She wasn't the only one ducked behind a wall; men all around her had done the same, hiding from arrow fire. Taking a chance Jez glanced over the wall and saw the men who had fired the arrows retreating back towards the woods whooping all the way about who had shot the killing shafts. What caught Jez's full attention, though, was the sight at the edge of the forest.
Torches. Hundreds of small flames each one attached to a person and more appearing from the forest all the time. Jezzet had never been too good with numbers but even she knew it was fair to say Eirik's little army was outnumbered.
Looks like a fuck and a fight again today
.
The Arbiter
Waking with a hangover that felt like your brain was two sizes too big for your head was never a fun start to a day and today was no exception. Alchemists and herbalists the world over had no shortage of remedies and concoctions for the pain and the nausea and that strange feeling of floating just outside your own body but rarely would any of them work. The Inquisition had long ago come up with its own cure. It wouldn't look good for an Arbiter to be unable to function due to a hangover; it would no doubt lessen the fear the common folk had of them. No, it was much better that people could see Arbiters drink an inn dry and have no effect. So now one of the first things the Inquisition taught to its initiates, after the compulsion of course, was the hangover cure; a small charm, made from wood and carved with a powerful enchantment then hung around the neck. Simple and genius but the charm always seemed to work its way to the bottom of Thanquil's pack.
He hadn't even opened his eyes. To do so may well have induced vomiting and the last thing he needed was to be seen throwing up in the middle of the barracks. Instead he kept his eyes closed and rooted around in his pack with one hand while praying to Volmar that he hadn't lost his charm.
“Arbiter Darkheart,” came a voice, the same voice that had awoken him. Quiet, demure, male and with a touch of fear. Who the hell had decided to wake him?
Thanquil's hand closed around the charm, as always, at the bottom of his pack and he pulled it free, spilling the contents of his bag all over the floor. He hung the small wooden rectangle around his neck, waited for a few moments then sat up and pried open his eyes. The world gave one violent lurch sideways and then settled down the right side up. The pounding in his head began to slow and then fade and the nausea quieted, though his throat tasted of bile.
The man standing in front of him was dressed in the emperor's white and gold and wore a look of one part fear to two parts determination. He was young, still in his teenage years so half a man and half a boy and had been ordered to come to the Inquisition compound and rouse a sleeping Arbiter. Thanquil was impressed.
“Hello,” Thanquil said, still squinting at the man-boy and wishing the world were less bright.
“Emperor Frances requests your presence,” the messenger said in a most imperious tone.
“Now.”
“Um... yes, I think.”
“I have time to bathe first,” Thanquil said.
“Um...”
“I smell like a brothel, lad.”
“Uh...”
“Don't worry, it won't take long. Wouldn't want to offend the God-Emperor by turning up looking and smelling like an outhouse would I. No. Exactly.” With that Thanquil lurched out of bed, pushed the spilled contents of his pack under the bunk and walked for the exit, the messenger keeping up behind him while spouting a constant stream of words that Thanquil refused to listen to.
He'd never been to the Imperial palace before. Glimpsing it from afar as it rose with exaggerated majesty above the rest of the city was one thing but up close it just looked monstrously tall. How had men managed to build such a thing? Thanquil couldn't imagine it. It must have just been here all along, or maybe Volmar just willed it into existence. A God could do such a thing but there was no way men could have built a thing so tall and yet so sturdy.
Huge, reaching spires hundreds of feet tall all white and shiny in the morning sun. Windows of all shapes and sizes, some round, some square, some rectangular, some small, some larger than any Thanquil had ever seen before and all made from expensive, clear-glass
To his left Thanquil spotted fountains taller than a man with tens of tiers where water could pool and then spill down to the one below. To his right he spied a carriage waiting to take some noble folk or other away from the palace. The carriage was bigger than any he'd ever seen; eight wheels and twelve horses all magnificent and black. Thanquil's own chestnut mare would be embarrassed to be called a horse if it stood next to the stallions that pulled that carriage.
