Chapter 85

The city of Darnell was a port city, and was considered by some to be the pinnacle of human creation. There were all sorts of academic universities, libraries, the Church of the Golden Lady, and the famous magical university, the Miskatonic, where all sanctioned mages gained their education in spellcraft.

Before the city became as massive as it was, it was a port city, bringing goods and services from the southern mainland. Then the mages that were skilled in excavation and construction began carving away the cliffsides and laying foundations for the city that would eventually become the nexus of the Anglish nation.

Katarina dashed back to the rooms she shared with Olivia, ripping and tearing at the layers of clothes she had on in the process. She momentarily considered what sort of image she may have presented to anyone observing: a tall woman with a veil of white hair streaming out behind her as she ran at full speed, tearing at her clothes as if they were on fire.

Ah, oh well. If she offended anyones’ delicate sensibilities, then there was nothing she could do for that, but some things just took a higher level of priority. She was vaguely disappointed that she’d have to face Olivia’s wrath at tearing her clothes, but her priority was something else entirely.

She dashed into their room, and immediately stooped over, grabbed the hem of her dress, and hauled it up and off. She looked down at the bustier and stockings growled in frustration. There was no way she’d be able to negotiate the laces on her own. She reached into the cabinet that stored her few clothes and jerked on her breeches, customary shirt and clapped on the greave onto her leg. She was negotiating the hooks for her brigandine vest when Olivia interrupted her from her casual perch on the desk.

"What are you doing, girl?!" she exclaimed in mock outrage. "What is with this mess! Those clothes? What are you planning?"

Katarina jolted and nearly fell over and turned to face Olivia. "How in the Void-"

Olivia rolled her eyes ostentatiously. "If you had bothered to tell me what was going on, you could have taken the carriage with me." she replied and scooted off the edge of the desk. "You'd've gotten here ten minutes earlier. Too late for that, I suppose, so tell me what you need and I’ll get it for you."

"I have a hunch. A suspicion." Katarina replied distractedly as she finished the last of the hooks and loops that fit the vest around her and she exhaled, turned, and grabbed her weapons belts. "A horse. I need to get to the docks, I think."

"The docks?" Olivia asked, confused, but she was already directing maids, something else Katarina hadn’t noticed in her rush. "Why would you go there?" She asked. "It’s not the... most welcoming of places in the daytime, and at night it’s likely worse."

"I don’t really know myself, but I have a suspicion. I saw someone yesterday with the residue of magic on his hands." Katarina replied.

"I am not sure I follow." Olivia replied, handing Katarina her hat, which she clapped on her head impatiently.

"There's only a few reasons why someone would have residual traces of magic about themselves. One, they're an unsanctioned mage. A Witch. Two, they've been handling magical tools that were made by unsanctioned. In either case, the verdict is the same: guilt." Katarina explained, casually slinging a bandolier of ammunition over her shoulder. She paused for a moment, and then added, "There're other reasons, but they're less likely."

One of Olivia's servants entered the room, panting her face was slick with sweat. "Your Grace, the Lady Witch Hunter's horse is ready."

Katarina nodded and leaned over and kissed Olivia. "I’ll be back soon." She dashed down the hall, swinging her coat around her shoulders.

At the stables she vaulted into the saddle easily. The horse jolted, startled, and she spent a moment struggling with the reins, but she slapped the horse on the ass and corrected and controlled as she galloped out of the Alstroemeria.

Goods and services came into the city from three directions: the northern route, which was mostly frontier, so the only shipments that came into the city in that direction were raw materials: volumes of stone, wood, and metal ingots. The eastern road often funnelled foodstuffs and construction materials out of Darnell heading east towards Einsamkeit and Begierde. While there were a significant number of exports from the east to Darnell, those came to the docks. If someone, say, a noble perhaps, was concerned about illegal trades, then it really had to be the docks.

She reached the docks district, which was filled with warehouses and manufacturing facilities. Down towards the shipyards there was a collection of inns and taverns for the sailors. Where to go from there? She puzzled. She reined her horse into a relieved walk, and slowly moved through the streets without a particular direction, letting her horse calm itself down.

The ride here had been hurried and frantic. She touched her symbol that hung under her shirt, nestled tightly in her cleavage, and carefully tugged it out. As she rode, she took the opportunity to adjust the buckles on her weapons to sit more comfortably, and drape her heavy coat around her shoulders to keep the chill from the sea off her.

