11 – The truth revealed

The castle was king of the hill. From the vantage point of its walls, all the Capital was visible, overshadowed by the overbearing presence of the fortress of black rock. Beneath the huge slabs that made up the castle walls, however, the rock of the hill was hollow and hosted a large collection of rooms and structures, hidden from view and inaccessible to the general public.

In one of those rooms, an Inquisitor was reviewing some documents: reports and whispers coming from the far reaches of the kingdom all the way to his desk. They were neatly organized in two piles of yellowing parchments at the two ends of the desk, while in the middle rested under careful scrutiny the one single sheet that the Inquisitor was reading.

The rustling of paper was the only sound that reverberated in the hollow room, the walls absorbing it greedily and nullifying its presence, while also drowning all the sounds from the outside. There were no windows, and the only light came from two floating crystals and a small lamp that hovered around the man.

A knock on the door distracted him from his reading. He took off his monocle, and placed it carefully on the parchment in front of him.

“Yes?” He asked, voice monotone.

The door opened. A young man came storming in, walking with hurried steps. “Mr. Inquisitor, I—”

“Stop.” The Inquisitor raised his palm. The young man froze in place, his whole body stopping like a puppet on strings. His voice thinned to nonexistence.

The Inquisitor sighed. He pulled his gold and green robe until it was perfectly even, then flattened a small wrinkle in his right sleeve.

“It’s lord Inquisitor. Now; turn back and redo it as you should do it.” He said, and waved with his hand away.

The young man turned around, floating above the floor for just a moment, until he was pushed out of the room and the door shut behind him. Inside the room, the Inquisitor brought a hand to his forehead and inhaled. His eyebrows rose slightly, and he counted.

“Three, two, one…”

A knock on the door.

“Yes?” He asked.

“Lord Inquisitor; I bring urgent news.” The muffled voice said from behind the heavy wooden door.

A thin smile made three distinct wrinkles appear on the Inquisitor’s immaculate face. He put two fingers on his white mustache and followed its length across his cheeks. He waited a short time, just enough, until he was satisfied.

“Come in.”

The door opened, revealing a young man clad in armor. His longsword, hanging from his left hip, was slightly crooked to the right, and his belt was uneven. The Inquisitor’s gaze lingered for a moment, then he shook his head imperceptibly and moved his unwavering eyes away. The young man felt the gaze on himself, but dared not move.

“Speak.” The Inquisitor said, after a moment.

The young soldier spoke stiffly. “We received a communication, my lord. From a wolf-kin village.”

The Inquisitor looked unimpressed. The soldier started sweating.

“And why would this be of any importance?”

The soldier gulped. “We believe that some of the… weapon—” the Inquisitor’s eyes widened, “survived.”

The soldier watched with horror as the Inquisitor rose from his seat with smooth and slow movements, perfectly measured as not to waste even an ounce of energy in his actions, then went around his desk and came to face him. The long white beard and moustache clashed against the unblemished skin of the man’s face; it was difficult to even begin to guess at the age of this person. He could have been in his thirties, as well as centuries old.

“Take me there.”

***

The kid was running through the forest with nimble, practiced movements. Unlike Mateus, whose training in the forest never went beyond killing a few monsters with the help of his fellow heroes, this kid behaved like he knew the forest better than anything else. It was hard to follow him, even with his enhanced new body, and soon enough he lost sight of him.

He wandered for a few minutes. The underbrush was sparse and thin, and many trees were devoid of leaves, while on the ground a carpet of fallen and rotting biomass slowly decayed. It should have been easy to find the kid, or to see traces of where he went, but he found that he couldn’t.

Dejected, he decided to head back towards where the caravan had made camp. He walked slowly now, not because he was tired but because of his failure. What was the kid doing here, alone in the forest at night, in winter of all seasons?

He shook his head. He didn’t know; he could not know. Despite how much he wanted to think about something else, his mind however always circled back to the image of that child, scared and alone, running away from a monster that wanted to kill him. Mateus had seen just a blur, but already he could make out the raven black hair, the two small fuzzy ears and long tail of a wolf-kin. But he was tiny. Even for a kid, he was truly small and frail.

