Chapter 87: Inquisit á Castle Choir (1)

A few days prior to Sharknel’s attempted legal engineering.

On the northernmost outskirts of Chello, where the wild grasslands met the edge of the forest, Inquisitor Yal inspected the damage done to a little-known dirt outroad.

With him were white-robed Inquisitor-apprentices taking detailed notes of the craters, the fallen trees, and the blood soaked into dry, crunchy leaves.

Yal himself stood before a dead horse, its body lying sideways, blocking the already-narrow road. It had no discernible wounds, seemingly having died from sheer exhaustion.

Further down the road, in the direction of the city, the body of its rider was in much the same state: dead without a killing blow.

Rider and horse were thirty paces apart; the rider must have been thrown forwards, rolling to a stop. It could just be that she’d broken her neck, but was that the case?

Inquisitors who merely speculated without evidence—bringing only assertions without validation—deserved execution for their negligence.

Yal approached the apprentice inspecting the rider’s body. The apprentice looked up after she saw him approach.

“Senior,” the apprentice preempted. Anyone who had worked with Yal for a while knew that the man’s mere approach was a question unto itself. She continued, “This one is a regular member of the city’s outland patrol brigade. My Skill can only find rib fractures, nothing more.”

Yal nodded, hiding his frown. He strongly suspected instant death magic to have killed both horse and rider. That there ought to be a demon in the area was not what was so distressing—such a thing was already within his expectations, after all—but rather it was the fact that the rider was part of the city’s regular garrison, and not the private forces of the Crisens household, that he found so...interesting.

Crisens’ army was far larger than the city’s garrison, which was more of an auxiliary police force than anything else. Given that Crisens had dispatched his army to patrol the region, there should have been a higher chance of encountering Crisens’ soldiers rather than this poor rider-auxiliary.

There were more tracks leading to the city, indicating three more riders—three potential suspects or witnesses—to whatever intense battle had been fought here. The fact that they hadn’t yet come forward indicated that they were too afraid to do so...or dead.

Yal looked back in the direction of the forest, now just a mess of splinters and burnt tree trunks smothered white in the ashes of their neighbors. He almost mistook it for a certain other forest which had been left petrified by a great war of long ago.

To think that all evidence pointed to a mere two mages having a quarrel... Thinking of it in that way, Yal could see it: one of them hopping between branches, and the other, remaining on ground level. It was entirely likely that the rider and her comrades had just been unfortunately caught up in it.

As he walked down the road towards the city, he pondered on the unsettling possibility that Lord Crisens might be conspiring with demons.

He boarded a waiting carriage, and the driver spurred the horses onward. It was time to pay Lord Crisens another visit. Nothing like thinly veiled threats to kick an anthill and get them all scrambling—or hiding. Either would suffice.

***

Lord Crisens opened the door to his office, freezing upon the sight of the black robes of the Inquisition.

He saw that it was that old-timer again, staring out the window and having the gal to be bored of waiting.

“Why, Esteemed Inquisitor”—Crisens closed the door behind him—“whatever it is, it must be dire for you appear so suddenly.”

Crisens walked across the room, aiming for the seat behind his desk.

“Do you know about demons, Lord Crisens?” Yal said, matter-of-factly.

Crisens didn’t reply, not until he reached his seat and sat down, leaning forwards and propping up his head with one arm. “In stories,” he said, “maybe some hearsay, sometimes in sermons in some temples.”

“Temples?” Yal turned to face him. “You never struck me as a religious one.”

“Oh, no, no.” Crisens shook his head and waved a hand. “It’s not like that at all. I’m simply the kind of Lord to include temples in my inspections. It can only benefit me to know how the Priestesses of my city regard me.”

“Of course it would.” Yal nodded. “Of course it would...”

Crisens had a pensive look as he asked, “Wasn’t there a more pressing matter on your mind, Inquisitor?”

Whether that pensiveness was faked or not, it wouldn’t matter with Yal’s next words. “Yes, well, you don’t happen to be colluding with demons, would you, Lord Crisens?”

There was a stunned look on Crisens’ face. “Forgive me, but it’s as if you’re asking me if I’ve ever seen a goddess in person.”

“Then, are you?”

“Goddesses above and below, no!” Crisens almost laughed from the silliness of it. Of course he would—the existence of demons was a closely guarded secret, even within the Inquisition itself, where only a few unnamed departments ever knew.

Yal chuckled along with him for a short moment. “Well, if you ever encounter one, do tell me.” He almost turned around, but then remembered another thing. “Ah, have you received any reports about missing guardsmen lately? Particularly from the northern garrison.”

The polite smile on Crisens’ face wavered for a fleeting moment. “That sounds serious.”

“So have you?”

“No.” Crisens laid back against his chair. “I have not.”

Lie. “How strange. We found one rider dead from mysterious causes in the northern outskirts.” Yal turned around and began hobbling towards the door. “Well, I hope you and your army hold fast onto Lyrica’s hard-earned peace. Good day, Lord Crisens.”

The door opened and closed, leaving the Lord at a loss about what to do next.

He pulled out a 20-year-old wine bottle from under the desk. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, the best outcome he could hope for...just wasn’t any good at all.

***

The next day, news of Lord Crisens’ murder reached Inquisitor Yal.