Chapter 17 - A Giant Problem

The sun was beginning to dip lower in the late-afternoon sky, turning the underbellies of the wispy blanket of clouds a brilliant, flame-kissed tangerine. Malfus chuckled to himself as he realized it was only this time yesterday that he and the Inquisitor were first ambushed by gnolls and forced to flee into this forsaken fort for sanctuary here. Now, in a bizarre twist of fate, he was helping to oversee the fort’s defenses, and free… after more than a month of being a prisoner. He even had a small army of undead at his command to boot. The only downside to all of this, of course, was the looming battle where there was a good chance his newfound freedom would be short lived before he’d be joining the ranks of the dead himself. Luck is as capricious a mistress as they come. Guess that means I’ll just have to fight for my freedom.

Malfus was starting to notice more soldiers showing up. Judging by the looks on their faces, several of them were seeing the undead for the first time. All the soldiers were already dressed for battle, several with chain shirts, many with no more than gambesons and helms. Soldiers with wounds too great to fight in the thick of close combat held crossbows. Some of the wounded had bandages on their heads or over one eye, others missing a lower extremity and needing aid from others to move. Still, they held crossbows, ready to do their part, wounded or not.

Even though there was still no sign of the gnolls, the atmosphere had changed. There was an air of seriousness and inevitability that creating an invisible tension pulling at everyone. Malfus was sure the undead weren’t helping anyone’s nerves either. Seeing your old companions fighting again as the undead was one thing. Knowing it would happen to you too if you fell in combat too, was a different matter entirely.

The soldiers were much more serious now. Looking grim, drawn, tired, alert. Now that the work on the defenses was mostly taken care of, the soldiers were busy fussily checking and tightening the buckles of their armor, sharpening weapons with whetstones, filling quivers with bolts, or checking crossbow strings. A few talked or whispered amongst themselves, but most of them were as talkative as the undead. Malfus felt a growing pit of dread gnawing at his stomach as well. He did his best to ignore that one for now and focused on the pit in front of him.

Malfus watched as two of the zombies near the edge of the pit stood on either side of a long wooden stake, as thick as a tree, twisting it into the ground like a screw. Their dead face muscles were slackened so that their jaws hung limp, cheeks drooping from their expressionless faces like melted wax. They worked away, singularly focused on the task they were given, oblivious to the temperament of the living. They certainly don’t seem to be bothered by the impending battle. Guess being faced with death is a lot easier the second time.

The digging of the pit had been finished. Now it was deeper than a man standing at full height and evened out all the way around. The dirt had been piled around the edges of the hole to help hold the wooden stakes that were placed every few feet along the perimeter, angled to make it harder for any unlucky creature inside the pit to climb out. The wood had nails hammered into the ends to reward anyone who tried with mangled hands. There were also many shorter wooden stakes inserted into the sides and bottom of the pit.

The zombies had finished stacking the stones and rubble between the gaps in the wall. It was stacked only half as high as the walls themselves, sloped and rounded, climbable, but it was better than leaving the gap completely open. Piles of small, jagged stones that were too small to be used in the barricade were placed in piles around the pit. Ammunition for later to use on the hapless gnolls that would hopefully be stuck down there.

Malfus turned back to the pile of gnolls. Only a single corpse remained now, not for any other reason than it was probably the first gnolls to be added to the pile. Its left arm had been hacked off above the elbow, and it was completely covered in bits of blood and gore from being at the bottom of the pile. Malfus held out the rod, closing his eyes as he drained some of the excess blood from the gnoll. His heart thumped in his chest and his pulse quickened, but the feeling was a far cry from what it was like the first time. The gnoll blood also left a sour, coppery taste in the back of his mouth that wasn’t particularly pleasant. Malfus still shivered as a surge of energy flowed through him. Then he began imbuing the corpse with the energies to grant it undeath. Last one.

After he animated the last gnoll corpse, it started to get up, but Malfus waved his hand, having it lie back down. Malfus closed his eyes and focused on the strands in the back of his mind connecting him to the other gnoll zombies. He willed them to come to him, leaving the human zombies to finish the work installing the last of the spikes in the pit by themselves.

Even though the soldiers all still kept their distance, Malfus noticed many of them look on in horror, fear, and anger at the gnolls as they walked towards him. A few soldiers even drew their weapons as they watched on uneasily.

