Deep within the heart of Dalston, a group of strangers huddled under a sloped roof. They wore nothing but cloak and dagger. For them, it was almost as if they were naked. A lifetime spent wearing heavy armour and wielding master crafted weapons had acclimatised them to a different style of dress. Now that weight was lifted.
Sequester watched the people as they passed. The sight before him and the irrational feelings in his mind clashed. Hundreds of people, men, women and children, travelled through the narrow street that they had arrived at an hour before their meeting. The city was bustling. Nothing like the claims he had heard from some of his compatriots about the savagery of the Federation.
“Stop staring,” John demanded, “You’ll attract attention.”
“Sorry, sir. I’ve never been behind Federation lines before.”
“There’s nothing exciting about it. This is a city like any other. I keep telling the others that making absurd claims about this place is going to have consequences one day.”
Still, Sequester couldn’t align his expectations with reality. He had at least hoped to see the people cowering in their homes, fearful of the inevitable Sull invasion. “It’s almost like the war is a world away,” he sighed.
Maritan sneered, “Is it not the same in Blackwake? People like to carry on with their lives, even when others are fighting and dying for them.”
“I’d advise against speaking with such ill meaning. Those are our own citizens.”
“Are they?” Maritan frowned, “The Order answers to no-one but ourselves. Our judgement must place us above loyalties and nationalities.”
John stepped in before the argument became audible to those outside. “Maritan is correct. Do not forget our purpose. We are not merely extensions of the Kingdom. Though they do support our cause, would you reject the Federation's assistance should they learn of their folly?”
Sequester considered his words carefully. His respect for Petty-King John transcended national boundaries, just as he had said. But it was hard for him to forgive the leading class of the Federation for spurning their earnest efforts to confront corruption wherever it spread. They shared the responsibility for many of the ill tidings that had come in recent times.
“I just don’t understand how people will move on from this fighting. Many grave crimes have been committed…”
“Yet they move on regardless,” John said, “No matter the severity of the bloodshed – time makes fools of us all in the end. People will learn to forget until the day comes that their passions are invoked again.”
“But they killed Lord Forester.”
“Lord Forester was an ally first and a friend second,” John snapped. There was to be no further discussion on the matter in the presence of others. He waved them in closer so that he could dispense the first of his orders; “Some of our agents, including Adelbern Weiss, have reported on the target’s residence here in Dalston. His name is Ren Kageyama. He is around twenty years old, with long black hair, pale skin and facial hair.”
“Anything more specific than that?” Joseph asked.
“He is seldom seen without his weapon, which in this case is the cursed sword Stigma. I presume you have all familiarised yourself with its appearance by now. Adelbern has also suggested that he hails from Vela Quance. So, look for downturned eyes and high cheekbones. His companions are registered as a noble Ashmorn lady from the La’Corvan family, and an unknown female of notable height.”
“How did he get a La’Corvan to follow him?” Maria queried. She was a student of history, just as the current absolver was. To see an Ashmorn on Sull was rare – and a noble one at that. The La’Corvan family were rich, powerful, and insular. If one of their daughters was gallivanting across the continent with a cursed human, she could only begin to imagine the circumstances that led to them meeting.
John shook his head, “We don’t know. Adelbern is scant with details as always. He likes to keep things close to his chest. It’s of little concern to us. Just be aware that she is trained in combat magic and could easily blow us away in a fight.”
“Same for the rest of them…” Maritan muttered.
“Indeed. The same goes for the others. Ren’s reputation as a savage fighter precedes him now, the story of his escape from the stockades was no exaggeration. He marched through the middle of the city and cut down three dozen men without flinching. If you see him – do not engage him alone. We are not here to duel the man. We are here to exterminate him. Attempting to ‘play fair’ out of misguided honour will only end with your death.”
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Joseph opened his mouth, “But sir…”
“But nothing. I know what you are going to say, Joseph. This is a man who has been exposed to Stigma’s power for a greater period of time than anyone else on record. He has already demonstrated immense strength, endurance and some of the skill needed to utilise those abilities. If you believe that you are solely capable of defeating him in battle, then by all means – throw away your life for nothing.”
Joseph’s face soured. He was always the one amongst the officers who believed the strongest in his own abilities. The thought of a mere mercenary posing a threat to him was absurd. He had spent most of his life training in swordsmanship. The gap between them was insurmountable. John knew that this was exactly what he was thinking – he decided to do something about it before he got himself killed.
