Squirrel rode the horse through the gates of Illistaire as the High inquisitor’s troops paraded through the streets behind her. Ahead of her, Franco De’Bann preened in his spotless armor as onlookers gawked. Squirrel shifted her saddle sores and glanced over at Toren, still in the guise of an effeminate page. The young man was struggling to keep pace with her horse, burdened with all of her luggage; dresses and trinkets lavished on her by Franco to still her ire.

“This is hell,” Toren wheezed, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. “I’m in hell.”

“Come now Gerome,” Squirrel said, regarding Toren from her superior position atop the horse. “The high inquisitor only wants to toughen you up and raise you into a great knight. His generosity is truly deep.”

“Ah, but whose idea was it?” Toren asked. “Because we both know the high inquisitor doesn’t think for himself.”

Squirrel shrugged. “Maybe next time you won’t sell me a plan that gets my dress ripped off and exposes my breasts to a castle full of armed men.”

Toren glared up at her from beneath the chest forcing him to stoop over. “That hardly beats pulling me out of my home, punching me in the balls and getting my name decried as a traitor to the kingdom.”

“Something tells me your headmaster wouldn’t have chosen you out of all the students in your school, unless you deserved it.” Squirrel shot back.

Toren stopped in his tracks, nearly falling as the forward momentum of Squirrel’s luggage tipped him over. “That bastard,” Toren said, stumbling forward. “That bastard knew this would happen. This whole thing was his plan from the beginning!” Toren clenched his teeth and narrowed his eyes. The headmaster was a master of Divination. There was no way he didn’t see something as staggeringly important as a long lost princess coming back to life.

Toren glanced up at Squirrel. Would the old man have sent him if she wasn’t the princess? Just to punish him with possible death? And if she was the princess, why would her father try to kill her? Toren was in his own head, beginning to catch a glimpse at the old man’s game, when a beggar hobbled forward, a cane supporting his weak legs.

“Squirrel, Squirrel!” the beggar shouted, trying his best to keep up with the leisurely pace of the parade of royal soldiers. Squirrel and Toren’s heads swiveled at the mention of her name, and Toren could make out Finn’s emaciated form covered in rags waving at them.

“Squirrel don’t-“ Toren began, but she’d already vaulted from her horse in an impressive display of acrobatic talent. It was, unfortunately also completely out of character for his cousin Anna Guiliveres, or any noble lady for that matter.

Squirrel leapt from the horse, landing amidst the stunned onlookers, and within a couple paces, had swept up Finn in a hug. “Finn!” she shouted, squeezing a pained groan out of the young man before standing back to look at him. There was only a shadow of Finn’s former physique, diminished by malnutrition and inactivity in the month and a half she’d been gone. He stood upon splinted legs with the aid of a cane that appeared to have been wrenched from a piece of ruined furniture.

“Did anyone else make it out?” Squirrel asked, tears coming to her eyes as she remembered her fleeting glimpse of bolts burying themselves in Phantom’s back.

Finn shook his head. “I don’t know, Squirrel. By the time I got back-“ A steel clad arm interrupted Finn when it came between the two of them and shoved him away from Squirrel.

“What’s going on here?” Franco demanded, stepping between the two of them, regarding Finn with suspicion. In moments Finn was held between two royal guards. “While it isn’t strictly a crime to speak to a lady of noble birth, I need little justification to punish you.” Franco pulled aside Finn’s vest to reveal his ribcage. “You seem like the kind of fellow who’s stolen a time or two.”

Franco’s eyes traveled down to Finn’s legs. “I wonder,” he said, thumbing his chin. “What you hoped to accomplish by assaulting someone so high above your station with your stench?” Franco tapped his boot against Finn’s splinted leg, and the young man collapsed to the floor moaning in pain, causing Franco’s brows to raise in surprise.

Behind Franco, Toren desperately caught Squirrel’s fist before it impacted against the back of the High inquisitor’s unprotected head. “Use your words,” Toren whispered into Squirrel’s ear as she tried to claw past him. The rest of the royal guard stood by, unsure of what to do about the seemingly infuriated lady and the porter restraining her.

“I guess you’re not faking,” Franco said, squatting down to peer at Finn. He reached into his purse and produced two silver pieces. “One for each leg,” he said, placing them on Finn’s chest before producing two more. “And one for each arm.” Finn stood and regarded one of the royal guards. “Make it so,” he said, nodding to them as they picked him up.

