“Of course, go on.”
“I would have never thought that someone was able to transform to such a dangerous animal as the wraith leopard. It was a few months ago that I learned we would come to this town to establish a coven and she would be our ramador. She is highly cautious and much older than she looks. She knows several ancient spells that I have never even heard that existed. Therefore, now that you have drawn her wrath on yourself, you might even start digging your own grave, Inquisitor.”
“If she possesses such powers, why didn’t she kill us all in the basement when we attacked you?”
“We were in the midst of performing a hex and the fact that it was interrupted enfeebled us all. No one was at their full strength. You were lucky not having arrived a few minutes earlier as the assault would have turned out differently. This is all I know of her, Inquisitor Master. Since I have entrusted you with all this information, wouldn’t you be so kind as to ease my situation here a bit?” she asked as she was moving the cuffs on her arms.
“The chains will remain there, witch. We will still light the pyre in the early evening where you will burn and atone for your sins. Until then, I recommend you apologize to your god, if you even have one.”
“What was all this, Master? What made you get out of your mind so much?” Funny asked.
“It was merely an awful nightmare, that’s all,” I assured him. I wouldn’t have wanted them to know that Iriana had the power to haunt me in the dreamworld. Suddenly the noise of knocking interrupted us.
“Come in!” I said.
The door opened and Father Tero appeared.
“Good morning, Master Noan. I wish to present a report regarding the captured helpers of the witches.”
“Good morning to you too, Father. Fine, but not here, let’s go on a walk. Funny, you stay here and watch,” I ordered the yawning knight.
He plopped down on the chair, crossed his arms and made himself comfortable. We went out to the corridor of the prison which was built many feet below the surface. Its walls were of massive stones erected by the founding settlers of the city, many centuries ago.
“What did you manage to learn during the interrogations?” I asked the greatly ageing father who had lost nearly all his hair on the top of his head.
“The ones we first took must have had a really low position in the coven. They were in possession of irrelevant information only. They were mostly used by the witches as observers, messengers, suppliers.”
“I suppose this is a common practice, so that they cannot blab out key information.”
“That is right, Noan. But the witch gave away some other helpers around, who we tracked down and as a result, got hold of some important documents. They had plans of bringing some powerful weapons into the city.”
“What kind of weapons?” I was startled.
“I cannot tell for sure, we found only vague mentions. The documents referred to something as the Eye of Damnation. They didn’t reveal more, even after the thumbscrews were applied.”
“This sounds familiar but I can’t recall from where. I might have read about it in one of our folios,” I scratched my forehead.
“There is something else, Master Noan. This was brought by a messenger, straight from the town’s Bishop, this morning. Here you are.” He handed over a sealed letter.
“Thank you, Father Tero, you may leave now.” Tero nodded and disappeared down the corridor.
I broke the seal off and started reading the letter at the light of the dancing torch flames.
Honorable Filiro Noan Inquisitor Master,
I was glad to be informed that you liquidated a witch coven last night in our city, imprisoning their followers, as well as them. As a sign of gratitude, let me invite you and your people for a dinner in my home under number seven on Kestrel Street. I do hope you will be able to allocate some time to pay us a visit. There are certain important matters that I would like to discuss with you.
Yours sincerely,
Bishop Burron Aldegor
This was a pleasant surprise, and I decided to gratefully accept the invitation. I folded the letter and returned to the torture chambers. I told Funny to inform everyone about the Bishop’s invitation.
During the day, we went to the town’s cemetery to pay our final respects to Handsome, who fell in a fight, and we buried him with his weapons. We crossed our fingers to pray, while Father Tero told a eulogy over the tomb of our dearly departed Inquisitor.
“Ronwold Meron was a faithful member of the Dragonheart Order. He was the friend of us all, him who we called Handsome amongst us. His courage inspired us all, his words made us smile many times. He liked taking advantage of his looks and even the last words he uttered were a reminder of this. He lost his life to a lethal fire spell cast by a witch. May you rest in peace, our brother Inquisitor, we say farewell to you and bid you safe passage on your journeys ahead. We fight as long as we breathe.”
“We fight as long as we breathe!” we all said in unison.
We consumed the traditional ceremonial spirit of funerals, we said farewell to him by rinsing our throats with a strong Yandor apricot spirit. It was not a common witch, but Iriana Mulgreth, High Priestess of the Shadow Sisters who took his life.
CHAPTER FIVE
Supper with the Bishop
The collected dry wood quickly caught fire. Flames were blazing higher and higher until they reached the feet of the naked woman. She started screaming. First, her skin blistered off, then her flesh was burnt in the tremendous heat. The flames had no mercy on her and within a few minutes, her whole body was devoured by the blaze. The screams ceased, the only sound left was the crackling of the fire, charring everything nearby. Many had gone to the main square to see the burning of the witch. The crowd was shouting and cheering when she had passed away. One heathen less in this world. I kept watching the dance of the flames for a while, sitting in the saddle of my horse. Breathing didn’t hurt anymore, thanks to the omnipotent power of Dermeron, my broken ribs had knitted together.
“Noan, shouldn’t we be going to the dinner now?” Father Tero asked me.