“I would not dare to attack him alone,” John revealed, “In war, there are many moving parts that determine the outcome of the battle. Not just our individual strength, but our tactics, will and the assistance of others. There is no shame in that. You should never feel obligated to risk your life for the sake of your reputation; that is something that can be recovered.”
“Yes sir,” Joseph replied. It was utterly unconvincing in tone. John could not offer any more than that, short of putting the young man on a leash and physically holding him back. There were a few officers he would have liked to do that to besides him. He commanded respect and awe from many but that would not stop a young man’s ambition.
John explained the plan, “One of our watchmen is arranging a selection of weapons for us to use, he has also provided a house for us to base in. We will locate Kageyama and his present lodgings and form a plan of attack. We cannot take his strength for granted. I say again, do not attempt to fight him alone. We have to muster every advantage we can – and I do not want him fleeing the city before we can get to him.”
He was evasive and knowledgeable in the ways that a knight could never hope to be. Even when an entire detachment of Inquisitors and guards were looking for him, he still managed to slip away from their sight and out of Blackwake. Every alleyway and rooftop was an opportunity for him. The fight would have to be on their terms or he would simply escape once again. Combined with his corrupted strength, he posed a serious challenge to their authority.
But John could only blame himself for the failings that occurred. He had underestimated Kageyama and allowed some of their brightest young knights to fall in a needless battle. His arrogance had cost them dearly. A price paid in blood, a blight on the future of the Inquisition. Those men would have to be replaced somehow.
His agent in Dalston had given him a lot of information. Kageyama clearly didn’t feel that he was under threat in Federation territory. Given that the Federation had paid him to kill Forester in the first place, it was a reasonable stance. They weren’t going to burn the man who had transformed himself into an awe-inspiring folk hero. His usual haunts in taverns and bars had already been noted, he always travelled with the sword, and he was occasionally seen with his companions. There was no evidence that the other two were directly involved in the murder plot. Still – they would need to be cleansed. Their presence around him precluded them from the benefit of the doubt.
Fighting him in public would be problematic. It would be extremely easy for the Federation’s troops to identify them if they started trying to kill Kageyama. There was also the potential for other rogues and mercenaries to intervene. There were too many unknowns to launch an assault in an uncontrollable environment. In hunting, isolation was everything.
“What about disguising ourselves?” Sequester asked.
“Use some common sense,” John grunted, “Don’t touch sensitive topics with the people or the militia; we’re not scholars here for a lively debate. Keep yourself quiet about the real reason we’re here.”
“Aye sir.”
The huddle was led by John further into the district, past shops and bars aplenty. The city was alive with the sound of laughter. Joseph bit his tongue and clenched his knuckles. It was outrageous – people drinking and celebrating like they’d won, like the blood they had spilled on the battlefield had been washed away in the rain. He knew that John was watching everything he did. He needed to keep his cool and show him that he could be a responsible leader.
“The architecture here is different,” Maria commented.
John nodded, “Luckily for them, this city has never had the poor fortune to require rebuilding.”
“What does that mean?” Maritan pondered.
Maria turned to her less elucidated ally and explained; “Blackwake was heavily damaged during the First Federative War, when the separatists were pushed back from the streets the attacking Royalists did not care for protecting the buildings. Many of them were burned to the ground as a consequence. And to think – if they had not have done so, Blackwake may have become a part of the Federation.”
“Oh. I assume it cost a lot of money to fix…”
“That it did.”
Maritan’s eyes drifted from Maria to John, “John told me he doesn’t care for the scholars.”
“Being behind the Petty-King does not demand ignorance. It was through my own research that I came to understand his perspective,” Maritan insisted, “There are many others who frequently visit the archives who are of the same mind as me. The difference is in what we believe our organisation should do.”
John snapped his fingers, “Keep it down. What did I just tell you?”
“Apologies, sir. But I would recommend reading a little history now and then. The past has many lessons to teach us.”
Maritan’s gaze shifted nervously, “Including on Stigma?”
“I’m afraid not. Records of that type are kept away from prying eyes. The Absolver once told me that they are scant in number and poorly translated from Old Sullan. Even if we were given access, we would not be able to read them in detail.” It was a great personal frustration of Maria’s.
“The Absolver is not left wanting for intelligence, certainly,” John added.
None of the officers dared ask for his real opinion on the man. These were deep, raw divisions that at some points had threatened to tear the Inquisition to pieces. Tensions were on the rise – and the Absolver had leapt atop his prey like a feral beast when the opportunity presented itself. Suddenly, the active methods they had taken to ensure security were under intense scrutiny. The argument from the senate chamber had nearly echoed through the entire fort.
As to what separated an Inquisitor from a soldier.