Chapter 112

As the fires raged and the bodies burned, Katarina burned inside with a fury that was disproportionate to her outward expression. She was enraged, furious, that Norn had fallen in this way. She wanted to lash out irrationally. Instead, she called the former Head Pastor and his conspirators to her. Night had fallen and the pyres burned fever-bright, fueled by magical flames, oils, and even alcoholic spirits.

Every time she had tried to let go of her anger, the fury would surge up in her again, white hot, and threaten to overwhelm her. This wasn’t the best of states; many of her abilities required a clear head and calm mind to use. The angrier she got, the worse it would be for her powers. As she saw the Head Pastor approach, her rage flowed through her in a powerful rush, washing over her, drowning her thoughts in a haze. She felt lightheaded, disconnected from herself, and out of breath.

Thinking about the situation logically, it didn't make any sort of sense. An exceptionally greedy Pastor allows several mages to escape, and then banks on them returning just so that he could steal above and beyond what he'd embezzled before? What wind had to blow for him to have such an outlandish idea? Where would he have gone? How would he have expected to get away with his ill-gained loot? Was he still in collusion with the mages that had left? Had he been magically compelled against his will? When she’d demanded the truth, there was that moment when it had appeared that he wanted to lie, despite his inability to do so. What did that mean?

When he approached, he looked broken, defeated. A shell of a man. There could be no mercy, however. While the enemies of man still drew breath, there could be no peace. He didn’t even bother saying anything, he just stood there, quiet and ashamed. His co-conspirators, a total of eleven, stood in a loose group behind him.

"Your job is to fight against the darkness with every breath." She jabbed the pastor in the chest hard with an accusatory finger, forcing him back. "Fight against the madness and corruption in an uncivilized land." She jabbed him again, and punctuated each statement with another accusatory jab. "You are a torchbearer, bringing the holy light of the goddess to the dark corners of the world to banish shadows with Her truths. When you have no strength left in your limbs, you speak the word. Her Word. The Light of the Goddess is a blessing to the righteous and a bane to the fallen. When you have no breath left with which to speak you spit in the eye of darkness in defiance."

She shook her head in frustration. "I have seen nothing in you that shows you even care about the work you were called to do." She felt like she was about to pass out from the anger she felt. It washed over everything like a fire.

"I must call for a full Inquisition of the Sword upon the City of Norn and you are accountable for that as well. The Goddess will determine who is guilty and who is innocent." she declared furiously.

He took this all in without a word.

"There is no need for a full Inquisition." He finally said quietly. "You already know who’ve been complicit with my affairs. No one else need suffer for my crimes."

She gestured to the rows of slaughtered dead, awaiting cremation.

"They already have." She replied dispassionately, and gestured to the groups of people weeping for lost loved ones. "They already are. Hundreds have died for your crimes, what care you about a few more?" She shook her head, and suddenly felt herself snapped back to her body. She opened her mouth and spoke, not realizing, not understanding what she was going to say until the words resolved themselves, feeling both in control of herself and yet not.

"No, the ones who survive should be turned over to the Inquisition, and the city put to the torch and the ground salted so that no scrap of your taint remains; so that those that come after have no desire at all to follow down your path." She gestured to the fires. "Your judgement awaits you. Get to it."

His eyes widened. "Can there be no mercy?" he whispered. After a long, searching look, he finally shook his head. "I suppose you’re right."

He shucked his robes and strode into the fires. A moment later, those that followed him in his crimes willingly joined him in the pyres.

"Armilla." Katarina yelled. Armilla appeared as if by magic.

"Oh, there you are."

Armilla nodded. "I was here through it all. I saw everything. Do you want me to administer the Lady’s Mercy?" She asked. Katarina shook her head. "Find one of the mages capable of relaying messages to Darnell, and relay my request for an Inquisition of the Sword. Once you’ve done that, stand ready to rally our troops. You march tomorrow morning."

She whistled, high and sharp. Marcela appeared, lumbering in that oddly graceful way of hers. "Move them quickly, Armilla." She said, and launched into the air.

As she flew overhead, spiralling on the thermals, she reflected on what she’d done. Could she have done things differently? Was it necessary to put the entire populace of a ravaged city to the question? She prayed for wisdom, and tried to direct Marcela to fly east. Marcela grumbled her displeasure. She didn’t want to fly, she wanted to sleep. She couldn’t tell directions at night, either. Katarina sighed. She gestured.

"Land down there. Quietly, if you can. I don’t want to be disturbed." The drake slowed and landed on the edge of town. Katarina took her bedroll and made her bed against the side of a half-burnt house, where she fell into a troubled sleep.

