Clariet poured liquor into two glasses and looked up. Caste was at the window, peering through the telescopic viewing tube, the lenses pointed at the main square. He was able to see the man of Maul and the woman condemned as a witch as easily as if they were in the same room.

“You are quiet, Cleric Caste,” Clariet remarked, “could it be that you have…concerns?”

“Several.” Caste admitted, taking his eye away and turning to Clariet.

“That is to be expected.”

“You seem awfully calm.” Caste accepted the liquor.

“I have complete faith in the method Lord LeMewn and I developed.”

“Judgement by monster?”

“A werewolf, to be precise.”

Caste gaped at Clariet who sipped the amber liquid. “You…allow a werewolf into Quarre?”

“If we did not allow it, the monster would climb the walls and kill innocent civilians.” Clariet announced, standing by the fireplace where a warm blaze could not dispel the chilly fear in Caste’s chest. “Imagine Quarre before I arrived. Lord LeMewn was struggling to maintain guards of quality because of the lack of military training in his background. The nature of the quarry is that it is always breaking new ground and new ground is bound to be rife with monsters. Crime was on the rise and civilian deaths were increasing. King Rocheveron, urged by Sir Jesa, was talking of removing LeMewn from lordship and assigning a knight instead. But before he gave up on his half brother entirely, he sent me to be his advisor after the death of the previous cleric. For a time, I was also consumed by the hopelessness of the situation…then, while observing Lord LeMewn’s latest stallion acquisition being broken, I had an epiphany.”

He turned to Caste and smiled. “The monsters of Maul are not made to be feared…they are made to be broken and to serve us.”

“Serve us?” Caste’s voice was a hollow rasp.

“Indeed, just as a wild horse must be broken, a monster simply needs to know who is in charge. Then, with their power harnessed for our own, we can rule with absolute authority.”

Caste closed his eyes, shaking his head. “But the doctrine of the monsters of Maul is quite clear from the time of Andigre…”

“Did you ever read the account of Sir Verion when he managed to wipe out a legion of goblins?”

Caste’s mind thought frantically. “It…I have a vague recollection of it.”

“I have an account, older than I believe the manuscript in the archives of the Order of the Grail.” Clariet opened a cupboard and drew a leather scroll out, laying it on the little table. He undid the ties on the leather and let it roll open, displaying the frail parchment inside. Caste leaned over, naturally curious but also very cautious. He knew about the delicacy of such documents and wondered at its survival. “What I once thought to be a whimsical retelling I read in wonder as Sir Verion did indeed slaughter, in excess of three and eight score of goblins on the plains of Aroda.”

“That seems unlikely.” Caste confessed.

“Until you read this passage,” Clariet pointed, “for it says, aided by the darkness did Sir Verion reduce the goblin hoard to rubble.”

“Aided by darkness?” Caste looked up. “Rubble?”

“The ancient tongue can be translated into ‘stone’.” Clariet rolled the parchment carefully and put it away, opening another cupboard. “Sir Verion used a basilisk to turn the goblins into stone. He forced a monster of Maul to work for him. It taught me that we need not fear the darkness.” There was a metal squeak and Clariet’s arms reached into something, drawing an object out. “We only need to know how to handle it.” Clariet turned towards Caste, a basilisk in his hands.

Caste stumbled backwards, tipping over the table and ending up half on and half off the chair. He closed his eyes in horror, sure he was seconds away from being turned into the most embarrassing statue in all of Terra.

“Fear not, Caste, for my basilisk will not harm you.”

“Forgive me…I cannot take your word for it.”

“Even now I am looking into its eyes,” Caste peeked out, morbidly curious and saw Clariet was doing exactly as he said, “but it is not looking into mine.” He turned the basilisk towards Caste who flinched, instinctively terrified yet he immediately saw that the lizard’s eyes were milky white. “I caught this creature slipping over the wall, unhindered and unafraid…until I caught it and blinded it with acid. Now it can harm no one. It is entirely dependent upon me.”

Caste’s chest was tight as he disentangled himself from the chair, straightening his tunic. He moved around behind the chair as if it could be of any use protecting him against the stone forging gaze of the lizard. Clariet scratched the basilisk on the head, cooing to it as though it was a pet.

“You…took an unnecessary risk,” Caste shook, “to what end?”

“To know that I could stand before any darkness and be unafraid.” Clariet smiled and put the basilisk back in its cage. It could feel the straw and nuzzled about in it, covering its body. “So I waited until there was a full moon and went to the quarry. I knew there was at least one werewolf prowling the mountains. It only took two nights before it approached me and as I stood, unafraid, it spoke.”

“It spoke?” Caste gasped.

“With words of intelligence and understanding.” Clariet shook his head. “Imagine my astonishment as it reasoned with me and we communed.”

“The very thing you have charged Aalis with!”

“No,” Clariet shook his head, “I am not aligned with the darkness. I am its master.”

Caste was tempted to look around, sure the walls were closing in. He could feel an oppressive weight in the room and wished for nothing more than to escape.

“The monsters answer to no one.” He whispered.

