by J. P. Ashman
Inquisitor Makhell’s eyes bulged as the immense pressure cracked several ribs.
Sears threw the man onto the horizontal rack and Inquisitor Makhell took in a lungful of air that stung his chest and caused his vision to blur and swirl. His arms were pulled roughly to the side and he realised he was being bound to the rack. He managed to raise his head and spat a painful curse as he saw Ellis Frane tying his feet.
‘Sears,’ Biviano shouted, ‘the door!’
Sears nodded his acknowledgement. His eyes had calmed, but not enough for the fire to die. He ran to the door and the sound of approaching footsteps. Biviano winced as his friend left the chamber and roared once more; an orange glow lit up the doorway.
Screams followed.
‘Demons!’ Inquisitor Makhell shouted, although doing so pulled at his face from the pain it brought to his broken ribs. ‘You shall burn for this, all of you!’
‘And what of you?’ Ellis Frane shouted in return. ‘You tortured me and those girls! Dozens of girls! Raped them too, you monster!’
Before Biviano could say anything, Ellis Frane had picked up a blood stained instrument and jammed it into the inquisitor’s right thigh.
Inquisitor Makhell screamed as the tool was twisted and then pulled back out.
‘It’s my turn to put you to the question, inquisitor,’ Ellis Frane said, as he moved to the handles that operate the pulley system of the rack.
Biviano looked on as the previous occupant of the rack began to slowly turn the handles.
Mechanical clunks accompanied Inquisitor Makhell’s screams.
‘Where is the Grand Inquisitor?’ Ellis Frane demanded, turning the handles with every word.
‘You will all die,’ Inquisitor Makhell shouted at them, despite the pain
‘Fuck you!’ Sears yelled, as he re-entered the room.
‘Out,’ Biviano told his friend, his heart racing as he did so, ‘out!’
Sears pulled a table over before returning to the corridor.
‘Where’s the Grand Inquisitor?’ Biviano shouted then, slapping the man on the rack hard across the face.
Ellis Frane repeated the question and Inquisitor Makhell cried out as the rack pulled him taught. Fire like pain seared his ribs.
Biviano wasn’t surprised how little the inquisitor had taken when he quickly told them where the Grand Inquisitor’s chambers were.
‘Ellis, wait here and guard him. Use him as a hostage if more come, and do what ye will with him, but wait here, damn it, and barricade the door. We’ll come back for ye.’
Ellis Frane nodded and thanked Biviano. They both jumped at the sound of Sears roaring further along the chamber, shouts of alarm following from several voices.
With Inquisitor Makhell’s screams filling the chamber behind him, Biviano headed out of the broken door and chased after his friend, who was tearing a bloody, burning path through several cathedral guards.
***
The sky in the east began to lighten as the last remaining stars faded from sight. To the West, over the horizon, the sky was still a deep blue, speckled by stars, but the group had their back to it now as they swiftly walked across green fields full of grazing sheep. The young lambs bleated and kicked their back legs, unsure on their feet as they scattered away from the group. Their mothers lazily raised their heads from grazing before continuing regardless.
Furber had left the group as they reached a low dip in the coastal cliffs. He'd been amazed to hear about the monster that had attacked the group in the cave, and had told them about some of the strange things, of all sizes, that lived far out to sea and in the deep trenches, rarely if ever seen even by his kind. He offered to accompany them further inland, much to the annoyance of Gleave, who would not accept his presence at all. Errolas however, turned down the offer, claiming it wasn’t safe for Furber to leave his seal coat on the shore in case it was discovered by anyone who may be following the group.
A selkie’s coat is its source of magic, Errolas had explained to the group; a strong bond allowing it to return to seal form whenever it slipped into the fur. Some humans, both male and female, had been known – once realising their new partner was a selkie – to find and hide the selkie’s coat, therefore trapping the creature in human form and binding it to the holder of the coat. Errolas didn’t want that fate for his friend and so sent him back out to sea after thanking him for his assistance in passing on his news.