When she woke, Katarina strode into Norn, feeling numb and disconnected. Her limbs felt strange and rubbery. Part of her mind had dwelled on how to deal with Norn for over a year, since the first time she’d passed through. Through the forests, across cliffs and down rivers, while she was with her family in Begierde, when she soldiered through the blighted ancestral homeland of Ardeal, across the continent and then back again, and while she was in Darnell, part of her mind had been wondering, What should be done with Norn?

Now it was done, now it was over. There was no sense of catharsis, either. Her mind kept returning to it, like a tongue reaching for an empty tooth socket. Norn had been dealt with. Now there was only the pursuit of her sister.

Armilla approached, her unhappiness written all over her face. "Where were you? I can’t do my job if you keep running off like that, you know." She announced crossly.

Katarina frowned. "It doesn’t matter. Gather the militia, the mages, the clerics- You’re marching east. Remember the plan?" She asked, and Armilla nodded.

"You’re going to fly ahead on Marcela?" Armilla asked, and that drew Katarina up short.

"If I fly ahead, then I’ll have to wait at least six days at the very least for you to catch up." Katarina replied. "Here’s what we’ll do: Gather your troops and be ready to move out. I’m going to take Marcela ahead. I’ll draw up a quick map and be back in a few hours."

Armilla frowned. "I can’t bathe?" She asked, and Katarina shook her head. "We don’t have time for it. When I come back, you’re moving out." Armilla nodded, and turned to head back the way she came, but Katarina called her back.

"There’s a logging road that heads into the forest. Take the troops through there, and head straight. Straight east, mind you. If you head straight and do not stop, you’ll come across a large meadow in about a couple days’ time. I’ll meet you there."

Armilla nodded. "In two days’ time, then." The two clasped arms in the manner of warriors and parted.

Katarina swung into the the saddle, and the drake launched itself into the air, wings beating powerfully.

Katarina arrived at the meadow just after nightfall. She had Marcela spit a few globs of her flammable spittle, which illuminated the meadow, allowing Marcela to land easily. The meadow itself was roughly circular, and in the center a tiny spring pushed a thin, clear trickle of water above the ground. The area surrounding it however was quite swampy and the footing treacherous, so there was no desire at all to approach.

Katarina would strike out at first light to map as much as she could, as quickly as she could. Her previous map wouldn't be sufficient for Armilla to safely navigate her forces through the forests. She needed to provide adequate landmarks, and iedentify the source of of the forces that had attacked Norn. A year ago she'd been able to approximately triangulate where they'd come from, but an entire year had gone by.

She woke in the early morning, and took Marcela east, urging Marcela to climb as high as possible. As she floated a mile above the ground, she used a spyglass to scout ahead. She was able to spot another claring further on, with what looked to be a building, or perhaps a couple of buildings. She leaned down over Marcela’s neck and pointed, and Marcela turned in that direction.

"Get just a little closer, Marcela. I want to know what I’m getting into."

She peered through the scope at the buildings, and as they inched closer, she could make out a building, like a manor, a large half-finished stone wall, a tower that was crumbling on one side, and a sequence of terraced gardens.

She took her time in creating her map, noting the dips in terrain, what looked to be a ridgeline to the south, a river further east, and everywhere, in every direction, uncharted forests filled with Goddess-knew-what. Beasts, beastmen, mutants, mages, abominations, blasphemers, remnants of civilizations forgotten by time. It was said an adventurer had discovered Nauders by following the river from Begierde up past Tannit and all the way to its source, a city known as Landeck.

Anything could be between her and her goal, including nothing. She couldn't see through the tree cover to the ground; couldn't see where it might be difficult to pass an army through. The Alstroemeria thought it was doing Katarina a favor in gifting her a flying mount, but they had no idea of the difficulties in using one were. She made a vexed noise, and Katarina indicated to Marcela that they should return to where they'd launched; if she was lucky and Armilla was quick, her apprentice would be there.

Armilla wasn't particularly thrilled to be Katarina's apprentice. Sure, Her Radiance was quick-witted, brisk, and no-nonsense, but she was also cutting and quick to point out Armilla's flaws. Armilla reminded herself over and over again that Her Radiance was a Saint, an Apostle of the Golden Lady, but it didn't change the fact that the woman often demanded what she wanted and pounded the world into the shape she expected it to be in. It didn’t help that Katarina likely also knew about the black mark on Armilla's record.

Armilla had wanted to be a paladin since as far back as she could remember. She fought and trainted, trained and fought, and like every other knight-errant, went looking for a sponsor. She'd finally found one in the Thibault family, a fairly well-off family in Blackwall. After receiving her letter of sponsorship she'd immediately set off to Darnell, only to find that the House of Thibault had run afoul of the Torchbearers, the Inquisition. The length and breadth of that investigation had uncovered the fact that she'd been sponsored by them.