A polite cough from beside Thanquil brought him out of his reverie and he found the Imperial messenger grinning at him. “Impressive isn't it?”
Thanquil thought he should have found something clever to say, or something fearful that reminded the messenger that he was talking to an Arbiter but his mind was still stuck in awe of the palace.
The man-boy started walking again and Thanquil fell in beside him, trying not to stare upwards at the impossibly tall building looming over him. He tried to focus on the ground, on the messenger, on the guards and staff, on anything and found himself looking around in desperation for something to steal. He needed to calm his nerves; the grandeur of the palace had spooked him for some reason. He felt as out of place here as a cat underwater.
They stopped at the main entrance just long enough for the messenger to have a word with the guards and then they were off again. The man-boy beside Thanquil with his close cropped blonde hair and pale fluff on his top lip just kept talking but Thanquil wasn't listening. He was observing the route, watching for small items, something that could fit in his pockets.
He passed expensive-looking paintings depicting some historic event or other, vases of obvious supreme craftsmanship, gaudy red carpets that looked like blood on the white marble floor, lanterns with cases of gold or silver fixed into the walls, and he passed guards. Thanquil had never seen so many guards and all of them watched him from underneath their visored helms. If he hadn't been suitably daunted before he was now.
After a while the messenger stopped in front a large unassuming door of heavy wood with two guards in full, white enamelled plate either side. The messenger asked Thanquil to wait and then opened the door, disappeared inside and shut the door after him. The guards watched Thanquil. It was a shame, he was sure he could have stolen something here if not for those eight eyes following his every movement.
“You must be hot,” he said to the guards as a unit, not picking any one in particular. There was no answer, not even a grunt. “I mean Sarth is a hot city and the palace, while obviously well ventilated, is still on the warm side and there you stand encased in metal. You must be sweating under there.”
Silence.
Thanquil paced. Four sets of eyes followed him. He realised he was still wearing his sword. If he was to see the Emperor of Sarth they would have insisted he turn his sword in.
The door opened again and two servants and two guards filed out followed by the imperial messenger with the fluffy top lip.
“You may enter now, Arbiter Darkheart,” the messenger said and stood aside.
With suspicious caution Thanquil walked into the room and looked about. The door shut behind him and it took all of his will power not to jump for the ceiling. Inside the room was beautiful. Austere rugs decorated the shining white floor; ornate bookshelves lined the walls each with its own collection of books and scrolls. A huge unlit hearth with a painting of the imperial palace hung above it seemed a bit indulgent but looked grand all the same. Giant glass windows at the far end of the room allowed light to stream in and there, sitting in front of them, was the God-Emperor.
On a throne with golden hair spilling down past his shoulders and a severe look that pulled his features into the very definition of imperial majesty the God-Emperor looked down upon Thanquil. He'd heard the Emperor was tall at over seven foot but even sat down the man looked like a giant. He wore a suit of white and gold that seemed to accentuate his muscular figure and he leaned just a little to the right, giving the impression of being relaxed. It was hard to believe that such a regal looking figure was a poor farm boy working a field outside of Sarth just four years ago. The throne seemed to suit him as if it had been made around him. Perhaps it had, the man sat unmoving and looked like a statue of some great hero from ages past.
“You kept me waiting, Arbiter,” the Emperor said from the throne, his mouth moved but the rest of him kept as still as stone. Thanquil realised he was the only other person in the room. It seemed strange but all the Emperor's guards, all his servants had been ordered outside.
“My apologies, your majesty. I thought it best to present myself properly,” Thanquil responded with a bow of his head.
“My man tells me you stopped to bathe while he waited. I didn't invite you here to smell you, Arbiter.”
“Invite,” Thanquil mused aloud. “It felt more like an order.”
“It was.”
The silence that erupted into the room was horrific. Thanquil could hear his own breathing, could hear every creak of his leathers underneath his coat, could hear the scuff of his boots on the floor as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other and all the while the Emperor stared at him. Thanquil glanced around the room again. There, no more than five foot away was a small table with black cloth on top and one of the largest and most impressive collections of runes Thanquil had ever seen. Each one was carved into a token of brittle wood ready to be snapped at a moment's notice to release the power contained within the rune. Thanquil had to resist the urge to walk over and take one. Stealing from the God-Emperor was bad enough but to do so right in front of the man would be considered horribly rude.
