The Heresy Within (42 page)

“She... she never told me... she said.”

“Tell me what you did to your daughter. What was she?”

Some clarity seemed to enter H'ost's eyes and he shut his mouth, stared at Thanquil with defiance. The sounds of battle were loud outside. H'ost might have done the Arbiter a favour by summoning the demons. Thanquil just had to hope the chaos they caused would last long enough.

“Thing about the Inquisition is, Lord H'ost, we didn't always have the compulsion as a means of making people talk. Back in the old days, a few thousand years ago, we had to rely on other methods. While we don't generally employ such methods any more we are required to learn them all the same. Just in case.”

Thanquil picked up a small silver knife lying forgotten on the table and stabbed it into H'ost's left thigh, just below the groin. The lord screamed. Blood began to well up around the small blade. The man struggled, trying to fight his way off the table and away from the Arbiter but Thanquil was stronger and had a blessing of strength he could chant if need be. The lord collapsed back onto the table and a low whine escaped his lips.

“What did you do to your daughter, H’ost? What was she?” Thanquil repeated.

Still the Lord of Hostown remained silent, refusing to answer. Thanquil reached into one of the hidden pockets in his coat and pulled out a slip of paper with a sleepless charm transcribed upon it, he slapped the charm on H'ost's arm.

“What are you...”

Thanquil held the man down with one hand and placed the other on his forehead. Then he began to whisper a blessing. H'ost screamed louder than Thanquil had ever heard anyone scream before, even burning folk didn't scream so loud. He thrashed and he clawed, he even tried to punch at the Arbiter but Thanquil held him fast. When he released the blessing H'ost was sobbing.

“Blessings and curses can be used on others, Lord H'ost. Even those unwilling. That was a blessing to augment your senses; your leg must have felt like it was being ripped apart.” Thanquil picked another silver knife off the table and stabbed it hard into H'ost's right leg. Again the man screamed but not near as loud as when Thanquil took hold of his head again and whispered the blessing.

“TELL ME!” Thanquil shouted at him when he released the blessing. The lord of the most powerful family in the wilds smelled of sweat and blood and piss and lay there sobbing on his own dining table. “I can do this for days, H'ost. Keep you alive and torture you. You'll not fall unconscious with that charm on you; you'll feel everything a hundred times worse with the blessing.”

Thanquil reached for another knife, came up with a fork. “NO! Stop... please.”

“What was she, H'ost?” Thanquil hissed, the fork in his hand hovering, ready to strike.

“A demon...” he sobbed. “A creature from the void. She told me how to do it.”

“How to put a demon inside a person?”

H'ost nodded, another great sob escaping from his lips. Tears and sweat ran down his face in rivers. “She said it would only work on those with potential. So I did it to her, gave my daughter the gift.”

“Gift?”

“Of immortality. I made her strong, beautiful.” H'ost laughed a sad noise and mixed with pain. “And you killed her.”

Thanquil spat. “You killed her, H'ost. I just sent the demon back to where it belongs. Who taught you how to do it? Who taught you how to put a demon inside a person?”

H'ost was shaking his head, his eyes wide and fearful. “I... I don't... know.”

This time the fork went through H'ost's left palm, straight through the flesh into the wood below, pinning his hand to the table. Again he screamed. Thanquil took hold of his head and whispered the blessing then twisted the knife in H'ost's leg. The scream became a guttural, raw sound, almost inhuman. It filled Thanquil's ears, made him sick to the stomach but he continued chanting, continued until H'ost no longer had the strength to resist, no longer had the strength to scream.

“Who is it, H'ost? Who is the traitor in the Inquisition?”

H'ost sobbed and coughed, his throat no doubt raw from the screaming. From the way he smelled Thanquil guessed the man had soiled himself and blood was dripping down on the floor. If he didn't get the answers he needed soon the man might die of blood loss before confessing.

“WHO IS IT, H'OST?” Thanquil screamed at the man.

“I DON'T KNOW,” the man shouted back. “I never... never met her. She sent... someone... someone else to me. A man... an Arbiter... Ke... Kessick. Arbiter Kessick.”

