This whole business of preparing a pyre went on for around a couple of hours more. The blurry light behind the clouds had moved some distance, indicating that this cozy bonfire would take place at sundown. There was a certain logic too it. Maybe his burning corpse would help keep them all warm a bit in the cold rain. It would certainly look impressive in the darkness. The light and shadows would play and dance across the trees.
The rain was pouring down even harder now, it was almost impossible to see more than a hundred feet. The sound of the rain almost overwhelmed the cheering and song-singing of the villagers. It was a fairly jolly tune about nasty Wizards and the many ways to kill one. It was rather catchy, he had to admit.
A few befuddled villagers were trying to light the bonfire by striking rocks together. They didn’t seem very good at it at all. One of them was standing several feet away from the wood pile, two of them had wet stones, and one promising fellow managed to land some sparks on the wood, but to no effect. It seemed that this village hadn’t burned anyone at the stake before, at least in living memory, but they were all too enthusiastic and willing to learn.
A horn blew.
It seemed to sputter in the rain, but it was loud enough. The villagers stopped in their tracks. The crowd split to let in three new arrivals.
They were two armed guards escorting a Witch Hunter. They didn’t seem happy to be out in this weather, but they seemed even less happy upon seeing the Wizard. In fact, they seemed very angry and stern. The heavy rain certainly wasn’t helping the mood.
The two guards were a man and a woman, with the woman tucking a horn into a satchel on her belt. Each of them were wearing some tabards over chainmail on the body, with helmets that included a nose guard but left the face open. Their tabards were a bit grungy, but had fairly vibrant patterns of mostly red, with a bit of yellow and a bit less white. There was some icon of a winged, flaming sword at the center of the tabard. The two guards each had a halberd held upright in one hand, the other hand gently pushing back the crowd.
The Witch Hunter was obviously a Witch Hunter. He had the hat, that one style of hat that all Witch Hunters had, and the big long coat. The Wizard had seen plenty of Witch Hunters before, albeit only illustrated in children’s books and walking in religious parades with uniforms pulled out of old storage. Seeing a living, breathing Witch Hunter up close like this was certainly intimidating. His face was thin and stern, his skin unshaved and clammy. His eyes were fairly intimidating, they seemed to pop out just a bit, giving him quite a crazed and zealous look. There was more than a hint of madness in those eyes.
The right hand of the Witch Hunter was resting on his sword pommel, the blade hidden in a leather sheathed decorated with brass shaped into feathers. His left hand was holding onto the centerpiece of his rather large necklace. It was another winged flaming sword symbol like the ones on the guard’s tabards, this one carved out of wood.
As the Witch Hunter strode forward, the Wizard noticed something about the new arrivals, himself, and the villagers, he had noted it before.
Their height.
The Wizard knew he was fairly average in height, maybe a bit below average height. He was never the tallest person in the room, but he was tall enough to do all the important things like reach high shelves, which was really the the most valuable usage of personal height.
The Witch Hunter was above average height. His two guards were quite a bit taller, which made sense, as looking big and tough was the most valuable thing on any potential guards resume.
But the villagers were a different story.
They were all short. They looked almost like dwarves, or even halflings next to the guards, despite all being human. The Wizard was taller than every single adult in the village. It was a discomforting thought. Something wrong was going on here.
Before he could consider this issue more, he saw one of the villagers, an old man carrying a bundle of wet clothes, approaching the Witch Hunter. The old man was absolutely terrified of the Witch Hunter.
The clothes he was showing to the Witch Hunter were the Wizard’s. It was his robe and hat, a once vibrant blue decorated with shining stars, now dirty and wet and stained a disgusting brown.
“We figured he was a Wizard, sir,” said the Old Man, passing over the clothes to the Witch Hunter. “He was wearing the big colorful robe and hat, just like all them Wizards in the drawings and stories.”
“You did well to capture him and call for help,” declared the Witch Hunter, holding up and examining the clothes. He held them with only his forefinger and thumb, as if they were some soiled rags from a dung heap. “Wizards are a devious and malicious kind of miscreant. Who knows what kind of villainy and wickedness he had planned for your fair village?”
The villagers quailed at this, their previous joyful demeanor all gone, now regarding the Wizard with apprehension and fear. They seemed ready for him to somehow leap down and start tearing out throats and pulling apart limbs. The Wizard wished they had shown this level of respect before. He was, of course, totally helpless right now, and quite afraid and tense, but they didn’t need to know that. He could retain some dignity.
Stolen story; please report.
“Now then,” shouted the Witch Hunter, left hand holding the bundle of clothes, right hand raised in the air to get attention, as if he didn’t have it already. “My name is Inquisitor Lamprecht. I have been dispatched by the Order of the Fiery Heart to confirm sightings of a most malicious Wizard.”
Lamprecht slowly walked towards the wood pile and the Wizard.
“I see the results of your most diligent and virtuous efforts, ” smiled Lamprecht, “the Wizard is already captured and bound, by your hands. You have even prepared a most worthy bonfire of cleansing flame. This does your village credit.”
The Witch Hunter spun around, facing the villagers, both hands raised into the air.
