Chapter 116

Katarina was trotting through the Church, when she nearly collided with Frederika. Katarina skidded to a halt, her bootheels squealing at the sudden stop on the polished flooring.

"Your Radiance." Frederika curtseyed gently, and In response Katarina ticked off a saucy salute off the brim of her hat.

Katarina took a moment of thought- her impulsive bolting out from the Map Room and simple declaration of leaving Landeck simply wouldn’t do.

She struggled for a moment to decide what was needed most, and then finally spoke up.

"I’d like enough food to fill my pack- trail rations will do- and I need paper, pen, and ink... and sealing wax too, if you have it." Katarina blurted in a rush, but Frederika, surrounded by acolytes, simply nodded.

"Of course." She replied, and gestured to a pair of her acolytes. "You heard the Saint. Get what she wants, and be quick about it."

She turned her gaze up to Katarina’s. "I’m thinking you found what you were looking for in the map room?"

Katarina shook her head. "In a way, but also... not. Nauders hasn’t mapped the area I suspect my sister to be in... or at least where I think I’ll need to begin my search. But I know where that area is, now, so I can at least find my way there." She replied by way of explanation.

She gestured to a low pale marble shelf where several plants were potted, and casually shifted them aside as one of the acolytes returned with a handful of parchment.

Clearing a space for herself to work, she penned a short, curt and abrupt note, folded it, dribbled some sealing wax on the letter, and then after a moment of consideration thumbed a bullet from her belt and pressed it into the soft wax, first one way, then the other.

"If my-" She began, but cut herself off, "If the paladin Armilla Chancy deigns to show her face ‘round here, please pass this on to her." She offered curtly, and thrust the letter towards Frederika, who took it gingerly, as if she felt it might explode.

"And is there anything I should do or say after giving her this message?" Frederika asked, but Katarina shook her head. "She knew we were coming to the church for information, and that we’d leave after we got it." She paused. "I don’t have all of what I need, but-" She cut herself off, and smiled. "No. I have everything I need: I have the love of the Goddess, the love of my friends, my gun, and a plan."

Frederika bowed her head a little, and Katarina bowed back. "Tell her I release her from service. I’ll do the rest on my own."

"She’s your apprentice, Kat. Don’t you need her?" Frederika asked worriedly.

Katarina shook her head. A clatter down the hall echoed towards them, followed by an acolyte pushing a handcart.

"I’ll be all right." Katarina replied to Frederika.

"But you’ll be alone out there." Frederika worried, and half-reached towards Katarina. Her hand trembled, and she pulled it back.

"It’s been like this for ten years, Rika." Katarina replied. The Acolyte with the handcart arrived just then, sweat running down his face in rivulets.

"Good effort." Katarina praised, and then gave him an especially meaty backslap, making him stumble.

She opened the crate on the handcart, and transferred the packaged rations, fistful by fistful, into her pack until it practically strained at the seams, then heaved the crate closed. "That’ll do." She offered, and then turned back to Frederika, who was whispering to one of her acolytes. The girl gave her a pop-eyed look, but Frederika gave her a gentle nudge and murmured, "Run!" to her. The acolyte tore off down the hall as if the Void of Oblivion itself was hot on her heels.

"As a Justicar Witch Hunter in service to the Golden Lady, I have a stipend with the Church." She gestured to her pack, and the crate. "When the accounting comes due-"

"Don’t say it, Katarina." Frederika warned, but Katarina shook her head. "Bill me for it." She shrugged. "It’s just trail rations. I have more than enough to cover for it."

"Katarina, you know that I can’t possibly charge a Living Saint for trail rations." Her voice was shocked; her face was a mask of horror- it was as if Katarina had casually offered to piss into the baptismal font.

Katarina barked a laugh at that. "No, I suppose you couldn’t." She replied, at which Frederika sighed with relief, but Katarina continued, "But you can bill me as a Witch Hunter, and I insist that you do."

"You’re insufferable." Frederika accused, and Katarina gave her a smirk.

"I sent an acolyte to retrieve something for me. I think you’ll find a use for it." Frederika pointed at the returning acolyte, who was panting and struggling down the hall; apparently the cost of running was too much for her.

Frederika intercepted the acolyte, and then stepped to Katarina, and pressed a small flask into the Witch Hunter’s hand.

"Don’t tell anyone I gave you that." She murmured, eyes twinkling mischievously. Katarina glanced down at the flask; it was a simple steel flask, unadorned except for the fleur de lys of the Lily of Spring. Katarina gave it a little shake; liquid sloshed within. Aside from that, she couldn’t tell the contents. Very well, if Frederika wanted to give her something secretly, she’d happily take it and tell no one. She tucked it into her coat pocket indifferently.

