Chapter XII

Grigori's mourning for Iddo's soul lasted for a few more hours, and when it was done Grigori was truly ashamed of himself. He had fallen to the sin of pity for much longer than he should have, a sin that so often stands in the way of doing the right thing. He had rationalized it as moral outrage, but in truth he knew that it was pity, and as a result he skipped many meals.

Iddo was brought into the city square for justice, clearly already sick and dying from his infected wound. He trembled from fever and sweat covered his brow. At Queen Sarahi's word, the citizens gathered there all picked up stones the size of their fists and struck him with them until he dropped dead, which didn't take long at all in his weakened state. The tradition of stoning as the primary form of execution was a tradition that went back thousands of years, with one of the primary reasons being that it was a sign of the whole community being committed to justice. The burden of guilt, if there was any to be had, could not weigh on the shoulders of just one executioner, but rather was on the shoulders of every citizen, and burdens shared were not so heavy. The punishment was reserved for murderers, rapists, people who touched children inappropriately, and those who committed high treason. Once Iddo was dead the people were satisfied that justice had been done. Grigori had a less optimistic appraisal of the situation.

Once he'd finally gotten past his pity for Iddo, Grigori composed himself as well as he could and intended to press on with his investigation. Sarahi met him in the halls, though, a mix of concern and confusion on her face, and Milo close behind her. “Inquisitor, I need to ask you some things.”

“I'll do my best to answer, your Highness.”

“I've heard much about the Inquisition. You showed much pity for this...rapist whom we executed, but from what I understand your people execute people for following faiths other than your own, isn't that true?”

“Not exactly,” Grigori said. “We allow people within Kolob to follow what faiths they will, so long as they are quiet about any religions other than the True Way.”

“So they can believe what they will, but they can't preach?”

“That's correct.”

“Why the difference?”

Grigori could not honestly think of a way to phrase his answer in a tactful way, so he decided to just tell it like it was. “Unlike the rest of Arx, the Inquisition's only goal is salvation, both for ourselves and for others. While having a heart full of sin allows demons to claim one's soul, no one is ever beyond redemption. In our lands a man who murdered his own wife and children years ago now serves his neighbors humbly and faithfully, pulling their plows himself. Now his neighbors say they've never met anyone kinder.”

“It doesn't bother you that a murderer is alive and free?”

“he is not a murderer.”

“You just said he murdered his wife and children!”

“he was a murderer, and had he died while he was still a murderer demons would have undoubtedly claimed his soul, and he would have suffered for all eternity. Now he is no longer a murderer, he is redeemed.”

Sarahi shook her head, unable to believe this strange version of justice. “What if he kills again?”

“Unlikely. When he was convicted of murder his arms were severed and his eyes gouged out. This is why his only job now is pulling plows, he has no arms with which to harvest crops, but a harness can be placed around his body so that he can pull the plow. This keeps him from falling into the sin of sloth, and makes his life useful while he still has it.”

“I see. So, inquisitor, if you believe in redemption so much why butcher 'blasphemers'?”

“The damage blasphemers do is irreversible at times. As I said, salvation is out only goal. A murderer may be redeemed and thus achieve salvation, but while a blasphemer may eventually be brought back into the light, back on the path to salvation, there's no telling how many people they've led astray during the time they were allowed to speak their blasphemies. The souls of countless individuals are put in jeopardy, thus blasphemers must be silenced. It is not enough to remove their ability to speak by cutting out their tongues either, for blasphemers always find some way to spread their ideas, perhaps writing or hand language.”

“So do you consider us to be followers of the 'True Way'?” Sarahi asked.

Grigori knew where this conversation was heading, but he also knew he had to face it bravely. “No.”

“Then according to your laws aren't we all blasphemers?”

“Yes.”

“Then why work for us?”

“Terrible are the blasphemers who follow a path so similar to the True Way and yet still believe falsehoods. Far worse are the blasphemers who openly follow demons, the cruel beasts that God sought to protect us from when he chose to die and became the Firmament.”

“So you stand with your enemies against a worse enemy.”

“More or less.”

“But if the Inquisition had its way we'd all be dead?”

Grigori shook his head. “The Inquisition has nowhere near the military power to be a threat to your husband's kingdom, your Highness. We are content, for now, to looking after our own lands and spreading the True Way in more peaceful methods when we can.”

“But if you had the military might to overcome us you'd conquer us in a heartbeat?”