“However! Let it not be said that there was any doubt to the identity and nature of the supposed, ‘man,’ before us! We act not for vengeance! We act to seek and punish the guilty! We act in pure Righteousness! As the Bright Lady commands, we must have a trial to prove that our decisions are just and right!”
The villagers cheered. Lamprecht was shouting now, his voice filled with fanaticism and fervor. Even the guards, silent and still until now, were pounding their halberds on the ground, caught up in the energy of the crowd.
Honestly, the Wizard felt a bit bored. He knew where this was going. His nose was a bit itchy, so he scratched it with his forefinger.
“Yes!” continued Lamprecht, “a trial! I shall be the judge! You, the people, shall be the jury! And the cleansing flame shall be the executioner!”
The Witch Hunter held up the robe in his left hand, the hat in his right. The clothes were quite dirty and ragged now, looking dull compared to the zealous gleam in his eyes.
“Behold! The first piece of evidence against this depraved culprit!” he declared, his arms raised to display the clothing. “The deplorable uniform of a Wizard! Worn by the very suspect we gather here to judge!”
He tossed the clothing onto the wooden pile at the feet of the Wizard. It was actually quite a large pile by this point, several feet tall. It would indeed make for a good pyre.
“Now, the second piece of evidence! The word of your fellow faithful!” announced the Witch Hunter, hands raised to direct the crowd like a true showman, before beckoning to two men standing near the guards. “These two fine gentlemen did see the arrival of the accused and will attest to his arcane nature!”
“It’s true! We saw it!” said the first man from the beach, walking forward, my stolen boots squelching through the mud and keeping his feet dry, the stolen socks inside no doubt keeping the toes warm. “He came down from the sky like a shining meat-eeor, he did! He crashed right into the lake just over yonder before shooting like an arrow through the water! Before we knew it, he was standin’ right in front of us!”
“That’s right!” continued the second man, his pants kept comfortably snug by my stolen belt around his waist. “He held up his hands and stared right at us! His eyes were glowin’ and he was grinnin’ like a right proper lunatic, he was! He tried to cast a spell on us! That’s when I said, ‘that’s enough of you,’ and I slammed me shovel right in his face and stopped him!”
The crowd cheered at their story. The Wizard felt the need to interject.
“That’s not what happened at all.”
The villagers pulled back, as if suddenly remembering that he was there.
“He speaks!” shouted someone.
“He’s gonna’ cast a curse on us!” someone else called out.
“Stop ‘im! Cut out his tongue!” someone screamed.
“Hold!” declared the Witch Hunter, stopping the crowd from rushing forth, his face calm and controlled, “we are a civilized people. We are not intimidated or fooled by duplicitous magic! We will let the culprit speak in his own defense, meager as it may be and overwhelming is the evidence against him.”
The Wizard opened his mouth.
“But!” sneered Lamprecht, “if even a single syllable of malicious magic escapes from your lips, I will know!”
The Wizard closed his mouth and considered what to say.
“Uh, just to clarify,” said the Wizard, clearing his throat, “what crime am I being charged with?”
The villagers seemed confused and stupefied. They reacted like he had just asked which mouth to eat with.
The Witch Hunter however, was absolutely apoplectic, a snarl twisting and distorting his face.
“What crime! What crime, he dares ask!” shouted Lamprecht, almost screaming, spittle forming from his mouth, “the crime of being a Wizard!”
The Witch Hunter hunched over, his arms spread and hands nearly pressed together, as if squeezing someone’s neck.
“The crime of being a miserable malefactor who rejects all common decency and morality and would see us all enslaved and ensorcelled in a profane quest for power unending!”
He was moving forward, climbing up the wood pile, eyes locked on the Wizard.
“A despicable lunatic who would tear our very flesh and souls apart to twist into unholy abominations and intrude upon the realms of creation reserved for only the Gods! A crazed and rapacious villain drunk on arcane power seeking to despoil and plunder all that we hold dear!”
Lamprecht was gripping the sides of the Wizard’s head, as if the sheer rage in his heart would give Lamprecht the strength to squeeze and crush the skull. His body was shaking in anger, eyes bulging, veins standing out on his forehead. The villagers were cowering in terror of the Witch Hunter, even the guards taking a step back. The Wizard could only do his best to recoil and sink back like a turtle into his shell while the Witch Hunter screamed in his face.
“You are everything wrong with this sinful world embodied in a feeble sack of flesh and blood! You are a voracious locust who will forever be all-devouring and all-consuming in pursuit of power and wealth! You… You are…”
The Witch Hunter had his eyes unfocused now, breathing heavily, hands moved to the shoulders of the Wizard for support.
“You are…”
“Evil?” suggested the frightened Wizard.
“Evil!” screamed Lamprecht with all the strength he could. His cry echoed into the forest around the village, everyone in the crowd silent and fearful.
After a bit of panting and wheezing, the Witch Hunter climbed back down from the wood pile to the ground. He looked absolutely calm and focused, face stern and serious with no hint of the zealotry and hatred of only a minute ago.
“Right. Back to the trial.”
Lamprecht looked to the villagers.
“Any last evidence to be presented before we get this pyre lit?”