After a moment where Katarina struggled with figuring out how to say goodbye to her lifelong friend, she remembered Armilla’s advice from earlier.

She swept a bow, and as she straightened, she flipped her braid over her shoulder.

"Cardinal Priestess Frederika Edelweiss... my dearest and closest friend, Rika... Thank you for everything you’ve done for me." She embraced the willowy Cardinal Priestess in a brief hug.

"Goddess go with you, sister." Frederika whispered, and Katarina whispered back, "Goddess bless you, sister."

Katarina hauled up her backpack, which weighed quite a bit more than she expected, and strode off down the hall towards the outer gates.

Armilla placed a hand on her breastplate, closed her eyes for a moment, choosing her words carefully.

"Her Radiance is an inspiration." She continued to the gathered acolytes. "Her unswerving devotion to her duty and faith in the Golden Lady show that when we devote ourselves to the Golden Lady, She will reward us with Her love."

An acolyte stepped into the small chapel where Armilla was offering her encouragement.

"I was instructed to summon you to the High Court." He spoke abruptly. Armilla dismissed the acolytes with a wave, and followed the one who’d summoned her. Surely Katarina hadn’t caught on, had she? Of course not. She paused in her thinking. Likely she’d get a dose of Katarina’s acid tongue and a thoroughly humiliating dressing-down for keeping her Master waiting.

Upon her arrival, the Cardinal Priestess Frederika Edelweiss pressed a letter into her hands. "There’s a message that goes with this letter; I’ll relay it to you when you’re done reading it."

Armilla eyed the seal- was that a pair of crossed bullets pressed in the wax?- and broke it open. The letter was brutally short.

Armilla,

I have a job to do.

You had your chance.

You made your choice.

Justicar Witch Hunter Katarina lon Pavlenko.

Armilla looked up at the Cardinal Priestess in shock, mouth agape, the letter falling from her fingers which had suddenly gone numb.

"Paladin Armilla Chancy, you’re ... removed from Her Radiances’ service." Frederika repeated Katarina’s message. "Since you’re no longer considered a Witch Hunter, you’re no longer exempt from the law against entering grounds consecrated to the Golden Lady armed. Please surrender your weapons to our Chaplain of the Sword, in accordance with the law. They’ll be returned to you when you leave, of course."

As the drake ascended, Katarina noticed something to the southwest; a smudge on the horizon.

She signaled her mount and hovered, quickly raising her spyglass to her eye. She was right; it was smoke. Quite a bit, too. There was some town or village or something that was perhaps a three hour flight away. She urged the drake forward. She would have a look; if it was populated by people, hopefully she could get some maps of the area, maybe find some information about the area. As she flew closer, she idly considered the possibility of it being populated by beastmen like the previous town.

"Town ahead." Katarina called to Armilla, and then reminded herself that she no longer had an apprentice. Her mouth twisted.

The town was small, with a single Y- shaped road at its center. there were three buildings that had second stories, the rest looked to be single-story thatched roofs. there was a hill that rose from the center of town, and arched back to a mountain ridge that fell away to a cliffside a few miles back.

If the village was populated by beastmen, if she were quick and careful, she could probably clear out the entire village, which looked to have less than a hundred souls. As much as it went against everything the Holy Church taught, beastmen were functionally no different from humanity- not all of them were trained fighters.

What if it were populated by elves? It was taught that elves were a superstitious, cowardly lot. She knew differently, of course, but even so, she would likely have no trouble clearing the village if that were the case.

She checked the draw on her holster to make sure that her gun wouldn't snag. She went through a quick ritual of touching the seals, straps, strings and buckles she'd accumulated.

Witch Hunters had a bizarre and eclectic taste in clothing and often adorned themselves with odd combinations of clothes, and this also extended to accessories. Katarina was no different. She had punched a line of holes in the edge of the left lapel of her oversized leather coat and carefully threaded the necklace that that mage had worn around his neck through the holes, and then pinned the amulet that had hung from the chain to her belt. Her hatband was part of a woven belt from a wizard she'd captured ten years ago; securing it was a bowstring from a ranger she'd caught practicing demonology. The edge of her hat was threaded with more than a half-dozen rings taken from fallen mages. Her riding gloves had necklaces stitched into the backs, stitched into holy symbols with thread blessed by the Grand Church of the Golden Lady. She had no less than three necklaces, one of which was a small golden lily on a fine chain, one was a plain silver band of wide flat links, and she had a simple choker.

