Chapter 41

The mention of an inquisition sent a chill down Carrack’s spine, a concept that terrorized every soul in lands south of the Vinterpol Dominion. Visions of impassive bureaucrats, flanked by stern guardsmen, the eerie blare of trumpets, and the haunting chants of a merciless faith plagued the minds of those who whispered of inquisitions. Carrack had grown up on such tales—once dismissed as exaggerated rumors while Vinterpol remained insular. But as the Dominion’s shadow stretched southward, the stories seeped out, consistent and cruel in their details.

Never had Carrack imagined he would witness the reality of an Inquisitor. Yet, the bizarre circumstances he now faced only amplified the dread coiling in his heart. Amidst it all, a sense of absurdity took hold. For the first time, he felt an odd sense of empowerment, standing before the immobilized and frail figure of the Inquisitor bound to the statue. The very symbol of fear and authority was now a shadow of its former self.

“Are we at war, Inquisitor … ?” Carrack said, deliberately stressing the title as he sought a more personal identifier.

“Alistair. Inquisitor Alistair,” he replied, as if weighing each word. “No, from my last recollection, we are not at war.”

“I see. My understanding is that Vinterpol reserves inquisitions for their own lands and those they conquer. Without war, without conquest, your ability to enact an inquisition here is null and void. It simply won’t happen. By every law of man and the sheer revulsion I hold for such proceedings, you wield no authority here to undertake anything of the sort!” Carrack declared, embodying the responsibility and defiance of his station.

Alistair remained silent, his gaze locked unflinchingly on Carrack as a cold breeze whispered between them, the world itself seeming to exhale in anticipation. Then, the Inquisitor spoke, his voice laden with an ominous calm that sent ripples of dread through the air as the wind began to coil around them in a violent dance.

“You are indeed correct,” Alistair began, his voice rising in tandem with the gathering storm, “Vinterpol and Oren are not at war, not in the manner you understand. There has been no invasion, no flag replaced, no laws usurped. I have no right, nor any desire, to carry out an inquisition in the name of the Dominion. You see, you mistake my presence as an ambassador from that realm or one at all bound to the mundane realms of earth, subject to the laws of kings and clerics. But the reality is far more profound and terrifying. I am the emissary of a power so vast and incomprehensible that it renders all earthly authority insignificant. I am the voice, the eyes, and the hand of a being that eludes the very concept of gods. I represent a realm that drives men to madness with its splendor, a power so indifferent to your disdain that it would not deign to acknowledge it. I am here to enact the will of the Mistress, to carry out her Inquisition!”

As Alistair’s declaration hung heavy in the air, the charged atmosphere began to dissipate, settling into a tense calm. The flash of fury that had animated the Inquisitor’s features ebbed away, leaving a patient, almost expectant expression as he awaited Carrack’s response.

“Mistress,” Carrack murmured, the name echoing a memory of Netty and the ritual that swirled around the statue. “The statue. Is this the source of it all? The origin of this curse you’ve brought down upon us?”

“It is far more than a mere statue, as you must surely sense,” Alistair replied, his voice smooth yet carrying an undercurrent of scorn. “Indeed, I played my part in its arrival, but do not delude yourself into thinking your hands or those of your associates are clean. The corruption here, the pervasive taint of dark magic, it’s a mire you’ve waded into as well.”

“The only taint is that which you’ve introduced, with that abomination!” Carrack shot back, his voice rising in defiance.

“Alas, you are mistaken,” Alistair responded, his head tilting slightly in a gesture of sorrowful contradiction. “This place reeks of forbidden arts, of sacrifices, and bindings. Amidst the maelstrom of malevolence this place, and you, Lord Carrack, have shone unnaturally bright—a beacon amidst the shadows.”

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“Ah I see what this is.” Carrack’s voice took on an edge of bitter understanding as the pieces clicked into place. “You’re treading the same path as Lady Matilda, weaving tales of hexes and curses! Claiming that I’ve been ensnared by dark arts, all at the hands of my … my former mage, Alaina.”

