The Pulver Chronicles – 28. The Noose Has Fallen

When he woke up, Jackson was a little bruised, quite cramped -especially in the legs-, and thoroughly elated. He stretched on the ground, his hands brushing a few flowers. Several stings on the back of his shoulders made him sit up, as he worried he might have been bitten by some bugs. Palpating the affected parts of his skin, he remembered those were actually claw marks. A happy, silly, and proud smile stretched on his lips.

Alizana was laying right next to him, still gloriously naked, a light snore dripping from her mouth. Jackson took a good, long moment to admire the view, even softly sliding her arm off her chest to make it better. He brushed her cheek with the back of his fingers. Then, he decided to do something he had always wanted to try, and poked one of her lupine ears with his index finger. He giggled when it fluttered exactly like he hoped it would. He then did it again and again until Alizana opened her eyes, letting out a yawn that showed all of her fangs.

“Good morning,” Jackson said.

“This is how you wake me up?” she said, faking annoyance. “After last night, I was expecting something more… exciting.”

“Well, tonight, try to fall asleep on the side, with your back turned to me, and who knows what might happen?”

“Tonight, eh?” She slid a paw on the inside of his thigh. “You think you performed adequately enough that I’ll want more so soon?”

“I think you made it clear how adequate I was last night. My ears are still ringing from you making that clear. Goddamn, our whole army probably knows how adequate I was.”

Alizana slapped his thigh, but smirked. Jackson leaned down to kiss her.

“And you were pretty fucking amazing yourself,” he said.

That, if anything, was an understatement, he thought. Last night had been the best night of his life without a doubt. Alizana had proved an incredible lover: confident, experienced, and passionate. So very passionate. In fact, Jackson had never known quite the level of passion Alizana showed, and it had surprised him. And what had surprised him more was how passionate he had been in return. Up until last night, up until Alizana, Jackson had always considered sex as merely a fun activity between two people who liked each other. Or more accurately: his former partners had considered it thus. Fun with no strings attached. Back at the Dorsett farm, Clara had believed them to be but a youthful fling that would soon fade away. Enita had made it clear she wanted a “friends with benefits” kind of thing, with no commitment, and again no strings attached.

And Jackson had been fine with that. But, looking back, he now realized he had never been happy with that. Sex was fun and all, but he wanted more. He wanted the strings. And that was exactly what had made last night so incredible: it hadn’t been just one night of fun. This had been two people showing their affection for each other. Truly sharing intimacy. This had been Jackson showing Alizana that he loved her.

He had not even been surprised when that thought had popped in his mind, because at that point it was the most obvious thing in the world: he was in love with Alizana. That was why he had been acting so strangely that night in Tinaun. He knew that, had anything happened then, it wouldn’t have just been a bit of fun. It would have meant something; and that had scared him then. In insight, Jackson thought it was a damn shame he had been too tired, but then again this had allowed them to have their first time at a more meaningful moment.

Defeated the Hexacracy in battle, forged an alliance with Atvello, and finally did it with Alizana, he thought. No doubt about it: it’s the high point of my life.

At least so far, he mentally added. Indeed, he promised himself he would reach higher. For starters, what he had won two days before was a battle, and he intended to win the war. For another thing, Atvello would not be the last to join them. And as for Alizana… Oh, there would be more nights alright. And, heck, there would be more days too. Yes, he decided, things would continue to go uphill from here.

Alizana sat up and stretched. Jackson’s eyes immediately went to her chest. He didn’t look away when she caught him staring.

“Haven’t had enough of them?” she said.

“Like that’s even possible.” He broadened his chest, and patted his abs. “Feel free to return the favor, if you like.”

She shook her head, blowing air out her nose, but still took a peek.

“We should think about preparing to leave,” she then said, standing up to get dressed. “It’s a long way back to Vertrisia.”

“Actually, there’s something I’d like to do before going back. It might take a day or two.”

“What’s that?”

He pointed at a direction roughly north by northwest, judging by the position of the sun. “When my unit and I got to this world, we arrived in some place not too far from here. After the rest of us died, I collected their weapons and stashed them somewhere; it was too heavy to carry.”

“Weapons?” One of her ears perked up. “You mean like that pissol you always carry around?”

“Pistol. And yes, that kind of thing. Some ammo, too. I was thinking it could come in handy.”

“Do you think you could train some of us to use them?”

Jackson had done some thinking about that. “Maybe. There weren’t a lot of bullets, but I can always show some hunters how to use them for short range targets.”

“Anything that can give us an edge is more than welcome,” Alizana said. “Where exactly are those weapons stashed?”

“That’s the thing, I’m not completely sure. I had a guide lead me from that place down to Atvello. I’m hoping I can get some directions in town, maybe another guide.”

The latter option would be made much more feasible now that his pockets were no longer empty, thanks to the Gilded Council.

“I see. Do you want me to come with you?”

Jackson did want that. He could definitely use the company for the journey, especially if the guide turned out to be as talkative as that Tacey woman.

After a quick breakfast, Jackson went to the cartographer’s guild, where he met with the same old man as last time. This time, he thought to ask his name -Jonal.

“Yes, I believe I’m familiar with the place you’re describing,” he told Jackson. “It is in the March of Vrittion. But I’m afraid I don’t know of any castle as you describe there, and nobody in our guild would guide you here anyway.”

“Why not? It’s pretty close to Atvello, as I remember.”

“It’s also rather close to the Hexacracy, and, from our reports, under its control. Even if it weren’t, the Inquisition had placed warnings in that area before the war. We don’t usually let them dictate where we can or cannot go, but there were substantiated rumors of a necromant up there. I’ll not send any of my people in what may very well be a deathtrap. Unfortunately, that also means our maps of Vrittion are not quite accurate. I’m sorry, sire.”

Jackson didn’t argue. The cartographer was right, and had brought a good point Jackson hadn’t thought of: the Hexacracy was present in that area. While it was unlikely that the place was crawling with Hexacrat soldiers, it was still possible that he could cross a patrol or a raiding band. This, of course, made the recovery of the weapon stash a priority: what if the enemy found it? Once again, the probability was low, but it was still within the realm of possibilities.

“I understand,” he said. “Do you know any, err, independent guides who’d be bold enough to take me there, then?”

Jonal stiffened. “I can’t answer as to the competence of anyone working outside the guild, sire. Nor as to their reliability; they could be swindlers intent on taking your money, only to abandon you in the wilderness.”

“Predictable,” Byron said. “You’re essentially asking a union leader for non-unionized work.”

“Right, I see,” Jackson said out loud. “Thank you for your time.”