Thanquil didn't know an Arbiter Kessick though that didn't mean much, he knew very few Arbiters if truth be told. It gave him a lead at least. If the traitor was an Inquisitor as the God-Emperor suspected then she could only be one of two; Inquisitor Heron or Inquisitor Downe. If this Arbiter Kessick was the traitor's creature Thanquil would only have to find the man and follow him. Seemed an easy task when he thought of it that way, somehow Thanquil didn't think it would work out so easy a job.

H'ost was still sobbing, lying slack on the table. Thanquil leaned in close to the man. “Anything else, Lord H'ost?”

The man shook his head, still crying. Then his eyes flicked open, looked at Thanquil and then away.

“Last chance, my lord.” Thanquil said, donning a cruel smile that he didn't feel. “What aren't you telling me?”

“The contract,” H'ost said.

“What contract?”

“I don't know... not really. Something I overheard... Kessick, he... he was talking to one of the demons... said something about her contract. That's it... it's all I know. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

The man was growing weak, pale. Too much blood loss, Thanquil guessed. He started alternating between sobbing, apologising and coughing up blood. The Arbiter judged he had learned all he would from the man and reached for another knife to finish the job. All he could find was a silver spoon.

By the time Thanquil reached the yard he felt like he needed to throw up, that and spend the next few days blind drunk. He'd passed two soldiers on his way from H'ost's dining hall; both had backed away and stared at him in mute horror. It wasn't surprising; he was smeared with Lord H'ost's blood.

Outside was the chaos he had predicted writ in full. The demons Lord H'ost had summoned had made easy work of the garrison by the looks of things. Dead men littered the floor, bodies and bits of bodies, blood and mud, weapons and armour, much of it broken. Of the living the yard was almost deserted, only one man and one demon remained, the rest, Thanquil presumed, had fled. The demons would be in the town by now, causing as much slaughter and chaos there as they had here.

The Black Thorn was facing a demon a good foot taller than him with eyes of flame and a head as large an elephant's. As Thanquil watched Thorn ducked inside the demon's reach clattered two sword slashes off the creature's impervious hide and then danced backwards, blocking a swipe as he did. The force of the attack sent the Black Thorn stumbling and, as he came up, he grabbed a handful of mud and flung it at the creature. The demon laughed; a harsh, cold sound that reminded Thanquil of a peal of thunder.

Of the rest of the crew there was no sign, although a near headless body on the ground close by could have been the Boss.

Thorn darted in towards the demon again and his battered, notched sword bounced off the creature's head. “Why won't ya jus' fuckin' die?” the Black Thorn shouted at the demon.

Thanquil strode forwards. Just as the creature was about to attack he called out to it. “Demon. Go back to the void.”

It stopped mid swing. Glanced at Thanquil and started to fade. “We obey.”

The Black Thorn stood staring at where the demon had been just a moment before. Then he turned to Thanquil, it was hard to say what expression that burned face held but he guessed it was confusion.

“Arbiter...” Thorn began. “How the fuck?”

“I'm a witch hunter,” Thanquil said with a forced smile. “I banish evil, it's what we do.”

“Huh.”

“The crew...” Thanquil prompted.

“Dead, I think. Green an' the Boss. Swift an' Bones I think too. Henry? Henry?” The Black Thorn span around looking for the little woman but she was nowhere to be seen. “Might be she made it out but the rest...”

“Jez...”

“Damn, Arbiter. I thought she were with you.”

Thanquil looked around the yard, looked at the bodies, at the blood. Then he looked towards the mansion. “We wait.” He decided. “She'll be here.”

The Black Thorn didn't look too happy about that. “What about the rest o' them shades?”

“They'll fade. In time. They can't stay in our world for long.”

“But ain't they out in the city? With all them townsfolk.”

Thanquil just nodded.

The Black Thorn spat. “Poor bastards.”

Thanquil heard a scared whinny. “Thorn, can you ride?”

Jez ducked a high slash and danced away. Constance came on strong, hot on her heels swinging her sword in wild arcs not caring if it bit into walls or paintings, windows or servants. Again Jezzet dodged away and again Constance followed.

Doesn't she ever tire?
In truth the giant woman didn't even look to be breathing hard.
If I'm intending to wear her out I may be here all night.