“Such resistance, even now. It’s remarkable, a testament indeed to Alaina the Green’s formidable craft,” Alistair intoned, his voice laced with a grim respect and a shadow of sorrow. “She deserves recognition for her prowess, though such feats come with grievous costs, not least to herself.” His gaze shifted, a note of solemnity creeping into his voice. “You claim she is no longer your mage, yet her influence lingers, ever-present, and moreover …”

His attention drifted past Carrack, a gesture that drew a chill up Carrack’s spine. The cacophony of unnatural noises whispered behind him, a prelude to a horrifying revelation. With a heavy heart and a reluctant turn, Carrack faced the ghastly sight that materialized—a body twisted and malformed, a grotesque mockery of life. Even through the decay and disfigurement, the visage was unmistakably Alaina’s, her form a tragic testament to the dark fate she had been condemned to.

“No … no,” Carrack recoiled, horror etched across his face. “I shot you, I saw the blood, I watched as you suffered.”

“But did you see her die?” Alistair’s voice cut through the chaos, a sinister edge to his calm inquiry.

Carrack’s eyes darted back to Alistair, meeting his grave stare, before turning once more to the twisted visage of Alaina. Her form, a harrowing spectacle of suffering and unnatural existence, winced with each tortured moment.

Carrack, his heart pounding against the horror of the sight, managed to gather a breath dense with dread and whispered, “Alaina?”

The figure stirred, and a voice, ragged and gurgling as if speaking through the grasp of death itself, responded, “Lord Carrack.” The familiar voice, buried beneath layers of pain and decay, hit him like a physical blow, confirming the impossible truth before him.

Despite the gnawing doubt, an undeniable connection pulsed through Carrack as he met her gaze. The anger that had been simmering erupted as he turned sharply toward Alistair, his voice a barely contained snarl. “What the hell did you do to her?”

“They gave me what I deserve,” came Alaina’s hoarse, unsettling reply.

“What?” Confusion and disbelief warred within Carrack, convinced she was under some vile compulsion. “You don’t mean that. You’ve been tortured—”

“And will continue to be!” Alistair declared with a dark glee.

“No, she won’t!” Carrack’s retort was a vehement roar, a desperate denial of the bleak pronouncement.

“Yes,” Alaina interjected with a heavy, sorrowful resignation. “Yes, I will. And I accept it all, willingly, as the Mistress demands.”

“No, you’re delirious, under some vile enchantment. I’ll get you out of here,” Carrack insisted, his voice thick with desperation and denial. But his plea was quickly undercut by Alistair’s derisive scoff.

“Noble, but utterly fruitless,” Alistair dismissed with a cold sneer. “You possess no power to alter the conditions of this inquisition. You are here to bear witness, to learn from the harrowing testimony of this damned soul.”

“Oh, so this is your inquisition? Parading the tormented, coercing twisted confessions,” Carrack spat out the words, his anger boiling over at the perversion before him.

“Listen to me!” Alaina’s voice, suddenly strong and urgent, sliced through the tension. But as quickly as it rose, it fell to a sobbing whimper, each word punctuated by short, stabbing breaths. “Carrack, you need to know what led me to this end.”

Carrack, his throat tight with a mix of dread and defiance, battled the urge to silence her, fearing a narrative twisted by unseen forces. Yet, the genuine anguish in her voice anchored him to the spot. With a heavy heart and a nod, he signaled for her to continue, bracing himself for the truths or deceits that might spill forth.

“Lady Matilda was right, Inquisitor Alistair is right, and so was that persistent instinct warning you of unseen danger,” Alaina confessed, her voice a quivering blend of regret and resolve. “You’ve been living under a veil of my creation.”

The revelation struck Carrack with a jarring force, awakening a deep-seated suspicion he had never dared to acknowledge. “How long? How long have I been … tainted?”

“I enveloped you in the shroud shortly after my arrival here. The exact moment eludes me,” she admitted.

“But why?” Carrack now surged with fury, a sense of betrayal igniting his words. “Why would you do this to me?”

“Because—”

“For what conceivable reason? How could you betray me like this?” His anger boiled over, a raw and pained outcry.

“Because you ordered me to!”