I was alone with Tarik.

He used my dagger to cut the ropes that bound my hands and forelegs. And then we hugged. "No worries," he said.

No worries? I was still shackled to the wall by my hind legs. Still, I needed the hug as much as he did. "Thank you," I whispered, lacking a more adequate expression.

Until I could hold it no longer and broke the hug. "Is chamberpot here? I really needing, er..."

Tarik blushed and looked around quickly. There was indeed a silver-plated one, probably from the geriatric headmaster. Whoever it was, I was glad not to have to add my own stench to the lingering stench of the nuncipal, the crow girl's droppings and the vomit of myself and several clerics.

Properly relieved, I felt better. Tarik used a spent rune parchment to scoop up her droppings and my vomit into the chamberpot, closed the lid and poured some water on the floor to dilute the rest. And we hugged again. As the air cleared, I felt much lighter. Not happy, but more alive.

"You was good," I broke the silence, "she flyinged."

He broke the hug. "Yes, I was surprised she got it so quickly. Perhaps because her soul was more crow than human. But that soul." He sighed.

"What about soul?"

"First, the black crow souls. And she had been a bad woman, a thief, maybe even a murderer. A guard was chasing her. She hurt the guard, he killed her in defence. Not a good soul to awaken again."

I was silent. Indeed, that could have gone better. "She matching black soul and the nuncipal," I finally commented.

Tarik smiled, his tension loosening somewhat. "Oh, Kiara, sorry, countess, yes, it does indeed. Thank you. Let me check your ear again."

I bowed my head, grateful for a happier Tarik, grateful for any distraction. To distract myself from the pain when he touched my ear, I stared through the windows where the sun was sinking below the horizon. It would be dark soon.

"The wound has closed. Don't move it too much."

I nodded. Not that I had much conscious control unless I concentrated on the ear.

Now, relieved and out of the dungeon, reunited with Tarik and with fresher air, hunger came. I took a yellow, spicy fruit and Tarik took the other, last one. He wolfed it down.

"When did you last eating?"

"Breakfast," Tarik replied.

"No, not good. Please, getting water and food, please?"

"Sorry," and then he disappeared into the corridor, but only for a moment. "They will bring something soon."

"So easily?"

He shrugged. "I get the impression there are frequently people locked up here."

Better not to think too much about it. "You sayinged many souls having scara, like the soul mage brother. What you meaning?"

"Well, the inquisition was once founded to fight the soul mages." I nodded, yes, I had heard about that. "And then the blue clerics and the nuncipal emerged from the inquisition." Another nod. Brother Johens had told me a lot about the history of the clergy. "They not only kept the old techniques to fight the soul mages, they seemed to have developed them further. You knew about the mindwipe of stale souls?" I nodded, well, I had heard about it from Freya. "Now, I know it was barbaric, bad, but at the time we thought it would be kind to our new creatures to start without a few random, irritating human memories from a previous life. We could not imagine that the souls could remember so much." He shivered. "Anyway, the blue clerics found a way to do this to living souls, though to a lesser degree." I shook my head. "They weaken a soul enough to plant some strong driving force, something the mind cannot grasp." I shook my head again. Sorry, Tarik.

"They weaken a soul. Then they place their command. It is anchored to the scar in that soul. The black scars, all the black ones, are fixed souls." He was clearly struggling to find simple words, so imprecise that it hurt him to use them.

I nodded. "So they doing what their souls telling them."

"Somewhat. It is like a broken moral compass." I violently shook my head. I shook my head violently. "Like telling you this is good and that is bad. Only the cleric who scars you decides what feels right. Like supporting the nuncipal is good. It is in the scars."

"So when removing the scar from the soul, they seeing they errors?"

Now Tarik shrugged. "I do not know. I certainly hope so."

"When first soul mage cleric trying scarring me, he was not good. Not seeing what doing, and using his soul too much strong."

"I, oh!"

At that moment a young cleric entered with a tray and a lantern. Tarik turned to him and had him place the tray next to us. He let the young clerics sit next to him and then, very quickly, tore out a soul strand from himself and then took out the cleric's soul, brushed off the scars by feeding the surface a little of his own soul and put it back. The light from his exposed soul flickered only like a few flashings of arc welding, so fast was Tarik. The cleric looked confused, then frightened, sprang up and ran out. Tarik exhaled exhausted, leaning on my lower back.

