Chapter 10
The Well Of Light
They arrived at the bridge.
An ancient behemoth of ingenuity from a world long gone.
The structure was entirely carved from stone, sections of it seemingly held together by some ancient form of magic. Impossibly long, it stretched across the fog below, supported by a colossal arch spanning nearly four hundred meters beneath them.
Through the thinning fog, Aldric finally saw it.
An island.
No.
A single, jagged mountain rising from the center of a ring of sheer stone walls. The base of it vanished into the fog below, swallowed by darkness.
Citadel Inquisitoris.
Sharp towers pierced the mist, and smooth black stone walls reflected the pale light of the sky, a testament to knowledge and craftsmanship long forgotten.
And most importantly—
“No guards?” Aldric smirked. “I could have walked straight through all this by my—”
Ulric tossed a rock onto the bridge.
A low vibration rippled through the stone.
Then the entire structure shifted.
Each section of the bridge tilted with a harsh, mechanical rasp.
In the span of three seconds, the whole bridge rotated upward, rising into a near-vertical position.
Violently.
Anything standing upon it would have been thrown into the abyss below.
Ulric looked at Aldric.
Then he placed his hand upon the pedestal beside the bridge.
The ancient mechanism responded instantly.
The massive structure slowly rotated back into place.
A loud, echoing click rang through the fog.
He took the rope from the saddle.
Aldric gave him a look.
And understood.
He sighed.
And put out his hands.
Ulric bound his wrists first. Then his ankles. After that he pulled the rag over Aldric’s head and hauled him across the horse’s back.
As they started toward the bridge, Ulric spoke.
“Once we’re inside, I’m doing the talking.”
A muffled sound came from beneath the rag.
Ulric allowed himself a brief smile.
“What was that? I didn’t quite catch it.”
Only a long sigh answered him.
Then the hooves touched the stone of the bridge.
Ulric’s expression hardened.
“I’ll try to get us as close as possible to the Cleansing Light.”
A muffled sigh followed.
Ulric looked ahead.
The Citadel Inquisitoris rose from the mountain like something carved from the bones of the world.
Black stone.
Smooth, perfectly cut blocks fitted together with such precision that even centuries had failed to claim the seams between them.
Everything about the place felt deliberate.
Thought through.
Controlled.
Wide terraces stepped upward toward the inner towers. Long corridors cut through the stone like arteries, their walls lined with narrow windows that let in pale mountain light. Even the wind seemed to move differently here, quieter, as if the fortress itself demanded silence.
The people were the same.
They moved through the halls in simple black attire.
No embroidery.
No jewels.
No colors.
And yet the quality of the garments was undeniable.
Fine leather belts.
Heavy linen robes.
Fur-lined cloaks soft enough to shame a king’s wardrobe.
Quiet extravagance.
Ulric rode through the inner courtyard slowly.
The hooves of his horse echoed softly across the polished stone.
Several figures stopped what they were doing when they saw the red armor.
Two of them approached.
One was a tall, narrow man wrapped in layered black robes.
Sharp features.
Grey hair pulled neatly behind his head.
His eyes were pale and calculating.
Magistrate Severin Caltheris.
Beside him stood a broad-shouldered figure in dark blood-red armor.
Red trim across the pauldrons.
Amber irises.
The third Inquisitor.
Tiberius Vaas.
They stopped a few paces from Ulric.
For a moment neither spoke.
Then the Magistrate inclined his head.
“Inquisitor Maathas.”
His voice was smooth.
Measured.
“You return sooner than expected.”
Ulric swung down from the saddle.
His boots struck the stone.
Tiberius looked at the horse behind him.
At the shape slumped across the saddle.
Bound.
A rag over the head.
His brow furrowed.
Magistrate Caltheris followed his gaze.
“And you bring a prisoner. Is this Aldric the Oathbreaker?”
Ulric shook his head.
“No. I intercepted this corrupted man near the mountain pass, he was heading south.” He gestured toward the body. “He possesses a demon brand. A deserter.”
Both men stiffened slightly.
Tiberius stepped closer, studying the prisoner.
“And the Oathbreaker?”
Ulric’s voice remained calm.
“Still out there.”
The two men exchanged a look.
Almost too quick to notice.
Then the Magistrate spoke again.
“How peculiar.”
Ulric tilted his head slightly.
“How so?”
Caltheris folded his hands behind his back.
“Inquisitor Velgrim departed shortly after you.”
“New orders,” added Tiberius.
Ulric shrugged slowly.
Face blank.
“We must have missed each other.”
The Magistrate studied him for a moment longer.
“And yet you chose not to pursue the Oathbreaker?”
“I will not allow a man carrying a demon brand to wander freely through the Empire.”
He gestured toward the horse again.
“If he spreads corruption among the people, that becomes our problem. A plague needs to be stopped before it spreads. I will question him, then I’ll resume the hunt first thing tomorrow morning.”