There were thirty of them in total. They moved to stand in front of him, forming in rank and file as if they were in a military formation awaiting an inspection. Malfus walked in front of them, hands clasped behind his back. They towered over him, each one a head or more taller than Malfus, and twice as broad at the shoulders as the slender necromancer. They stared past him with eerily vacant expressions, slack jaws showing bared canine teeth. Seeing them all at once arranged in front of him made Malfus feel powerful. More than he’d ever raised before. An entire army, ready to do his bidding. What I could have done to that Inquisitor with all of these undead at my command. Let’s see him try to imprison me then.

Once Malfus got to the end of the line, he counted back six from the end, then willed them to go crawl into the finished pit and lie down. Once they did, Malfus turned to the other two dozen gnolls and waved his hand. They all collapsed where they stood, on the ground in a line as if the undeath had faded from them.

Malfus looked over at the soldiers and whistled. The other soldiers ignored or scowled at Malfus, a few made some choice rude hand gestures. However, Morten looked up from the crowd and then began walking over.

Morten paused as he got to the line of gnoll corpses and looked down at them with a look of curiosity tempered with fear as he walked the rest of the way to Malfus.

“Alright, just one more coat of lantern oil and then they’re ready to go.” Malfus said.

“Okay. I’ll go let Kaye and the others know to get ready.” Morten looked over at a nearby building. “I found some lantern oil already. I’ll need to go get someone to help me carry it over.”

Malfus smiled. “No need. I can help with that.” Malfus beckoned to the two human zombies that had been putting the stakes in the ground. “Just lead on and point to the barrel. They’ll take care of the rest.”

Morten looked nervously at the two zombies as they began walking up next to him. Morten wrung his hands together. “Do I need to say anything or…”

“No. Just point. Like this.” Malfus pointed at Morten’s chest. The two zombies looked over at Morten as he did.

Morten swallowed. “A-alright.” Then he began quickly walking toward the building, trying to ignore the zombies following behind him. Malfus smiled as he watched them walk away.

It wasn’t long before Morten returned, the two zombies lumbering behind him, carrying a wooden barrel between them. Once they got to the line of gnolls, Malfus removed the stopper from the top of the barrel, then waved the two zombies along. They walked behind the line of gnoll corpses, carrying the barrel at an angle so that oil sloshed out of a hole in the top of the lid, pouring on each prostrate gnoll as they walked past them.

Morten watched the zombies go about their task for a moment before leaving once more to go fetch Kaye. Most of the soldiers had still refused to come near the undead, or Malfus, except for Morten, Kaye, and a dozen or so others. They returned a few moments later, staring down at the oily gnolls with bewildered looks.

“Alright.” Malfus motioned toward the gnolls. “They’re ready.”

“Can’t they just walk out on their own?” Kaye looked down at the motionless corpses.

“No.” Malfus shook his head emphatically. “There’s still no sign of the gnolls yet, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t watching from afar.” Malfus looked out distantly toward the wall. “They can’t see them moving or else none of this will work. They have to think they’re dead.”

“Alright lads. You heard him. Let’s get started moving these slippery bastards.” Kaye shouted.

******

Malfus soared high above the fort, seeing through the eyes of the crow. Below him, the pit looked like an open gaping maw in the ground, surrounded by long wooden teeth. He watched the soldiers as they placed the limp gnoll corpses in the open field in front of the ruined gates. It took two soldiers to carry each one. The heavy, ungainly bodies made all the more difficult to carry after being doused in lantern oil. The soldiers spread the bodies out, dumping them unceremoniously in the knee-high grass, going out about halfway between the walls and the trees.

Malfus smiled. Never had the undead play dead before.

Malfus flew the crow back to the edge of the tree line, flying low and looking for any signs of the gnolls. Still nothing. Malfus noticed that he was able to fly even further with the crow before starting to feel the connection fade. He wasn’t sure if it was because his bond with the rod was getting stronger or if it’s because it’s getting closer to night; the time of day when the veil separating the plane of death from the material plane is naturally weakened.

Malfus did one more pass over the trees. After he was satisfied there were still no signs of the gnolls, he relinquished his mental grasp on the crow, letting it resume its endless circuits above the fort’s perimeter.

Malfus leaned against the stone wall and closed his eyes, focusing on the growing web in the back of his mind connecting him to all the undead, growing more intricate with each strand he added. At the end of each tiny strand was one of the corpses he’d animated. He could feel them all, was aware of what they were aware of. The two dozen human zombies, each holding a weapon of some kind, spears, axes, a few with just shovels, since the better weapons were reserved for the living. Some stood completely still, some shuddered with minor muscle convulsions as the magic energies that animated them coursed through them. They stood by the walls of the gate near the pit. Waiting, watching. Malfus could feel his connections to each of the thirty gnolls. The handful at the bottom of the pit, lying motionless. The two dozen scattered around the fields in front of the gates. Lying on the ground, waiting, and watching. Even though they lay motionless in the dirt. He could feel the crow flying high above them all. Flying unceasingly, without fatigue, without the need to stop and rest. Malfus felt the connection to each and every one of the undead.

