The Vampire & Her Witch

Once she understood what Percivus wanted, Eleanor’s decisions became very simple. He was looking for names and he didn’t care whether the people Eleanor named were part of any grand conspiracy against the Lothian Marquis or not.

In one world, perhaps in the world Percivus lived in, he was offering her an opportunity. She could betray the confidence of people who had confessed their wrongs to her, or rattle off a list of names of people who were normally beyond the reach of justice. Percivus would accuse them of taking part in the plot against Marquis Bors and the wicked people who Eleanor named would finally be punished for their crimes.

Perhaps to an Inquisitor who often found truly wicked men to be beyond his reach when they were shielded by wealth and titles, this would be an appealing offer. After all, without the backing of the Marquis, men like the barons of the march or their families were all but untouchable.

Many men like Percivus would grab hold of the opportunity he offered to take advantage of the delusional Marquis and strike back at wicked men in this brief moment of time when he was still healthy enough to cling to his throne and his madness wasn’t yet well known.

But to take such an opportunity, Eleanor would also have to confess to crimes she didn’t commit. Worse, she would have to betray Lady Jocelynn, becoming the latest in a line of innocent people who implicated her as a participant in the crimes they’d been forced to confess to. And in the end, even if Jocelynn stood strong and never admitted to things she hadn’t done, she would still be judged guilty in the eyes of the people, and her head would roll for it.

”I’m sorry, Brother Percivus,” Eleanor had told him at the end of their first ’conversation’ in the dungeon. ”I know of no conspiracy against the Marquis,” she said, loudly and clearly for the acolytes in the room to hear. ”I can give you no names because there is no plot. Lady Jocelynn cares deeply about her sister,” she said, speaking words that she knew were true, even after Jocelynn had wronged her sister in the worst way possible.

”Since Lady Ashlynn cannot be here to care for her father in law,” Eleanor said, holding to the truth even though there were holes in that truth wide enough to sail a ship through. ”Lady Jocelynn stepped up on her sister’s behalf. Lord Bors is sick and suffers from delusions,” she insisted.

”If you want to obtain a list of names, perhaps Lord Bors can supply one. I’m sure there are many people he has doubts about,” she suggested. ”Perhaps you should ask those people the questions you’re asking me.”

It was a feeble defense, but at the moment, it was the only one she could think of. If she could keep Percivus busy chasing down whatever delusions sprung from the mind of the ailing Marquis, then perhaps he would be occupied long enough for Jocelynn’s other retainers to find a way to rescue them from this nightmare.

She glanced past Percivus to the two acolytes standing near the door, hoping to see some flicker of discomfort or doubt on their faces. Surely they could see that this was wrong. Surely they understood that an Inquisitor could not simply decide guilt and demand names without evidence or trial.

But the young men’s faces showed no sign of discomfort. Instead, they leaned forward slightly, watching the confrontation with an intensity that bordered on eagerness. Their eyes were bright, almost hungry, as they waited to see what their master would do next.

Eleanor’s heart sank. These weren’t reluctant witnesses to Percivus’s excesses. They were willing participants, perhaps even enthusiasts of his methods.

”I see that there is a misunderstanding,” Percivus said, his voice taking on a tone of patient instruction as if he were correcting a fundamental error in her thinking. He tore a piece of bread off the small roll and used it to wipe up the meat juices on his plate, chewing slowly before continuing.

”You seem to believe that the Inquisition of the Frontier operates the same way it does in the soft lands you come from, Lady Eleanor. In Blackwell County, perhaps, where the worst threat people face is a bad harvest or a merchant’s dishonesty, Inquisitors can afford to be... gentle. Methodical. Patient.”

He retrieved the knife he’d used to slice his roast beef and stood, advancing slowly toward the raven-haired woman.

”But here on the Frontier,” Percivus continued, ”we face true evil every day. Demons that tear children from their mothers’ arms. Horned beasts that impale good men on their spears. Creatures that corrupt the faithful and turn them against the Holy Lord of Light himself.”

Reaching out with his left hand, he grabbed a fistful of her golden robes, hauling her to her feet with surprising strength for a man of the cloth who wasn’t a Templar.

”These young men behind me?” Percivus gestured with the knife toward the acolytes. ”They weren’t recruited from comfortable halls of worship in the duchies you called home, where most people haven’t even seen a demon in generations.”

”They came to me from families who have suffered at the hands of the demons that infest these lands. Brother Niklas over there is from Aleese Barony where the Horse Lord sends his horde to raid at least one village every year. His mother covered his body while the demons filled her back with arrows as though she was a target for sport,” he said in tones that held genuine admiration for the fallen woman.

”She might just have been a shepherd’s wife, but she earned her way to the Heavenly Shores with her sacrifice,” he said solemnly. ”He’s followed me ever since I purged his village of Sir Nurin, the heretic responsible for allowing the demons to raid their herds and flocks with impunity.”

”Brother Samlet is much the same,” Percivus added. ”It’s a miracle that his father survived being mauled by a Claw Demon during the War of Inches, but Brother Samlet has seen first hand how much his father suffers to this day for his wounds. So while you may think that you can sow division among my men, your attempt just makes it more obvious to them how corrupt and twisted you’ve become.”

The acolytes’ expressions hardened at the mention of their losses, their eyes fixing on Eleanor with something approaching hatred as the Inquisitor pointed out that she’d been trying to manipulate them into turning against their benefactor and mentor.

”They know what evil looks like,” Percivus said, his voice dropping to something quieter but no less intense. ”They’ve felt its touch on their lives. They’ve buried the people they loved because of wickedness left unchecked. And they’ve followed me because they understand that sometimes, the only way to root out evil is to be ruthless. To be uncompromising. To extract the truth by any means necessary before more innocent people die.”

He turned his attention back to Eleanor, bringing the knife up to the laces that held her vestments closed.

”So you needn’t worry about my methods offending their delicate sensibilities,” he said. ”They’re quite eager to see justice done, even when that justice requires... uncomfortable measures.”

Eleanor felt the blood drain from her face as she looked again at the young acolytes. They weren’t horrified by what they were witnessing. They approved. They believed Percivus was right to treat her this way.

She had no allies here. No one who would restrain him. No one who would question his authority.

She was completely, utterly alone in this cell with a trio of fanatics... No, with a trio of madmen!