On the Trail

The haste with which de Montfort departed the Arskegg castle, leading about a hundred men, could not escape Kragavald’s attention. He had paid close attention to all people entering and leaving the castle. A few bribed stable boys kept him well informed about any visitors, yet none had reported any runners arriving the day when the knight commander finally mobilized his troops.

Keeping in mind that news also arrived via carrier pigeons, he had also planted some eyes in the dovecote. He was assured no news of Einhart had been brought by air for an entire week. By all accounts, no new information could have stirred the castle up that much… at least, no information arriving via conventional channels.

What was equally interesting was the message sent from the Sisterhood in Gath. While Kragavald wasn’t privy to its exact content, he knew from the knight commander’s cupbearer that the letter came as a pleasant surprise to him, and was subsequently burned in the fireplace. It prompted no immediate response, therefore Kragavald deduced it couldn’t have been a report on Einhart.

What his intelligence network had proven was that there existed a link feeding de Montfort information outside of what would be reasonably available to him.

Could it be that he’s a part of it too? – Kragavald thought.

While the Brotherhood believed his presence in Arskegg to be purely motivated by the pursuit of Einhart, his real hunt was for a more elusive prey: a phantom lurking in the shadows, infiltrating the ranks of the Brotherhood.

He saw it first almost two decades prior, years before he donned the inquisitorial robes. It was during the great purge of all things and people magical, in the months following Einhart’s revolt. He was still a young and adventurous man, and a renowned slayer of werewolves, vampires and other menaces to a civilized society. Having driven his usual prey to near extinction in Rainhoven, he turned his attention to the new fair game: spellcasters.

Many fled the realm, but others had no means or will to escape. Those were either conscripted by Einhart, or picked up one by one by the Brotherhood, the Inquisition or independent hunters like him.

The first months bore witness to the Nightless Autumn, the time when stakes burned in nearly every town, lighting them up for entire nights. The chaos of the revolt consumed even the lives of those who had no connection to magic, but were simply wrongfully accused of witchcraft by the spiteful neighbors, so wide was the net of persecution cast.

Kragavald, however, was not interested in provincial lynches. He was an ambitious hunter, always stalking the largest prey he could find. Thus he had brought to justice eight former Royal Battlemages, dismantling the officer corps of the early revolt. While they were grizzled veterans themselves, Kragavald’s hunting expertise had no match in the entire realm.

He would poison their water supply with powdered catharite. Undetectable for an unsuspecting mage, the catharite would drain their magical powers until they were helpless when the hunter finally struck. Some fell victim to magical artifacts rigged by him to backfire when used. His greatest subterfuge, however, was the assassination of Aldvulf of Zydra, Einhart’s right-hand man known as the Stonemason of the North, a mage renowned for his lithomantic skills.

Based on his deep understanding of magic, despite not being an arcane practitioner himself, Kragavald had forged an ancient grimoire containing a spell granting its user a near indestructible stone shell for protection. When Aldvulf found the grimoire, he was keen to test the spell in combat. What he failed to realize was that the spell was designed so that the stone shell would gradually fuse with the user’s body and expand until it was all turned to rock. He was still standing somewhere in the Royal Hunting Grounds on the western border of Rataï province, the expression of horrific anguish forever preserved in cold stone.

Impressed by his effectiveness, the Holy See commissioned Kragavald directly for a special task: he was to track down and recover any magic-sensitive children left in the realm. The strange part for him was that he was explicitly told to bring them in alive. He was wise enough not to question further the mysterious man wearing the catharite gorget of the Brotherhood, who had contacted him.

While kidnapping children, even those old enough to offer a proper resistance, was far beneath his skills, he found it curious that the Holy See would authorize such an operation instead of simply wiping the spellcasters out. He decided to play along in hopes of uncovering the truth behind that order.

Kragavald failed to find any answers to his questions, but what he did find out fueled his curiosity even further. The kidnapping operations seemed to have been kept secret, even among the Brothers of Righteousness. It seemed that it was all orchestrated by a coterie of individuals within the Brotherhood who were collecting magic-sensitive persons and magical items of interest, searched and recovered by themselves or salvaged from the ashes of persecution. It was the purpose behind this operation that became Kragavald’s obsession over the years and drove him to join the Holy Inquisition hoping to unravel the mystery.

Lost in his thoughts, Kragavald didn’t notice when de Montfort slowed down his splendid white horse and was now riding alongside him. He wore his best plate armor, encrusted with catharite, and a gallant cloak with the charge of the order: a silver sword in a raised hand, reflecting golden rays of the sun, on a field of black.

“I’m delighted you have decided to join our expedition, brother Kragavald.”

“The honor is mine, Your Excellency. Though I regret to inform you that I’ll be continuing south after we reach Coine, and will not partake in your manhunt.”

“Why is that?” – the knight commander asked with disappointment.

“I have no stomach for the rampage that will doubtless ensue when you engage Einhart.”

“You, worthy brother? I can hardly believe you would shy away from the bloodshed after the exploits of your youth.”

“Oh, I’m no longer as courageous as I used to be. Old age has softened me.”

“Is that so? Since you’re heading south, would you be willing to grant a favor to your humble brother in Faith?”

There was something sinister in de Montfort’s smile. Kragavald could not decipher the expression on his face, but agreed to listen to his request.

***

“Well, I’ll be damned” – Sonia exclaimed. – “He did lead us to a track.”

Her amulet was shivering and she found some horseshoe prints on the ground. There were three sets of tracks in total, one of them a little deeper than the rest, suggesting that one of the horses carried two people.

“I think this is it.”

They had wandered several miles and had long lost sight of the burnt village. Reiny led them into the ancient part of the forest, north of the river fork, deep into the mountainous basin of Myrna. The trees here were different. Birches gave way to alders and oaks. The undergrowth became thinner, but the canopy above almost completely obscured the sky, keeping the forest floor below in a permanent twilight. To maintain contact with the battlesisters, Reiny descended below the treetops and instead of soaring high in the sky, hopped from branch to branch.

As they followed the trail further into the forest, strange carved stones began appearing scattered across the area.

“What are these?” – Katria asked.

“Druidic warding stones” – Liesë explained. – “At least a thousand years old. Don’t worry, it seems their power has long since waned.”

“We must be getting closer to one of the ancient settlements” – Satine said.

Suddenly Sonia stopped and pointed at the hill in front of them.

“We are not alone here. Look!”

They saw a faint silhouette in the distance. At first they thought it must be one of Einhart’s guerillas, but soon they realized the man bore the sigil of the Brotherhood.

Satine sighed with resignation.

“We’re too late.”