As Mateus creeped closer to camp, he could hear voices in the distance. They were the voices of the others merchants that accompanied Turmion as his underlings, and they were chatting and laughing out loud by the many fires. They should all have been sleeping, but they were now awake. Perhaps it was Turmion who woke them all up, for fear of the animal.

He didn’t feel like joining them. Instead, he only looked at the camp from the edge of the trees, half hidden by whatever vegetation still retained its leaves even when faced with the relentless cold of winter. It was still early in winter, of course, so many of those plants still had to lose their last specks of green, but some of them never did. He didn’t know more than that, being a city boy, but the fact made him curious.

“Well, since we got quite lucky, I will treat you all to some nice drinks as soon as we reach the next village!” Turmion’s voice was loud, and as soon as he mentioned offering drinks he was drowned by cheers and laughter.

Mateus was curious. He stepped out of the tree line, and slowly walked back to camp. Stashed against one of the wagons, tied up with thick ropes and thrown among the luggage like a sack of coal, he saw a moving figure. The little fuzzy ears and tails were impossible to mistake.

Computer, is he…? He asked, even though he was sure.

Comparing from memory. Match is 93%

He frowned. He didn’t even notice his head cocking to the side, ever so slightly, as he attempted to understand why this was happening. He was, for a second, happy that the kid was not lost but the bindings and the ropes hinted at something quite bad.

But slavery is illegal, is it not?

A shudder of cold went up his spine. He didn’t want to believe it. He walked up to the merchant who, after speaking his line, was fiddling with the embers of the fire distractedly. As soon as Mateus got close to him, he instinctively reached out to his neatly packed cloth of fabric, before retracting the hand.

“Mateus, you’re back. I reckon you took care of the wild animal, yes?”

“Yeah,” he replied, cocking his head to the side. “Is that why everybody’s awake?”

The merchant laughed. “No. I knew you’d be able to deal with the animal. Everybody’s awake because we had a little incursion in our camp. We’ve dealt with it, though.”

“You mean the wolf-kin kid?”

“Ah, so you’ve seen it.” Turmion smiled. “Nice bundle of money. Just wait until we reach Pyee city!”

His eyes were deeply set in his skull, reflecting the light of the fire and the smoldering embers in their deep black.

“What are you talking about?” Mateus asked, taking a step back, putting himself between the merchant and where the boy was being held.

“We sell him, of course. Come on, here.” He offered the hero a bottle.

“No!” Mateus cried.

Turmion frowned. “No? Are you worried about the others finding out? You don’t have to worry about that. With me here, you’re covered. I’ll even lie and say you never saw anything, should I ever be caught.”

Mateus shook his head. This wasn’t like the man he knew. “No. Slavery is… he’s just a kid! You can’t do this to him!”

“Just a kid, he says. Have you looked at it? A wolf-kin scum. An abomination. Slavery is a mercy for the likes of it.” He spat, the liquid sizzling in the fire. He narrowed his eyes at Mateus, looking at him sideways. “Wait. You’re for real? You really do mean those things you say. You really are naïve, kid. Listen, grow up and learn to live in the world, alright? I thought you were planning to do something bad now that you’re… like this, but instead I find a whiny little child who wants to play hero like in the legends. It’s much better than I anticipated. I can feel the money coming already.”

Mateus shook his head. “You need to release him.”

“I really don’t think so.”

“Release him, or else—”

“Or else what? Show the whole world the abomination that you are? Show everybody the truth about the fallen hero Mateus? Show them what you truly are?” The merchant stood up, and reached for the cloth.

Mateus stammered backwards. People were beginning to converge, the loud voice of the merchant calling them in. At first they were curious, now they were beginning to reach for weapons.

“I was planning to wait until we got to the city… but it seems like the situation changed. I might not even have to split the reward with that stupid Inquisitor.”

He started yelling, calling his men and ordering them to attack. Mateus was confused, but his confusion found clarity as soon as Turmion took a little item out of the folds of his cloth. A deep fear assailed his whole being, coming from each and every nanite he was made of. He froze.