained and withered. Dark rings circled his drooping eyes magnified by the spectacles. “Making notes. I know nothing of this ‘Valdgeirr’ — the dragon Haures slew.”
Claire nodded, noticing the lack of pen and paper around him. He was instead surrounded by half-opened dusty books and stone-cold mugs of tea, steam rose from a fresh one.
“I see you’re feeling better. I didn’t get a chance to explain — Sister Elisa rules that hospital with an iron fist.” A faint smile crossed his thin-lips.
“Aches a bit, but I’m not dead so I can’t complain. Thanks by the way.”
“Least I could do, you helped a foolish old man running in alone like he’s thirty years younger. Could have done with someone like you back then.” He placed his open hand on the table and the warm mug of tea flew towards his outstretched fingers. He drank deep and shook his head. “You did very well in fact, especially without magic.”
She shrugged, feeling a little irritated by the implication. “Lots of people don’t use magic. It’s dangerous and unreliable.”
“Forgive my impertinence.” His weathered hands raised in defence. “Magical ability tends to be inherited; you can use magic but you don’t. Neither are you one of those unfortunate few that are immune to and incapable of magic. I find that unusual.”
Claire frowned and chose her next words with care. “I’ve never needed magic, I manage without it.”
“Certainly you do. However, magic is a tool as much as a knife, or an arrow. You’ve enough wisdom about you to use the correct tool for a job and it’s unusual you would discount perhaps the most valuable tool of all. If you so wished I am sure you could succeed.”
“I tried. I did but every time I tried I… why are you so interested anyway?” She leaned back on the hard wooden chair, the cushions worn thin with age and folded her arms. “I don’t need to explain myself. You’ve been keeping secrets this whole time — you’re lying about taking notes as well.”
“I’ve lived a life of secrecy and I cannot change who I am now and for that, I apologise.” He sat back, his shoulders slumped and he sagged looking hurt by her accusations. “I may have withheld information but I have never lied to you.”
“And your note-taking?”
“When I was young and filled with zeal and idealism I experimented with magic my knowledge out-pacing my wisdom. I was frustrated I couldn’t remember every important detail I learnt so I devised a spell to improve my recall. I was successful and that’s where the problem lies — now I’m incapable of forgetting anything.”
“Sounds useful.”
“I was naive and thought it would be a fantastic idea. Your mind protects you by allowing you to forget that which is unpleasant or useless and to clear your thoughts. I denied myself any such protection and it’s taken its toll on me.” He rubbed his eyes and stared into the distance for a while.
“Can’t you reverse the spell?”
“The results would be catastrophic. I’ve no idea what memory would be lost, what damage I could do to my already weary brain. It’s too late for that now.” He sighed. “I’ve taken an interest in you because you remind me of Eleanor. I remember her as if it was only yesterday and in perfect detail and I think in some ways I owe her.”
A bitter laugh escaped Claire that surprised her. “I have the opposite problem. I don’t remember her at all — I was too young.”
The silence within the now empty library was deafening. The pause dragged on for a while and the sorcerer seemed at a loss for words, his eyes twinkled in the candlelight.
“What was she like?”
“Like you. Driven, clever, set her eyes on a goal and threw herself at it. It made her an excellent Inquisitor and a brilliant magus too, capable of truly fantastic spell-work. Many impressive victories during her career, rogue sorcerers, high profile traitors — you name it. That’s how she met your father, each hunters in their own way. She put aside the dangerous work when she had you.”
“I have tried to learn magic, it’s just every time I try I get distracted and it reminds me of her. It’s difficult to concentrate then.” Without realising it her hand clutched the silver ring on her left hand.
Razakel smiled. “I understand.” He stroked his chin as he watched the snowflakes drift past the window, as the storm calmed. The moons shining through the thick greying clouds in the night. “There’s a way I could show you some of my memories. I could show you what I remember of Eleanor, but I can’t do it here. Not in Caelholm. Perhaps some time in the future.”
