Outside Ones

There used to be sharpness in the inquisitor’s office. A level of efficiency expected of the sacred order’s sword. Command the servants of the sun to get something, they get it. Tell them to go somewhere, they go. A problem arises, they… make it disappear.

The amount of incompetence Jacent had to endure in the last few days alone was beyond the pale. The king dies, chaos within the palace, the great houses scrambling like headless chickens. He supposed one beget another, but a merchant republic delegate entered Tristen despite the closed border?

And he was supposed to deal with that as well?

Jacent massaged the knots across his forehead and ran a hand over the length of his hair. If this kept up, there would be more greys in his naturally dark locks.

Seriously. The magistrates expected too much of a high inquisitor. Useless as his subordinates were, Jacent had bigger things to pursue. Important things. A world to save.

What happened to the king was a shame. Truly. But if they were to survive this apocalypse, Vastille must move on. If only he could tell the great houses to simply roll a dice and see who becomes regent to the prince. Didn’t matter which one. So long as the new king did what they told him, they’d all be whispering in his ears anyway.

Jacent sipped his wine, then saw another report on his desk marked with extreme urgency. 

A report from… Serenti Prison?

“Now what?” he muttered out loud.

Before he could open it, a thick haze begun to fill his candle-lit office. He looked back and saw fog pouring in like water from an open window overlooking Esmerand. The fog slowly took a human-shaped form held only by a white mask over its face. It smiled with slits for eyes that glowed silver.

Finally.

If there was one thing Jacent and the Ring of Wolves could rely on, it was old magic. Not the one given by giants, but true Vastillian magic. It might not have the same extravagance of summoning the elements, but it was effective.

The spirit leaned close to him, cold as ice. “Your enemies are moving,” it said, as if whispering in the wind. “Your allies dealt their hand.”

“Which enemies?” he asked.

“Outside ones.”

“And the Ring dealt with them, eh?” Jacent paused, looked at his wine glass, then refilled it. He wondered if they sent the royal guard to do their bidding. “It’s good, but we’re running out of time. Ilara is slow, but I have faith she’ll prevail. We're gambling that her codex might work, but I'm optimistic. I’m more worried whoever killed the previous hero will strike again.”

Jacent took a sip as the spirit cackled.

“What is it? Is there more?”

“The Vastillian heiress. She’s… moving.”

“Is she now…” Jacent considered asking the spirit to follow the woman, but with enemies around the city, he needed his eyes and ears. “It’s probably nothing. She’s probably celebrating the fact her brother ascended the throne. Not that they’d let someone as unpredictable as her do it.”

Jacent was going to refill his glass for a third time when he remembered the urgent report on his table.

“Now what the hell is this about…”

*

Two knights of the royal guard stood at the front door of Baron Narden’s house, speaking with Cinza. Kyr sat at a darkened corner of the living room, watching. Outside the manor, he sensed more people moving, disrupting the flow of mana around them.

Kyr’s old restraints never removed his ability to sense magic, but it was very limited. He often thought it dampened his sensitivity to be like most people, but now that the restraints were gone, his senses were… too much. Like it was triple than what it used to be. Was it the long absence that made it this way? Or something else?

His horn felt funny whenever he focused on sensing mana. Like… it wanted to do something.

But this was bad.

“They’re surrounding the house,” Kyr whispered to Leatrix and Roy who were sitting closer to the lamp.

“Do you know who they are?” Roy asked, licking his lips nervously.

“Probably more knights,” he said. “Their movements are precise and deliberate.”

Roy almost immediately flared his magic, but Kyr was quick to shoot him a glare. They don’t know what this was about. Not yet.

“Foreign insurgents?” Cinza yelled in surprise, as if making sure his voice carried inside the house. “No, no, no. We’re humble natives of Vastille! Loyal, I might add. Esmerandi, even.”

“…received reports…”

“…suspicious… this house…”

People probably tipped the knights about their arrival earlier in the day. But what was this about foreigners?

“Nothing of the sort, good sir,” Cinza said. “Actually, might I call the lady inquisitor I serve? I believe she’s still awake despite the late hour. You know how busy inquisitors get. Always working…”

Leatrix fixed her unbound hair and straightened her hat, poised to take her turn.

Cinza walked back towards them with a grim expression. 

“I recognized one of the knights lurking in the back,” the butler said. “Disk head with a big scar across his chin. These are attack dogs who’s been cracking down on rioters in the city. They’d beat you if you so much as sneeze at their direction. I don’t think they care much about your status, milady. They’ll search the house.”

“By disk head you mean those knights with the sun behind their helmets?” Kyr asked. He remembered seeing a few of them before becoming Aven’s guardian.

“That’s them,” Cinza confirmed. “Pretentious bastards like to think they're above the sacred order.”

“That's one way to put it,” Leatrix said as she stood up. “They primarily follow the path of shadows.”

The path.

If Kyr remembered it right, the sacred order was divided into two groups: the clergy who preached the doctrines and healed the sick, and the inquisitors who upheld the law. The ‘path of shadows’ was a subdivision of the first whose monks focused on martial prowess, often meditating in the mountains. At least that was the stereotype. They were said to be the order’s military before the inquisitor’s office was established by the Vastillian government decades ago. Thence, their influence waned.

“They gained more prominence when the sky first shattered,” Cinza added.

That made sense why Kyr barely knew them. And fear was a good enough reason for people to look at old traditions. But what would they think if they saw his horn?

Kyr adjusted the sorcerer hat Roy fashioned for him. It did not look convincing.

When Leatrix reached the door, she—

A sudden explosion thundered outside the manor, rattling the building.

What the hell was that?

“Over there!” one of the knights shouted from outside.

The people surrounding the manor halted whatever it was they were doing and bolted. North.

“That must be the insurgents they were looking for,” Cinza said. “Dammit. What if Karlan and the rest were mistaken for them?”

Leatrix did mention other nations were getting nervous about the countdown.

“Is it usually this bad?” Kyr asked.

“No, but... yes,” Cinza replied with a grimace. “It's hard to tell who's causing what sometimes, and—”

One of the knights, the one with the scar across his chin, ignored the commotion and entered the manor without permission. He immediately came face-to-face with Leatrix and recognition dawned across his features.

“I know you…” the knight said. His voice was deep, like a lion waiting to pounce. “You’re that inquisitor who made a fool of herself in front of the magistrates.”

Leatrix moved as if to react, but the knight’s eyes already searched the room… and settled on Kyr.