“I’d rather you didn’t,” Squirrel said, her knuckles white on Franco’s steel shoulder armor.

“But he tried to-“

“What? He tried to do what?” Squirrel demanded, her ire overflowing. Nearby Royal guardsmen, veterans to a one, took a step back. Toren felt ice freeze his heart as tingles raised the hairs on his spine. “Tried to talk to me?”

“Well,” Franco began, tilting his head apologetically.

“I forgave you when your confidence made you behave like a complete ass at my uncle’s, hoping that you truly had something more in mind than tearing off my dress, but it’s becoming plain to me that you’re nothing but a simple brute. That boy there is an aquaintance of mine from our family’s hometown.” Squirrel’s voice rose as she spoke, until she was shouting in Franco’s pale face. “I don’t know what turn of fate brought about his current situation, but if you take him away and break his arms like complete barbarians, how am I supposed to find out!”

“Apologies,” Franco said, ducking his head. “But women are not up to the task of an Inquisitor’s work. I determined him to be-“

“Stow the shit!” Squirrel shouted him down like a misbehaving stagehand. “You thought to yourself, ‘Here’s an opportunity to show the lady how much of a man I am by tormenting this crippled boy.’ but guess what? You couldn’t even do that by yourself! Does a member the royal guard have to hold your dick when you piss too?”

Toren’s Jaw dropped as harsh, emasculating language began to flood out of Squirrel’s mouth, causing those listening to cringe and shy away. The language was powerful, but it was also crude and uncultured, so he positioned himself behind Franco and tried to motion for Squirrel to tone it down, waving his arms frantically, but it was all for naught as Franco withered in front of her tyrade, finally buckling under the pressure and leaving with his head hung low.

The crowd continued to stare at Squirrel long after the Franco’s men retreated, watching her help her brother to her feet, before finally losing interest and returning their attention to the parade of knights marching down the street. Toren noticed the crowd giving her a much wider berth than him, forcing him to elbow his way to her.

“That was damn risky,” Toren said, approaching the two of them.

“Nah, as long as a man can be stared down, I can do it,” Squirrel said, holding Finn steady.

“That’s not the point,” Toren said. “He may be slow, but you just cussed like a sailor. Very soon it’s going to occur to him that a sixteen year old girl from Guilivere can’t do that, then his ponderously slow gears will begin to turn, and finally he will arrive at the conclustion that you aren’t who you say you are. We need to put distance between us and him, right now.”

“Who is this?” Finn asked, glancing between Toren and Squirrel.

“It’s Toren,” Toren said, hustling up to the two of them, putting his hands on their backs and pushing them into the nearby alley.

“Why didn’t you help us when the guards were flooding onto the stage?” Finn said, shrugging off Toren’s hand.

“Because your sister punched me in the balls, now we really don’t have time to stand around being petty,” he said, forcing them into the alley.

Toren shrugged the massive backpack off his shoulders and set it down. “I got you a pair of trousers and a tunic, he said digging through the case and tossing them to Squirrel. He pulled out a bag containing the various trinkets Franco had been giving her. “This should keep us in business for a while.” Toren shook the bag, which clinked metallically.

Toren reached into the case again. “Alright, Finn, you change into these,” Toren said, pulling out a nobleman’s garb. “I didn’t expect you to be here, so you’ll have to wear my costume. Your story is that you were injured three years ago in the war against the Guladan and your leg never healed properly.”

****

Franco sat atop his horse, considering her words. A woman had never been tolerated to speak that way in his house. His father told stories of how he had ‘tamed’ his mother, and Franco had never seen the woman act out, so he simply assumed women were all demure, comfortable armpieces.

A smile came to Franco’s face. It was refreshing, actually. Exotic. As a matter of fact, it was downright exhilarating. He might have to find a woman like Anna for his own when he decided that his body was no longer up to the task of tireless vigilance. Franco looked at his own hand, which trembled on the saddle horn.

He had never seen a woman like Anna before, treating him like an equal with such fervor. Never in his life had he seen a woman with fiery red hair like that shout with such an authoritative… Franco inhaled deeply as he came to a sudden realization, and looked up from his trembling hand, glancing over his shoulder where he had left the girl to converse with her acquaintance in privacy.

They weren’t there. Franco’s eyes widened, and he scanned the rest of the street, squinting his eyes to peer into the dark alleys, and yet he saw nothing.

“Fuck!”