She'd been told- after the fact- that she’d been subjected to an Interrogation of the Soul and Mortification of the Flesh, but honestly, there was a gaping hole in her memories where those days had been. She couldn't remember anything that had been done to her.

Apparently she had been found innocent, or she wouldn't have lived, but she was once again, without a sponsor, but this time without money to return home. So she studied and trained, getting battered to the point of death by Nadette every single day, and then with no regard at all for her own wishes, she'd been picked up and dumped into a Witch Hunter class.

The Witch Hunters all spoke of Katarina in tones of myth and legend. They gave her all sorts of names, attributed all sorts of tales. She’d blown up the Tower of Secrets in Tannit. She’d hunted down and killed the Thirteenth Cabal, some sort of infamous mage-cult dedicated to summoning demons. Every story was more fantastical than the previous, rich with embellishment and detail. They called her Bloodhound, because once she had your scent it was only a matter of inevitability that you found yourself on the wrong end of her gun. They called her Magebane because Her Radiance was supposedly personally responsible for the slaughter of over three hundred mages. She was invincible, inviolable, the Goddess’ wrath made flesh. One girl spoke up and while not explicitly denying Katarina’s invincibility, told of a chance encounter with the infamous Witch Hunter where Her Radiance had performed surgery on herself with no anesthetic and only using her gun’s cleaning kit.

Pure sophistry. On the other hand, Katarina was an Apostle. There was theoretically no ceiling, no upper limit to what she could do. It didn’t change the fact that she was so blunt and disagreeable.

Armilla was given the responsibility to organize town militia, clerics, and sanctioned mages, and march them through an untamed forest. Most of them didn’t even know how to dress for the forest. They tripped over their own feet. One militiaman had been found sauced to the gills and it had taken her personally searching through all of his belongings to rid him of every bottle, jug, flask and snifter of spirits.

Using these forces, she was expected to assault what was expected to be a fortified position with mages, beastmen, undead, and demons. How in the Void was she expected to do that? On the second day, however, she reached the clearing that Katarina had mentioned, and ordered a camp to be deployed. The militia, who were used to dealing with the occasional theft, petty burglary, drunken fighting, and the like, immediately sank up to their knees in thick, sticky mud in the center of the clearing and had howled like the beasts in the forest that they were drowning, they were dying, and begging the Goddess for salvation.

Katarina landed as gracefully as Marcela would allow, but the drakes wingbeats swirled dust and dirt and twig and caused campfires to hiss and sputter.

Katarina strode across the field to meet Armilla. "Looks like we might have reached our objective." Katarina said by way of greeting. "There’s a meadow not much further east from here. I spotted a house and tower. There’s a fortified wall you might have to surmount, if there’s no gate." She squatted in the grass and drew out what she saw while Armilla tried to look anywhere but at her interlocutor. Women did not squat. Not like that.

"Hey Armilla, pay attention." Katarina suddenly snapped. "Our plan hasn’t changed; you’re going straight in. I expect you’ll be attacking the gate and tower; I’ll buttonhook around and see to the house."

Armilla nodded. "I’ll get everyone ready to march."

Katarina shook her head. "Not yet. Take a two-hour break. exercise, limber up, rest, whatever; I want everyone to be in prime fighting condition." She nodded a little. "It’ll also give me time to get into position."

"What will your signal be?" Armilla asked.

Katarina shrugged. "No signal. Just attack. I’ll take care of things on my end. Whoever finishes up first goes and helps the other." She fixed her gaze on Armilla.

"Listen up, apprentice: There may be a Greater Demon or worse. Be prepared for it." Armilla nodded, and Katarina nodded back.

Katarina turned back to her mount and launched herself into the air, heading southeast, apparently indifferent to the news she'd unthinkingly dropped into Armilla's lap.

"A Greater Demon." Armilla said dully. "I’m going to die."

The forest extended a ways to the crumbled mansion; at least Katarina would have some cover. Here the forest was ancient pine and fir, the ground soft and springy with a thick layer of brown needles that blanketed everything, the heady and yet sharp scent of pine sap in the air.

Even from here she could hear the faint sounds of the fight that Armilla and her forces were putting up. She'd seen the armies of skeletons and beastmen that the mage here had assembled and wished Armilla the best, but it was likely she would die.

Katarina shook her head, dispelling the thought. Armilla was a competent paladin, and trained as a Witch Hunter, and had better gear than most. She would do her job.

"I can hear you, you know!" A sharp, dry man's voice called. Katarina jerked her gun free instinctively. "She told me that a Witch Hunter would likely come, and you haven't disappointed. Come!"