“I've heard a lot about you, Arbiter.”
“I doubt much of it good.” Thanquil could feel his hand shaking in his pocket.
“No indeed,” the Emperor continued. “Most of it was quite damning.”
Thanquil couldn't think of a response to that so he just kept quiet.
“I hear you were the one that found my sword.”
That much was true. Thanquil had recovered the sword known as '
Siege Breaker
'. A sword forged of magic and metal, with blessings inscribed into the steel. A sword fit for an Emperor the Inquisition had decreed and had gifted it to Emperor Francis on his inauguration.
“I would very much like to hear the story of how you came upon it, Arbiter Darkheart.”
“Not much to tell, your majesty. I bought it from a travelling merchant.”
“Did the man realise what it was he carried?”
“Yes, your majesty. He specialised in such items.”
“Where did you find this merchant of curios?”
Thanquil winced. “The Land of the Dead.”
The Emperor smiled and the atmosphere in the room seemed lighter. “Interesting,” he said as he stood and turned, moving to stare out of one of the huge glass windows.
Thanquil took the opportunity to pad across to the table holding the runes and pocket one before returning to his original position. He felt better, the shaking stopped and he could concentrate again.
“Must have been an interesting man indeed to be travelling those lands unmolested,” the Emperor continued.
“In truth, your majesty, I can't be sure he was a man at all. Not sure what it was but it sold me the blade all the same.”
“Heh,” the Emperor grunted and then fell silent for a while. Thanquil kept quiet also. He was now well aware that he was in a room with one of the two most powerful people in all of Sarth and Thanquil didn't trust himself not to anger the Emperor somehow.
“I'm going to ask a favour of you, Arbiter Darkheart but first I think you have a question for me don't you?”
Thanquil felt it then. The compulsion was tugging at him, trying to tear the words from his mouth. It was a physical need to answer the question. His mouth opened and his lips began to move, forming the words. But Thanquil was no commoner without knowledge of the compulsion; he was an Arbiter of the Inquisition, trained in the use of magic and with twenty years of experience. He forced his mouth shut, swallowed the words back down and forced his mind to calm.
“How did you do that?” Thanquil demanded of one of the most powerful men in Sarth. He threw the entire strength of his own compulsion along with the question. It felt like trying to break down a door with a sponge. The Emperor turned and smiled.
“I'm sorry to do that to you but I had to make sure. Ask your question.”
Thanquil sighed, he felt tired, exhausted even but determined not to show it. “Are you really Volmar reborn? Are you really our God in human form?”
“The Inquisition, the council of Inquisitors has declared I am.”
“I didn't ask what the council has declared,” Thanquil said, determined to get his answer.
“Does it matter I wonder? If I say I am Volmar reborn would you believe me? How would I prove such a thing?”
Thanquil thought about it, came up blank. “So you won't answer.”
“My answer is this, Arbiter Darkheart. It doesn't matter if the council says I am Volmar. It doesn't matter if I say I am Volmar. What matters is whether or not you believe I am Volmar.”
“Well I imagine a God would speak in such riddles,” Thanquil said and the Emperor burst into laughter that even made Thanquil smile.
“I believe the Inquisition has been infiltrated, Thanquil,” the Emperor said, his voice solemn. It didn't go unnoticed by Thanquil that they were now on first name terms.
“I'm not sure I understand, your majesty.”
“Evil, heresy, dark magics, maybe even demons. Who knows?”
“Demons are gone from this world,” Thanquil pointed out. “Volmar saw to that when he first created the Inquisition so many thousands of years ago.”
“Two thousand four hundred and ninety years ago to be exact but demons are not gone. Not all of them. In any case I believe the Inquisition has been infiltrated, a part of it corrupted and I believe the culprit to be sitting on the council.”
