The Heresy Within (40 page)

“Whore,” Constance spat.

Why is everyone calling me a whore these days? I've only ever accepted money for sex once and it was a long time ago.

“Catherine,” Jezzet said with an easy smile. “Sorry. Constance. You two are so much alike these days now that you're the one bending over for H'ost. Tell me, Constance; does he make you squeal like he did her?”

“She never...” Constance roared, her hand on her sword hilt but H'ost held up a hand.

“Constance, Jezzet is our guest. No fighting over dinner, please. If we're ready I'll have the first course brought out.” He waved to the servant and Constance backed away a step.

“Really?” Jezzet goaded. “Catherine would never have backed down so easy, but then she always did have a set of stones on her. Shame she didn't have a cock to go with them or you two could have...”

“FUCK YOU!”

“Constance,” H'ost warned. “We talked about this.”

Why the hell am I goading this giant with a thirst for vengeance into a fight?
Jezzet glanced at the Arbiter.
For him?

Constance saw the glance and an ugly grin managed to make her ugly face somehow uglier. “Didn't take ya long ta find another man ta fill your hole, Jezzet. At least Eirik was a man an’ not a witch hunter.”

Jezzet almost laughed. Catherine had tried for years to correct Constance's speech but whenever the big woman got angry her accent slipped back into the common drawl of the wilds. It seemed H'ost had had just as little luck.

“I am most sorry about this, Arbiter. Inevitably if you put two women in a room they either fight like cocks or cluck like hens.”

The Arbiter laughed though Jezzet could see his eyes remained cold and hard. “So very true, Lord H'ost. Though women do have their uses.”

H'ost laughed. “Very true, very true. How are you finding our Jezzet? D'roan always said she was most pleasing.”

Jezzet might have flushed red if she had any pride left but it had all been beaten out of her long ago. Didn't seem to stop the burning anger from building up inside.
Of course D'roan talked about you, Jez. The blooded folk may all be at war but at their fancy parties it's all civilized.

H'ost continued. “He used to say he'd never known a more wet or willing ca...”

“Lord H'ost,” Thanquil interrupted, Jezzet could have kissed him for that. “I wonder how it is you knew I was coming. I'm afraid I had no time to send you a message.”

“After the events in Chade? I don't doubt you would be pressed for time. What with the escaping and all. Ah yes, the first course; fried giraffe. Have you ever tried giraffe, Arbiter?”

“I must confess I do not know what a giraffe is.”

“Hah! An Arbiter confessing. Brilliant. Big beast, long neck, spots, horns.” H'ost sounded as if he were talking to some child ignorant of the world. Thanquil shook his head in reply. “I suppose you don't have them over in your Holy Empire. Got yourself a walking, talking, living God but not a single giraffe. I'd prefer the beast any day. The tongue is a delicacy but I told the cook not to waste it. Never even seen a giraffe. Hah.”

In all her life Jezzet had never met a man who loved the sound of his own voice like H'ost.

“So you knew we were coming...” Thanquil prompted.

“Of course I did. You may not have had time to let me know of your arrival but one of your hirelings did, I forget which one. Sent a bird from Bittersprings.”

That wasn't good. If someone had told H'ost they were coming it was almost certain they had told him why as well. Jezzet watched as H'ost plucked a strip of fried giraffe and popped it into his mouth.
He even chews with that smug smile.

Jezzet noticed something was off. There were no guards in the room. Aside from the servant who had announced the Lord and brought the food only Constance was here to guard H'ost. Somehow she did not think that bode well. Still, it was time for Jezzet to play her part.

“Catherine once told me you weren't really sisters.” Constance's eye had never left Jez but now she could see her jaw clenching. H'ost looked intrigued. “Can't say I was surprised. Catherine was shorter, slighter and very pretty while you... well that scar I gave you marks an improvement.”

“Bitch,” was Constance's only reply.

“She was drunk as a fish when she told me, to be certain, but she said she found you in Solantis rooting around with the rest of the garbage. She was... with the
Bold Men
at the time.” Jezzet looked at H'ost. “Old merc company used to operate out of Solantis. Catherine kept you as her... pet.”

