The Heresy Within

by Rob J. Hayes

  Again Thanquil fell silent, trying to think of the right words. “The compulsion is addictive. We don't know why, something to do with dominating a person’s free will, I suspect. There are Arbiters who use it all the time. It becomes a need for them, to ask questions, to feel the compulsion acting upon the target. It's...”

  “Were you one of them?”

  Thanquil wasn't sure how to respond to that. Actually he was, the simple answer was 'yes' but it was something he didn't like to admit to himself let alone someone else.

  After a long time Jezzet spoke again. “Can't you just not use it? Ask questions normally without using it?”

  Thanquil shook his head. “I've tried, believe me. The compulsion is the first thing an Arbiter learns and we're... made to use it until we can't not. It is a constant, nagging need but the only way to not use the compulsion is to not ask questions so... I don't like asking questions.”

  “Sorry,” Jezzet said in a sombre voice. “I should look at your leg.”

  “It's fine, just a scratch.” Thanquil grimaced as he spoke but kept limping along all the same.

  “It's slowing us down; you're moving no faster than a crawl.”

  Thanquil looked back towards Chade. Jezzet wasn't wrong. They had started out at a brisk pace but the pain lancing through him with every step was slowing him down. They were staying away from the roads but even so, if they didn't get well away from the free city soon it was possible the guards would find them.

  “I cleaned and bandaged it,” he protested.

  “But you didn't close it. I can tell by the blood.” She wasn't wrong about the blood. “Closing a wound and bandaging one are two different things. Go and sit on that rock and drop your trousers.”

  Thanquil did as he was told. He dropped his pack, then his trousers and then sat with his leg stretched out on the smooth boulder. There were no rocky areas, no mountains for leagues around and Thanquil had to wonder where the boulder had come from. It sat alone on the plains, a solitary, smooth rock.

  Jezzet made a disapproving noise and spat on the ground as she looked at the wound. The bandage Thanquil had applied had been wrapped around his clothing and had soaked up most of the blood but still the wound looked red and angry.

  “There are some ointments and the like in my pack,” Thanquil said.

  Jezzet snorted. “I'll use my own.”

  She sniffed at the wound. It was a thin cut but deep and a good two inches long. The knife had hit him high up in the thigh, just a few more inches to the left and it could have been much worse, the wound was very close to his manhood, and now so was Jezzet. She stared at the cut and Thanquil forced himself to think of disturbing images lest he get aroused by her closeness. The last thing he needed to do was poke Jezzet in the face.

  All thoughts disappeared the moment she poked the wound. White hot pain shot through his leg and it was all Thanquil could do not to scream.

  “Doesn't smell infected,” Jezzet said as she started rummaging around in her pack.

  “Wonderful,” Thanquil replied his voice strained. “This is going to hurt I think.”

  “Yes.”

  “Badly.”

  “Very badly.”

  “Let me know when you're about to start. I have a curse that will work wonders at subduing the senses.”

  She looked at him for a moment. “You can do that? Curse yourself to lessen pain?”

  “As long as I don't forget the words.”

  “Huh. I'm going to clean it again. Then sew it shut, that'll hurt like all the hells. Then I'll bandage it again, properly this time.”

  Thanquil clenched his jaw and nodded. Jezzet had her own ointments, some fire wine to wash the wound, a thin needle and some horsehair thread for the stitches and some white linen for the bandaging. She laid them all out ready and then nodded at him.

  As he started up the chant he felt the world recede around him. The light grew dimmer; the world seemed to be lit no more than on a clear night despite the sun being high and bright. Sounds grew quieter and seemed farther away, even the sound of his own heavy breathing and heart beating in his ears seemed distant, muffled. His skin felt numbed, where before he had been able to feel Jezzet's hand on his leg, warm and calloused; now he only felt a slight tingling.

  “Brace yourself,” she said just before pouring fire wine into the wound.

  The burning sensation was there, a deep pain that he could feel in the core of his leg, as if the very bone was on fire but it was numbed by the curse. Still, it hurt and Thanquil could feel sweat beading on his forehead, could feel his hands, his arms, his neck, his head, and his entire body shaking.