And next time take my soul. Your soul shrinkinged a lot."

"You are right. But it will recover when I rest. And I really wonder if this is going to lead to anything," Tarik sighed.

"I thinking my soul mage cleric is not making soul mage again."

"Yes, one. They certainly have others. But tell me about your travels. A break from soul magic, please. You reach Loma very quickly. We only arrived three days ago and our journey was well planned."

"Getting on my back, first." He did hesitantly, lying down in my soft fur.

Then, I started about our travels. However, Tarik soon fell asleep, truly spent. I ate everything and drank the whole earthenware carafe, still craving for more.

* * *

Just the faintest hint of dawn was in the sky when our slumber was ended. My awakening was more of a by-product, they came for Tarik who was still asleep in the thick, soft fur of my broad lower back. While he had been an early riser back at Krenburg, the last day had certainly taken its toll on him. You could see the rings under his eyes even in the dim light.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He was awakened by clerics, not inquisitors. That seemed an improvement. They were quiet and polite, so Tarik apologised several times for using me as his bed and then followed them outside.

Fortunately, he had left the chamber pot within my reach. I hoped someone would look after it soon, as it was now filled to the brim. Very carefully I pushed it aside as far as I could. And then I waited again for things to unfold. At least I had a nice view of the brightening sky, a familiar scene from the last few days. In the dawning light, I combed my fur with my claws, checking for any insects I might have picked up in the dungeon. But I found nothing, the itching was just mosquitoes and maybe a passing flea, but there were no ticks or lice. I think most of my unwanted hardshell hitchhikers must have died in the desert or the following saltwater swim.

Somewhere below my window, a morning song began - not for soul magic, no a hymn for a religious service. After all, this was still the centre of the blue faction, the capital of wisdom, the largest congregation in this part of the world, with more followers than the brown and white factions combined. When I tried to listen more closely, my right ear hurt again as it tipped forward. So I just moved my left ear towards the windows.

The service was long and consisted entirely of chorals, four or five in all. It ended not with the ringing of a bell - thinking back, I had not heard a bell yet - but with the stroke of a gong.

This roused some birds, crows and seagulls, who began to circle noisily around the building. My idle mind jumped back to the newly created crow girl. I wanted to hear more from her, how it felt to fly, how many voices she heard, if any. Even if she had the soul of a murderer and the black soul of a crow.

Not much later, several young clerics, maybe even novices, came with two inquisitors. They brought a new, blue blanket for the table, collected the old, black one, brushed and scrubbed the room, and finally replaced the chamberpot. Only the two inquisitors watched in silence from the desk where Tarik's runes lay. Shortly after the novices had left, Tarik arrived with a black headband cleric. He nodded to the cleric and then came over to me.

"Good morning, countess." His fake smile was more of a grin. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

I shook my head, not sure what this fake happiness was for. "Your soul is scarred?"

This question made him look rather shocked for a moment before his fake grin returned. Good to know his soul was untouched.

"I will ask for you. I need to prepare some more runes." He turned, said something to the black headband cleric and went to his desk.

There, he started to draw another rune. As soon as he picked up the quill, the fake smile was gone, replaced by concentration and frequent frowning. Having seen Tarik draw runes before, it was clear to me that the current drawing served as a mere distraction and that his heart was not in it.

But then a small breakfast arrived for me, just two fruits and a slice of bread with some herbal tea. The tea was gone in no time, I was parched in this heat. They understood my gestures and brought more water.

* * *

When the ink had dried on Tarik's new rune, the cleric with the black headband put his hand on it and recharged it. Because it was a single rune, he did not faint. In fact, he wore a proud expression as he walked over to a stone bench near the entrance and sat down heavily. Perhaps this had become a sport among the initiated?

Tarik spoke to the inquisitor on his left. Then he came over to me, sitting down next to me.

"I can ask for lunch. But you may not want to eat much, there is a lot of soul magic ahead of you."

"What's next?"

"Well, the nuncipal wants to transfer into a human infant. He thinks that an infant's soul is light enough for him to take over." I saw his doubt. "Animals have lesser souls, smaller, no problem to dominate. You will see, I think he will be the smaller one. Be prepared, this will end with a dead nuncipal for sure."

I tried to keep a neutral face, but I was not very good at it.

"The nuncipal kills a child for himself?"

"Yes," he said, "isn't it another beautiful day in this cathedral of wisdom?"