Since leaving the coast, the group had walked for hours, passing across seemingly endless fields whilst being assured by Correia and her two pathfinders that they knew the way to the nearest village.
‘Are we nearly there yet?’ Sav asked, for what seemed like the hundredth time.
Correia held no hint of amusement in her tone as she replied. ‘Yes we’re there now, Sav, can’t you see the houses you walk past even now?’
‘Oooh… touchy,’ Sav said, before grinning, much to the further annoyance of the King’s Spymaster.
‘Hold your tongue before I remove it, scout,’ she said, and Sav laughed heartily, although Fal and Starks exchanged worried glances, both of them wondering if it was a meaningless threat or a promise.
A fresh inland breeze brought the scent of manure to the group and Starks’ face screwed up as he brought his hand up to cover his nose.
‘What the bloody hell is that smell?’ he asked through his hand.
‘Manure. You never been in the countryside, Starks?’ Sav asked, surprised.
Starks shook his head, his face screwing up even more as another fresh breeze brought a stronger whiff of the fertilizer along with it.
‘I don’t see why I would’ve wanted to if it smells like this.’
Gleave laughed. ‘We’re getting close to crop fields, manure is what they use to fertilise the crop, lad. Bet you won’t enjoy bread and the likes in the same way now, will you? Knowing where it came from.’
‘They don’t grow bread, I’m not stupid,’ Starks replied, and half the group laughed.
‘Starks, don’t listen to them,’ Fal said. ‘Bread is made from ingredients grown in fields, that’s all.’
‘Well I don’t think I’d let that stop me eating some bread right now, I’m starving. When can we stop to eat?’ the young crossbowman moved his hand from his nose to rub is belly.
‘In Hinton,’ Mearson said, from the back of the group. ‘It’s only a mile or two now I reckon.’ His bandages were caked in blood, but it was all they had. Correia had said they would be able to get fresh ones from the village, so until then, he had to make do.
‘Wow, look!’ Starks said, as the group passed over a low rise in the field. At the end of the field they were in, which looked almost black in the dim light, a hedge ran across their view. Beyond, as the first rays of the rising sun cascaded over the distant horizon, a sea of yellow spread as far as the eye could see.
‘Rape seed,’ Sav said, and both he and Starks stopped to admire the view. The sun seemed to pop all of a sudden, its light illuminating the crop, causing it to glow like a sea of gold; the fields seemed to rise and fall like giant golden waves.
The rest of the group carried on after briefly taking in the stunning view, heading for a wooden gate in the thick hedgerow.
‘Come on you two,’ Fal shouted, as they slowly left the two appreciating the view behind.
‘Wonderful isn’t it,’ Sav said, and Starks nodded to show his appreciation. ‘You’ll be seeing much more wonderful things where we’re going, I’m sure.’
Starks looked up at the tall scout and grinned.
‘Come on then, mucker, let’s catch the others up and hope Hinton is on the other side of that field, my stomach’s beginning to sound like a waking beast.’
Sav and Starks ran to catch the others. They all climbed over the wooden gate one at a time, which proved easier than trying to open the old, rotten latch.
On the other side, they pushed on through the tall rape seed. Fal noticed the pathfinders scanning the horizon constantly, and
as the group reached the top of the rise they were climbing, they saw the thatched rooftops of a dozen small buildings about half a mile in the distance. Sav and Starks grinned at the prospect of hot food and the group carried on down the gradual slope towards the village.
Once they reached the edge of the village, where the smell of wood smoke hit them, Correia held her hand up to stop the group before turning on them, a stern look upon her face.
‘This is Hinton, it’s not on any main road and its people aren’t used to strangers. It’s a small farming village with a very small inn, usually only used by the locals and an occasional patrol of the local Baron’s men. So keep it quiet. No rowdy behaviour.’ Her eyes lingered on Sav a little longer than anyone else. ‘And keep your weapons sheathed. No one needs know why we’re here, where we’re going and especially where we’ve come from. If anyone asks, which I don’t think they will, we’re from a King’s ship anchored to the north west of here whilst hunting smugglers. They hate smugglers around here as they bring unwanted trouble, so they won’t mind us, I’m sure. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Ma’m,’ the two pathfinders replied in unison. The others nodded.
