The Price of Faith

by Rob J. Hayes

  He walked through the main gate of the fort and, through the horses and bodies of his escort, he could see more soldiers armed and watching the procession. It seemed half the fort had turned out to watch the spectacle of an Arbiter being escorted to a witch. The irony was not lost on him.

  The mustering yard was wide open and spacious with enough room for a small army but nowhere did Thanquil see the towering form of a dragon and if the dragon wasn’t in attendance then neither was the prince. The two would never be separated. It was widely believed that both dragon and prince were in fact two halves of one soul. Neither would consent to continue living without the other, a fact that was harder on the dragons given that, despite the dragon princes’ unnatural long life, they lived longer than their human counterparts.

  The knights in front of Thanquil parted and he found himself staring at a giant black stallion with flame red hair that was matched by the fire that danced in its eyes. Atop the hose sat a woman dressed all in white, a woman he recognised from the apparition back in Colmere. Atop the horse say his quarry.

  “Impressive trick,” Thanquil said gesturing towards the horse. There was a general move of hand towards sword as he waved at the beast but when the Dragon Knights saw he made no further move they relaxed a little.

  “Thank you,” she said with a smile, “the eyes are particularly hard to get right.” She was the same as the apparition he had seen in Colmere but also different. Her body was still all curves, her face was still plain and she still held a beauty that had nothing to do with her looks but her hair was now a mousey brown colour and her voice was softer.

  The witch swung a leg over the horse and slid down its flank onto the ground with the help of a Dragon Knight holding her hand. No sooner had her feet touched the floor a child broke through the protective guard of knights and ran to the woman’s side, holding onto her white skirts and staring at Thanquil through grey eyes, the same grey eyes as the witch.

  “It’s alright, Berry,” the witch said, stroking the hair of the little girl. “We’re safe here, he means us no harm.”

  Thanquil snorted. “I most certainly do mean you harm.”

  The girl narrowed her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him, Thanquil mirrored the face and she quickly retreated behind her mother’s skirts. The witch laughed and shook her head.

  “She’ll be a horror to put to bed tonight now,” the witch said.

  Thanquil glanced around at the Dragon Knights, he counted twenty two of them now and most looked eager to show him the business ends of their fancy dragon bone swords. Nervous barely even began to describe how he was feeling and with everyone keeping a wary distance from him he had no way to steal anything. Committing such petty crime always helped to ease his nerves.

  “Listen…” Thanquil started to speak but the witch cut him off.

  “You look positively out of sorts, Arbiter Thanquil,” that she knew his name did not escape his attention. “Sir Taber, take the Arbiter to the guest quarters. Make sure he has hot water for a bath and try to find some different clothes for him. Prince Naarsk will never take you seriously in those rags. I’m afraid he’s the critical sort.”

  The knight who had escorted Thanquil bowed his head. “Yes my lady. Should we disarm him?”

  “Of course.”

  The Dragon Knight turned to Thanquil and gestured towards a doorway that seemed to lead into the keep proper. “This way please.”

  Thanquil looked at the big knight, then at the witch and back again. He was well aware he was currently in no state to argue and for now he knew he best chance at getting to the woman was to play along. With that thought in mind he allowed himself to be led into the keep.

  Thanquil

  The guest quarters were large and spacious and austere in their decoration with few luxuries an even less extravagance. It was a far cry from the royal palace in the capital. Thanquil and Jezzet had been staying in the palace at the Dragon Empress’ request for somewhere close to a year and Thanquil had discovered he was hard pressed to find a room that did not have either a painting, statue or engraving of a dragon somewhere. Despite the space of his current quarters Thanquil was under no false impressions it was a makeshift prison.

  Bars on the window were made of cold cast iron and would take a furious show of force to shift. The door was similarly made of strong, banded oak and barred from the outside. Neither door, nor bars would stop Thanquil escaping should he decided to use magic to free himself, a rune of explosion was more than a match for a few inches of wood, but he doubted he would get very far before being set upon by Dragon Knights and he doubted he could fight his way free of all of them. Especially not in his current condition.

  Given his predicament Thanquil complied with the witch’s wishes. He bathed in the water they brought him, soaking deep aches from his wounds and then dressed in the clothes they brought him. A simple cotton tunic and matching trousers, both brown and nondescript. He pulled his coat on over the top and noticed for the first time one of the buttons was missing. It brought a wry smile to his face.

  Despite the witch’s claims that Prince Naarsk would see him Thanquil doubted the prince was currently in residence at the fort. The prince would never be long separated from his dragon and Thanquil had seen no evidence of the beast. His experience at the royal palace had taught him that dragons tended to be noisy and fairly conspicuous and, even though the fort was large, he was certain he would have seen or heard evidence of it by now.

  To say he missed his weapons would be something of an understatement. The feel of a sword by his side, despite his general lack of skill, was comfort to him he now realised he took for granted. His pistol too served to lend him both courage and confidence and right now he felt like he could use a healthy dose of both.