“We should. It’s been enough, everyone, follow me!” I said to the riders standing next to me.
I gathered up my horse’s reins and headed towards the Silver Raven district at a foot pace, followed by the others. Freckledface kept looking back at the blazing flames of the bonfire – he might have chosen the wrong profession, he should have applied to be a firewizard and not a knight. Everyone dressed in their best garments, putting on their finest armour and shining their boots. I also put on my full plate armour which reflected the glimmering light of the setting sun. The whole team was present: Father Tero, Funny, Freckledface, Stout, and Fist.
“Do you know when a witch is good?” asked Funny.
“Ah, he is starting this lunacy again. Tell us, don’t spare us the pain,” answered Freckledface.
“When she is crispy,” he laughed, making the others laugh too.
“You got me now,” I said, smiling as I turned back.
“I wonder why the Bishop invited us,” Stout asked.
“I suppose he has something to say about the witch hunt,” I answered.
“How many have we finished off so far, Master?” asked Funny.
“She was the twenty-second, if I’m counting well.”
“Not bad for one year,” Freckledface responded.
“Not bad? I will be satisfied only when we have completely cleansed the northern states from these sects spreading like plague.”
“We would need more people for that, Master Noan. The few thousands of people that we have now is too few, I’m afraid,” Father Tero answered.
“Quality over quantity, Father. There is no better witch hunter on the whole continent than a well prepared Inquisitor. But the extensive training requires months and the fatality rate is high after the first mission.
“I will never forget my first mission. The witch disguised herself as a pretty prostitute and wa
nted to seduce me. How startled she was when I knocked her over the head and bent her arms back not to let her charm me!” Fist was pondering about his own story.
“Love at first sight is like this, my bald friend. It gets to your bones. We can say that you also got to her bones, right?” Funny was grinning.
“We can say that, buddy,” Fist said.
“Listen, lads! I want you to behave yourself at the dinner and follow etiquette! I don’t want to be mortified in front of the Bishop because of you,” I warned them.
“There will be no trouble, unless Freckledface farts,” Funny laughed.
“Go to hell! I will punch that grinning face of yours!” Freckledface said.
“Calm the hell down, we are almost there!” I ordered, they obeyed. “We barely buried one of our brothers and you already fly at each other’s throat?”
“This is not what I meant, brother, it just slipped out. But when you say such things, it’s hard to contain myself,” Freckledface said.
“You know that I’m just fooling you, brother, I’m only trying to keep up our spirits, that’s all,” Funny said.
“Great, so this is discussed. High time too because look, that is the gate of the nobles’ district.”
“Stop, you cannot pass through here without permission!” a robust soldier said as he blocked our way.
I showed him the symbol of the Inquisition. “I am Noan, Master Inquisitor. We have arrived at the invitation of Bishop Burron.”
“We know about you, you may,” the guard with spears answered, stepping out of our way, and his fellow guards opened the gates.
As we entered, it felt like arriving to another city. We saw multi-story mansions, bearing its own gardens and private guards. The streets were arranged, tidy and covered by paved stone. The elite population of the city resided here, like the governor, the Bishop, some of the most affluent merchants of the city, and others. The mansion of his Excellency was surrounded by a wall nearly ten feet high. An immense, two-sided oak gate fortified with metal hinges provided further security for the house. I dismounted my horse and knocked on the gate with the horse-face shaped knocker. I could hear the sounds of steps from the other side, the spyhole opened and a deep voice asked us,
“Who are you and what do you want?”
“I am Noan, Inquisitor Master, I have arrived with my team to the dinner invitation by the Bishop.”
“His Excellency is waiting for you, we will open the gates. You may come in.”
I heard the thick locks of the gate open up. The massive doors squealed as they opened and we rode our horses inside. We passed by a cherry laurel bush cut waist-high. In front of the house, clean water was bubbling from a marble fountain, shaping a prancing horse. The building was constructed in Varroni style and had a gabled roof. A tower with a conical roof also formed part of the house. We proceeded with our horses towards the stables beside the house.
“What a grandeur it is to live like this!” Funny was looking around, his jaws dropped.
“His Excellency is apparently knowledgeable when it comes to the arts, he must have a sophisticated palette as I can see,” Father Tero said in amazement.
“I wouldn’t mind spending my aged years here, that’s for sure,” Freckledface said.
“You can discuss this later, now keep your mouth shut, and only speak when asked. Am I clear?”
“Of course, Master. No more speaking,” Funny said.
“Not a word,” answered Father Tero.
Several horses and two carriages parked inside, guarded by soldiers with eagle clawed shields. The guards who were staying at the entrance were not the soldiers of the Bishop. We gave our horses to the care of the stable boys and approached the entrance, where guards wearing shields of blazing lilies awaited us. A robust soldier in hauberk armor greeted us.
“Greetings, Inquisitors! Bishop Burron is waiting for you in the dining hall on the first floor. You will have to leave your weapons here, however, before you enter. This is the regulation, I’m afraid!” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
I glanced back on my team and signalled to them that everything was alright. Although feeling somewhat disappointed, we dismantled our swords and handed all of them over to the guards. An elderly man dressed in a weather worn priest frock emerged from behind the soldiers.
