The Vampire & Her Witch

”Is there a problem here?”

The deep, masculine voice cut through the growing tension like a knife, calm and authoritative in a way that demanded both attention and obedience. As soon as they heard it, all three men turned to see a figure emerging from the carriage at the rear of the convoy.

Inquisitor Diarmuid stepped down onto the frozen road, his crimson and gold robes immediately marking him as a member of the Church’s most feared order. The crimson cape around his shoulders billowed in the faint winter breeze, giving him an intimidating, larger-than-life appearance, and the golden embroidery of suns and flames felt almost alive as they caught the cold, winter sunlight.

His coal-black hair was pulled back in a tight braid, emphasizing the sharp angles of his hawk-nosed face, and when his dark eyes swept over the scene, he gave the guards the impression that he’d seen through their hearts.

Both guards immediately straightened, their hands moving away from their weapons. The younger one actually took a step back, his face going pale.

”Your Worship,” the older guard stammered, dropping into a hasty bow. ”We, uh, we were just...”

”You were just doing your duty,” Diarmuid said in a tone that was neither warm nor cold. ”There’s nothing wrong with being cautious when you’re responsible for protecting the village. But I’d caution you,” he said, giving the younger of the guards a pointed look. ”It’s fine to seek the truth, but if you ignore the evidence of your eyes in order to cling to fear, or worse, hatred, you may find yourself turning on good men who are your neighbors.”

”Y-yes, your Worship,” the young man stammered, uncertain how he should respond to the rebuke. Abbot Recared had just preached that they must be ever vigilant against the demons, especially in times where people were going missing in the wilderness and demons unseen since the War of Undying Demons were stalking the night...

The Abbot had clearly said that they should question everything, lest evil worm its way into their hearts, and that they should turn to the Church for guidance if they saw or heard anything strange, even if it was about their own friends and neighbors. And yet, here was an Inquisitor, one who had come from the Holy City no less, saying exactly the opposite!

Diarmuid walked forward with measured steps, his robes swishing softly against the frozen ground. When he reached Carwyn’s horse, he looked up at the knight with an expression that gave nothing away.

”Sir Carwyn Belvin,” Diarmuid said, smiling slightly as if he were greeting an old friend, even though the two had only just met the night before.

”Inquisitor,” Carwyn replied with a respectful nod. ”I’m grateful for your intervention,” he said, suppressing the urge to swallow nervously as he met the imposing Inquisitor’s sharp gaze. He knew that Diarmuid had joined with Lady Ashlynn, and that he was only here to play a role... But that didn’t stop him from feeling like he was ten years old and caught with his hand in the cookie jar when Diarmuid swept those hard, dark eyes over him.

”I trust you can verify this man’s identity, Your Worship?” the older guard asked, wringing his hands together nervously and silently cursing his younger companion for provoking an Inquisitor of all people to need to pay attention to them.

”I can,” Diarmuid said finally. ”I encountered Sir Carwyn several days ago, and he’s been kind enough to escort me back to civilization. I can assure you, this man is no witch,” he said truthfully, with a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. ”He’s struggled against things that would break many men, and he’s returned to his family safe and sound. I think that’s proof enough that he’s a good man, don’t you?”

”Let us pass,” Diarmuid added, turning his gaze to the pair of soldiers. ”If anyone questions you for it, you can send them to me with their questions,” he said firmly.

Both men swallowed hard at the feeling of pressure that radiated from the Inquisitor as he looked at them. No one who lived in Maeril was unfamiliar with the Inquisition; there were at least fifty acolytes in the abbey, and more than a dozen Inquisitors, but Diarmuid was something else.

His arrival in Lothian March had been the talk of the village for a number of days, both after his first visit and after he assisted Lord Owain in his hunt for the witch who had killed men in the Summer Villa. A normal inquisitor was fearsome enough, but this man... This man from the Holy City really did make the local inquisitors look like domesticated guard dogs standing next to a full-blooded wolf!

”If you vouch for him, your Worship, then that’s good enough for us,” the older guard said quickly, eager to bring this cursed encounter to a close. ”The Inquisition’s word carries more weight than any signet ring.”

”Indeed it does,” Diarmuid said quietly. ”But remember my words. You should have trust in the things you witness. If the only source of truth you can put your faith in comes from the Inquisition, then how will you know if an Inquisitor has lied to you?” Diarmuid asked with a gentle smile and a twinkle in his eye that looked odd on his severe features.

”Even Inquisitors can fall victim to schemes and the vices of the heart,” Diarmuid cautioned. ”I trust you understand my point?”

”Y-yes, your Worship,” the veteran guard said, sweating in the cold and hoping that he wouldn’t say anything wrong that might provoke the Inquisitor to question him. ”We, we take your lesson well.”

The younger guard was already pulling open the gates, his earlier suspicion completely evaporated in the face of Diarmuid’s authority. He didn’t know what to make of the Inquisitor’s advice, but in the end, he was certain it didn’t matter too much. So long as he did as he was told and struggled to do the best he could, he was certain that things would work out.

And perhaps, in his next life, he wouldn’t be turned away from the Inquisition for falling short of their standards. After all, the priests in the temple said that each life was a chance to struggle to improve oneself. Perhaps in a previous life, the intimidating Inquisitor had even been a small, insignificant person like him. Just thinking of that was enough to warm his heart against the bitter cold and to put a spring in his step as he jogged back to the knight and the Inquisitor.

”You can proceed, Sir Carwyn,” the young man said brightly. ”And welcome back to Maeril. I hope you find what you need for your lady wife,” he added, hoping to make up for his earlier suspicions.

”Thank you,” Carwyn said, inclining his head to both guards. With a quiet click of his tongue, he urged his horse forward and waved for the convoy behind him to begin to move through the gates.

Diarmuid stood watching for a moment, then turned back toward the carriage. Before he’d made it more than a few steps, however, the older guard called out after him, holding a notebook in his hands that was filled with the names of people who had passed through the gates previously.

”Will you be staying at the abbey, Your Worship?” the veteran soldier asked. ”Even though the Abbot has already left for Lothian City, I’m sure the brothers would be honored to host you. Or, if you aren’t, can you tell me where you’ll be staying? I, I just need to mark it down,” he said helplessly, holding up the ledger to demonstrate his powerlessness.

Diarmuid paused, and for just a moment his hand tightened on the fabric of his robes. The heavy crimson and gold that had once felt like a second skin, that had marked him as one of the Church’s chosen investigators, now felt like a costume. A disguise worn for deception rather than a symbol of truth.

”Perhaps later,” he said, not turning around. ”I have business to attend to first. For now, we’re headed to the Broken Blade Tavern to meet with some friends,” he said simply. Then, without looking back at the guards, he climbed back into the carriage and pulled the door closed behind him, shutting out the cold and the guards and the looming presence of the abbey that dominated Maeril’s southern skyline.