‘Very well, now follow me in and keep quiet.’
The group opened the small gate at the edge of the village and passed through, wincing as its hinges screeched. A dog barked nearby and Sav tensed, wondering how big it was. The track through the centre of Hinton was muddy, despite the lack of recent rain, and the group’s boots, all but Errolas’ it seemed, squelched as they walked through the stinking black mess.
A small thatched building with a faded and unreadable wooden sign outside stood at the end of the path, and Fal guessed it was the village inn. As they approached, the door creaked opened and a large, red haired man in a dirty white apron strode out, before freezing under their gaze.
‘Oh… erm… ’ow do?’ the man greeted, and Correia suddenly transformed her hardened expression into a surprisingly sweet and innocent one. She fluttered her lashes at the burly man and smiled sweetly, before gracefully walking up and holding out her hand, which he shook cautiously.
‘Hello, master innkeeper, could we possibly purchase some of your fine ale and food this morning?’
Fal had to stifle a laugh as he noticed Sav’s jaw drop.
‘Well… erm… yeah, don’t see why not, come in. Not much room like.’ The man’s eyes dropped to the weapons on each member’s belt, so Fal made an extra effort to smile at the innkeeper and nod as he passed by him to enter the dimly lit building. He didn’t fail to notice the extra cautious look the large man gave when he looked Fal in the face however, and Fal was surprised at first, before realising the village was unlike the city he was used to; the man had probably never even heard of an Orismaran before, let alone seen one, or his tattoos.
The sun outside was already shining brightly, but the inn had small slits in its walls instead of windows, which failed to let much of the morning light inside. The group sat clustered around two small tables in the flickering glow of a crackling fire pit, which sat in the middle of the room, as well as several tallow candles set here and there. The smoke from the fire lifted lazily to a hole poked in the thatch above it, little of which actually escaped the room, leaving a thick, cloying atmosphere hanging like a fog about the group.
Correia had remained at the small bar and slid four shillings across it, much to the sudden delight of the innkeeper’s wife, who'd appeared behind the bar as the group entered.
Fal strained to hear what Correia was saying, but the murmuring of the others sat around him drowned the woman’s hushed tones out.
Correia returned to the bar and shortly after, the innkeeper and his wife brought over a large clay pot of small-beer, which they dished out to each of them, much to the delight of Sav, who quaffed his share immediately.
Within half an hour, each member of the group tucked into their bowls of sop in wine – which Sav announced was his favourite breakfast, much to the amusement of all but Correia – and a large wooden plate piled high with black pudding.
Fal laughed along with the others as Errolas cringed at the greasy food.
‘What’s black pudding?’ the elf asked, prodding it with his eating knife.
‘Clotted pig’s blood, amongst other things,’ the innkeeper said, and he too laughed heartily when Errolas paled.
All eyes were on the elf as he cut a small piece and forced it down his throat. The group laughed again when his eyes lit up. He tucked into the steaming pudding with enthusiasm then, a new delicacy clearly discovered.
The group wolfed their breakfast down, especially Sav, who easily talked Errolas into giving him his wine soaked toast. Whilst the men finished off their clay pots of small-beer, Correia rose and crossed to the small bar. She again talked in hushed tones to their hosts, who'd been staring across at Fal more than any of the others, even the elf. Fal shrugged off the scrutiny, and considered asking Errolas what they were talking about, since he knew the elf could hear the conversation. Fal thought better of it though, deciding the elf would tell him if he needed to know.
There I go again, cracking on with the mission without knowing the full story. Ask no questions. That’s right, Fal. Blindly follow your orders as usual.
‘Does it not bother you, Fal?’ Mearson nodded towards the innkeeper’s wife, who was staring at Fal again.
‘What do you mean?’
‘People staring, because of your tattoos?’
Fal shook his head. ‘I’m different is all, can’t blame them for being curious.’
Mearson seemed to accept that with a half-hearted nod as he turned to the bar eagerly upon hearing Correia’s question.