  Jezzet was looking at him with something close to sympathy. She had already dried the skin around the wound and the needle and horsehair thread had appeared in her hand.

  “This is going to be the bad bit,” she said with a sorry smile.

  Thanquil kept whispering his curse, determined to weather the pain. All that determination fled the moment the needle pricked his skin. He gasped in pain and the curse was broken, the light of the sun, the noise of the wilds, the pain in his leg it all flooded back in and he screamed. He had no doubt he would have passed out had he not still had the sleepless charm on his arm. Instead he found himself lying flat on the boulder panting through the pain and choking back a sob.

  “I need to keep going, Thanquil.”

  He took a couple of moments to collect himself, pushed back into a sitting position, recalled the words of the curse and started chanting again. Once his senses had dulled he gave a laboured nod to Jezzet and again the needle pierced his skin.

  Five stitches she made and each was more painful than the last. Twice more Thanquil forgot the words to the curse and screamed in pain and by the time she was done he found himself soaked with sweat and wanting nothing more than a strong drink and a bed.

  Jezzet rubbed some ointment onto the angry skin and then bandaged the leg before sitting herself down on the boulder next to Thanquil. She looked almost as shaken as he did.

  “I've known men to faint from being stitched up,” she said from beside him. She smelled of sweat and blood and a whiff of sewer but Thanquil didn't mind.

  “Hah. It wasn't that bad,” Thanquil lied.

  She smiled. “You should try having to stitch yourself up one time. That's hard. My master used to say, 'When you're a Blademaster I won't be around to patch you up. You have to learn to do it yourself.' So I did... every time.” Jezzet fell silent and Thanquil joined her, truth was his head was still feeling slow and fuzzy and he couldn't think of any words to say.

  Jezzet pushed herself off the boulder. “There's a few hours of sun left but maybe we should find some shade and make camp for the night. You need to rest.”

  Thanquil shook his head and pushed himself up. “No time for resting. We still need to move, get farther from Chade before they send people looking.”

  “You'll be alright on that leg?”

  Thanquil grinned. “It's nothing really. See.” He took a couple of steps and grimaced but managed to hide the majority of his pain.

  Jezzet didn't look convinced but she nodded all the same. “Alright. You should probably put your trousers back on first though.”

  The Black Thorn

  Betrim was on watch when he heard the voices. Truth was he was gnawing at a strip of dried salt beef that tasted a lot like a foot and was busy not paying attention to anyone that might have been trying to sneak up on them. An entire night and the following day he'd been on the receiving end of dark looks, cruel insults and even one or two threats so right now he couldn't say he was too bothered about looking out for the others' benefit. It wasn't like the Black Thorn was the only one who ever made a mistake; they all had from time to time, so it struck him as more than a little unfair that he was getting so much heat from it.

  All those thoughts fled when he heard the voices though. He could bitch and moan about his lot as well as the rest of them but when there was a threat about the
y all had to stick together, assuming the threat wasn't one of them.

  The voices were a ways off for now but could well be coming closer. Sound travelled a little too well over the plains at night. The laughing dogs were proof enough of that. Betrim couldn't count the amount of times he'd been kept awake at night by the damned laughing, unable to decide whether it was a long way off or right over his bloody shoulder.

  Betrim gave the Boss a quick nudge with his foot, the big southerner slept light and woke easy. It took him a few seconds to figure out why Betrim had woke him and then he nodded, at least Betrim thought he did, the Boss was kind of difficult to see in dark. Henry was awake the moment the Boss moved, crazy bitch always had murder in her eyes when she woke. Frightened Betrim to tell the truth, not that he ever would.

  He crawled on hands and knees away from the small camp, towards the voices. The grass was long this time of year, came up to the knees on a standing man and did a good job at hiding you when you got down low. Problem was it hadn't rained for a while and the grass was dry, made it brittle and noisy and gave it sharp edges. Seemed a strange thing to get cut by grass but Betrim supposed that was why they were called blades of grass.