Each item had been cleansed by a one of the clergy; it was safe to wear them, even if they had come from tainted sources. Whatever abilities they once had, they now lent themselves to Katarina's aid, albeit substantially weaker.

"Looks like a farmyard, there. Should be good enough to land in." Katarina muttered to herself, and nudged Marcela lightly and pointed where she wanted to land, and her mount swooped downward sharply.

As they approached, the tiny dots moving around resolved themselves into people. Katarina was relieved; she wasn't relishing the idea of going to war. The people craned their heads up to look at her, and she could see them pointing. As she got closer, the scattered and ran, dropping farm implements, tools, whatever. She could hear their screaming. She laughed at their discomfiture.

As the drake touched down, Katarina slid easily from her back. She was indeed in a farmyard. The farmhouse was a bit of a walk, but she shrugged. "Might as well make it on foot. " She signaled for the drake to follow and approached.

"By the Grace of the Golden Lady, I come in peace!" She yelled at the house, raising her arms high. There was no response, despite the fact she'd seen a few people run in. She mounted on her drake and pointed her towards town. "Let's ride into town. No need to fly." She murmured to Marcela, who nodded, and shifted her position to better manage the drake's odd, rolling gait.

While there was no real agreed-upon symbols, and literacy was only for people that could afford it, there were typical and universally understood symbols people put on shop signs. A bed for an Inn. A stein for a tavern. A needle, or perhaps a spool for a tailor's shop. a shield or breastplate for an armorsmith, or perhaps just an anvil, which is how she spied the inn, one of the two-story buildings. She rode her drake up to the hitch, dismounted smoothly and strode in through the large batwing doors.

Inside it was warm and cozy. The furniture was all heavy wood planks, smoothed and polished with a good hand, and heavily cushioned. The innkeeper was fat, with a broad white apron that came down to his shins. He was gripping a broomhandle tightly in hamhock fists.

"Relax." Katarina announced, not without a sarcastic smirk. "I'm not here to hurt anyone." A brief pain skewered her right between the eyes in the bridge of her nose. She winced a little, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

The innkeeper relaxed slightly. "R-R-really?" he asked with a whispery voice. Katarina nodded.

"If anything, I need to make use of your services. I'd like a room, preferably one with a bath. A hot meal which I can take here in your common room, and ... " She trailed off, troubled. She couldn't put her finger on it, but something was wrong. Terribly wrong. She felt drowsy and awkward. She focused her attention on the innkeeper again.

"And what sort of currency do you need?" She asked.

"I can do all that for you, no problem." He said with a sigh of relief, setting down the broom handle and absently wiping his hands on his apron. His eyes flicked outside.

"That a dragon?" He forwarded cautiously. Katarina blinked at him. She smiled again, more naturally this time. "No, that's a drake. A cousin to them, I've been told. She's my mount."

"You actually fly on that thing?" he asked, awe in his voice and she nodded. "It's scary at first, but you get used to it." She gestured at the innkeeper. "So what sort of currency do you take? I have coin from Angland, Urthan, Yamato and Ardeal, or if that's no good, I have some things I could barter."

He scratched his chin. "Let's see what you have for trade."

She unshouldered her pack, and opened a pocket and rummaged around inside. while she tried not to collect any amount of wealth, she oftentimes was something of a packrat, and squirreled away interesting items.

There were quartz crystals polished and etched with flight spells; her bronze skillet, which was enchanted to clean itself and resist food sticking to it; a pouch of brass balls enchanted with a light spell, a handful of bronze throwing knives, another pouch filled with ivory tiles, each tile inscribed with an elemental rune, a small sewing kit with different kinds of thread, and a very small sapphire that had come out of a necklace.

The man inspected each carefully, and settled on the knives.

"I’ll admit that they're really no use to me, but I can get the blacksmith to forge them into something I can use. Like some new cutlery for Cook, he's always bitching I don't spring for him." He complained in a cheery voice. "In any case, far as I'm concerned, you're welcome to stay... though the town don't take lightly to strangers, miss." He gestured at the holy symbol hanging from her belt. "Especially your type."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She asked curiously. He shrugged. "We just don't take well to people proselytizing."

"Who do you follow, if not The Golden Lady?" She asked casually, returning her things to her pack.

He shrugged noncommittally. "It's a private thing, Miss. You wouldn't understand." He turned away and when he turned back, he had a key in his hand. "Room seven. Top of the stairs, end of the hall on the right. I'll have Cook rouse you up some stew. There's a heater in the tub, just touch the red panel to heat the water to your liking." She blinked a few times, and nodded. She strode outside and unhitched her drake.

"I can't keep you in the stable, you'd probably eat the other animals stabled there." She accused lightly. "I can't keep you in the town, though. these people are... weird."