He’d never been able to channel so much energy from the plane of death before. Never been able to concentrate enough to hold command over so many undead at once before.

All arcane magic poses inherent dangers to the spellcaster using it. Necromancy poses greater risks to the caster than any other type of magic as the wizard is quite literally gathering and channeling through his body the same energies that course through the dying. Many of the simpler and better-known necromantic spells have magical wards and barriers put in place to protect the caster from these energies, however, further progress into understanding necromancy as a whole must proceed without these barriers. Malfus already knew that this expanded connection to the plane of death had grown beyond the power of the life-protecting barriers he had put in place in his body. The life-sucking winds of negative energy passing through him were slowly eating away at his own lifeforce, but still… now, thanks to the rod, he could channel even more energy than he ever could before, could control more dead than he ever had before, and he knew he could raise even more. He had already raised all the corpses made available to him and now that he’d run out… he wanted more…

He gripped the rod tighter. It was more than just being able to control so many undead at once now. His connection to the plane of death had changed, is changing. In the back of his mind he could feel the row of dead soldiers that had been buried in the ground last night when they first got here. He could feel them, not far from where he was standing. Could somehow see them with his mind, even buried underneath the earth in their shallow graves.

If a living soul burns like a candle while they are alive, once their life is snuffed out, they leave behind a smudge of dwindling smoke that reaches out to the plane of death. Negative energy. Entropy. Energies that are interwoven in the fabric of the universe itself, dancing with the energies of life. Residing in every living thing, building up in their bodies in ebbs and flows with the energies of life. Occasionally manifesting physically in the form of a disease or malady, when too much builds up.

The more he focused on individual bodies, the stronger he could feel a cold, pale echo emanating from them. A vessel that once carried a life, but the light inside was dark now. He could peel back the layers and see the last sights they saw before dying. Digging further to the next layer, and he experienced more of their memories before death. Like plucking the petals away from a flower. He could get a sense of who each one of them was. Much deeper than just the visual fragments of memories, more like a scent, a feeling, a knowing.

Like going into the house of someone who wasn’t home. All their belongings and possessions scattered around, not expecting visitors. You can get a sense of who that person is or was, just by walking through their home. It was the same for Malfus, as his awareness passed over and through the buried bodies. The earth is filled with the dead. Too few here though, I’ll need more than this paltry sum.

He let his mind drifted further. Beyond the row of nearby corpses, he could feel the charred remains of a body underneath the burnt and collapsed stables. Inside the infirmary, he could feel negative energy bubbling and oozing through from the plane of death like a festering wound, simmering like a soup. He felt a pulse of energy, where a soldier who had been grasping on for dear life had finally lost the will to hold on. So many there, so close to death, and of no use to anyone just lying around and waiting to die… But I’m sure it will be highly frowned upon if I quicken their journey for a few more undead.

His mind drifted even further still. He could feel the corpses crushed under the bricks and rubble of the tower at the very edge of the fort, where he was first kept prisoner. Beyond that, he could feel the broken giant lying on the bottom of the canyon. Then he was filled with a knowing, a certainty. He understood what he had to do.

“Is there any sign of them yet?” A voice called out from behind Malfus, snapping him from his trance.

Malfus gripped the rod so tightly his knuckles started to turn white. This drunk oaf again. “No. I said that I would tell you as soon as I saw anything. There hasn’t been any sign yet.”

Commander Peshka nodded his head, then looked over at the pit next to Malfus, raising an eyebrow as he saw the gnolls lying at the bottom. “And the defenses? The pit and the barricade are finished?”

“Yes.” Malfus snapped. “Can you not see it for yourself?” And no thanks to your soldiers… only a handful of them would help or get anywhere near the undead.

“Are you sure it will work? What happens when they come back again with that damn giant?”

“I don’t suppose you have any more ballistas? Ballistae? Whatever it is.”

“Fresh out of stock, I’m afraid.”

“I guess I have to solve every single one of our problems myself.” Malfus muttered under his breath.

“Are you alright? You don’t look so good. A bit paler than usual and sweating like me after a hangover. Have you rested at all since the chains have come off?”