Katarina's mind raced. She? He wasn't working alone.

"Not coming out? Well, no matter. I've fought your kind before."

She peeked around the base of the old fir she was crouched behind. He was a tall, thin man with an angular, pinched face and hair pulled back tightly against his head. He raised his hands, fingers spread out wide, and touched his thumbs together, and then the tips of his index fingers. A hot billowing jet of fire roared towards her; Katarina pulled herself back against the tree. The fire lit up several tree trunks; the pine needle carpet was charred in places, smoldering in others.

A Witch Hunter had several abilities that were blessed by the Golden Lady; The first was an unbelievable resistance to magical spells and effects, and another was the ability to interrupt any spell a mage could cast from range. All she had to do was get within line of sight.

Another syrupy, brilliant jet of fire roared by, this time on her right side. The nearby trees blazed like torches, and the smoke was starting to creep in. He knew where she was, and was keeping her pinned down. She glanced around. She could retreat back to her drake, and then hook around and attack from another angle. She gathered herself and stood, and that's when she heard a brittle sound, like glass shattering around her.

Liquid fire poured down the tree nearest her position on the right side. She noticed the remains of a glass container. Alchemy? Another brittle cracking sound, and another tree blazed up brilliantly. Was he throwing the bottles? She looked at the ground again. it was soft and springy; if he missed a tree then the bottle was essentially wasted, it wouldn't break on ground like this. She noticed one tree that hadn't caught fire, about seven or eight feet up the trunk was a bottle, tied and secured some way to the trunk. She'd bet ten steel that the tree she was behind was likewise rigged. She lurched into a run and bolted away from him. His laughter followed after her.

She glanced over her shoulder, it looked like he was summoning something. She instantly lashed out with an interrupt, but he continued on. What was this? He suddenly spread his arms wide, and shouted in a high, clear voice.

"Ten... Thousand... Swords!"

She again used her interrupt ability, but nothing happened. His spell complete, sword blades suddenly pushed themselves through the ground around the area where he was standing. Row after row of sword blades, each coming to knee height or higher. The blades glittered greasily in the flickering light from the fires that'd been started. The fire was spreading, too. The trees were burning merrily, the smoke was high and acrid and bit into the nose and throat and seared the lungs.

He began chanting again, and a thick black cloud jetted from his hands, blocking her view. She tried her dispel again, but without a clear line of sight she knew it was ineffectual. The cloud raced outwards, glowing eerily. A fist-sized ember rocketed out of the heavy black smoke, burning brightly and glowing a brilliant yellow-orange. The air was thick with searing embers and choking with cinders. If there were spots in this portion of the forest that was not on fire, they were now. She couldn't breathe. Her coat was smoldering.

"I bet you’ve been wondering why I can still attack you like this, despite your cursed ability to cancel magical power!" He yelled cheerily.

Katarina sat with her back against a heavy, ancient pine that was probably burning on the other side. A long, syrupy gout of flame flashed by to her right, igniting the groundcover of branches, pine needles, and pine cones, splashing against another nearby pine and sending its sticky trunk ablaze.

"I was hired to deal with you!" he yelled. "While it’s true I do have some small skill, my abilities are fine-tuned to hunting the hunter! I know what you can and can’t do!"

What he was doing was pissing her off. Certainly she was scared; there had never been a time when she had been pinned down like this. The blessings she had been granted by the Golden Lady gave her and other Witch Hunters an unparalleled and overwhelming advantage against mages and the like. She didn’t like to admit it, even to herself, but she was the strongest and longest-lived Witch Hunter in several centuries. Many died during their training, many more died hunting their prey.

"Of course, i’m just fooling myself. There have been countless times I’ve been in worse spots." She thought to herself. For what seemed like the umpteenth time, she checked the loads on her gun.

The trees that burned gave off a dry, acrid smoke that burned the eyes and seared the throat and made breathing hard. a brittle cracking sound drew her attention to her left. amongst the blossoming fire on that side was a small flask. as she looked, another sailed through the air and smashed against a tree that was already burning. it shattered and the flames roared even hotter.

More Alchemist’s Fire. I should have known. Her abilities were formidable, but they could only dispel the arcane. Alchemists’ Fire was a thick, viscous liquid that caught fire upon contact with the air.

The times he’d actually bothered to cast his spells were times that he was out of range of her interrupt, and he stayed well out of her zone of antimagic. The jets of fire he was casting were completely nonmagical flames, and she had no desire to be immolated.

She had to admit his guts. A forest fire to kill one Witch Hunter.

She pushed herself to her feet, and tried to compose herself. The next few moments were crucial. She drew her sword, adjusted the grip on her revolver, and tried to steady herself.