She fiddled with her brigandine vest, which felt uncomfortable for some reason; tight in the bust and loose lower. She checked the row of tiny loops and hooks to make sure she’d latched it together correctly. In her haste, she'd missed a few. She grimaced. She should have taken the time to put it on right. For that matter, she shouldn't have impulsively raced across Darnell, either. It would have made far more sense to have taken the carraige with Olivia and started things the right way. She mentally kicked herself in frustration.

She stopped her horse with a squeeze of her knees and redid the hooks and eyes that kept the vest closed. Her vest actually was strips of steel, no wider than a ribbon and nearly as thin, magically treated to be as flexible as cloth, sandwiched between layers of padded cotton against her skin, and embroidered silk on the outside. It was strong enough to stop a knife or a glancing slash from a sword, but anything greater than that and she’d have to rely on other things to avoid a killing blow. As soon as everything had been adjusted, tucked, squeezed, and manipulated to the point where Katarina felt comfortable, she took stock of her surroundings.

She squinted, and concentrated in the way she’d learned to activate her auravision, and her eyes lit up. There was a veritable maze of magical residues. What sorts of things would leave traces like that?

Sanctioned magical items left a trace that dissipated within minutes at the very most. That was part of the value of sanctioned magical items. Unsanctioned magic was toxic, corrupting. Magical items tended to radiate power in a way that was detectable, and leave a residue where they passed, where they rested. If you carried a magical dagger in the same spot, eventually that spot would also show magical traces. You were also at risk for that spot becoming a site for mutation, though with sanctioned magical items, that risk was reduced considerably.

The streets, however, were dusted in magical residue like snow. In some places it was like a fog. Katarina began to cast back and forth, and discovered that there was no maze, that in fact the magical residue had simply fallen where it may. A shadow detached itself from an alleyway.

"Alright girl. I can see you’ve got coin. Hand it over or I’ll slit your fuckin’ throat. Maybe play with yer tittes after."

Katarina dismounted, and as she did she unsnapped the strap that kept her gun in the holster, dropped her hat and relaxed the part of her mind that kept her halo suppressed. He came around the horse, raising his cudgel threateningly.

She raised her gun and leveled it at his face and his eyes opened wide in terror.

"Nnnnnnnn!" he tried to shout, and fell back on his ass, dropping his cudgel. "Oh Goddess, I’m so sorry!" he yelled, feet kicking ineffectually as he tried to get away from her. She picked up his cudgel, which was a simple thickened and rounded chunk of wood, with bands of metal around the top for weight. She tucked it in her belt absently, and holstered her gun.

"Get out of here." She stated, and he nodded wordlessly, and finally turned over and tried to climb to his feet. He fell over, scrambled to his feet, tried to run, fell again, got up, fell over again, and finally ran away. She chuckled idly, remembered why she was here in the first place, and glanced around. The various paths lead down closer to the docks.

She jerked her head up as a plume of magic suddenly squirted high into the air, like syrup. Her jaw dropped open. This was unfocused magic, no spell she could recognize, just an immense, curling spurt of magical power that jetted into the air and dissipated into clouds of residual vapors. She nodded; that was the source of the residues hanging around the lower end of the city. She urged her horse onward. Whoever was doing that wasn’t being very subtle; it was literally a glowing finger in the sky that pointed directly to them, as if to say, "Here I am!"

Any Witch Hunter in the vicinity of the docks would be able to spot it, as would any mage of skill. If the residues from Norry’s hands were any clue, they’d been at this for at least a couple of days. The only Witch Hunters that were in the city besides her were neophytes with no degree of skill. Even had they been down on this side of the city, they likely wouldn't have been able to sense the presence of magic, since that was something taught after the survival courses. In a general sense, mages wouldn't come down to the docks themselves; commonfolk didn't like or trust them under the best of circumstances, and the docks were hardly welcoming to anyone.

Katarina followed the rain of magical particles down to the back of a dockside inn, to a basement access that was secured with a large padlock. The door itself glowed brilliantly with magical residue.

She examined the lock, fit the cudgel between the lock and the door, and heaved. The lock tore away from the door with a squeal of tortured metal, and she tossed open the double doors. Inside, there was a muffled cry from several voices. There was the sounds of shuffling footsteps, and Katarina drew her gun. A voice issued forth, fearful but coherent.

"No, no, no, they wouldn’t open the door like that. Have some sense, woman! Who knows, we might get out of this alive. Keep the little ones quiet, I’ll go talk to them." The feet and legs of a person clad in simple clothes appeared, revealing itself to be a man, and despite the fog of residual magic, she was able to sense he was a mage.

"Might you come down here, sir?" He asked.

Katarina stepped down into the cellar with a smirk. "My name is Katarina. I’m a Witch Hunter in service to the Golden Lady." She replied simply.