“Rested? I’ve been too busy raising an undead army. We’ll have time to rest in the grave if the gnolls win. Anyway, don’t worry, I’m fine.” Never been better. Malfus started to turn and walk away.

“Where are you going?” Peshka called after him.

“I’ve one more thing to take care of.”

Malfus wasn’t sure why he was so snappy and on edge. It was probably just the pre-combat stress. A little more blood would help ease his nerves, and he knew just where he could find some. Where he could find a lot of it, and how he could solve this… giant problem.

*********

The Inquisitor put both of his leather gloves back on. Then he carefully lifted up the glass vial, holding it up to the light. He unscrewed the gargoyle head stopper, then slowly and carefully lifted the glass container out of the metal gibbet cage.

He covered his face with his hat as he removed the glass stopper from the vial with one hand, then extended his arm out all the way. He held his arm over the pin of the door’s bottom hinge, then slowly and painstakingly turned the vial sideways until a single drop teetered on the edge, until it careened over the side, falling into the abyss. It landed right on top of the hinge, then started hissing like an angry viper. Acrid yellow smoke poured into the air. Inquisitor Deza poured another drop on the hinge, then worked upward, moving quickly and carefully. He poured another two drops onto the middle hinge, then the top one. Finally, he carefully angled the vial so the top fit into the narrow keyhole and poured the rest of the contents inside.

Smoke poured out from keyhole and the shape of the hole itself began to distort and melt as if it were made from wax instead of metal.

The Inquisitor heard a muffled voice coming from the other side of the door. He threw the empty glass vial into the dark room below and then ran to the bottom of the stairs as gracefully as a cat. He grabbed the coil of leather rope at the bottom step. He grasped the rope tightly in both hands and began counting down from ten as the acid finished its work.

******

Malfus wiped sweat from his brow with one hand, holding tightly onto the rod with the other as he climbed atop the rubble of the tower that had once imprisoned him. He stood there alone, this side of the camp had been deserted.

His newfound deathsense, at least that’s what he decided to call it for now, was still working. He could feel the corpses of Morten’s companions still in the rubble beneath his feet. Like tiny beacons of darkness, smudges of billowing inky smoke beneath the rocks.

Further below, he could sense a much larger beacon billowing smoldering on the cliffs below. Malfus looked down and saw it lying there. He froze when he first saw the huge corpse, a part of him expecting it to get back up suddenly and start climbing after him, even though he knew in his mind it was dead. It looked like it had been a great monument of some heroic warrior that had just been cast aside and thrown down the cliff. Its massive limbs bent at strange angles.

The cliff below was as sheer a drop as he remembered. There seemed to be no way down except by scaling the cliff, and the way back up was a winding road that would take him through the forest where the gnolls were most likely waiting.

Malfus paused at the edge of the cliff as he considered his options. He worried if he raised the giant now, he would be playing their hand early. The gnolls would easily see the giant and suspect their were other undead waiting. If he waited… there might not be another opportunity to try to raise it in the middle of the battle. Especially if there was another giant already in the fort bearing down on them. Not to mention probably freak out the soldiers. Although they seem to be handling their undead companions and undead gnolls fairly well so far. What is one little giant going to hurt? I will just have to come up with a way to hide it for now.

Malfus reached out to his connection to the plane of death, feeling the negative energy flow through him as he directed it to the other undead. Malfus sorted through and organized the other threads like a spider making room for a bigger web. Then he followed the beacon of black smoke and reached out to the giant below. He could feel it, could sense it below, could feel every part of it. A great empty void. A great vessel waiting to be filled. Waiting to do my bidding.

He began concentrating on his connection to the plane of death, drawing from the energy and focusing it. Then he reached out to the giant below, just as he had already done dozens of times over with the dead humans and gnolls. But there was nothing. No echo back, no response. Just the cold void.

Have I done something wrong? Forgotten a word? Mispronounced something? Malfus reached for his spellbook, flipping through the pages until he made it to the spell for animating the dead. He had done everything right, pronounced everything correctly. Was there a different spell for raising something so large? Am I just not strong enough?

He tried again. He could feel the strain pulling on his connection to the plane of death. It was just too much. There was no way he could do it. Not without sacrificing his connection to some of the other zombies he had raised. If the zombies required a single thread of energy, this giant required a rope. Without being able to pull more energy from the plane of death, raising it might require him to sever his connection to all the other undead. Or might require a sacrifice of some kind.