‘Do you have an outhouse for my companions and I to use, before we set off again on our journey?’ she had said, loud enough for them to hear. ‘I very much doubt their bladders can contain that small-beer once on the move. It’s like travelling with children.’
The innkeeper’s wife laughed heartily. ‘Of course, it’s just out back. Careful though,’ she said to Correia, who was heading out to use it, ‘it’s not been emptied for a while and is close to full, so you do right to use it first.’
Everyone else in the group suddenly looked around at each other, and after a pregnant pause, followed by a scraping of stools and chairs they raced as one for the door.
After the group had done their business, Correia told them to prepare to move out whilst she popped back in to thank and tip the couple inside for their hospitality.
Once inside and away from the others, Correia did as she said she would, but also asked, in a very specific way, for the recipe to a dish a friend of hers had recommended as a speciality of Hinton. The innkeeper’s wife nodded knowingly before hurrying into the kitchen to retrieve a scrawled copy of the recipe. Both women knew it meant more than that, and the woman nodded once more to Correia as she handed it over. A look passed between them that the innkeeper didn't notice and Correia felt safe in the knowledge her order had been understood. She smiled, thanked them both once more and left.
By the time Correia came back outside, Sav had re-dressed Mearson’s arm and the group was ready to move on. Starks complained about getting no sleep and was silenced with one of Correia’s looks, her visage returning to normal after the sweet display in the inn. The group set off then, following a rough track heading east out of Hinton, surrounded on all sides by a brilliant sea of gold.
***
The dark walls felt oppressive in the small chamber, the ceiling too, and as Coppin attempted to hold her breath instead of smelling the awful breath of the large man pawing over her, she realised everything about the room and the man felt oppressive.
Her skin crawled as he ran his fat fingers up the inside of her robe, licking his lips as he did so, his eyes not once meeting her own.
She sat on the Grand Inquisitor’s desk, wearing a simple brown woollen robe his inquisitors had given to her. The wool was course and itchy. Oh, how she wanted to scratch a dozen pl
aces at once, but her hands were bound tightly behind her.
Pinching the soft, pale skin of her inner thighs, the Grand Inquisitor suddenly looked her in the eye and sneered.
‘You make me sick,’ he said, quickly removing his hands and dropping heavily into the chair opposite her.
Coppin said nothing. She tried to move her knees together, but before she could, the wheezing man picked up a wooden rod and tapped her on each knee, shaking his head. She opened her legs fully again, and again he licked his lips, lowering his head slightly to try and see up her robes in the dim light.
Hissing, he sat up straight again, locking eyes with her once more.
Coppin stared back at him defiantly.
‘You’re a witch, admit it? The hair is a giveaway and there’s no mistaking the charm you’re attempting to work on me, to seduce me for Sir Samorl knows what vulgar pleasures.’
Coppin tried to speak, to deny the accusation, but the rod cracked off her left knee painfully and she had to stop herself from crying out.
Leaning forward, the Grand Inquisitor prodded at her with the rod, pressing it against her stomach, shoulders and then once on each breast, his small eyes lighting up at the movement his prodding caused.
‘My inquisitor’s tell me you have but one nipple, witch?’
Coppin nodded, but said nothing.
‘Taken in a ritual no doubt, an orgy of witches and warlocks,’ he said, sliding the rod up her dress and lifting it slightly.
She dared not respond and she knew doing so would be useless anyway. She was his now and there was nothing she could do about it. In her experience, playing along was the safest option.
‘I shall have to put you to the question, witch. You see, we need to know what others there are, so we can protect Wesson from the evil that girls like you bring to its streets.’
Coppin shifted nervously as he stood once more. He leaned in close as he whispered into her ear, his left hand pulling at her green hair as he did so.
‘You’re going to tell me where your coven is, witch. You’re going to tell me anything I want you to and If you don’t, or maybe even if you do, I’ll pass you down then,’ he pulled hard on her hair, forcing her head back as he licked her neck, ‘to my inquisitors, so they can finish you off.’