The man gasped and covered his face. "Thank the Goddess in all her glory!" he announced. "Everyone, it’s a Witch Hunter!" he announced, and there were murmurs from further in at this. She raised an eyebrow at this. Some part of her coldly calculated. There were three shots in her gun, and twenty-eight more in her coat. She had her sword, of course, but for a Witch Hunter, her gun was her first resort, not her last.

"Please, come in, quickly!" He urged.

She nodded warily. He came all the way into the dim light from the alley and looked up at her. He was a thin, malnourished, and scruffy-looking young man. Katarina came down the steps further. There were two rows of simple beds, occupied by a handful of men and women, some of them clutching young children. Katarina raised an eyebrow. The man was clearly a mage, as was every single person down here. What were they doing here? She glanced at the man, but couldn’t spot a Mark of Sanction.

"Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?" She began, already checking her angles, possible cover, and escape routes. Eleven mages and a baby. Three rounds. Enough square feet for a dozen and a half beds; an antimagic field that could only cover a sixty-foot circumference. Three shots. Some of them would bolt at the first shot, and then it would be a running firefight to chase them down. She paused that train of thought: Some of them were children. One of the women was holding a baby.

"I-we are mages, mi’lady. We were brought here for sanctioning." He spat. "Or so we were told." He shook his head a little. "It’s all too secretive for me to believe. A Lord- a man, Norry, he said, he said he was a Witch Hunter. Said we were going to Darnell to be sanctioned. I didn’t trust him, but what’s a mage to do? We went along with him. Now here we are in... well, wherever this is, but we’re in this basement, not at the church. We’ve been here weeks! I suspect he’s … got other plans for us, mi’lady."

Katarina shook with anger, but fought it down. Her abilities depended on a clear head. Glory burned in her chest like a miniature sun.

"So that’s why you’ve been blasting magic into the sky, is it?" She asked, and he nodded. "Thank the Goddess you came." He gushed. "Please." He begged. "We want to go to the Church."

Katarina smiled a little. Most mages wanted to serve. They didn’t want to be branded heretics, vilified and cast out. They wanted to live, love, and thrive under the light of the Golden Lady, just the same as everyone else.

"Is this all of you?" She asked, and he shook his head. "I know there are others. I know, because he lords them over us whenever he can. Things like, ‘if you ever want to see your wife or kids again’." He spat, but spread his hands. "As to where they are... I have no idea."

Katarina nodded. "How many were you total?"

"Twenty-three, I think." He replied.

"How many are here?" She asked. He nodded at that. "Eleven."

"You’re in the city of Darnell." She remarked, and then her gaze focused on the man and her eyes narrowed.

"Norry, you said?" She snarled. He nodded.

"Norry Dalakis. He said he was a Witch Hunter, and he brought us here and ... stashed us here." his mouth twisted. "We might be mages, but we’re not stupid. We would have fought back, but he drugs some of us at random, and his... handlers... are often around to keep the rest of us..." He stopped and hung his shoulders in despair. "We are law-abiding citizens, mi’lady. We came here to be sanctioned, to gain legitimacy, to serve the Goddess as we were intended!"

"Where are your handlers now?" she asked.

"in the Inn above, I suspect." He replied bitterly with a gesture behind him. "Eating, drinking, maybe wenching, I dunno."

She glanced helplessly around the basement. Eleven men, women, and children. There was a young woman with a baby that was watching her intently with hope in her eyes. Katarina thought about the situation. If she went into the inn, there was no way she could get all of the mages out of the inn and to the church quickly. They’d likely scatter like baby spiders, some to look for their loved ones, some to look for freedom. Maybe one or two would show up at the Church requesting sanction.

She went through the room and to the steps leading up to the inside of the inn. She glanced down at the cudgel in her hand, and quickly wedged it in the door hinge. It wasn’t perfect, but it would hold for a few minutes.

"Everyone, leave through the back. Gather at my horse." She said quietly. There was a murmur of excited conversation, and people moved to gather their belongings.

"Hurry, take only what you can carry!" she hissed, and they moved faster.

They left the rear of the inn, and as soon as they were clear, Katarina drew her gun, removed the cudgel, and started thumping and bumping around, intentionally making a racket, and waited.

A voice announced itself as it came down the steps. there was only the door separating her from him, now. She took a step back and raised the cudgel.

"All right, you mages. You know the rules, no making a racket. Time to take your medicine. No fuss now, or I’ll break some of the kids’ kneecaps."