Grigori knew the answer to her question, but he thought carefully on whether or not he wanted to say it. Lying was a sin, generally, but at the same time his loyalty to the Inquisition made him leery of saying anything that could put them in danger. Granted cunning and the twisting of the truth was often used in investigations, but this was different. He was being asked a direct question and a direct answer was expected of him. Furthermore, if he were to lie he would be denying his faith, a crime which Sandalphon himself had punished from time to time. If people asked you the tenants of the True Way and you lied you were leading them astray, just as sure as any blasphemer. “That is correct. Your military might protects you from us. We would happily give our lives to stop the spreading of your blasphemies, to put an end to your twisted form of 'justice,' but we know that should we all die there would be no one left to spread the True Way, so we refrain from waging war upon your people.”

Sarahi's nose curled in disgust, and she drew a small dagger from her belt, holding the point up to Grigori's face. “Give me one good reason not to have you locked in the dungeon!”

“I'll give you several,” Grigori said, showing no hint of fear or even discomfort. “You're still grateful to me for having saved Alma from unwanted sexual relations. Your husband, who is the King of Arx, asked for me here, and I believe his wishes are more important than your own, politically speaking. I answered your questions honestly, even though I knew how angry those answers would make you, meaning that I'm not a spy, for what spy would be so forthcoming with such information? Finally, there is the matter of there being warlocks in your very castle, and I am very near catching one of them. You need me to investigate here. If I am locked up or killed you put everyone in this castle at risk.”

Sarahi sheathed the dagger. “Damn it! Fine. Back to your investigation, then!”

“Thank you, your Highness.” Grigori nodded to her and then walked off to find Ocran.

Grigori had been side-tracked for a while, but he'd not forgotten that Ocran was his true target, the servant who was undoubtedly one of the warlocks infiltrating the castle and summoning demons.

After asking around for a while, Grigori was eventually directed to the room Ocran was working in. Ocran was cleaning one of the guest rooms, by himself, with two guards just outside the door. Grigori walked in the room, his hand near the hilt of his short-sword, but not touching it. He wanted to be ready in case Ocran tried anything, but at the same time he didn't want Ocran wise to the fact that he was about to be arrested. When he entered the room Ocran's back was to Grigori. Grigori cleared his throat to get Ocran's attention.

Ocran turned to see Grigori in the doorway. “Oh, inquisitor, how can I help you?”

“I found the evidence you talked about,” Grigori said, keeping his tone as calm and non-accusing as he could. “I have a few more questions for you. Would you mind coming with me?”

“Sure,” Ocran began to walk towards Grigori, as if he was about to go with him, and then, suddenly, grabbed a candelabra off the dresser and threw it at Grigori with all his might. Grigori jumped off to one side to avoid it and crashed into the wall. Immediately the guards in the hall sprang into action, but before they could get through the door Ocran had thrown a Blackstar Talisman on the ground and conjured several demons that looked like leopards and whose fur resembled the night sky, with spots that sparkled like stars. Two of the demons pounced on the guards and pinned them to the ground.

As the guards struggled to keep the mouths of the demons attacking them away from their throats and faces, Grigori said a quick incantation while holding his short-sword's blade close to his lips. “Blade become like sunlight. Sandalphon, I beg you, grant me the power to slay your enemies!” The change in the sword's blade was subtle, but apparent. The blade, which was previously dull in sheen, though still sharp as a razor, now was like a mirror, perfectly reflecting images from the room around it. Furthermore in the air surrounding the blade there was a light mist, which indicated that the blade was as cold as ice. It was not truly necessary to pray to Sandalphon to make the spell work, but the inquisitors found it important, for it reminded them that though they had learned powerful magic they still owed their loyalty to their angel.

“Surround him!” Ocran said to the demons, and they began to circle Grigori, snarling at him loudly. “You are no paladin! You stand no chance!” Ocran said. He waved his hand towards the door and the door slammed shut. The guards and the demons attacking them were closed outside the room, and Grigori was closed in the room with the Ocran and the other demons.

Grigori eyed Ocran with a subtle look of disgust, and a hint of a confident smirk at the corner of his mouth. “Blasphemer! Heretic! Sinner! Unto thee I bestow pain!” Grigori shouted.

No sooner had Grigori finished the phrase than Ocran learned the first lesson about Inquisition magic. The inquisitors had spent centuries honing two particular talents: combating the occult and getting answers. This included not just their education, but also the magic they had developed. When Grigori said the last word of the phrase Ocran suddenly felt as if every nerve in his body was suddenly being pinched by tiny, metallic tweezers that had been held in a fire until they were red-hot. For years to come after that, those working in the castle told stories of the seemingly inhuman scream they heard Ocran make as he experienced true agony. Each time the story was told it was embellished more and more, and yet even generations later the stories couldn't get across the chilling sound that rang through the halls of the castle that day.

Ocran awakened hours later. He was tied to a chair in the dungeons with a blindfold over his eyes, and his whole body still ached. He knew he was in the dungeons because he recognized the smell of the mold and rat stool, mixed with the damp, cold feeling in the air.

“You're awake. Good,” he heard Grigori say.