“Bitch.”

“I reckon you didn't know this bit did you, Lord H'ost,” Jezzet continued. “Your mighty general Catherine used to be a slave.”

“Shut up, whore!”

“The captain of the
Bold Men
bought her in Chade as a nubile girl, virgin and un-flowered and for six years she followed him around in chains to fuck him whenever he wanted. When Catherine found Constance she took her in. What was it they used to call you? Catherine told me once but I forget.”

“Shut! Up!” Constance had gone bright red.

“You see the feared Deadeye used to just be some slave whore's freakish pet, begging for scraps off her master’s table.”
I hope you get what you need from him, Arbiter.
“Only thing that's changed since is the slave whore is dead.”

With a roar that was all fury and hatred Constance pushed back her chair, sprang onto the table and leapt at Jezzet, her sword flashing from her scabbard into her hand. Jezzet tipped her own chair back and rolled arse over head as it hit the floor. She heard a crash and flowed to her feet, her own sword already in shaky hand. The chair she had been sat in was no more than splinters.

Somewhere Jez could hear H'ost shouting but neither she nor the big woman paid it any mind. Constance came at her swinging. Jezzet blocked, stumbled away and blocked again.
By all the Gods I'd forgotten how freakishly strong she is.
Jez parried a stab and sent one back, Constance span away on nimble feet that belied her size and was attacking again.

Jezzet found herself giving ground. Blocking and parrying, dodging and evading but not attacking. The Arbiter wanted time alone with H'ost and she was determined to give it him. She was close to the wall now, Constance raining in blows from the front, the servant standing just a few feet behind, cowering in terror. Jezzet grabbed hold of one of the expensive-looking vases next to her and flung it at Constance's head. The big woman slashed it out of the air and it shattered, shards raining down on her.

All the time I need.

Jez spun around and was running by the time the first shard of vase hit the floor. She laid open the servants throat with a single slash and barrelled into the doorway he had brought the food from, slamming it open with her shoulder. She kept running knowing full well Constance would be just a few feet behind and all the fury of hell came with her.

“Women,” H'ost said after Jezzet and Constance had smashed their way out of the hall. Thanquil could still hear the clashing of metal on metal. Neither man had moved; they both still sat at the table, though Thanquil had edged his chair away from the chaos. H'ost himself looked unperturbed by his giant of a General attacking Jezzet. “Honestly I had a feeling it might end this way. Constance is useful, a seasoned military leader but she has a fire in her where our lovely Jezzet is concerned.”

“You knew we were coming,” Thanquil said as H'ost popped his last strip of fried giraffe into his mouth and started chewing. “You know why I'm here.” It wasn't a question.

“Well of course I do, Arbiter. Though I must admit I'm curious as to how you managed to make her talk, I assumed she would be immune to your compulsion.” Thanquil tried his best to hide his confusion, he had no idea what this man was talking about and it did not bode well that H'ost knew about the compulsion.

“Nor do I understand how you knew the language. I thought it would be quite beyond an Arbiter of your experience but there you have it. We can't be right about everything can we.”

H'ost leaned back in his chair and yawned. “You can come in now, darling.”

The double doors swung open again and a woman walked through them, a woman Thanquil knew all too well. She was clad better now, tight riding leathers where before she had worn rags. She was cleaner also, her hair and skin washed. It was easy to see now that she resembled H'ost though younger and more feminine. The lack of chains were a concern though, Thanquil would far preferred her to still be in chains.

He didn't hesitate. Thanquil pulled the ball thrower from his belt, aimed and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The merchant had said accurate up to ten paces. This was more like twenty and the shot went well wide, splintering the door frame. The woman looked at where the small pellet had hit, saw the slight yellow-gold glow fading away, and then turned to Thanquil with a cruel smile. He was already reloading.

“A pistol!” H'ost said with a clap of his hands. “Wonderful, where did you get that?”

“Chade,” Thanquil answered as he finished popping the ball back into the barrel then shoved it back into his belt and stood, drawing his sword instead. The woman walked forward and stopped behind H'ost's chair. She carried no weapon but he knew just how dangerous she was.