That feeling of wrongness washed over her again. It was a trembling, watery feeling that left one wondering if they would vomit. She braced herself against the hitch briefly.

"Shit, I must be more tired than I thought." She grumbled. "Stay close. I'm not sure, but... This place doesn't feel right."

Her drake yawned, cocked its head at her, and then launched itself easily into the air and spiraled out of sight quickly.

She strode up to her room without comment, feeling the innkeeper's gaze on her. He was probably going to rouse the whole village and let them know she was staying there, if they didn't know already. She was used to the wall-eyed wonder that peasants often gave her, but this seemed different.

Katarina found the bath to be a delight; it heated up exactly to her liking right away. She soaked and relaxed and let the stains of travel seep from her body. As she relaxed, there was a muffled thump beneath the tub, but she was already asleep.

When she awoke, it seemed only a couple of hours had passed, by the change in the light. The bath had gone cold. She hauled herself out of the water, and a wave of exhaustion washed over her again. She gripped the side of the tub to keep from falling over, her long hair hanging down in an ungainly pearl-and-gold mop. What was wrong with her?

She climbed out of the tub, and reached down to the switch for the heat. No response. She peered under the tub. It seemed that the mechanism was simple, there was a heating coil that was fed by.... She frowned, and picked up a stony fragment. She'd seen this brown, bubbled glass before. Sometimes a mage would use some form of magical device on her, like a rod or a wand, and when it came in contact with the field she naturally projected that negated magic, parts of it would bubble and fuse.

She investigated further. Yes, it looked like the tub was indeed a magical device. Simple enough, though.

She frowned, disappointed in herself. The innkeeper would probably be upset with her. It happened, from time to time. Her body leaked a strong resistance to magic even when she did not project her antimagic field; sometimes simple magical devices like this tub’s heater would simply break.

There were no rules prohibiting the use of magic, but there were rules prohibiting the unsanctioned use of magic. Magic was dangerous. Not only because it could be used as a weapon, but also because magic carried with it a curse of corruption. An unprotected magus that used magic ran the risk of terrible deformities, mutations, demonic possession, and madness. It was her responsibility to track down unsanctioned mages and offer them the choice of becoming sanctioned or a merciful death.

Would it behoove her to ask after the mage that made the tub? She tugged on her pants, toweled her hair dry, and shrugged into a clean blouse. She wrapped her sword and gun belts around her waist, tied her holster to her thigh, negotiated the hooks for her vest, scooped up her hat, and shouldered her coat.

She suddenly recalled the flask that Frederika had given her, and she fished it out of her coat pocket. She unscrewed the cap and took a short swallow and coughed, choking as the potent fumes from the spirits flooded her sinuses. More of that ridiculously strong drink Frederika had sprung on her as a surprise.

She shook her head and chuckled. No wonder she'd urged Katarina to keep it a secret; Rika had told her how ridiculously expensive it was. A tiny bottle of the stuff was worth fifteen steel. In comparision, it had taken ten steel to charter a boat to take her across the Sea of Mirras.

She came downstairs with the thought of taking her meal, and stopped short. There were seven of them there, four men and three women, all older than her, with grey or bald heads. One of them gestured at her and she recoiled, eyebrows climbing as some unknowable spell fizzled out against her defenses.

Shock lasted for only a second, however. Her training, no her duty kicked in.

"I am Katarina, a Witch Hunter in service to the Golden Lady, the Dawn of Heaven, the Lily of Mankind." She said this all by rote, without emotion or inflection as she strode down the stairs. "By this divine right I do order you to submit to Inspection." They crowded the stairwell; she vaulted the railing and drew her sword and her gun.

"Resistance is high-order heresy, punishable only by death." She finished, and expanded her anti-magic field. The moment she did that, all of them gained that glassy-eyed shocked look that every mage did when in her field; unable to cast magic at all. It weighed down on them heavily.

"Wait!" one of them yelled. "Let's talk!"

She shook her head. It didn't matter where she was, it seemed. Once they discovered they didn't have access to their powers they turned into terrified, blubbering cowards that would sell their own mothers for a chance at freedom.

She raised her gun. Talk was over.

"Enough, Lady." A voice said behind her. She turned. The owner of the voice was an older man with long drooping moustaches and a bowler hat. He eyed her.

"You're from the Churches, are you?"

"I just said that, yes."

"Can you accept my word that they mean you no harm?"

"Of course not, one of them attacked first. I don't particularly care what sort of statement they may make in their defense; they are guilty of assault upon my person, the punishment thereof is death." She spoke with a note of finality and turned towards the huddled group. The innkeeper was nowhere to be found.