  When the witch arrived, as he knew she would, she came alone and seemingly unarmed. She had changed her white dress for simple grey shift, a brown scarf and white apron over the top. The apron was stained in countless places with a variety of colours that attested to its regular use but not its purpose. The witch closed the door behind her and smiled at Thanquil as he paced close to one of the windows.

  “Brave of you to come alone,” Thanquil greeted the woman.

  “Is it?” she asked. “Perhaps you should take your chance before I think better of it.”

  Thanquil snorted. “I’m no fool. Kill you I might but your pet knights would tear me apart before I reached the front gate. I’m not here to commit suicide.”

  Again the witch smiled and waved towards the table and chairs in the room. “Regardless,” she said in a matter of fact tone. “You are not my match.”

  She glided across the carpeted floor and flowed into a high-backed wooden chair with more cushion than most brothels Thanquil had visited. He in turn remained standing, arms folded, watching the woman. He slipped an item from his sleeve into his left hand and ran his thumb across its surface. It was small loop of copper, a woman’s earring stolen from one of the serving maids who had filled his bath earlier; worthless but it gave him strength, stealing things always did.

  When the witch saw Thanquil was making no move to seat himself she raised an eyebrow. “Scared, Arbiter?”

  Thanquil narrowed his eyes at her. “What is your name?” He threw the full force of his will behind the compulsion, attempting to dominate her but he felt nothing. There was no contest, no rush of pleasure as his own will subjugated hers. It was as if his compulsion simply passed straight through her. It was a feeling he had never observed before, not even from other Arbiters. The witch not only knew of the compulsion, she understood it and thus had developed a defence to it and a novel one at that.

  “Verla Pre’lain,” she answered with a smile and a slight incline of her head.

  “An Acanthian name,” Thanquil said. “That explains it. You don’t look like you’re from here. The folk in the Dragon Empire tend to have almond shaped eyes and olive skin.”

  The witch nodded. “Originally I was from Acanthia
, yes. I have not visited that little kingdom in quite some time though.” She took a deep breath and exhaled it as a sigh. “You are here to kill me, Arbiter Darkheart. I intend to change your mind.”

  “Why?”

  “Did you know this is not the first time the Inquisition has sent its agents after me? Did they tell you that? I’ve had to kill two Arbiters to ensure my daughter’s and my own safety and I’ve no intention of killing any more.” She fixed him with a hard stare. “That’s not to say I won’t should you threaten her.”

  Thanquil uncrossed his arms and thrust his hands into his coat pockets as he began pacing in the luxurious prison cell.

  “Before you go reaching for your runes, Arbiter, be careful. I am not without magic of my own, as you have already experienced first-hand.”

  Thanquil’s hand brushed the seam of a hidden pocket. Inside that pocket were not, as the witch suspected, runes but instead he kept a small, paper-thin knife. The Black Thorn had many times warned Thanquil that you never knew when someone might try and disarm you and therefore it was best to make sure they couldn’t. He had taken the lesson to heart and had quickly discovered that the Arbiter coat leant itself very well to the hiding of knives.

  “The Inquisition didn’t tell me anything,” Thanquil admitted, “because they didn’t send me. I’m a wandering Arbiter, I go where I please and, given that I’d heard stories of a witch out in these parts,” not to mention his argument with Jezzet had left him wanting some time away from the woman, “I decided to hunt you down.”

  She smiled. “And now you have found me. Truly I see fate’s hand in this.”

  Again Thanquil narrowed his eyes, trying to discern the truth in the witch’s cryptic words. “What is it you want?”

  “You,” the witch replied in a calm, level voice. “I’m tired of running, Arbiter. Your magic and your connection to your God give you a long life, my own magic provides me with much the same. I am older than I look and I am tired of running from the Inquisition. Tired of watching my own children hunted down and killed, or worse, for the power I gave them.”

  “What could be worse?” Thanquil said.

  “Being made into one of you.”

  Disagree as he might Thanquil could see the woman’s point. An Arbiter’s life was far from pleasant and for a daughter to be an Arbiter while the mother was a witch. It was a stark reminder of how little difference there truly was between hunter and hunted.

  “With an Arbiter under my employ I could convince the Inquisition I were dead. I could finally be free from them and I could concentrate on helping the good people of this region, helping Prince Naarsk and raising our daughter.”

  “The child is his?” Thanquil asked.

  “Berry is ours,” the witch said meeting Thanquil’s eyes in a challenge.

  Without a doubt that made things more complicated. “What about Shen?” he wasn’t even certain why he asked; the question just seemed to slip from his mouth.

  The witch shrugged. “A country girl, born and bred in Colmere. I had honestly hoped she might convince you to stay. Her feelings for you were genuine, at least to a point. I… bolstered them a little.”

  “And her magic?”

  “She has none. It is my magic, I simply allow her to use it and in exchange…”

  “You control her,” Thanquil interrupted.

