Chapter 9 #2
For a moment he didn’t move.
Then he tried his hands.
Bound.
His ankles too.
He was tied across a horse like a sack of grain, stomach pressed against the saddle.
Aldric exhaled slowly and twisted his head to the side.
Behind them rode another horse, a massive shield strapped to its flank and a brutal iron mace hanging from the other side of the saddle.
Aldric turned his head the other way.
Red armored greaves.
Ulric.
Aldric sighed.
“You know you could have just put me on a horse like a normal prisoner.” A pause. “By the way, where did the rest of your entourage go? I thought you traveled with more armed men.”
Ulric didn’t even look at him.
“Quiet, heretic.”
They rode on.
The road wound through a bleak stretch of hills and mist.
For a long time the only sounds were the hooves striking wet ground and the dull clank of armor and weapons.
Eventually the path split at a crossroads.
Aldric lifted his head slightly, squinting into the dark.
“Ah.” His voice was casual. “This is the road to Greywatch. I was there not long ago. Lord Blackmere was quite kind. We could stop for a decent meal.”
Ulric’s head briefly turned in the direction of the town.
“Plenty has changed since you went back beyond the fog to that cursed land.” A pause. “The Holy Order declared that entire town corrupted.”
Aldric felt something tighten inside his chest.
Ulric continued flatly.
“They burned it. Everyone. The townsfolk. The soldiers.” He glanced down briefly into the fog where the town used to be. “Even the lord who showed you hospitality.”
Something shifted inside Aldric.
Anger surfaced.
But it wasn’t the wild rage he’d felt before.
This was colder.
Sharper.
More focused.
He spoke through clenched teeth.
“Cowards.”
Ulric gave a bitter laugh.
“That much I agree with. Most men are cowards. True courage only shows itself when death stares you in the face.”
Aldric just stared into the fog.
The horse beneath him suddenly shifted.
Uneasy.
Aldric felt the tension ripple through the animal.
Ulric’s posture changed instantly.
Hooves.
Many of them.
Coming fast.
From the road ahead.
? ? ?
Ulric’s green eyes narrowed as he watched the riders approaching.
At least a dozen men.
Dark armor.
Clean.
Recently polished.
Privately funded, most likely.
No difference.
It would dent just as easily as any other.
His thoughts drifted briefly to the massive mace hanging behind him.
It had been nearly five years since he had fought a proper battle.
His hand tightened around the reins.
Hit thoughts briefly returned to the one behind him.
How…?
How could his intention be pure?
It’s not possible.
This had to be some form of demonic corruption.
A flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
Yet the Rite of Cendaris could not be corrupted.
It opened the soul.
There was nowhere to hide.
Ulric cursed quietly under his breath.
The riders were close enough now that he could see the whites of their eyes. They slowed their horses as they approached.
Ulric spoke before they came too close.
“That’s far enough.” His voice carried across the mist. “State your purpose. And do it quickly. I will not be delayed by nonsense.”
One of the riders stepped forward.
“Inquisitor Maathas,” the man said respectfully. “We are here to take custody of the prisoner.”
Ulric said nothing.
Instead he guided the second horse forward.
He swung down from his saddle.
His heavy armored boots struck the wet ground with a dull thud.
In a single motion his hand closed around the massive mace.
He stepped forward.
Positioning himself between the riders and the horses behind him.
Between them—
and Aldric.
The mace rested loosely in one hand.
Lowered.
Effortless.
“I will only say this once,” Ulric said quietly. “Move.”
He began walking toward them.
Slowly.
Then someone moved.
A cloaked figure stepped forward from behind the riders.
The hood fell back.
White irises.
A towering frame.
A massive two-handed warhammer rested across his back.
Red armor.
“Brother.”
Ulric stopped.
For a brief moment something flickered across Ulric’s face.
“Valerius? What is this? Does the Emperor think I cannot deliver a heretic to the capital myself?”
Valerius smiled faintly.
“Nothing of the sort. Your competence is highly valued. The plans have simply changed.” He gestured toward the prisoner. “The heretic must answer to the Holy Order first.”
He tossed something in Ulric’s direction.
A heavy brass tube.
Ulric caught it with his free hand.
“New orders. See for yourself.”
Without ceremony Ulric opened the case and pulled out the parchment.
The weighted seal caused the scroll to unfurl in his hand.
He began to read.
By Decree of Emperor Justinius III
Sovereign of the Sanctified Empire of Isendor
The known heretic and traitor Sir Aldric of House Marath
is to be transferred to the custody of Inquisitor Velgrim
and delivered to Eyerwatch for further interrogation.
Ulric’s eyes moved slowly across the parchment.