  Every time Betrim put his hand down onto the ground was a near heart stopping moment for him, snakes were not uncommon out in the plains and if one managed to bite you...

  Betrim had seen a man bit by a snake once. They'd killed the thing quick enough but it was too late. Jolly Garth they used to call him on account of him always laughing and joking, not like Swift, Garth's laughing was always good natured, never had a bad word to say about anyone. He didn't laugh after the snake bit him. Within an hour his arm had turned a withered brown colour and hung off his body like a piece of dead wood. He screamed too, screamed himself raw in the throat until he was coughing more than screaming. Then the brown rot started to spread to his body. It was then he pleaded for mercy so it was then they gave it to him. Harvey the Bear took his head off with one good swing from his axe.

  Strange thing was after Jolly Garth was dead his blood didn't run, just sort of seeped out a bit. It was thick and lumpy instead of runny, blood did that in a body after a while, became almost like jelly but with Garth it happened while he was still alive. Last thing Betrim wanted was to get bit by a snake, or a spider, or one of those land lizards that lived on the rocks. Last thing Betrim wanted was to get bit by anything.

  The voices were louder now and Betrim could just about make out shapes in the distance. Seemed to be the chatter of two folk walking along paying no mind to who might be listening or watching. The Boss crawled up beside Betrim on his right and he felt Henry brush against him on the left.

  One of the two was limping a little, injured was good, injured folk were easier to take. “What do they mean? Or what do they do?” Betrim heard a woman's voice ask.

  “The charms.” The voice of the second was a man.

  “Aye. The ones on your sword, what do they mean?” the woman asked again. Betrim couldn't tell which one of them was the injured from this distance, still just shapes in the darkness.

  The Boss waved his hand in front of Betrim's face a few times and made a walking motion with his fingers. Betrim got the idea, the two were going to pass them by if they kept on their current path, probably meant they'd just leave them be.

  “There are three. The first is to keep it sharp as the day it was forged even if some fool forgets to use a whetstone,” the male voice said.

  “Do you even own a whetstone?” The female voice sounded familiar. Betrim forced himself to stifle a groan.

  “The second is so the sword will never break, never chip, never bend. The third is a charm of purification to help kill heretics who may survive normally fatal wounds.”

  Betrim knew the Boss was staring at him, knew Henry on the other side was stopping herself from laughing. He thought for sure the guards would have done for the Arbiter, after all the bastard had killed two of their own but now here he was, tracking down the Black Thorn. He should have stayed back in the mansion, should have made sure the witch hunter was good and dead before running.

  The Boss nudged Betrim and pointed. Betrim didn't move, just shook his head. If it was only the Arbiter they could take him. Six on one were good odds, no matter, but he had Jezzet with him and that changed things and not for the better. Six on two odds didn't sound near so good when one of the two was an Arbiter and the other was Jezzet Vel'urn. Still, Betrim knew what needed to be done. Swift was the best bet. If they waited until the two made some sort of camp, waited until the Arbiter was sleeping Swift could stick an arrow through him. The witch hunter would never wake. After that they could either deal with Jezzet or just leave her be. Maybe Swift could do for them both, he was damned accurate with that bow of his and quick too.

  The Boss nudged Betrim again and pointed back towards their little camp. Betrim nodded and was just about to crawl back when he heard a belch. It was a loud rumbling noise that could almost have been mistaken for a peal of thunder and it was not the first time Bones had been known to burp in his sleep.

  Jezzet dropped into a ready stance, hand on her sword hilt. The Arbiter just stood looking towards them. For a moment Betrim wasn't sure if the witch hunter would see them. They were down low in the grass, only the tops of their heads would be visible and it was dark, the three of them might even look like wild animals watching them as they were. Some wild dogs would follow travellers across the plains, watching them for leagues in case someone was split off from the group.

  “It's your friend, the Black Thorn, and his gang,” the Arbiter said drawing his sword and pointing it towards them. No doubt thought he cut a right striking figure pointing a sword into the darkness like that, truth was he just looked a fool, a fool who was about to get another knife in him. Betrim started reaching for one of the little blades he liked to keep hidden on him but the Boss was having none of it. The big southerner stood and walked towards the Arbiter. Betrim had no choice but to stand and follow and Henry too.