“I am Father Melrond, a servant of the Bishop. Please come after me.”
We entered the building. We were standing in a large hall covered with rhombus-shaped marble pavestones, with walls as white as snow. In front of us, a wide, winding staircase was leading upstairs. Its carved banister resembled a snake.
Walking up the stairs, we saw paintings of famous artists – most of them depicting religious scenes but some of them portrayed beautiful rearing and sprinting horses. The Bishop must have been fond of these stunning horses. Our escort opened one of the doors at the end of the corridor and invited us inside. We entered a vast room with a large table in the middle. The table was ceremoniously laid out and three people were sitting at it: the Bishop in the middle, a middle aged man on one side, and a woman of the same age directly next to him.
The Bishop was wearing a rectangular, three-edged ruby red headpiece, with a tassel in the middle. The edges of his lavish, embroidered, bordeaux evening cloak was decorated with braided blazing lilies. Seeing this, I knew that I was standing face-to-face with the priest of Endnek, the god of fire. He was freshly shaved, his gestures exuded confidence. He might have lived for even more than sixty winters.
“Your Excellency, the guests have arrived,” our escort announced, making a bow.
“Finally, we couldn’t wait for you to be here. Gentlemen, my name is Bishop Burron, I am honored to meet you,” he said as he stood up from his chair. The melody of his voice echoed softly in my ears, as he was reaching towards us with his emerald seal ring.
“I am Noan, Inquisitor Master, faithful paladin to Dermeron, your Excellency,” I went to him and kissed his ring. “And these are the members of my team: Father Tero, priest of Dermeron, Larond, Dorland, and Katarion, all from the Dragonheart Order, and finally Neider, our martial artist of the White Lotus order,” I said as everyone kissed his ring.
“Please, have a seat. Let me introduce you to my old friends, Baron Telron Muran and his wife, baroness Kirona.”
“It is my pleasure, Madam, Sir,” I bowed together with the others.
“The pleasure is ours,” they responded politely.
The man was wearing a lavish silk, royal blue tunic ornamented by embroidered motifs at the end of the sleeves. His appearance exuded tranquillity and determination. His wife braided her hair in an elegant bun which she covered by a pearly hairnet. Her red brocade tunic with hanging sleeves allowed a slight cleavage to be seen. A golden medallion glowed on her neck with an imperial blue sapphire in the middle. Her baggy eyes suggested that she did not have much sleep the preceding night.
“I assume you must know the reason why I invited you and your team for dinner,” the Bishop said, breaking the silence.
“If I am right, it is concerning yesterday’s successful witch hunt,” I answered, rubbing my beard.
“It is, and on behalf of the Church of Fire, let me congratulate to you on cleaning the city of those heretics. Although, I was informed that the ramador managed to escape.”
“Thank you on behalf of my team too. Unfortunately, one of us, our brother Inquisitor, Ronwold Meron lost his life in the fight.”
“We will pray for his soul to rest in eternal peace.”
“Thank you for your condolences, your Excellency. As you have mentioned, that wench got away. I mean, the High Priestess of the Shadow Sisters. In the meantime, we have managed to gather ample information about her and her future plans. She is called Iriana Mulgreth and she is highly dangerous, Sir.”
“What kind of plans of hers could you reveal, Master Noan?”
“They were planning to bring here the Eye of Damnation, which must be an incredibly devilish relic.”
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“The Eye of Damnation?” the Bishop was scratching his jaw, pondering.
“Yes. Have you heard of it, your Excellency?”
“Unfortunately, I have. It was used many decades ago in Irwaldia. A few survivors, who managed to escape in time, told us about it. A smaller town fell into decay, the dead rose and hunted down the living on the streets. Many had lost their minds and ended their own lives. Neider, you are from this country, have you not heard this story?” he asked, turning towards our martial artist friend.
“Your Excellency, unfortunately I am not so well informed. Many legends are cultivated these days, the truth is too easily distorted by the details that people tend to add. I have once heard about people fighting the dead that emerged from the ground, like worms after an abundant rain. I cannot know if this is the same story, your Excellency.”
“How was the curse broken, Burron?” asked the baroness sitting opposite me, playing with her necklace.
“They didn’t. Those who could, escaped, then the imperial military razed the damned city to the ground with catapults.
“This doesn’t sound too reassuring, my friend,” the baron frowned, looking distressed.
“No, and I wouldn’t want this to happen here,” the Bishop turned towards me.
“We will do our best to prevent it,” I tried to comfort them. “Do you have any ideas why the witches would want to bring this horrible relic to this city, Sir?”
“One legend says that the remains of a sacred person of Velinore goddess are buried in the city cemetery. Its exact location is not known by anyone. If the weapon were to be deployed, all the dead would rise from their tombs and attack the living – including the remains of the saint. This blasphemy would enrage the Velinore goddess of nature who would strike the area with devastating storms.”
“But this is a horrible blasphemy! It is only them who are capable of committing such disgrace!” I was outraged by what I had heard.
Faceless: The Takeover (The Shapeshifters Book 1) Page 8