Jez blocked, parried, dodged, then dodged, blocked and parried, all on the defensive, she made no move to attack. The end of the corridor was close behind her. She blocked a high slash, then a low slash and shouldered her way through the door. Constance's heavy sword bit into the door frame, splintering wood and causing her to pause for a moment and wrench it free. She was exposed as she would ever be. Jezzet backed further into the room.

She was in a kitchen now, the heat was oppressive and the smells; warm fresh bread, roasting meat, pig by the smell of it, exotic spices, something smelled of vanilla. Most days those smells would have had her mouth-watering, now they just made her want to spit. Frightened cooks scattered from the kitchen via alternative doors, one started sneaking up behind Jez with a cleaver, she saw his reflection in a pan of soup and was about to turn and gut him when Constance shouted.

“Touch her and die!” she roared. The cook startled, dropped the cleaver and ran.

“Want me all for yourself, Constance? I always knew you loved me.”

Constance roared again and swung her sword, the soup pot flew towards Jez, spraying boiling hot broth everywhere. Jezzet scrambled out of the way and then ducked another two handed swing of the giant's sword.

I could have stuck her in the gut right then.

Jezzet vaulted onto a wooden counter and then dropped off the other side just as the sword sliced down behind her, cutting both a loaf of warm bread and the wooden counter in two.

As Constance cursed and struggled to pull her sword free of the wooden wreckage Jezzet grabbed an empty iron pan and flung it at the woman's head. The warlord swatted it out of the air with one giant paw but the next one caught her in the face. She stumbled backwards cursing and spitting blood.

Jez backed away again, found another door and shouldered through it just as Constance recovered and came charging. Another slash blocked, another jab parried and all the while the Blademaster kept giving ground, backing further and further away, staying out of the giant's reach. They were now in some sort of dining hall, with crude wooden benches and tables and bodies. Lots of bodies, servants and a few soldiers by the looks of things, some pretty cut up. All this Jez took in while keeping Constance from cutting her in half. The big woman didn't even seem to notice the carnage around them until she stepped on a dismembered arm, glanced down, kicked the bloody limb aside and came at Jezzet again.

“Stop runnin' away, whore!” Constance shouted as Jez dodged backwards yet again.

“Stop calling me a whore, giant, freakish, cunt-eating bitch.”

Insults are wasted breath. Blades speak louder than words.
Her old, dead master's voice whispered in her ear.

“Why did you do it, Jez?” Constance asked, her sword pausing in front of her, her chest rising and falling as she sucked in air. “She was your friend.”

Jezzet snorted. “Here in the wilds, Constance, there's no such thing as friends. Just people ain't turned on you yet. Catherine knew that better than most, better than you, better than me.”

“Liar.”

“You really think she was a saint don't ya?” Jez laughed. “Catherine's the one that turned on me.”

“LIAR!” And with that the fight was on again.

Jez blocked a slash to her right, ducked the next one and then span away from the big woman's downward swipe. Up a bench and Jez mounted a table, parried Constance's sword thrust and jumped down the other side. The giant's sword bit a chunk out of the cheap wood and she wrenched her sword free and followed Jezzet over the table.

Twenty feet behind and to my left, another door.
Jez turned her back to the door and started backing towards it blocking as she went.

“How do you think D'roan's men found me, Constance?”

“What?” the giant roared back.

“When they took me I had slipped out of the camp to find myself a tavern and get drunk and you think D'roan's men just happened upon me and knew who I was?”

“LIAR!”

“Catherine told them I was there. She wanted me gone. D'roan used to brag about it all the time when he fucked me. Used to love to tell me it was my own best friend who sold me out.”

“She would never... why would she?” Constance's next swing near split a table in half and the follow up would have taken Jez's arm off is she had been a fraction slower.

“Because she didn't need me anymore. Once she was in charge of H'ost's armies I was more of a threat than a friend so she gave me to our enemies hoping they would kill me.”

“But they didn't kill ya.”

Jez reached the door, kicked it open and backed through it. They appeared to be on a landing. To her left the corridor seemed to stretch on forever, Jezzet glimpsed a dark shadow that way but ignored it. To her right there were some stairs down. She turned her back in the direction of the stairs and concentrated on the giant's sword.