He left the guild, getting a good whiff of the marine air as he passed the door to assuage his frustration. If the guild wasn’t an option, then he only had one recourse left. And he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.

“What are the odds the Inquisition would just agree to take me to the castle’s ruins, no questions asked?” he thought-said to Byron.

“No questions asked? The odds are zero. My guess is they’re not called Inquisitors for no reason.”

Jackson threw his head back and sighed. “Right. Well, I’m not giving up on these weapons, so… What do you think? Is this a crazy idea?”

“By your standards, not really. But then, those are some very low standards.”

The young man grumbled. “Let’s try it.”

Following the destruction of the local commandery, the remaining Inquisitors had found refuge in the Sanctotum. During the day, many of their numbers would patrol Faithful Hill, keeping the unrest and the thievery to a minimum. The mere sight of their black and white uniforms had quite an effect on people. Conversations died down as they walked by, and several people gave them a large berth. Jackson walked up to the four Inquisitors guarding the Sanctotum’s entrance.

“I wish to speak with the High Inquisitor,” he said.

“What is your business with her?” one of the Inquisitors, a tall Human woman with a large jaw and a flattened nose, said.

“My name is Jackson Pulver, I’m the man who killed the necromancer up north in a duel. I have reason to believe another necromancer is active in the region, and was in contact with him. I’d like to go back to his castle to find proof, but I don’t know the exact location.”

This was, of course, completely made-up. The Inquisition was very, very low on the list of people Jackson wished to see finding out about the weapons, so he thought of a cover story on the spot. The Inquisitor gauged him with a look for a few seconds, then excused herself. Jackson sat on the Sanctotum’s steps as he waited, and glanced around at the neighborhood. It was business as usual in Faithfull Hill, it seemed, as every priest, monk, shaman, and druid preached their beliefs, performed their ceremonies, and practiced their rituals. Jackson noticed quite a few people gathered before a religious building, their hands clasped in silent prayer as a priest -“devout”, as they were called in the Imperial Cult- carved names on a wall; he guessed those were the names of those who had been killed in the battle.

The Inquisitor reappeared about twenty minutes later.

“The High Inquisitor has agreed to meet with you,” she said. “Please come with me.”

If the exterior of the Sanctotum was rich, with its marble dome and its high towers, the interior was downright extravagant. The walls were so polished the sunlight reflected in them, and were nearly all decorated with frescoes and low reliefs. The floor was made out of slabs of black and white marble of the same quality as the ones decorating the flooring of the mansions in Goldfoam. The furniture reminded Jackson of the cathedral he had visited in Seattle once, with its large praying benches (built out of marble too, naturally), though the arrangement was different. Instead of a straight line like in a Christian church, the benches were arranged in a half-circle, and there were two altars in the center instead of one. Behind the altars was a gigantic sculpture, perhaps twenty feet tall and half as wide. It represented a Human, or perhaps a Humanoid, dressed in a robe presenting two large books. The Human was divided in two halves, one black and one white.

“I’m starting to sense a theme here,” Jackson said to himself.

He was led to a small office, through a door behind the sculpture. An old woman, dressed in a white scapular harboring the Inquisition symbol in the front, was seated at a desk, reading a large and old-looking book while scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. She looked to be in her sixties or seventies, with a balding scalp and wrinkles on most of her skin. With a nod, she sent the other Inquisitor away.

“So you are the one Keziah spoke of,” she said. She had a low voice, both in volume and in pitch. “She described you quite accurately. Although your hair was much shorter then, I suppose.”

Jackson passed a hand in said hair. It was now long enough to reach his neck, a noticeable departure from the strict buzz cut he wore when he had arrived in this world. He had no plans on cutting it; as Sathariel had pointed out, it made wearing a helmet more comfortable. Plus, summer would soon be over, and he would likely need the extra cover for the cold months.

“An honor to meet you, High Inquisitor,” Jackson said, bowing in the Imperial style. His gesture, lacking practice, was stilted.

She responded with the same gesture, but bowed only very slightly. Whether it was because she considered herself higher on the social scale or because she had back issues, Jackson wasn’t sure, and didn’t really care either way.

“I assume you were told why I asked to meet with you,” he said. “That necromant I killed had an ally, another necromant. The ruins of his castle may have proof of his identity. I’d like to know their location.”

“We have combed these ruins quite thoroughly,” the High Inquisitor said. “We found naught but the remains of undead creatures -and, I’ve been told, the body of one of your comrades-at-arms.”

“Well, maybe I could give it a try. This other necromant may have written letters or-”

“There is no other necromant,” she calmly interrupted.

Jackson tried to hide his surprise. “Err, are you sure? I remember the necromant talking about that.”

“We have not felt another power such as his after he was destroyed.”

Shit. Jackson had completely forgotten how Keziah had mentioned she could feel the necromant’s power. She was very unlikely to be the only Inquisitor to have that ability; it made more sense that it was a common thing among them.

“What is the real reason you wish to go back to that castle?” the High Inquisitor asked.

Damn it, what do I tell her? That I want to go back and bury the rest of my unit?

“After all this time?” Byron said. “She won’t buy it. There’s probably nothing left of those corpses.”

Then, Jackson had another idea. “It’s not about the castle, err… I’m sorry, I don’t know how to address you.”

“You may address me as either High Inquisitor Jannlin or as Lady Jannlin, as you prefer,” she explained.

“Right. It’s not about the castle, Lady Jannlin. It’s about my comrades’ bodies. My sergeant had something on her person when she died, and I’d like to recover it before the Hexacracy does.”

“Evidently, you don’t want us to recover it either, else you wouldn’t have lied about it.”

“I apologize for that, Lady Jannlin,” Jackson said. “But it’s very valuable, and I’m not a very trusting person.”

“I don’t suppose you will tell us what that thing you’re looking for is.”

He pretended to think about it, then said: “All right, it’s a piece of jewelry.”

“You are willing to venture into occupied territory for a piece of jewelry? Is it really that valuable?”

“Not in itself.” He licked his lip, fake-hesitated some more, and explained: “Look, it’s a ring. A special ring. It’s used to open the lock of a certain box.”

“A C’fan puzzle ring,” the High Inquisitor said.

“Is that what they’re called?” Jackson genuinely didn’t know. “Well, anyway, I found the box, but not the ring. It took me a while to track it down, and it turned out my sergeant was the last to have it. Inquisitor Keziah told me the bodies haven’t been touched, so it must still be there.”

“I see,” she said.