“What happened? What did you do?” Ocran tried to shout, but his voice was hoarse and the words came out as a wheezy squeak.

Ocran could hear Grigori sharpening a blade, he recognized the sound of a whet stone on steel. “Did you really think I wasn't expecting you to try something foolish? Looks like your hubris has caught up with you. Without you to lead them the demons fell right quick.” Ocran could next hear the sounds of Grigori stoking a fire, the cinders flaring up. “I used an incantation on you that allowed you to experience pain like you've never experienced it before. Consider it a gift, few people understand how much pain a human-being is capable of feeling without actually dying.”

“You gundygut son of a whore!” Ocran wheezed.

“You'll never wound the pride of a man who has none,” Grigori said. “Go ahead. Be as defiant as you wish. I'll still break you. I've broken men far stronger than you, men far more accustomed to pain and suffering.” Grigori ripped the blindfold from Ocran's face, allowing Ocran to see in the low-light from the nearby furnace that Grigori was shirtless. Grigori's skin was like leather, covered in scars from whips, blades, and burns. Grigori turned, allowing Ocran to take in the sight of all his scars, which got far worse on his back. “As you can see, blasphemer, I know a great deal about pain and suffering. Every day I study it, experiment with it, inflict it on myself. The Inquisition teaches us that the study of pain and suffering is as important as the study of our Scriptures. We must fully understand it in order to inflict it, and the pain we suffer teaches us much. In my studies I've found that as painful as that spell can be to its victims there's something far worse than mere pain. Do you know what it is? Loss.” Grigori looked over the blade he'd been sharpening, and stoked the fire some more with the poker sitting in the embers of the furnace. “Worse than the pain of losing an eye is the actual loss of an eye. Worse than the pain of losing your tongue is the actual loss of your tongue. Does that make sense?”

“I know the King would never condone this! He'll have your head if you torture me!”

Grigori openly laughed. It was forced, and came out sounding like a hyena, an unnatural and inhuman laugh that chilled the blood. In truth, Grigori didn't find anything funny here, he was merely laughing to subdue his prisoner with fear. “he left days ago, don't you remember? That means it'll be a long time before he even finds out about it, and that's more than enough time for me to drop you off in the middle of nowhere, with no eyes, no tongue, no ears, no hands, no clothes, and slathered in fish-oil. You'll just have to wander around, praying every second that the bears don't get you, and when the King returns I'll simply claim you got away. He'll excuse incompetence, he's kind like that.” The twisted smile on Grigori's face and the sadistic tone in his voice were all for show. In truth Grigori took no enjoyment from this whatsoever, but he knew that nothing was more terrifying to these cowardly blasphemers than a sadistic inquisitor. He needed Ocran to be afraid if he was going to get any answers out of him. Grigori put the blindfold back on Ocran's face. The cloth stuck to the warlock's sweat. “Now...how shall we start...”

“What do you want to know?” Ocran cried out. “I'll tell you! I swear!”

“I know you'll tell me. Doesn't mean you don't deserve to be punished first.” Ocran could hear Grigori pull the poker out of the furnace, and soon he could feel the heat near his face.

“THERE ARE OTHERS!” Ocran screamed.

“Now we're getting somewhere,” Grigori said. “Names.”

“Amram! He's one of the guards here! Kalb! He's in charge of the hunting dogs! There's Kirya, she lives in the city and brings us materials! There are others too, but I don't know their names!”

“Who are you working for?” Grigori demanded.

“Lorna! One of King Therion's generals!”

“What is your goal?”

“To dismantle Arx's government from within!”

“HOW?”

“Assassinations! Kill the King and Queen, start a civil war!”

Ocran could hear Grigori put away the poker and pick up his short-sword again. “Good. I'm going to untie you now. You'll stay in the dungeon, but you won't be tied to the chair anymore.” Grigori removed the blindfold from Ocran's face again and began untie his wrists and ankles, his short-sword apparently sheathed at his side. Once he'd untied Ocran, Grigori turned his back to him and reached for the door. Ocran took the opportunity and grabbed the hilt of Grigori's short-sword in an attempt to draw it, only to find that a small, leather strip blocked it from being drawn quickly. Grigori grabbed the poker from the fire and shoved it into Ocran's eye. As Ocran fell to his knees, grabbing the area of his missing eye, Grigori undid the leather strip holding his short-sword in place. He drew the blade and thrust it through Ocran's heart. Just as Grigori predicted, given the chance Ocran attempted to kill him, and failed miserably. Grigori knew he couldn't leave this blasphemer alive. Not only would he likely escape and harm more people, but if he got out he could further spread his heresies and lies, and lead more souls into the hands of the demons. Now Grigori could kill this blasphemer and honestly say it was in self-defense.