  The witch paused, staring at Thanquil with the strange sort of a smile touching her lips. “I influence some of her decisions. She knows nothing of it and I would never force her to do anything that may bring harm to herself or others. She would resist me if I did, her instinct to protect and heal is so strong.”

  “And what of Prince Naarsk? Do you… influence him?” Thanquil asked with no small amount of venom.

  The witch shook her head and laughed. “I would never dare, Arbiter. Nor would his dragon let me. Mother to his child I may be but if the dragon felt me inside his Prince’s head even for a moment…” she looked at Thanquil and a shadow passed across her face. “Have you ever seen an enraged dragon, Arbiter? It is a sight to behold and no mistake but I would not wish to be on the other side of that rage. I would not wish anyone on the other side of it.”

  “Regardless,” Thanquil said, “there are other ways for a woman to influence a man. You are the mother of his child after all.”

  Again the witch smiled, the same way a parent might smile at an overly wilful but clearly naïve child. “If you believe my opening my legs to Naarsk and giving him a daughter puts me in a position to influence him you clearly don’t know the Prince.”

  “And if you believe I would ever betray the Inquisition for a witch you clearly don’t know me,” Thanquil shot back.

  The witch glared at him and Thanquil glared back. Neither was willing to be the one to back down and both proved to be as stubborn as the other.

  Eventually the witch planted both hands on the hard wood table and slowly stood, the chair rocked back and toppled. She sighed and turned, picking it up and placing it back into its spot. “I had hoped, given your reputation, Arbiter Darkheart, that you would be different. A little more understanding. Less prejudiced. The prince will…”

  Thanquil snorted. “More understanding towards a witch? You speak as though you don’t even understand how your magic works. As though you don’t understand the evil you let loose into this world.”

  Thanquil had long ago discovered he had an innate ability to push people, to anger them and to drive them towards emotional outbursts. It seemed the witch was not immune.

  “Evil?” she shouted. The woman had been walking towards the door but now she turned back towards Thanquil, her face twisted into a mask of righteous indignation. “I have done nothing but good for these people.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes! I use my magic to heal wounds, to stimulate the growth of crops, to keep the forest predators from entering the villages.” She took a step toward him and Thanquil could almost see the power radiating from her. Borrowed power. Deep inside one of the pockets of his coat he felt the warmth of a potential-detecting gemstone as it reacted to the power even from this distance. To say she was powerful would be a gross understatement and Thanquil was no longer certain he doubted her claim that he was not her match.

  “Through me more children are born in the surrounding villages than ever before and more are surviving their first years. I help these people…”

  “What about those in Colmere? Those that were injured or died from the fire at the inn?” Thanquil threw the question as an accusation and almost smiled as the witch paled and lost her momentum. He pressed the advantage. “You set the fire to kill me and instead you killed those people you claim to help.”

  “I didn’t intend to kill you I just needed you to…”

  “That only makes it worse,” Thanquil hissed at her. “You injured those people for nothing. You killed those people for nothing.”

  “No, not for nothing. I…”

  “There is never a good reason to kill innocents,” Thanquil shouted her down and immediately realised he had said the wrong thing.

  The witch’s eyes snapped up to meet his own and he saw the clarity and focus had returned. She hissed out an alien word and a thunderclap rocked the room pulsing out from the woman and sending the chairs, the table and any other loose object flying towards the walls. Unfortunately Thanquil happened to be one of those loose objects. He flew backwards, hit one of the bed posts and span in mid-air before the far wall rushed up to meet him. He hit it at an awkward angle and excruciating pain flared to life in his left shoulder. Another pulse of force hit him and flattened him against the wall, holding him there as the witch advanced on him.

  “How dare you?” she hissed, her eyes aflame with hatred. “You accuse me of killing innocents. My son was innocent, you people killed him. My first daughter was innocent and you took her and taught her to hate me and then sent her after me. Your Inquisition forced me to kill one of my daughters to save the other and you accuse me of har
ming innocents?”

  The witch spat and the phlegm rushed at Thanquil, propelled by the same force holding him against the wall. It hit not a foot to the side of Thanquil’s head and splintered the wood where it hit such was its force.

  Thanquil slowly, painfully curled up the fingers of his right hand into his coat sleeve looking for one of the pockets hidden there. He could still speak, despite the crushing force on his chest, but no blessing or curse would help him here.

  “Do you even know where this magic you’re using comes from?” Thanquil shouted against the force crushing him. He laboured to suck down another breath of air before continuing. “Runes and charms may use your power alone but this… Who are you calling on to power this? What are you calling on?”

  The witch took a step towards him and the force pushing Thanquil against the wall increased. The air around her crackled with energy and huge tears rolled from her rage-filled eyes.

  “This is why…” Thanquil started but the witch took another step forward and again the pressure increased. It felt as though his ribs were buckling under the force and he was certain his chest would cave in at any second. In any case Thanquil knew he wouldn’t survive if she came any close and the look on the witch’s face told him she knew it too. His fingers brushed against the rune hidden up his sleeve.