The High Inquisitor pulled out a piece of cloth from her pocket and used it to clean the point of her quill. Then she placed the quill on her desk, and closed the book she was reading. Her knees cracked and she let out a little groan when she stood up. Jackson tried not to scrutinize her expression too openly to see if she had bought his story, as he knew from experience such behavior could be seen as a sign of deceit.

“So you would like us to guide you to these ruins.”

“Not necessarily, Lady Jannlin. Pointing it on a map will be enough.”

“Hmm. I believe some of my men could help with that. But are you confident you can safely find your way there? The Hexacracy controls that region. In fact, we believe their armies have at least one camp there.”

“They do?” Jackson frowned.

“That’s probably where the soldiers who retreated from the battle went,” Byron pointed out.

“Indeed they do,” the High Inquisitor said. “The Hexacracy patrols that area, and they allow passage to no one but their own.”

“Guess I’ll have to avoid the roads then. As I remember, that castle was pretty remote anyway.”

“Still, it wouldn’t be right to simply send you there in spite of the danger. I could have an escort travel alongside you, if you wish.”

Jackson raised a skeptical eyebrow, suspicious of this unsolicited generosity. 

“You are very kind, Lady Jannlin,” he said, “but this isn’t needed. I can protect myself just fine.”

“Oh, I have no doubt as to your skills in battle. But then again, the region is occupied by a significant military force, and I don’t believe you plan to take your army there merely to recover a ring, no matter how valuable. You will thus have to be cautious, avoid the roads as you said. That will require knowledge of the terrain. Are you familiar with the region?”

“I traveled through there a few times,” he said.

There was a glint in the High Inquisitor’s eye, and Jackson had a bad feeling. Great. Can she tell when I’m lying? Is that another ability all Inquisitors have?

“Well, I have at my disposal several Inquisitors who know Vrittion quite well. We used to have several camps in the region. They would know where to find that castle.”

“Wait a second. You mean you don’t know where it is?”

“Me? No, I’m afraid I don’t know its exact location. As a matter of fact, I’ve never set foot in Vrittion. But these Inquisitors I’ve mentioned know it.”

Jackson “spoke” to Byron again. “I guess I don’t have a choice. It could take me days to find that damn castle.”

“And the longer you’ll stay there, the higher your chances of meeting an enemy patrol.”

The young man sighed. “Yeah, all right. I’ll take these men with me. Thanks for the offer.”

“You’re quite welcome. Ah, I’m afraid there is an issue.”

There we go. She’s about to tell me the price for her help.

“Those Inquisitors are not currently in Atvello, and I have no means to contact them directly.”

“Where are they, then?”

“In Vrittion.”

Jackson’s eyebrows jumped up.

“As I mentioned, we used to have a few camps in the region, one of which you’ve visited, according to Inquisitor Keziah. When the war began, we had to hurriedly pull out our soldiers and abandon our operations. However, some of our people had to stay behind. We expected to be able to send soldiers at a later date to safely evacuate them. Unfortunately, the recent battle has put a strain in those plans; casualties, you see. Thus, our people remain trapped in Vrittion… including the Inquisitors I mentioned.”

“Uh-uh. So they can’t help me, then,” Jackson said. He was beginning to guess where this conversation was headed.

“Not currently. However, if they were to be rescued, they would certainly be able to. They would be glad to, even, as repayment.”

Yep, there it is. He chuckled without humor.

“Right, how about we play cards on the table, Lady Jannlin?” he said. “Your help has a price, and that price is for me to go save your men.”

“I prefer to think of it as an exchange of favors. And I wasn’t lying: the only people who know where to find those ruins you’re looking for are the people you’ll be helping us rescue. They were selected because they know the region better than any of us.”

“Apparently not enough to get themselves out of the mess they’re in,” Jackson grumbled.

“The situation has gotten complicated.”

He shook his head. “All right, fine, I’ll do it. Seems like you could have just asked me for the favor.”

“Possibly,” the High Inquisitor said with a little smile. “In my experience, however, people are less keen on doing favors when you ask them upfront. That is especially true when you are an Inquisitor. But then, maybe I’ve spent too much time in Atvello.” She joined her hands in front of her. “And then again, you haven’t been entirely forthcoming with me either.”

Jackson thought to deny it, but decided it wouldn’t help. “I have my reasons.”

“And I have mine. You needn’t be worried, however: whatever it is you truly seek up there, I’ll instruct my Inquisitors not to pry.”

He nodded, silently biting his lip. Inquisitors ordered not to inquire? Somehow, he wasn’t completely reassured.

The expedition was organized promptly, ready to depart the very next day. It was obvious the High Inquisitor, in spite of the calm and confident image she was projecting, was anxious to rescue her people as soon as possible. Jackson wondered how her people had managed to get trapped in Vrittion. Were they caught by surprise by the Hexacrat invasion? Byron suggested they may have been busy with something there, possibly some task having to do with the fallen necromant. Maybe they too were seeking something they didn’t want the Hexacracy to find…

The young man quickly explained everything to Alizana who had convinced two of her most trusted tribemates to join along: Decla and Grabs-the-Blades. Jackson wasn’t very comfortable with the idea of the Inquisition being around Hellhounds. What if their ability to detect magical power allowed them to find out the truth of the Hellhounds’ nature? What if the Inquisitors found out that they were creations of the Hexacracy? Jackson gnawed on his teeth as he pondered that. It was possible that the Inquisitors would decide to ignore that for the time being, on the basis that their enemy’s enemy was their ally. But what about later?

He didn’t have much of a choice, however. Once again, he needed those weapons, and he needed to make sure they wouldn’t fall in the wrong hands. As to the last weapons stored in the House of the Living Flames, he went to retrieve them. He met no one in the temple, not even the Lamia from last time. Somehow, he managed to find his way in the bowels of the basement, guided by a strange but precise intuition. He found the stone door behind which his weapons were safely hidden, and placed his right hand on it as he was once instructed. Just like the first time, the door disappeared in a burst of flames, only to reappear after Jackson recovered his weapons and left the room. Jackson entrusted one of the Longclaws to bring them back to the Neha camp and store them somewhere safe from humidity -and prying eyes.

The small troop ended up consisting of Jackson, Alizana, her two tribemates, one Inquisitor, and five soldiers. Jackson insisted on using horses, both for the sake of mobility and to ensure they could bring all of the weapons back in one trip. The perspective of riding made Alizana uncomfortable: she had very little experience in that. It was actually a little amusing for him to see her on a horse, looking ill-at-ease and even a little scared. Jackson gave her a few pointers, and tried to help her relax.

