The Heresy Within (30 page)

Betrim ground his teeth a little, found a nice spot of wall to lean against close to the door and felt a tug on his burned face as his lip curled up a bit. “Real inspirin' speech ya gave there, Boss. Take a bit more 'an an angry black-skin ta frighten me though.” Not entirely truthful but the Black Thorn weren't afraid of anyone and the moment Betrim let folk think otherwise was the moment he found a dagger planted in his back and he'd already been through that once and it fucking hurt.

The Boss glared at him for a while and then spat. “Got somethin' I need ya ta do, Thorn.”

“Should be good.”

“Keep an eye on Swift.”

Betrim grinned. “Could be hard work seein' as ya let him run off an' all.”

The Boss ignored the jab. “I mean it, Thorn. We're going to see H'ost.”

That gave Betrim pause. “You don't trust him?”

“I trust Swift more than I trust Green.”

Betrim snorted out a laugh. “Which is ta say not much. So ya asking a man ya jus' threatened ta kill ta watch one ya don't trust.”

The Boss grinned and shook his head and for a moment he looked like the man Betrim had been recruited by years ago. “You should try runnin' a band o' cut throat, sell-sword, murderers sometime, Thorn. It's not fuckin' easy.”

Thanquil limped along as fast as he could but his right leg was agony drowning in fire. Every step was a lance of pain that seemed to travel up through his spine. He clenched his teeth so hard he felt they might shatter but it was better than crying out in pain every time his foot hit the floor.

He looked down at the wound. The bandage was red with blood, not a good sign. He'd need to change it soon, need to clean the wound again but he dare not stop while they were still so close to Chade.

Not for the first time he glanced at Jezzet. She looked tired but that was no surprise, at best she'd managed a couple of hours of sleep, more than Thanquil but not enough after the night they'd had. She walked along beside him in silence but she was alert, tense, her hand never strayed far from the sword hilt.

Jezzet claimed to be a Blademaster and from her skill with a sword he could well believe it. She had toyed with him when they sparred and, if it had been a real fight, would have killed him in moments. But Blademasters were more like a myth these days, most everyone seemed to agree they had died out centuries ago.

He knew the history of the Blademasters as well as anyone and better than most, the libraries of the Inquisition were extensive after all. The order was created close to a thousand years ago by a man of unequalled skill, Eliken Flameborne. He had travelled the five great empires of man and had recruited other warriors of similar skill. Two hundred they had been when Eliken decided it was enough. They had created their own sword styles, their own training methods, and their own laws of the order. That was the first and last time all the Blademasters had met.

When they were finished Eliken sent them all over the world. That was where the history of the order started to get patchy. Some Blademasters disappeared into obscurity, others rose to greatness, old Blademasters vanished, and new Blademasters appeared out of the ashes. One thing was certain though, over the thousand years since its creation the order was dwindling, not growing. Thanquil had believed it to be extinct but now here he was, walking beside a Blademaster. She didn't seem to be a much of a legend.

He glanced at Jezzet again. She was thin, not surprising after weeks in gaol, but she had a wiry strength, Thanquil could testify to that. She was both graceful and fluid, her movements controlled and precise and she was not displeasing to the eyes.

“Something you want, Arbiter?” Jezzet asked without looking at him.

Thanquil grimaced as he limped along. “The Inquisition caught a Blademaster once.”

“Why?”

“You're known for your unparalleled skill with swords...”

“With any bladed weapon.”

He smiled at her but she didn't so much as glance in his direction. “The Inquisition felt it needed to know whether such skill was natural or gained through... heretical means. They decided the best way was to capture a Blademaster and interrogate them. Three Arbiters were killed bringing the man in.

“It turned out the man was strangely resistant to the...” Thanquil had no wish to mention the compulsion. “To the interrogation.”

“No one can lie to an Arbiter,” Jezzet said in a mocking tone. “That is what people say isn't it?”

“They do and for the most part it's true and well... the man didn't lie. He didn't say anything even after being... interrogated.”

“Tortured?”

They had tortured the man, it was true, but it was not something the Inquisition liked to admit to. Not many could hide the truth in the face of the compulsion so the Inquisition had no need for torture... usually.

“You never thought just to ask him did you?” Jezzet said with a chilling look. “Instead of capturing him and torturing him, you never thought just to approach a Blademaster and ask
'are you a heretic?'
.”

“No. No I suppose they didn't.”

“And what did you decide after torturing the poor man?”

“The results were... The Inquisition... They weren't sure.”

Jezzet laughed, shook her head continued walking. “So ask me. You have a Blademaster right here beside you.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Thanquil ground his teeth. This was not a topic he wanted to stray onto.

“Well? Why not?”

He sighed. “I don't like asking questions.”

Jezzet looked at him then, a mocking smile on her lips and she burst into laughter. “An Arbiter who doesn't like to ask questions.” She grinned at him, still laughing.

Thanquil found himself smiling back. “You don't understand. The compulsion is...” He paused, trying to of the right word.

“What's the compulsion?”

Thanquil limped along in silence for a while. Jezzet walked beside him, she didn't ask again.

“It's how we force people to tell the truth,” Thanquil said. “It's magic and it's the first thing an Arbiter learns to do. It subverts a person's will, makes them unable to think about anything but the answer to the question and compels them to speak.”

“So why don't you like to ask questions?”

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.”

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.