The courtyard grew quiet.
Tiberius watched him carefully.
“No need.”
Ulric gave him a brief look, waiting for explanation.
“Valerius is already handling it.”
There was something cold in the words.
Flat.
Almost rehearsed.
For a moment Ulric studied both men.
Then shrugged his shoulders in indifference.
Magistrate Caltheris smiled faintly.
“You must be hungry.”
Ulric nodded.
The Magistrate gestured toward the inner halls.
“Come. Let’s eat.”
As they moved deeper into the courtyard, several soldiers stepped forward to take the horses. They wore matte armor and the same simple black attire as the servants, no heraldry, no color, but their movements were disciplined and efficient.
One of them grabbed the reins of Ulric’s horse.
Another approached the second horse.
They lifted the bound man down without ceremony.
As they removed the rag from his head, Ulric watched carefully.
For a brief moment relief flickered across his face.
Aldric had not changed his appearance since he caught him.
He still looked like a roadside beggar.
Dirty cloak.
Unshaven.
Hair tangled and dirty.
No armor.
No weapon.
No sign of the knight he had once been.
Anyone who had not known him before would never recognize him.
The soldiers grabbed his arms and began escorting him across the courtyard toward the lower halls.
Aldric didn’t resist.
He only glanced back once.
Then the doors closed behind him.
Ulric turned away.
He followed the Magistrate and Tiberius into the inner halls.
As he sat down at the long oak table the food was served.
Dinner was simple.
Bread.
Stewed meat.
A bowl of roasted root vegetables.
Yet the quality of the food was unmistakable.
Clean.
Fresh.
Perfectly prepared.
The seasoning sparse, but perfectly enhancing the flavor.
After days on the road it was luxury.
They ate mostly in silence.
Ulric made a point of taking food from the same trays as the Magistrate and Tiberius.
Deliberately.
Carefully.
He drank only water.
Eventually Ulric leaned back slightly.
“Any news from the capital?”
Magistrate Caltheris dabbed his mouth with a cloth.
“A few peasant revolts along the southern trade routes.” Tiberius shrugged. “Nothing serious. The local garrisons are already giving examples of what happens if these revolts continue.”
Ulric nodded slowly.
He could picture it clearly.
Bodies displayed at crossroads.
Trees littered with the hanging dead.
A warning to those still alive.
Return to your work.
Return to your lives.
Ulric chewed his food.
He kept his movements steady.
Measured.
Another bite of bread.
A sip of water.
Calm.
Disciplined.
But behind the stillness, his thoughts were moving fast.
Aldric was somewhere below the Citadel now.
Most likely in the isolation chambers.
Ulric allowed himself the faintest hint of a smile.
There were only five cells.
All on the same level.
Finding him would not be difficult.
No.
The difficulty came after.
The initiation chamber.
He had only been there once in his life.
Ten years ago.
The memory rose unbidden.
Cold stone steps descending into the depths.
Ancient halls carved long before the Empire of Isendor had ever existed.
Twelve men stood with him.
Silent.
Tense.
Waiting.
Then the Light.
One by one, they had stepped forward—
And vanished.
No screams or struggle.
Just gone.
All of them.
Until only he remained.
Ulric’s jaw tightened slightly.
The Cleansing Light.
The place where he became what he was.
Where his soul had been opened.
Where he had almost died.
He took another bite of food.
And that lunatic wants to willingly step into it?
Madness.
And yet… Aldric’s soul had shown no ill intent.
That fact refused to settle.
It scraped at the edges of everything he believed.
How could that be?
A man bearing a demon brand—
Untainted.
Not corrupted.
It didn’t make sense.
It couldn’t.
And yet the Rite of Cendaris did not lie.
It couldn’t.
It revealed the soul.
Stripped it bare.
There was no hiding within it.
Ulric exhaled slowly through his nose.
The Rite itself was rare.
Sacred.
Performed only a handful of times on those chosen to become Inquisitors.
Before initiation.
Men selected carefully.
Men tested beyond breaking.
The Rite was never performed on the unworthy.
Or the corrupted.
There had never been a need.
A bitter taste crept into his mouth.
If the Rite had shown him truth…
Then Aldric’s truth was real.
And that was the problem.
Ulric’s jaw tightened.
There it was again.
Doubt.
Slipping through the cracks.
Doctrine, recited like a mantra his entire life, now crumbling.
It felt…
Empty.
As if the foundation beneath him had shifted.
As if he no longer understood how the world worked.
Something was wrong.
And it did not help that Valerius had been involved.
And now—
Tiberius.
The Magistrate.
They knew about the orders.
A slow, cold realization settled in.
How many more were involved?
How many had been keeping me in the dark of what really is happening?
Ulric’s jaw tightened.
He took another bite.