The expedition left Atvello around the same time the Hellhound army did. Jackson noticed a lot of people on the city’s walls, watching the large movement of troops. He once again bid the city goodbye, although this time he was certain he would see it again, and the Children of Nayros as well. In fact, he had done some thinking about them. The Rebellion had money, now, and a need for skilled warriors. And these were competent mercenaries -Jackson could personally vouch for that.

He put these thoughts aside for the moment, as one of the Inquisition’s soldiers -a scout named Dakey- took the lead and guided the rest of the group towards Vrittion. Dakey took a very different path from the one Tacey had used all those months ago. He didn’t follow the road, and instead often cut through fields. Or rather: what used to be fields. The few of those who hadn’t been harvested to the last grain in preparation for the siege of Atvello had been put to the torch, as had been the granaries and the houses around them. This scenery was quite depressing to Jackson, who still remembered how it looked before the war. What was even more depressing was the thought that large parts of the Southern Marches probably looked like this at that point.

They reached the march of Vrittion soon after the zenith. From what Jackson could see, its land was mostly covered in forests, and the northernmost portion of it was mountainous. From what Jackson had been told, it had very few inhabitants, located in a small number of villages. The expedition crossed one of them, as they ventured towards the woods. It appeared completely empty, though its wooden buildings were intact. The population had probably taken refuge in Atvello; at least, Jackson hoped as much. The fields surrounding it were barren as well.

The ride had been very silent so far. The Inquisition’s soldiers only communicated between them, and solely for the needs of the task at hand, and spoke but a few words to the others -usually to say something along the lines of: “this way”, or: “watch out”. Jackson had caught a few curious looks towards the Hellhounds, but nothing more. The soldiers were too focused on the ride and their surroundings to ask any questions.

The forest of Vrittion had a different feel to it than the one in Vertrisia. For one thing, Jackson did not have that foreboding feeling he had when he had first entered the Vertrisian Forest. It was probably due to the fact that its canopy was much less thick, and thus allowed a lot more natural light, but the fact that it wasn’t crawling with gigantic lupine predators or protected by strange Elven magic was certainly also a factor. This was not to say that Jackson was relaxed in this environment, however. Like the Inquisitor accompanying them -a thirty-something man named Ballen- reminded everyone: this was enemy territory.

Jackson was beginning to feel like he was spending his entire life in forests, either planning ambushes or fearing ambushes. Thankfully, there was very little chance that the Hexacracy knew they would come, and in addition Dakey had made sure to avoid the roads. Still, they had to be wary of patrols and movements of troops. Ballen made sure to send Dakey as vanguard before going anywhere. This had the effect of slowing them down; on two occasions, they had to stop completely while Dakey assuaged a possible threat. The first one turned out to be a bear followed by three cubs. Dakey wasn’t certain what the second one was, as it was too far away, but he had made sure they were long gone by the time he resumed leading the rest of the expedition.

As they progressed, Jackson noticed how the Inquisitor grew more distracted. At some point, one of his men had to call him twice to get his attention. It was like Ballen was trying to focus on something other than the path or his men. Judging by the inaudible words he mumbled under his breath and the small movements of his fingers, Jackson would have bet it was something magical. Eventually, he snapped out of it, and went to have a whispered conversation with one of the soldiers, his face expressing nothing but gravity. The soldier he spoke to affected the same expression, with a nuance of dread that the Inquisition tried to chase away with a reassurance and a pat on the shoulder.

“The Divine is with us,” Jackson heard him say. “They will not abandon us, and neither shall we fail Them.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” the soldier answered mechanically.

Jackson rode closer to the Inquisitor. “Is there a problem?”

He took a moment to answer. “Magic has been used around here.”

Called it. “By the way you’re acting, I’m guessing it’s not your average kind of magic.”

“No,” Ballen laconically answered.

“Forbidden Arcanes, uh? Should we expect undeads?”

The Inquisitor licked his lips, then glanced around. “With that sort of power, we should expect anything.”

“Okay. I’ll be careful, then.”

And he meant it. The first time he had met with the Forbidden Arcanes, in the form of zombies, Jackson had lost nearly his entire unit. And although his comrade-at-arms had been taken completely by surprise, they were still trained soldiers of the US Army, and equipped with firearms to boot. The current expedition numbered less than half of them, and had no such modern weapons, but on the other hand they were forewarned. Jackson hoped the Inquisitor also had a few tricks up his sleeves to deal with zombies.

The sun began to decline. Jackson had noticed how it was happening sooner and sooner every day. Summer was nearly at an end. Further evidence of that was the weather. While the temperatures were still high -so much so sometimes it was nearly impossible to get anything done through entire portions of the afternoon-, the sunny days were now interspersed with rainy, windy ones, with increasing frequency. In fact, Jackson could see dark clouds gathering above his head right then.

A small rain was dripping over the expedition when Dakey called for the Inquisitor’s attention. There was another hushed exchange, then the Inquisitor for everyone else to follow. The group reached the treeline and finally came out of the woods. The place they reached was familiar to Jackson. Yes… That was where he was brought after the Inquisition first found him, all these months ago. Their camp had been located nearby. In fact, it was just about-

“Oh shit,” Jackson muttered.

The camp was now little more than a charred ruin. No smoke emanated from the ashes of what once had been a wooden palisade, but it was difficult to say if that was because the destruction wasn’t recent or because of the rain. The group dismounted, and observed the ruins in silence for a moment. Alizana spotted several bodies and pointed them out to Jackson. Dakey spotted them as well. Two of the soldiers looked like they were about to go inspect them, but Ballen curtly ordered them to stay where they were. His jaw tense, he stared at the bodies a little while longer, then raised his hand. With his index and his major fingers, he began drawing something in the air in front of him.

Jackson’s eyes nearly bugged out of his skull when he saw a pale yellow symbol appear out of nowhere, as if the Inquisitor was drawing with light on an invisible easel. The air around the symbol became hazy and distorted, as if it was heated. And speaking of heat, Jackson noticed the bodies began smoking in the spite of the rain, which was growing heavier. Within seconds, flames appeared, bright yellow in color, consuming them entirely, yet leaving their clothing and armors intact. Decla grunted in surprise and disgust. Though the soldiers showed more stoicism, Jackson saw one of them pick up his pendant and kiss it in what was clearly a religious or superstitious gesture.

As he watched the corpses burn, devoured by the pale flames, he heard someone groan in pain by his side. He turned to see Byron clutching his chest, his face distorted by agony.

“Byron, what’s wrong?” Jackson asked, alarmed.

“I need to get away from him!” Byron said, his voice barely audible.