"I want you to consider this." The old man replied, as if he did not hear her sentence those people to death. "There are a multitude of powers in this world, young woman, and they're all vying for control. Right now you are a representative of the usurping force. Your God or Goddess that you believe in stole this world from the true gods, and imprisoned them."

She'd heard this before. She shrugged. "All this has done is shown me that the heresy in this village runs deep. I’ve no choice but to cleanse the taint of heresy from this place."

She pulled the trigger, and the first one fell. She leapt forward, thumbing back the hammer on her gun. As she leapt forward she brought Galatine in a short upward arc, cutting deep into the chest of an older man who groaned. One of the women tried to grapple with her, she simply socked her gun against the woman's sagging bosom and pulled the trigger again. the gun went off with a muffled roar, the woman jerked, and her eyes and mouth opened up wide. Katarina shoved her over, cycling the action on her gun again, lunging forward to stab the man who had cast the first spell at her, and catching him right through the throat. He gagged, hands reaching up to claw futilely at the blade. She pivoted on her foot, dragging the blade out of the man's neck, and slammed the pommel of her sword into the face of another man who launched himself at her.

He took the hit with a grunt, but forced his way into her sword guard. She slammed her gun into his chest and pulled the trigger again. He fell against her, trapping her arms. She shoved and pivoted on her hip, and shouldered him off.

She took a few steps back to buy herself a few seconds. Two women and three men lay dead. She popped the cylinder out, ejected the spent casings, drew three cartridges and slipped them into the cylinder of her gun, snapping it closed with a flick of her wrist.

She was hunkered down in a crouch, gun and sword ready, when the man and the woman looked at each other and backed out of the inn's batwing doors.

She turned, and the old man hadn't gotten up. Instead he regarded her with his eyes, hands folded under his nose. "I think this is the first time I've seen someone that not only refused to learn, but actually killed the messengers." He observed.

She raised the gun towards him, and he shrugged. "What does it matter? I am unarmed. I have not attacked you." His mouth twisted. "I can't even use magic, unlike the ones you so efficiently dispatched."

She lowered her sword and holstered her gun warily.

"I know your gospel, Lady. I've heard it enough to be sick of it. Hear my gospel. After you hear it, you can feel free to walk through this peaceful, nonthreatening village with that beastie of yours and systematically exterminate us for the sin of not holding your .... faith."

She took a breath and let it out in one short gust.

"I said it before, old man. I was attacked."

The old man ignored her. Instead, he said, "The first gods, what your Churches call 'Elder Gods' once managed this world. When you died, you would be judged according to your actions. Eventually you would be cycled back and reborn anew. This went on for perhaps thousands of years: life, and death, and life again, an endless cycle of death and rebirth."

"I have been made to know that the guardians themselves became arrogant and mad with power, requiring great obeisance, sacrifices, and unimaginable costs to earn what was once freely given; access to the cycle of life. The Elder Gods were indescribably wroth at being opposed, and so they smote the world and broke it. Your Gods, the new gods, the so-called True Gods came across this broken and dying world. They reforged the world and bound the Elder Gods to it, using them as mortar and rope and anchor to hold the world together."

"Not content to leave things be, the True Gods then took over the cycle life and death, and twisted it to their ends. Faith is their power, see. The more worshippers follow their whims, the more they succumb to their power, the more the 'True Gods' able to feed and grow stronger. And instead of the natural system of life, and death, and life again, and death again, over and over for all of eternity, you die once, and then you are consumed by your 'God'."

Katarina's face darkened as he went through his story.

"I have heard some significant heresies, old man. Yours is not unknown to me. I have heard tell of this story before." She remarked. "You left out the part about the Red Men, the false sky, and..." She trailed off. "I don’t really remember. Or care, for that matter." She unholstered her gun and aimed.

"I can feel your hatred, and I know what poison drives it. You didn't give me justification to kill you before, but your words have damned you."

He glared at her from across the table. "You stupid bitch, you're being used! Manipulated! You're nothing but a-"

She shoved the table at him, knocking him sprawling.

"You don't even know who you are!" he snarled. "You are lost!" She pulled the trigger, and his body jumped and settled back. She nodded. The entirety of the town was likely steeped in this heresy.

She stepped outside of the inn, and something slammed into the middle of her back, catapulting her into the street. She hit the dirt hard, and rolled. The man she'd shot strode forward, eyes blazing. He seized her by her vest and hauled her up off of the ground.

"A pox on you!" He snarled and slugged her hard. Her head rocked back and she saw stars. Her head swam and rang. He hit her again and darkness claimed her.