Maybe if I was closer… or perhaps with enough blood… Surely the giant was full of it. But how would he get down? And if it didn’t work, how would he get back up?

Malfus grasped the rod tighter in his hand. “Come on, time to wake up. I need your help.”

The rod ignored him. He could still feel his connection to it in the back of his mind, but it felt distant and quiet. He shook the rod angrily. “Hello!” The light inside seemed to bounce and flicker when he shook it, but made no other sign.

A floodgate of doubt opened up, carrying Malfus adrift down a stream of worry and insecurity. A familiar current, but one he hadn’t been down since he was back at the magic academy in Akkadia.

Memories of his failings and shortcomings from back at the academy replayed in his mind. He could hear Madame Magistrex Dis’elauxe’s shrill voice chiding him for not making the proper hand gestures to cast the most basic illusion magic. Saying he would never become an illusionist, that he would never learn magic at all. Never amount to anything.

It was true, he had not the talent for a single school of magic other than necromancy. And if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he was a necromancer of only middling skill, at best. Not like it’s very easy to find a mentor, much less even any legible tomes or scrolls to read from. But now he was realizing, without this rod he was nothing. Just a sniveling worm pretending at being a magician. And what was he without his necromancy? Nothing but a talentless toad. With no skills of any other kind and an aversion to manual labor. With no great physical traits or looks, he was no orator, no leader of men. Without his magic, he was nothing at all. A forgettable face with no remarkable talents of any kind. Something the arcanull chains had made him painfully aware of.

“Please.” He muttered, pitifully.

“What must I do to appease you? More blood? Is it some of my own you desire?” Malfus took out the scalpel, and held it over his wrists then hesitated and moved to a fingertip instead. He cut until blood welled up and let a drop fall on the ruby. It just beaded and rolled off the surface of it. There was no answer at all from the stone. The ruby still continued to glow with an unearthly light, but it felt distant, restive. Somewhere else.

His borrowed power from the rod was still on lease, but for now it was clear his credit had run out.

Just as Malfus was about to descend further into his depths of despair and doubt he, felt a pulling at the back of his mind, a tugging at one of the strands, as if something were caught in his web. Malfus followed the vibrating thread back to the crow. He looked through the crow’s dead, black eyes and saw some movement in the forest below. The gnolls. They were back. Dammit. Already? He had to warn them, had to warn Peshka, Goren, Morten, and the others. He would have to figure out this giant problem later. Malfus turned to head back toward the front gate, just as the alarm bell started ringing from overhead.

******

Finn stood propped up against the wall next to the wine cellar door, trying to keep his eyes open.

Earlier, he’d been relieved for some bacon and a short rest. The bacon was good, but he didn’t get a wink of sleep. Who can sleep at a time like this? Finn couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d gotten a full night’s rest.

Now it was back to guard duty. Guarding that creepy Inquisitor. He wondered why he had to. The Inquisitor hadn’t made a sound since Commander Peshka locked him up. First Sergeant Goren had probably clobbered him to death, the big man had hit him so hard. And with metal gauntlets, too. Finn wondered if he’d have to keep guarding him once the gnolls attacked. Neither First Sergeant Goren nor Commander Peshka were very clear on what to do once that happened.

Finn certainly didn’t mind, though. Anything was better than being out there in the front lines waiting for the gnolls to come. He’d use this guard detail as an excuse to stay in here and avoid fighting for as long as he could. Weird necromancer on their side now or not, he didn’t care. He didn’t want to fight a giant again. He never wanted to see anything bigger than a human. Nothing bigger than Big Duncan.

Finn shook his head as he remembered Big Duncan, the biggest man he’d ever seen, whimpering like a little baby after the giant hit him. He couldn’t stop thinking about Sergeant Donovan splattered against the wall. Nothing left but meat. Heimrich’s entire arm flicked off by the giant. Flicked. Like he had just been a toy, like one of his sister’s dolls. Knowing they killed the giant brought him little comfort since the memory came with the giant’s eye being impaled by the ballista bolt and the gurgling noise it made as it fell screaming from the tower. He didn’t want to admit it, but that memory was even more horrible than those of his companions dying.

Finn looked down and saw that his hand was shaking. He should have never signed up for this soldiering business. Surely, life in the slums of DeGaullis wasn’t so bad. Stealing some bread and conning some coppers was a lot easier than fighting monsters for a living, and with the exception of today’s bacon, the food and pay was about just as bad or worse.