Jackson quickly put two and two together. He remembered what Inquisitor Keziah had told him, about how she had done something to the soldiers of his unit so that the Hexacracy couldn’t use their souls. What Ballen was doing was probably exactly that. Problem was, Byron himself was a soul, one bound by the same sort of magic that Ballen was working to dispel.

He quickly moved away from the Inquisitor, allowing Byron to do the same. They stopped near a big oak tree. The veteran took deep breaths to calm himself down, air coming out of his mouth as a wheeze.

“Are you going to be okay?” Jackson said, giving him a pat on the back.

“Jesus Christ,” Byron said. “That… That was unpleasant.”

“I’m sorry, I should have thought about that sooner.” 

“It’s fine. Just… Don’t stick too close to him. It’s already a small miracle his abilities can’t detect me.”

Jackson had thought about that as well. Byron was, as mentioned, the product of a Forbidden Arcane, and those Inquisitors apparently had the capacity to pick up on the use of such magic. The idea that one of them could find out about Byron and his link to Jackson was not one the latter was comfortable with. However, so far he had met with three Inquisitors -including a High Inquisitor-, and not one of them seemed to have suspected anything. With a little luck, this trend would continue.

It wasn’t long until the bodies were completely burned, reduced to char like Jackson’s former unit. Once again, their clothes and equipment had been left intact. Jackson rejoined the group; Ballen gave him a glance.

“Is something the matter?” he asked. “You ran away so suddenly.”

“I needed to relieve myself,” Jackson said.

A hint of indulgence softened the Inquisitor’s eyes. He nodded.

“It’s not a pretty sight, I know,” he said, “but what I did was necessary. You have seen what these magis will do with the bodies of their victims.”

The young man nodded noncommittally. The Inquisitor’s comfort felt more than a little shallow, as if he was just giving a rehearsed speech. His tone was a bit patronizing, as well.

The group waited a few minutes after the bodies had stopped burning before closing in on the camp. Alizana stepped forward as well, but her tribemates elected to stay back. The Inquisitor and his soldiers began searching the camp’s remains. Very little had survived the attack: a few weapons, some food… Jackson found a couple of candles, who somewhat ironically had not burned or melted with the rest. Ballen examined some half-burnt paper sheets he found under a destroyed tent. Dakey did a sweep of the entire camp, then reported to Ballen:

“I only count six bodies, sire. There hasn’t been much of a fight here; they were probably left behind so the rest could escape.”

“Let’s hope as much,” Dallen said. “Find out where they went.”

“They headed north, towards the mountains.”

It wasn’t Dakey who had spoken, but Alizana. She was humming the air around her, her nostrils twitching.

“You can smell them?” Jackson said. “Even with this rain?”

“It’s faint, but yes.”

Ballen looked at her, then at Dakey.

“I believe she’s right,” the scout said. “I see some traces going north. We should follow them quickly before the rain makes it more difficult.”

“Hmm. Very well, then.”

The group got back on their horses, save for Dakey and Alizana, who needed to stay close to the ground. The two combined their efforts to track the escaped Inquisitors more efficiently. At first, the scout was somewhat skeptical of Alizana’s abilities, but as her findings kept matching his own, he quickly decided to trust them. Between the terrain and the increasingly bad weather, their skills put together were just enough to keep on the trail.

As the rain grew heavier still, the ground turned to mud, slowing down the group. In addition, the hills turned into mountains, and the terrain went from risky to dangerous. At some point, one of the Inquisition soldiers’ horses slipped and fell down a slope. The horse got off with a few scrapes, but the soldier broke his leg in an awful cracking noise. Jackson glanced at the wound for only a second and sucked on his teeth. It looked bad. Really, really bad. It was an open wound, and a lot of blood was dripping from it. Given this factor and the urgency of their mission, Jackson feared this would mean that the soldier would be left behind. Instead, the Inquisitor ran to him, and drew another of his magic sigils over the wound. The soldier gasped in shock. Slowly, incredibly, the wound disappeared, and the bone seemed to be reset under the skin.

“Holy shit,” Jackson muttered.

Within seconds, the soldier could stand again, albeit his leg still wobbled under his weight, no doubt because of the blood loss. He stuttered thanks and blessings to the Inquisitor, who simply patted his shoulder and told him to get back on his horse.

After two hours, the rain finally began to lighten. The temperature had ostensibly dropped a few degrees with the altitude. The terrain was now so rough and uneven the group had to dismount their horses and lead them by the reins for then on. They eventually arrived at a cliff which they had no choice but to circumvent, until they found a narrow, craggy way up the top. The trail was now easier to follow, not only because it was raining less, but because Dakey had found carvings in the trees. They had been made with a knife, and evidently left by the Inquisitors they were trying to find. Dakey observed one of them more closely, and declared that they were recent -a day at the most. This news gave a boost to everyone’s morale, and the troop pressed eagerly on.

Alizana and her tribemates, however, didn’t appear to share the same enthusiasm. As they progressed, their expressions darkened. At first, Jackson thought they were angry at the idea of the Inquisitors being alive, but he soon realized it was something else.

“What’s wrong?” he asked Alizana.

“There’s a smell,” she said. “Something foul. It’s very faint, but…”

“Smells like death,” Grabs-the-Blade said. “Like meat left in the sun for days.”

Jackson’s stomach dropped. This could mean two things, and neither was good. The first was that they were about to find the corpses of those they were meant to save.

“Doubtful,” Byron said. “They would have to have died today. Not long enough to decompose to the point where it stinks.”

“Right. So it’s zombies, then. Fuck.”

As soon as he thought of the word, images flashed before his eyes. He saw the zombie that had tried to devour him alive in that castle, months ago. He saw the mouth of that creature, with its rotten teeth, snarling inches away from Jackson’s face. The rawboned hands, clawing at his clothes. The eyes, emptied of sentience and filled with an inhuman hunger. The stench, horrid and overpowering. And Lawrence…

“Is everything alright?” Alizana said. He felt her paw on his shoulder, and realized he was quivering.

“Yeah. Just… Bad memories with those things.”

Alizana communicated their findings to Ballen, who gave Jackson an interrogative look.

“You can trust her on this,” the young man said. “She can smell game, like, over a mile away.”

The Inquisitor still seemed doubtful, but warned his men to be on notice. The soldiers reacted with the same apprehension Jackson was feeling. Ballen quickly reminded them of the importance of their task, and the men put on a brave front. Two of them pulled out their bows, and kept a hand near their quivers from then on.