“You've met my daughter, Arbiter.”

“In a cell, where they had her chained to a wall after they had already killed her twice and scooped out her eyes.” Thanquil was tense; this he had not planned for. “What did you do to her, H'ost?”

The head of the H'ost family laughed, his daughter, standing behind him, stared on through cold, dead eyes. “The compulsion. Very good. It's been a while since I felt it but I must say yours is particularly weak.”

Thanquil backed away a step and tried again. “What is she?”

Again H'ost laughed but this time when he stopped his voice was as hard and harsh as Thanquil's own. “I am not some mindless simpleton. I am Gregor H'ost. Your pathetic compulsion will not work on me, Arbiter.” He turned to his daughter standing behind him. “Kill him.”

The woman came towards him, skipping from one foot to the other in a strange jinking dance. Then she hissed something in an alien tongue and the air rushed towards Thanquil with a scream. The blast knocked him off his feet and he found himself rolling on the polished wooden floor. The woman was coming at him fast. Her only weapons her hands, each finger sporting a sharp-looking claw.

Thanquil raised his sword to block the first attack. The noise as her claws connected with his sword sounded like metal screeching against metal. He spun out of reach, whispering blessings of speed and strength, and slashed with his sword at her head. She danced away from him and then back in with another swipe with her right hand. He blocked again but she stepped in close, as Thanquil fell away she tore at his arm with her left hand.

He could feel blood running down his left arm but that was nothing compared to the pain. It felt as though the wound both burned and froze at the same time. Thanquil clutched at his left arm, around the wound and cried out. He scrambled backwards, pushing with his feet and glad that the floor was so well polished. The woman danced towards him again, more slowly this time, almost as if she were savouring the moment.

“Strong isn't she,” he heard H'ost say. “And only the first of many. I intend to make an army of them.”

Thanquil realised he was no longer holding his sword. He'd dropped it when she clawed his arm and now the woman was between him and the blade.

He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small slip of paper. The good thing about an Arbiter coat was many hidden pockets and Thanquil knew what each one contained by heart. He flung the piece of paper at the woman and she clawed it away. Thanquil curled into a ball just in time as the air exploded.

His ears were still ringing as he regained his feet. The air hung heavy with smoke and there were scorch marks on the floor. The woman was a good ten feet away whining and writhing in pain. Her face and arms were charred, blackened ruins. Her leathers were burned and, in places, still on fire.

As Thanquil advanced on her, he had to say, she now looked a pathetic figure, wriggling on the ground, struggling to breathe. Chances are the explosion had done as much damage to her lungs. The teachers at the Inquisition always warned about using rune explosions; there was always the chance you would breathe in the flames.

Thanquil stopped by the pathetic creature on the floor, pulled his pistol from his belt once more and pulled the trigger.

BANG!

The glowing bullet smashed through her skull. The body convulsed once, twice, and then stopped. A spreading pool of blood ran along the polished wooden floor. Thanquil hated the smell of burning flesh.

“Don't think she'll be coming back from the dead this time. Wrapped a purging rune around the bullet. Whatever she was, it's gone now.” H'ost was still seated, when Thanquil looked at the lord he fell off his chair and scrambled away. The Arbiter turned away to collect his fallen sword.

“I never was very good at sword play but the teachers at the Inquisition said I more than made up for it with my skill with magic; runes, charms. Blessing and curses are my spe... H'ost stop!”

Too late Thanquil had turned back to find the terrified lord had pulled a number of wooden chips from his purse. He was snapping them and throwing them to the floor. Thanquil counted ten and he recognised them right away. They were summoning runes.

Already the room was starting to grow colder, darker. Already the first shade had begun to form.

The Captain waited; his back straight and cold eyes watchful. The rest of his troops were not so diligent; some drifted into groups and began to talk, some slipped back into the mess hall, no doubt for some ale, some stood around yawning and rubbing at their sleepy eyes. The old grey sergeant was chatting and laughing with Bones before ten minutes had passed. The giant was well known for being an amiable bastard, even with his hands bound it seemed.