Maybe he would just try to get a little bit of shuteye just to calm his nerves. The Inquisitor wasn’t going anywhere. He was locked up tight. And he hadn’t even made so much as a peep. First Sergeant Goren hit him so hard he might have even killed him. Surely, just a little bit of shuteye wouldn’t hurt anybody. Then at least he could stop thinking about his dead squad mates. It might even be his last chance to ever take a nap again if the gnolls really were coming tonight.

Finn closed his eyes and leaned against the door. But it was no good. The smeared meat of Donovan against the wall, Heimrich’s spurting arm, and the erupting eye-jelly from the giant awaited him there behind his closed eyelids. But if he had them open, he might have noticed the thin beam of amber light trickling in through the cracks in the door behind him. He might have had time to run, time to warn someone.

Finn jumped as a loud hissing sound came from the door right behind him. It sounded like a snake crawling into his ear. Finn whipped around. Yellowish smoke was pouring out of the keyhole and there was a strange acrid smell that wasn’t like anything Finn had ever smelled before. What was he supposed to do? Run and get help? Keep guarding the door? Neither First Sergeant Goren nor Commander Peshka were very clear on what to do if the Inquisitor tried to escape or if the door started smoking either. Finn slowly backed away as he considered his options, while absently reaching for his sword hilt.

Then the hissing stopped. Not immediately, but it slowed down to a faint sputtering sound, and the smoke stopped billowing from the keyhole.

Finn slowly began to draw his sword. His hand was shaking so badly he could barely get it out of the scabbard. Sword in one hand, Finn reached out to touch the door with the other. Before he could, there was a loud slam as the door was suddenly ripped inward away from him, crashing down the darkened stairs below, as if by magic.

Finn stood at the top of the stairs and looked down into the darkness, but he couldn’t see anything. Just inky black darkness below him. The metal hinges on the doorframe were dripping, steaming gray goop. What could even do that to metal?

“H-hello.” A voice called from Finn’s mouth that didn’t feel like his own. Why had he said that? Why wasn’t he already running? Why had he even drawn his sword? He could barely even hold it, his hands shook so badly. What was he going to do with it? He knew how dangerous an Inquisitor was. He had heard tales of how deadly the Inquisitors were. Every child of the Ossory Empire has. He didn’t need stories though, he had seen this one with his own eyes, covered in blood, and as unbothered by it as if he was just wet with rain.

Finn turned around to run. His brain finally starting to function again. He should have started running as soon as he saw the smoke. But now it was too late.

He heard a strange sound unlike any he had heard before. A strange whistling sound, followed by a scraping of metal against stone. Then he heard a loud crack like a tree branch snapping, followed by excruciating pain in his foot. Then he was lying on the ground on his back. He looked down and saw a chain wrapped around his foot. There was a lot of blood. His blood. Still spurting from his foot. His foot was skewed at a strange angle and the chain was still wrapped around his leg.

He was being drug across the floor now. His ears were ringing. His face felt hot. He wanted to yell for help, but all he could think about was the pain. He started to scream as he was being drug into the doorway. Then the chain jerked taut and he felt the cold stone floor leave him, then he was weightless, flailing blindly in the darkness. His sword flew from his grasp, as his arms flailed uselessly, clutching at air. He landed hard onto the stone floor in the darkness with a jaw-rattling crash.

He rolled over and saw the Inquisitor’s face, illuminated from below by an amber light. His stern face, all sharp, bright angles, lit from below, he looked like one of the great marble statues inside the Vesenain cathedrals. Looking down upon the mortal masses, ready to mete out the divine justice of the Blind Goddess. He looked as if he knew his every sin. Not just Finn’s complicity in locking him down here, but every sin Finn had ever committed on the streets of DeGaullis seemed to be reflected in his stern, judgmental gaze.

He held the bladed metal chain wrapped around Finn’s mostly severed foot. Finn felt dizzy when he looked at it. His head was throbbing from smacking against the ground. His helmet had done little to protect him. His lungs were still burning but had finally stopped seizing, precious breath rushed back into them. Finn tried to squirm and crawl away, but the Inquisitor was standing above him with a knife now.

“No, no, please.” Finn held his hand up, wincing, his words coming out in sobbing gasps. “Please. I didn’t do anything. I had no idea what Commander Peshka was going to do. They just told me to guard the door. That’s all.” Finn sat up, trying to ignore the pain in his leg. “Please! I was raised in a Vesnian orphanage. A chapel in DeGaullis, p-please!”

“Mercy for the guilty is cruelty to the innocent.” The Inquisitor held a knife up above Finn, its blade gleamed brightly in the amber light.