They kept on walking for another hour. The rain stopped completely, leaving the forest quiet and the soil drenched and muddy. The Hellhounds were acting increasingly wary as they progressed; the smell, it seemed, was getting stronger. As to Jackson, all he could smell aside from the rain-covered grass was the scent of wet dogs -he kept quiet about that. Everybody walked as silently as they could, avoiding branches and puddles on the ground. Suddenly, there was a rustling of leaves in a nearby tree, and several people including Jackson jumped… only to see a bird fly off.

The sky was turning orange when Dakey discreetly signaled everybody else, pointing at something below them. Others came closer to observe, and noticed movement amidst the trees. Ballen communicated something to Dakey with a hand gesture, and the scout shook his head. The Inquisitor then pulled out his sword; his men did the same.

“I take it that wasn’t one of the guys we’re looking for,” Jackson whispered to Alizana.

“No. That does not smell Human,” she said, her fangs clenched.

The soldiers communicated in silent gestures again, and took positions. One of the archers nocked an arrow and pulled on the string; another grabbed a pebble on the ground and tossed it. Jackson couldn’t see their target, but he assumed the second man was creating a diversion to help the archer get a good aim. Moments later, the archer let loose. There was a fleshy sound, and something dropped to the floor.

Ballen gave another signal, and everyone moved forward. The target was indeed a zombie. The arrow had lodged itself in his temple, and pierced through his brain.

“A straggler, probably,” Ballen said as he once again performed his ritual to destroy the body. Jackson noticed that the ground around remained completely unharmed as the flames did their job. “There’s bound to be more.”

“A lot more,” Grabs-the-Blades said.

“We’re getting closer,” Dakey announced, pointing at the trunk of a nearby beech tree. “That mark was left maybe a few hours ago.”

They arrived at the end of the forest, which gave way to a river, on the other side of which was the birth of a small mountain. Jackson took in the scenery, trying to remember whether it matched with his memories. Could be that the lake is connected to that river. But is it upstream or downstream? I don’t think the castle was high up in the mountains, so probably downstream.

While Jackson was thinking, Dakey was once again sent ahead, this time to find a ford in the river. He found one after much searching, and the group crossed it, still leading the horses behind them. The river’s waters were muddy and cold, its floor made out of slippery rocks and very soft sand, and one soldier lost his footing and fell. Thankfully, the stream was not strong enough to carry off a man, but the man did lose his leather cap. Alizana and her tribemates were in the rear, advancing much slower than the rest. They seem to loathe the cold water more so than everybody.

Jackson was in the middle of the group, advancing with care, grumbling as he did. He had never been fond of stepping into anything but the clearest waters. He didn’t like the idea of not knowing what he was walking on, or the idea that something could be swimming around him. This might have been related to an experience he had had as a young child, when a small fish swam straight into the collar of his shirt as he was neck deep in water. He knew the odds were low that this could happen again, especially now that he was a grown up and the water only reached as high as his thighs, but he was still not comfortable in this muddy water -and not just because it was somewhere between cold and freezing.

As he was midway through the river, his foot bumped into something, and he nearly toppled over. He looked down at his leg in confusion. What was that? It was too hard to be soil, and too soft to be a rock. Could it-

The “something” suddenly grabbed his calf. Jackson screamed.

“Shit! Shit! Shit!”

He tried to kick away whatever was holding him -it felt like a hand, or maybe a claw-, and simultaneously reached for his sword. Doing both at the same time with adrenaline flowing in his veins caused him to lose his balance, and he fell back into the water. His sword slipped from his fingers. The cold water stunned him momentarily, and it took a few seconds for him to remember where was up. Unfortunately, as he moved to get back up, another hand grabbed him by the left wrist.

Panicked, Jackson managed to concentrate enough to grab his ax, and struck five or six times at the second hand. He couldn’t tell whether he did any damage, with the water hampering his torque, but it was enough for it to let go. Jackson emerged from the cold water, and took a deep breath. Cursing loudly, he immediately went to attack the other creature holding on to him. With very little visibility, he had no choice but to strike wildly in the rough direction of where he estimated the arm to be. After multiple attempts, he hit something, and the hand let go of his leg. Finally free to move -more or less-, he found his sword, and turned to the rest of the group.

The Inquisitor and his men were also at odds with underwater creatures. In fact, one of the soldiers was already missing. The rest fought with energy but without much order, unable to see most of their enemies. About a dozen of them, however, had emerged from the river. They were zombies alright, just as abominable and aggressive as the ones Jackson had fought months ago. They attacked simultaneously, Jackson thought. And they waited until we were all in the river. Don’t tell me these things can fucking think!

“Either that,” Byron said, “or they are guided by a necromant nearby.”

Not reassured in the least, Jackson reported his attention to the Hellhounds. They too were struggling against zombies, though fewer in numbers as the lupine creatures were closer to the edge of the river. Their claws proved effective at slashing and tearing the unprotected, rotten flesh of the undead. However, the creatures felt no pain, and the blood they lost barely seemed to hinder them, if at all. Even attacking their internal organs had no effect. There was little point in piercing their heart, for instance, as Alizana found out; Jackson didn’t even know whether that particular muscle even served a function in the zombies’ bodies. Hacking off their limbs was more effective, but still didn’t stop them: a zombie without arms would still try to bite. Eventually, Grabs-the-Blades tried a new tactic consisting of slashing deep into the throat, then ripping off the head.

It worked. Cutting off the head worked just as well as striking into the brains, which was the method used by the Inquisition soldiers. Jackson too adopted that second tactic. Unfortunately, while effective, it required getting close to these creatures. The Inquisition’s men wore armor thick enough to protect them from the zombies’ rotted teeth. Jackson, however, wasn’t sure whether the dryadelle he wore could do the same, and wasn’t keen on finding out.

He made his way towards the Inquisition soldiers, who were now surrounded by zombies, and on the verge of being overwhelmed. It seemed that every time one of the creatures fell, two more emerged from the river. A terrible chill ran down Jackson’s back as he realized there could be dozens more zombies hiding beneath the inscrutable waters.

“We need to get to the other side!” Jackson screamed as loudly as he could.

His shout shook Ballen out of the fighting trance he was apparently caught in. The Inquisitor looked around, then called out to his soldiers:

“He’s right. Push forward, soldiers! They aim to trap us here.”

Almost as soon as he gave the order, Dakey, who was busy fighting off a zombie with his sword, was attacked from behind by another zombie who had risen from the water. The horrid creature planted its teeth in the side of the man’s throat. The man screamed in terror as thick rivulets of blood poured out of him. The first zombie in front of him attacked as well with an inhuman snarl, his mouth going straight for his victim’s face. Moved by what was likely all the energy he had left in his body, the soldier tried to push the creatures off him, but this led to all three of them dropping into the river and disappearing from sight. Ballen managed to grab him and hoist him up, but it was obvious the man was already dead.