  “Reckon you should jus' keep on walkin', Arbiter,” said the Boss in his deep, low, dangerous tones. The Boss liked to fight with both sword and axe at the same time and now he drew both. Betrim felt he had no choice but to unhook his own axe.

  “Don't think I can do that, Black Thorn,” the Arbiter replied, ignoring the Boss.

  “You ain't talkin' ta Thorn, ya talkin' ta me.”

  The Arbiter glanced at the Boss and then back to Betrim. Then he pointed his sword at the Boss and drew his little string-less crossbow and pointed it at the Black Thorn.

  Truth was Betrim did not much like that little thing being pointed at him; he'd seen what a mess it had made of the guard back in Xho's mansion. He took a slow step to the left, the Arbiter's aim followed him, he took a step to the right, and it followed him again. With a sigh Betrim resigned himself to getting shot.

  “Six against two, Arbiter. Wouldn't much like my chances if I were you. Just keep on walkin'.” The Boss didn't like to talk with folk for long; Betrim reckoned the big man might be near as scared as he was. Truth was the only thing Betrim liked about his situation so far was that Jezzet Vel'urn hadn't drawn her own sword yet. Seemed she was happy to stay out of the whole mess.

  “Can't do it. Your Black Thorn killed Colth.”

  “What?” the Boss asked with a disapproving look at Betrim.

  “No I didn't.” Betrim was somewhat certain he'd remember killing a man as fat as Farin Colth.

  “You did. I saw him, ripped open and then I saw you sauntering out the very next room.”

  Betrim shook his head. “Right, but... I didn't do it. Only one I killed was that guard.”

  “Swift,” the Boss said in his low rumble. Swift stood up from the grass not five paces from Betrim. Quiet as a shadow he'd snuck up, Betrim hadn't even known he was there.

  “Yes, Boss?”

  “Did you kill Farin Colth?”

  “At Xho's place? No, Boss. Didn't kill no one. Was only there fer a bit
of honest thievery.”

  Betrim snorted. “There was fuck all worth stealing.”

  Swift grinned. “Depends what you were looking to steal. I happened across Xho's daughter, stole myself a ride. Turns out she was a maiden but I soon cured her of that.” Another of Swift's stories, Betrim reckoned, although he was certain the bastard was capable of rape.

  Henry spat towards Swift. “You were raping the daughter while we were killin' the father?”

  Swift was still grinning. “Aye.”

  Betrim wasn't sure at that point who Henry wanted to stab more but it was looking like Swift. She was a murderous imp to be sure but it seemed Henry did not look too kindly upon rapists. Something to do with being a woman, Betrim reckoned, but he wasn't about to get into it.

  The Arbiter didn't look so certain any more. “You were there to kill Xho, not Colth.”

  “Aye,” the Boss said with a nod. “H'ost wanted Xho dead. He wouldn't want Colth dead; everyone knows Colth was working for H'ost.”

  Jezzet's sword seemed to sing as it slipped from its scabbard. Her face was a dark scowl and at that moment she looked almost as murderous as Henry. “You work for H'ost.”

  The Boss took a step back. “Not really. We were workin' fer Deadeye.”

  Betrim groaned. If the Boss knew a thing about Jezzet Vel'urn he'd have known that was the worst thing he could have said.

  “You're working for Constance?” Jezzet asked and Betrim knew the question was directed at him.

  “We're not workin' fer Deadeye, Jez. We jus' done a couple o' jobs fer her. Right, Boss?”

  “Aye, we jus' needed ta do her a couple o' jobs so we can do the big job.”

  After that everyone seemed to start speaking at once. Henry started arguing with Swift. The Boss and the Arbiter started growling words at each other and Jezzet rounded on Betrim but at least she was using words not steel.

  “How could you work for Constance, Thorn? You know what she is.”

  “Says the bitch working fer the Inquisition,” Betrim shot back.

  “Well... they... pay well.”