The door opened, and Katarina lunged forward with the cudgel, slamming it into the man’s throat with the speed of a striking snake, crushing his windpipe. She dropped the club, grabbed the man’s filthy coat, and hauled him into the empty basement. He hit the basement floor and curled in on himself, fingers clawing at his ruined throat as he strangled. She checked the doorway; the short hall was clear. He was alone, then. She examined the man quickly; it wasn’t the noble she’d met in the Church.

Katarina’s heart pounded, hard and hot in her chest. He dared? He dared?! She had never been so furious. Nobody impersonated a Witch Hunter and lived. Nobody, not ever. Ever. Her heart demanded that she go upstairs and systematically exterminate every living thing in the common room.

Her head whipped around. The mages were outside, though. She had a responsibility to them. There were thugs and footpads and worse out there. She had to get them to the church. She had to go upstairs and show that bastard the Goddess’ Justice. She had to... she had to... She tore herself away from the door with a snarl and marched back to the rear of the basement. The man she’d spoken to earlier was waiting at the top of the steps.

"You’re in charge of them." She bit off each word coldly. "The Church is-" she cut herself off. No, that wouldn’t work. She had a duty to see them to the Church, to see them to safety. She raised her voice. "Keep everyone together. We’re going to the Church. No stragglers."

She paused. There was something she could do, though. She took a breath, held it, released it. She could only use her abilities with calm, and the audacity of that noble to impersonate a Witch Hunter kept interfering. Easy, Katarina. She thought to herself. No victory comes from screaming. Her pulse steadied, her calm returned. She recited the prayer she had learned, and a blazing pillar of fire lanced down from the heavens, punching through the roof like paper, and setting the entire inn ablaze.

She turned back to the man, a corona of brilliance wrathing her brow, and addressed the mage. He was pale-faced and sweating with shock. "Let’s go." She commanded simply, and he nodded jerkily.

They made an unusual caravan of people, threading their way through narrow alleys, until they reached a thoroughfare. Katarina spied a city guard, who did a triple-take at her in shock. Ah. The halo. She reminded herself. She hadn't even thought of it as she led the group of mages through the alley. Nobody commented on it, but they were also unwilling to look her in the eye.

"Guardsman!" She yelled, and he warily approached her. She beckoned him over, and displayed her holy symbol. "I am a Witch Hunter in service to the Golden Lady. I command you to gather your forces. I need an escort to the Grand Cathedral for myself and these-" she glanced back at the group that looked up at her expectantly. "These citizens. They’re not to be harmed. They’re not under arrest," She turned back to the guard, who was intently looking at anything- the street, the buildings, the gutters- except at her. "There are forces that want to keep them from the church, guardsman. Conspiracy abounds tonight. Follow my orders explicitly. You are under my employ until we reach the church safely."

His mouth opened at this. "Your word, guardsman!" Katarina demanded, and pulled her gun. He nodded jerkily, and then ran down the road, blowing his whistle. Several guards appeared, and they rounded up an escort, but Katarina wasn’t finished. She marched them up streets and down alleys as she hunted trails of magical residue.

"Witch Hunter, Witch Hunter!" A woman cried out behind her, and Katarina turned, gun in her hand. It was the young woman with the infant. She pointed at an innocuous set of barred wooden doors. "My husband was taken in there." She reported, and Katarina’s eyebrows shot up.

"Well, that makes things simple." She murmured. She dismounted, and approached the doors. She closed her eyes and prayed to the Goddess for strength, and kicked the door. The thick wood vibrated and the doors shook in their hinges. She took a couple mincing steps backward, and then spun, foot flashing out in a savage crescent. There was a dull crack of breaking wood, but the doors were held fast. She drove her foot into them again and again, when they suddenly fell over; the hinges had given way before the doors. The guards eyed Katarina’s display, and drawing swords, filed into the basement, Katarina on their heels after a hot, "Stay here and don’t fucking move!" directed at the mages.

The mages waited, the woman with the baby urgently glancing from the doorway to her fellow mages.

"We’re mages, can’t we help?"

The man that had been nominated by the Witch Hunter as the de facto leader shook his head. "I don’t think we need to." He replied somberly, and pointed. "Look, here she comes."

A disparate and grimy procession of mages filed out along with the guards and Katarina herself.

"No sign of that Dalakis bastard." Katarina muttered, "But twenty-three mages." She reported to the leader, who struggled to hear her over the joyous reunions of brother and sister, husband and wife, father and son, mother and daughter.

"All right everyone, we’re off to the Church. It’ll be a long hike, so be prepared." Katarina called out, and sent out a guard as a runner to get more guards and hopefully wagons or carts.