The rest of the group barely paid attention to it, as they were now busy fighting their way out of the river. Alizana and her tribemates had joined them, still leading their horses and protecting them; they now didn’t bother trying to destroy the zombies, finding it quicker to shove them off. Jackson joined Alizana’s side. Glancing at the bank in front of them, he realized the Inquisition soldiers had sent the horses ahead. Two of them at least were missing, having either ran off or been killed.

Eventually, Jackson managed to create an opening, by grabbing a zombie and tossing it at another, sending the two barreling down, while Alizana fended off the rest of the creatures by swinging her claws left and right. Two soldiers immediately seized the opportunity and got out of the river, running with abandon. Decla was next, followed by Ballen, who was carrying Dakey’s body. Grabs-the-Blades was now the last standing in the river. Busy contending with no less than six zombies at the same time, she had not noticed that everybody else had run off. Alizana called for her, but by the time Grabs-the-Blades heard her chieftain, four more zombies had come out of the water, encircling her completely.

“Forget her,” Ballen said. “We need to keep moving.”

“To Hell with that,” Jackson said.

“I’m not leaving her!” Alizana said almost simultaneously.

The two of them plus Decla immediately ran back to the river, ignoring the Inquisitor telling them he and his men would keep pressing forward without them.

“Decla, you and I will attract these things’ attention,” Alizana told the others. “Jackson, get her out of here.”

Grabs-the-Blades was fighting like a cornered animal: nastily and relentlessly. She slashed off limbs and lumps of flesh with her claws, kicked zombies’ legs hard enough to break bones, even rammed down two of her enemies with a slam of her shoulder. But as hard and as bravely as fought, she was still one against fifteen -no, twenty now. And unlike her usual enemies, the zombies didn’t know fear or pain.

Alizana charged the mass of zombies with a growl, making herself as big and loud as possible. She struck at the back of a zombie’s head, with enough strength for her claws to punch through the skull. Decla followed her example. Their diversion worked, and over half of Grabs-the-Blades’ enemies went for them instead. Jackson entered the fray seconds later, with much less fracas. His ax was not as effective as the Hellhounds’ natural weapons, but he managed to bring down two undeads who had caught onto Grabs-the-Blades’ clothes. He looked over his shoulder; the rest of the group had disappeared in the trees up the small mountain. Now that they were out of sight, he might be able to use his pistol.

Fighting zombies was as messy and repugnant as Jackson remembered. The stench, although waned somewhat by the water, was strong enough to make him nauseous. The sight was bad, too: rotten flesh and clots of congealed blood flew in all directions as the three Hellhounds destroyed their undead enemies. Jackson did his best not to lose the contents of his stomach, and to remain as stealthy as he could.

A third zombie, who was about to sink its teeth into Grabs-the-Blade’s throat, fell when Jackson pressed the muzzle of his gun against its temple and pulled the trigger. Jackson had had the presence of mind to shield his eyes with his free hand, and was deeply thankful he had thought to wear gloves. With this third enemy down for the count, Jackson managed to reach Grabs-the-Blade. She looked worse for wear: her clothes were torn, bruises were appearing on her skin, and she had hurt her leg on a rock.

“Go! We’ll cover you,” Jackson said.

She nodded weakly, then ran through the opening created by Jackson. The young man turned to follow her, but moved too quickly and lost his footing on a slippery rock. He fell underwater again, but this time managed to keep hold of both of his weapons. Just as he was about to push on the ground to get back up, something -a zombie, he quickly realized- dropped heavily on his back. Opening his eyes in the cold water, he tried to hack the horrid creature’s head, but the water hindered his movements and he missed his target. Fear seized him as he saw the zombie immediately counter-attack, biting down his hand holding the pistol, sinking its teeth in the blade, one inch above the wrist. A sharp, acute pain ran up his entire arm, turning his fear into panic. He tried to shake off the zombie, but the undead monster’s bite was too strong. He then tried to get back up, but the zombie was too heavy. Jackson felt so very weak, all of a sudden, as if his strength was being sucked out of him through his wound.

Focus. Calm down and focus, he heard Byron’s voice speak in his head. You’re not going to die like this.

Through the fog of pain and adrenaline, Jackson barely managed to raise his ax, and strike again, with what little strength he had left. It was just about enough to destroy the zombie’s brain. Then, with a desperate effort, he pushed the corpse away from him. Unfortunately, killing the zombie had not lessened the grip of his jaws: its teeth were still firmly planted in Jackson’s flesh, and ripped a piece of his skin when he pushed the body off. Jackson let out a drowned scream.

Suddenly, something gripped him strongly by the arm, and lifted him out of the water. His arm was then thrown around a pair of strong, large shoulders. Alizana’s. Stammering a thank you, he got on his feet, and the both of them ran away. Things turned blurry around him, his senses messed up by the pain, the fear, and especially the cold. He vaguely sensed leaving the river, his drenched clothes retaining the waters’ glacial temperature. They walked along a slope; he stumbled a few times, but was held up by Alizana. Eventually, they reached the top of a hill covered in big rocks. Jackson sat down and put away his ax, only then noticing he had dropped his pistol in the river. Swearing under his breath, he wrapped his unharmed hand around his wound to try and contain the blood.

Alizana knelt down in front of him, and pulled out several pieces of cloth from his satchel, as well as some of those herbs Sathariel once used to treat a wound. She washed the large, ugly cut with water from her gourd, then quickly made a makeshift bandage on his left hand, tying it very tight.

“Am I going to turn?” Jackson asked with a strangled voice.

“Turn?” Alizana said.

“In- Into one of these things?”

She looked puzzled for a moment, but then said: “You can only become a zombie if you die. And I won’t let you, Jack.”

He breathed. “Thank fuck. How’s Grabby? Did she make it?”

“Aye,” Grabs-the-Blade said. She was standing a few feet away, attempting to fix the tears in her clothes. “Thanks to you.”

Decla, who had gone ahead, declared she had tracked the rest of the group. They had sought refuge in a cave on the mountain’s flank.

“You think you can walk?” Alizana asked Jackson.

The loss of blood had left him feeling weak and queasy, but he nodded in the affirmative.

The four of them rejoined Ballen and his three remaining soldiers about twenty minutes later. It was now nearly dark. The soldiers had gathered the horses -minus two-, and built a small campfire to get some much needed heat. Jackson shot one of them a surprised glance. It was Dakey. He was standing there, his face and neck scarred, and a lot of blood tainting his armor, but otherwise fine, although his gaze was distant, his eyes glassy.