“I’d like that. You’ll be leaving soon I imagine, chasing the dragon and the Inquisitor.”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve been chasing him across the continent, he’s a slippery snake I’ll give him that.” He waved a hand at some of the open books. Leaning forward she could see all sorts of symbols: most of them were eyes, some spiked eyelids others recurring motives of eyes watching, one seemed to be an owl’s face with a third eye.
“What’s that one mean?” She asked pointing at the latter.
“It’s a symbol he keeps using between the different cults he creates and stirs towards his goals. The three-eyed owl. It’s been common in different forms for over twenty years.” The venerable sorcerer rubbed his weary eyes and stifled another yawn.
“Any idea what it means?”
He handed her the book allowing her a closer look, the third eye raised and in the centre of the owl’s facial disc. “Owls are often symbols of death and omens of the afterlife in many cultures, messengers of the gods, sometimes said to deliver souls. Often a lot of spectral sightings I’ve investigated are simply the common barn owl. Brilliant, beautiful creatures. They’re also believed to embody wisdom and knowledge. That seems to be the Inquisitor’s goal so far; he’s interested in collecting knowledge and lore rather than destruction.”
“Knowledge on what?” Claire said as she leafed through the tome. Pages upon pages of cult symbology and common recurring beliefs.
“Death. The dying, the undead, vampirism, the soul, the afterlife. Like Morveil I suspect he’s acquired some form of immortality, but how I do not know.”
“They hated each other. Why work together?” She tapped the mahogany desk idly with her finger, her brow furrowed. “Didn’t he mention a master of some sort? Perhaps they were forced to work together.”
“Very possible. This attack today wasn’t like any of his others, whomever Haures claims to work for seems to have different goals to the Inquisitor himself. When left to his own devices the Inquisitor is far more devious
, far more subtle in his pursuit of forbidden lore.”
“Interesting. What does the third eye symbolise? Seeing what others cannot seems too obvious.”
The man shrugged and rubbed at his tired eyes once more. “Sometimes the simplest solution is the best. For all their secrecy and codes, most cults aren’t as subtle as they think they are.” He rose up and gathered some of the books and wrapped his cloak around him. “I must retire to my quarters, the day has taken quite a lot out of me I’m afraid.”
“You look rougher than I feel.”
He smiled. “And please, don’t be offended about my questions earlier. I meant nothing by it, use magic or don’t it’s your choice. I’m just disappointed with my students this year, slow-witted and arrogant the lot of them. They don’t have half your energy. Except for one of them, of course.”
“Students?”
“I have tenure, up at the Imperial Academy of Magic. When I’m not hunting rogue necromancers, that is.”
Interesting. She thought, perhaps I should enrol for a magic course.
“One last question, before you sleep.” She asked as he turned to leave again. “Earlier, when we first met. I saw an owl. That was you wasn’t it. That’s how you reached me so fast.”
His smile widened. “Good night Claire.”
I knew it. She packed up her possessions and headed towards whatever bed Amelia had managed to arrange in the chaos of today.
Over the following days with the storms subsided and the dead laid to rest the port of Caelholm settled back into a routine. Trade ships came and left exchanging goods and food. Famed for its yak meat, furs, native herbs and spices trade thrived. The closure of the Spellstone mines in recent times dented their trade output but a fortuitous unveiling of a nearby iron mine revitalised their efforts. Cheaper and more affordable weapons and armour flooded the local blacksmiths. Sevaur Soranus crossed the cobbled defrosting streets, mindful of the black ice and passed the church in the centre of town. Labourers and repair men and women worked tirelessly to repair the damage done during the undead invasion, repairing roofs, replacing doors and sweeping up the shattered glass. With the winter months soon approaching a sense of urgency drove their actions. The gentle winds carried the scents of the port-side market, fresh fish and oils mixed in with the sea-salt air. He turned a corner leading towards the wooden and stone rows of houses where he lived when a hand grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. His hands reached for the sheathed sword but he stopped upon seeing the beaming face of Claire Acestes behind him, with an eager and self-satisfied grin that was almost contagious.
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