****

“Let me get this straight,” King Roland said, standing from his desk. “You went to the Reinbahm’s estate, and found nothing.”

“yes, your majesty,” Franco said, clenching his teeth and dreading the outcome of this meeting. His humiliation was total, and it seemed like the least that would happen was him losing his position as High inquisitor. If he was really unlucky, his family would suffer as an extention. The best case scenario featured him kissing some other High inquisitor’s ass until he died of dysentery.

“And then, out of the blue,” The king said, his voice low and calm as he came around the desk to stand in front of Franco. “A girl completely unrelated to the Reinbahm’s appears, with no business being there.”

“Yes your majesty.” Franco said, trying not to fall into the depths of the king’s eyes as he loomed in front of him. In Franco’s experience, it wouldn’t be unsual for the king to lay his hands upon him. It might even mollify the king’s anger somewhat, and be better for him in the long run. Franco hoped he had all his teeth by the end.

“And this red haired girl, who you originally mistook for someone else, someone you TOLD ME WAS DEAD!” The king began to scream, spittle flying into Franco’s face. Franco didn’t dare flinch or wipe his cheek.

“Matches descriptions of the imposter posing as my daughter. The person I foolishly believed you were originally searching for!”

“Yes, your majesty.” Franco said. staring straight ahead.

Roland began to hyperventilate, swaying on his feet and leaning forward to rest his hand on Franco’s shoulder.

“Are you well, your maj-“

The hand on Franco’s shoulder tightened, and the weight increased, as though Roland were pushing him down. In fact, Franco noticed that his eye level was lowering. Franco glanced downward and noticed a pitch black hole beneath him, with the smell of sulfur and ozone wafting up from it as it engulfed him.

“What-“ The last words out of Franco’s mouth were cut off as Roland closed the portal to the Abyss.

“AAGH!” Roland shouted after Franco was gone, kicking his desk with his weight behind the strike. The hardwood desk weighed more than a horse, and his boots were enchanted, amounting to no damage to either object.

“Do you need my assistance?” The Oracle asked, appearing from a shadow.

“I would seek nothing from you beyond the terms of our agreement,” Roland said.

“And yet you squander power to punish a single man. It would be simple to summon the necessary-“

“Don’t confuse anger with desperation, demon,” Roland said, taking a deep breath to steady himself. “Leave me be, and have the scribe draft an apology for the overreach of my powers toward the Reinbahms. Make sure they are aware I know about the girl hosted at their estate. They should hesitate to press their advantage.”

The hag bowed, her dirty robes dipping to drag on the marble floor. “As you wish, your majesty,” she said with a hideous smile before leaving the room.

Roland sighed, rubbing his temple, which throbbed from the impromptu use of magic. Without any preparation, object of power, or sacrifice, he could do little more than poking a small hole in the fabric of the Wakening World, but it was enough to give the High inquisitor one last duty to match his abilities.

Maybe the fool would even slay one of the world’s primordial evils, and make the world a better place; a small one, like the Evil that lived in the agonizing moment before a sneeze. Roland doubted the High Inquisitor would do anything of importance before he was chained to a table and tortured for eternity, until he either became a demon himself or simply retreated so far inside his own soul that he ceased to exist.

Roland heaved a sigh and sat down at his desk again, ringing the bell that would summon a page. The first thing he needed to do was find an excellent candidate for a new High Inquisitor.

The page trotted in, his eyes wild and panting. The boy was obviously working his first day as a page. “Tell Drannor that I want the High Inquisitors to begin nominating a successor for Franco De’bann.” Roland pondered for a moment, and the boy nearly dashed away.

“Hold.” Roland said, his voice arresting the boy mid-sprint. “Also, have a scribe assemble a list of Inquisitors at Senior rank or below, detailing their performance for my perusal. Roland leaned back in his chair as the boy nodded and sprinted away. It had recently occurred to him that he might be using a ten pound mallet to hammer in a nail with a High inquisitor.

If the other grey-haired High Inquisitors were anything like Franco, they would be escorted by a small army wherever they went. Roland was looking for someone a bit more competent, and a high position within the politics-laden world of the Inquisitors was not necessarily a good thing.

Roland tapped his finger on the desk, considering other options. He had to put as many lines in the water as he could. Sooner or later, one of them would snag his prey. A thought occurred to him. Perhaps, since her return to the capital, one of his lines had already done its job. Roland stood and strode from his office, heading toward his private study.