“That’s some really powerful magic,” Jackson thought-said. “I thought for sure that guy was dead.”

“He was,” Byron said.

“I mean, he looked really bad, but…”

“Unless it’s possible to live with a huge piece of your esophagus missing, he was dead.”

Jackson remained silent for a while. “Jesus Christ. You mean that Inquisitor pulled some kind of necromancy?”

“I’m sure he wouldn’t present things that way.”

“Myeah. Hey, think maybe he can heal my hand?”

“A better question would be: are you sure you want that kind of magic in your body?”

Jackson glanced at his wound. After a moment of pondering, he went to ask the Inquisitor. Ballen answered in a strained voice:

“Would that I could, sir, unfortunately healing Dakey has spent me nearly whole. Your wound doesn’t look bad enough to be lethal. I’d prefer to use what little power I have left for when it is truly needed.”

Jackson did not insist.

“We’ll rest there for a little while,” the Inquisitor announced to everyone after a few minutes, “then we’ll get back on the trail. I have dispelled the necromancer’s power in this area; his creatures will be easier to deal with if we meet more. Dakey tells us our friends are not far, perhaps a summer hour away. We’ll most likely have to travel back through the night, as well, so make sure to drink plenty of eyelet’s milk.”

“Yes, Inquisitor,” the soldiers said.

The Hellhounds built a second fire further in the cave -Decla had found a place where the ceiling had holes, allowing the smoke to escape. Jackson was still shivering, unable to warm up even as he sat two feet away from the flames. He considered his left hand, wondering how well it would heal. He tried to make a fist, but the pain flared up and he moaned pitifully.

“Take off your clothes,” Alizana said.

Jackson all but tore off his dripping, freezing clothes. Alizana retrieved a blanket from one of the horses, and used it to cover the both of them as she sat behind him and wrapped her arms around him. He chuckled softly when he noticed that she too had taken off her wet clothes.

“Can’t believe how close I came to never seeing that again,” he said to her, taking an eyeful.

“You were brave,” she said, placing her cheek against his. “As you always are.”

“And it almost got me killed,” Jackson said, glancing at Byron. “As it always does.”

“Fear has no sway over who you are. That’s part of the reason I’m so fond of you.”

Jackson felt a lot warmer all of a sudden. Their lips brushed, then melded together. The kiss was gentle at first, but then Jackson opened his eyes and noticed two of the Inquisition soldiers giving them a nasty look. This incentivized him to push the kiss further, and he slid his tongue past Alizana’s lips. The Hellhound smiled and responded, holding him closer against her. The contempt in the soldiers’ eyes turned to open disgust, but they quickly decided to report their attention somewhere else.

Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes had passed when Ballen ordered the troop to get back on the trail. Jackson tutted as he put his clothes back on; they were still rather wet. Combined with the late evening’s low temperature, he was sure to wake up with a cold tomorrow. That is, if we get any sleep tonight at all, he thought. That Inquisitor said they would get back to Atvello overnight.

Thankfully, the night was moonlit; Jackson still made sure to keep close to Alizana, whose ability to see in the dark kept him from falling down a ravine at least twice. The group went around the mountain. There were no more marks in the trees to follow, but thankfully, the Hellhounds’ preternatural sense of smell helped them continue to track the missing people. They also found out why said missing people had stopped leaving marks: Decla had picked up the scent of about a dozen people, mostly Demons, who had come by there recently. The Hexacracy had been patrolling the area.

The Inquisitor and his soldiers seemed indefatigable. Even after an entire day of traveling, what they had been through back at the river, and in spite of the late hour, they still kept going.

“Their faith isn’t just for show, apparently,” Byron commented. “It really drives them.”

“Unless that’s another of the Inquisitor’s magical powers,” Jackson said.

“I wouldn’t exclude that possibility.”

The group stopped moving abruptly as Dakey once again made a hand signal; Jackson noticed his gestures seemed stiffer, more stilted. There was movement about fifty feet away from them. Through the still air of the night, Jackson heard clanking sounds, along with the cracking of branches.

“A group of people,” Byron said. “Ten, maybe twelve.”

“Any chance they’re the guys we’re looking for?” Jackson thought-said.

On Ballen’s signal, everybody hid behind trees, and kept as quiet as possible. That answered Jackson’s question. No one made a move as the other group passed them by, getting as close as twenty feet. Jackson still couldn’t see them, but he overheard bits of a conversation:

“… hidden in one of those caves…”

“… rather we get them than the zombies, trust me…”

Everyone kept perfectly still until long after they could no longer hear the other group.

“We must be very close,” Ballen said, his voice barely above a murmur. “She can probably respond now.”

Once more, he bent his head, whispered a few words, and traced a figure of light in the air. Jackson flinched when that figure suddenly flew away, dashing between the trees and soon disappearing from sight, quick as a bird. A moment went by as he wondered what this spell was about, then the figure came back just as fast. Hey, hold on. As it stopped a few inches before the Inquisitor’s face, Jackson realized it was in fact a different figure. It stood still for a couple of seconds, then evaporated like a lit match in the wind. The Inquisitor took a deep breath, and kept moving on, suddenly invigorated.

And indeed, the people they were looking for were found mere minutes later, holed up in a cave hidden from sight by thick foliage. There were six people in total, standing and sitting in the dark. One of them came out, whom Jackson quickly recognized as Inquisitor Keziah. She shook hands with Ballen as they met, then briefly explained their situation. Their camp had been attacked by warrior-monks; overwhelmed by their numbers and their ferocity, they had lost many people, and been forced to retreat in the mountains. The enemy had continued tracking them, costing them more soldiers -including two of their guides- over the past few weeks and forcing them to keep moving. The rest of their conversation was whispered. Jackson didn’t understand any part of it, but believed he saw Keziah give something to Ballen, some small object that fit in the palm of their hands. Ballen quickly shoved whatever it was in one of his pockets.

“We must go quickly,” he said. “We almost met with one of their patrols.”

Keziah nodded, and gestured to her soldiers. They appeared in the moonlight one by one, looking like they had been through Hell. Jackson recognized two of them. The first was Tacey, who seemed even more quiet than usual. The second had apparently recognized Jackson as well, and pressed an index finger on his lips. Jackson just managed to suppress an exclamation of joy.

He was wearing a suit of steel armor with a chainmail, his hair had grown longer and been dyed black, his blue eyes were bloodshot, and he now sported a fully grown mustache.

But there was no doubt he was David Schultz.

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