For a brief moment doubt crept into his mind.
Why in all the hells would they drag this traitor north to an Order-controlled fortress instead of parading him through the capital’s streets?
Then duty took over.
His purpose was not to question the will of the Emperor.
He gave a short nod of acknowledgment.
“Eyerwatch is not far from here. Two days’ ride. I can join—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Valerius’ voice cut in smoothly. “You are requested in the south. The Umbrian Passage has been breached by a high demon.”
Valerius paused and tossed another brass tube toward him.
“Here.”
Ulric caught it.
He opened it and read.
Everything checked out.
The seal.
The wax.
Still, his brow furrowed.
Without another word, he rested the mace on his shoulder and walked to the horse, tossing a rag over Aldric’s face.
“Don’t let them take me. This is a—”
Ulric struck him hard across the head.
The body went limp.
He lifted it easily and moved it onto the spare horse the men had brought.
Ulric grabbed the reins.
Yet something felt off.
Several of the men were watching him too closely.
Almost on edge.
Hands hovered near sword hilts.
And there was something else in their eyes.
Fear.
Not the usual kind.
No.
This was the cold, quiet fear men carried before a battle they believed might be their last.
Ulric’s gaze shifted back to Valerius.
“Why are you traveling with so many men?”
The question hung in the air.
Valerius answered without hesitation.
“Because this heretic is conspiring with other demons to assassinate the Emperor.”
Ulric’s brow tightened.
“That’s not what he told me during interrogation.”
He was still holding the reins.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw unease among men.
For a half-beat, Valerius’s composure cracked.
Ulric saw it.
The glance to the side.
The slight adjustment in the saddle.
The impatient sigh.
Then Valerius spoke again.
“Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “that you trust the word of a heretic over the Holy Order?”
Ulric said nothing for a moment.
Then, slowly he placed the mace back onto the spare horse.
The tension around them loosened immediately.
Several of the riders relaxed.
Green eyes met white ones.
Then Ulric spoke.
“You know exactly what the truth is, brother.”
Valerius gave his men a nod.
Two stepped forward and took the reins from Ulric’s hand.
The group began to turn their horses.
Valerius glanced back once.
“Happy hunting.”
Within moments they disappeared into the fog.
Ulric turned his own horse south and began his journey.
He rode for a while.
The road stretched ahead through fog and low hills, the steady rhythm of hooves the only sound.
The encounter still occupying his mind.
Something about it gnawed at him.
He exhaled sharply through his nose.
Why did I even question it?
A traitor had been handed over to another inquisitor.
That should have been the end of it.
Aldric was a heretic.
An oathbreaker.
What happened to him was no longer my concern.
And yet…
His jaw tightened.
Too many small things had been wrong.
The handover had been sloppy.
Worse.
There had been no witness.
Ulric cursed quietly.
Aldric might be a bastard and a traitor, but he was still a knight of the realm. In a transfer of such importance, the Order required a witness, another sworn brother who could attest the prisoner had been delivered properly.
The soldiers did not count.
They never did.
He shook his head.
Sloppy.
Then again… sometimes things became messy in the field.
Still.
The thought refused to leave him.
The fog began to thin as the road climbed a low hill.
Then suddenly the world opened around him.
Wind brushed across the grass.
Ulric slowed his horse.
Something stirred in the back of his mind.
The animal shifted beneath him as he turned in the saddle.
From the hill he could see the road below.
The ground below was stamped deep with hoofprints.
Fresh.
Valerius and his men.
Ulric followed the trail with his eyes.
His jaw tightened.
Eyerwatch lay north.
Valerius had ridden west.
“…fuck.”
His heels struck the horse.
The animal lunged forward.
Behind him, the second horse tried to keep pace.
Ulric’s eyes burned.
Focused.
Before long, he found the tracks.
Hoofprints.
Deep. Recent.
He followed for a while.
The trail led him to a small clearing.
Night was beginning to fall.
The last grey light clung to the hills.
The wind had died almost completely, leaving the clearing unnaturally still. Tall grass swayed only faintly, whispering against itself in the fading light. The scent of damp earth and crushed leaves lingered in the air.
He slowed his horse.
Somewhere in the distance, a crow called once, then fell silent.
Even the forest seemed to be holding its breath.
His grip tightened on the reins.
The shadows stretched long across the clearing, swallowing the hoofprints one by one as darkness crept in.
Then he saw the camp.
What made him hasten his horse forward was the silence.
No voices.
No movement.
When he got closer, he saw why.
Bodies lay scattered across the ground.
Some still near the fire pit.
Others farther out, as if they had tried to run.
The horses were gone.