Two clerics brought him soup and bread, which he ate at his desk.

So far, the food in this cathedral of wisdom had betrayed its thousand-year heritage. But thinking about the soul magic that was to come, I had lost my appetite. I wished I knew what to say to Tarik. But even if I spoke Kren, there were too many ears around. If only Tarik could mindspeak. But I was chained to the wall, and Tarik was bound by my presence to do the nuncipal's bidding. I felt bad about being the cause of all this.

* * *

First, the nuncipal arrived surrounded by ten inquisitors and followed by more clerics. The room became quite crowded. I had to stand on my hind legs to look over their heads.

The nuncipal was nearly naked, more a skeleton in a loincloth than living flesh. Tarik hastily ate a last spoon of soup, then jumped to his feet and walked over to the large table, taking his runes with him. He talked to the waiting nuncipal. But the nuncipal's expression remained unchanged, while Tarik's shoulders slumped.

Next came the basket with the infant, carried into the room by his mother or wet nurse, without inquisitors or clerics. It was the first woman I had seen in the palace, and she was smiling madly, a very appropriate expression for all this. But she carefully took the infant out of its basket, smiling as she did so, and laid it on the blue velvet blanket on the table, directly on the rune. As before, the infant froze immediately. The woman frowned for a moment and then looked expectantly at Tarik.

Tarik placed the second rune in front of the nuncipal and added some more explanations in Loma to the audience. The nuncipal added more words, shuffled the rune and froze as well.

Now Tarik relaxed into a magical trance and started his soul magic. I already knew his different incantation. Finished, he took out the soul of the infant, a tiny but brilliant spark washing out the room. Even Tarik had to squint, and it still shone so brightly behind here in the back that I had to avert my eyes. But none of the clerics showed any reaction. So there were no clerics here who could see soul magic. Tarik must have come to the same conclusion, for he said something and then used tiny soul filaments from the infant's soul to unscar in quick succession all the clerics in the first row. Two of them fainted and many tried to get further to the back.

Tarik put the infant's soul back in with a lot of explanation, although most of the clerics were distracted by the front row clerics pushing back and others wanting their place in the front row. I welcomed the short break, as it gave my eyes more time to recover.

Once everyone was quiet again, Tarik took a deep breath and walked over to the nuncipal. He took out his soul without hesitation. Now the nuncipal would be dead were it not for the mana released from the rune that kept him frozen. The nuncipal's soul was a brown, swollen thing that looked more like a shrivelled potato than a shiny ball. Slimy threads of soul still clung to the nuncipal's body. The nuncipal's soul glowed like dying embers, its light barely visible. Tarik carefully placed it on the velvet and took out the infant's soul with his other hand. Holding the two souls side by side, he drew a soul filament from the nuncipal's soul to the infant's. It would not hold. He nodded as if he had expected this. Then he pulled another filament from the nuncipal's soul, but this time he pushed it to the next cleric. One by one, he pushed many soul filaments from the nuncipal's soul in their direction. After another announcement from Tarik, the soul filaments suddenly increased in size and became soul strands, and many black soul scars sailed through the room before evaporating. More than half the room was stunned, and the nuncipal's soul had shrunk to the size of a walnut. So he had bled the Nuncipal's soul, deliberately shrinking it below the size of the infant's soul.

Now he drew soul filaments from the infant's soul and wrapped the dark-red glowing walnut in white-bright, strong soul filaments until the nuncipal's soul was completely enveloped in a cocoon of light. The infant's soul had neither darkened nor shrunk much, it was still a small glowing ball of light. Tarik pressed the souls together and soon the cocoon was inside the infant's soul. He gently rounded it and then put the soul back into the infant. This time there was only the faintest outline of the former nuncipal's body but it faded quickly and the infant remained unchanged. He nodded to the woman and let the runes fade.

The infant began to cry and the nuncipal collapsed into a surprisingly small bundle. The clerics and inquisitors were still confused by the extra soul and the unscarring they had received. Though warned, they were overwhelmed and some drew their daggers, looking for targets. Confused inquisitors clashed with shocked clerics who would rather leave. Only a strong command from the tall cleric next to the remains of the nuncipal stopped them from killing Tarik, me or even themselves.

Tarik shouted another explanation, pointing to the infant happily suckling at the woman's breast. The room was still in chaos. Only the tall cleric kept the room quiet by ordering the clerics out, who fled rather than walked.