“On the contrary, they are more organised than you think,” Clariet smiled and Caste recoiled from it, “however, they need to be controlled…subdued…and made to work for us. Those that do not comply will serve as an example to others.” He studied Caste. “You seem…unsettled, Cleric Caste.”

“You…your ways…” Caste tried desperately to wet his lips, his throat refusing to swallow. “They are not the ways of the Order of the Grail.”

“Which is why all my papers, my thesis of human/monster collaboration were never published or else you would not be so shocked by my theories as they would be common reading knowledge.”

“They weren’t even distributed as editable material to the clerics.” Caste confessed. Even though he had never socialised beyond absolute necessity, Caste knew such papers would have been widely talked about. Bishop Peele probably only let archdeacons see them and even then, just a trusted few before locking them away…or burning them.

“I am unsurprised.” Clariet sighed. “Genius is often misunderstood.” He looked up with an air of reminiscence as though the topic was not grievously grotesque. “But even Bishop Peele cannot stand in the path of inevitability. Quarre will exist as proof of my revelations.”

“That man and Aalis are…proof?”

“Examples.” Clariet corrected. “After all, if a werewolf can kill a man from Maul and a witch, then it is truly under my control.” He paused, his eyes narrowing and Caste wanted to clutch at his heart. “You travelled with this woman for many weeks now, months even…yet I fail to see how one as astute as you did not recognise her as a witch?”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Caste faltered. “She…she’s done nothing wrong.” He stammered lamely.

Clariet stared at him, unblinking. Hot flushes of nausea washed over the cleric but his heart was a block of ice, unmoving and terror stricken. Caste wondered if he would reach the door before Clariet attacked him. He was obviously out of his mind.

“It is of little matter,” Clariet finally said, waving his hand, turning from Caste who used the break his in stare to edge his way to the door, “soon justice will be done.” Caste didn’t ask permission, putting his hand on the latch of the door and drawing it open. “Cleric Caste,” he froze, unable to turn, “my order about approaching the condemned is all encompassing. Brother officer of the Order of the Grail you may be, but go anywhere near that well…”

He let the threat hang in the air but Caste was already fleeing to his bedroom. He closed the door behind him, stumbling backwards, unable to take his eyes off it. He backed into his desk and gave a yelp, spinning around and ripping the curtains wide.

“Light,” he gasped, “I need light…and air…” His vision began to blur. Caste put his hands on the desk and lowered his head. “Breathe. Just breathe, Caste.” His head got lower and lower until it was pressed against the cool wood, his stomach tying itself into knots. He hadn’t had one of these panic attacks since he left Astaril. Not even the cockatrice, the ogre, the giant spider or the orthros had sent him into such a debilitating spiral. Only those in the novitiate program with him, the alphas who made themselves the power by singling out an individual and making them the brunt of all their bullying, practical jokes and spitefulness, had caused Caste to suffer like this. Caste’s health had become precarious while studying, determined to graduate early so that he could be a very young cleric and move ahead and away from the cruelty of his peers.

And he had succeeded, he reminded himself. He was a cleric while those who had belittled him were still trying to secure their own clerical promotion or given up and gone on to other occupations. He wasn’t readily accepted in his much older class of clerics and largely shunned but while it was a somewhat monastic existence, Caste would take it any day over this raging panic that left him weak and confused.

It took almost an hour before Caste could lift his head, his knees having given way but he’d sat in the chair. He looked at the light through the window, limp and weary. He couldn’t think about Clariet or his mad philosophies. He couldn’t recall anything about that room or else he might go mad with terror.

He had to distance himself.

He had to pretend it wasn’t there.

Whatever it took to survive and not sink into panic induced delirium.

The light was kind on his face. He drew the curtain aside, wanting the light to chase away the shadows that formed in his soul. As he did so, he caught sight of a hooded figure slipping down the side of the stables, keeping to the shadows then, with a furtive glance about, ducked behind it. Caste leaned forward, staring and waiting but the person never emerged. He couldn’t understand it. There was nothing behind the stables. It was just a wall of rock and beyond that was…the quarry…

“The quarry…” He frowned. “But…that means…”

He swallowed and looked at the door then back at the window and the view from the courtyard. Then his eyes dropped to the desk which was adorned nicely with the usual studious adornments like ink well and quill, some parchment for writing and a seal opener which looked a lot like a metal dagger in a polished silver hue.

Caste picked it up, his hand trembling. “Probably too blunt to be of use against anything other than wax…I hope the werewolf doesn’t know about stationary…”

He put his cappa clausa on over his tunic. Though not remotely protective, it gave him a feeling of safety, the dark red folds familiar and heavy without crushing, like a hug that Caste didn’t object to. He had to gather his courage to open the door of his room and peered out. The corridor was vacant. He clutched the seal opener in his hand, hidden in the folds of his sleeve and eased his narrow body out of the room, closing the door as quietly as possible. The thick rug on the floor deadened his steps as he crept along its length. He reached the end where the rug finished and stepped gingerly onto the boards. One creaked with a traitorous groan and Caste looked backwards, sure Clariet was going to be standing right behind him.

However, whether he was supremely confident in his threat or thought Caste was no threat at all, Clariet was nowhere to be seen. Caste hastened along the landing to the stairs and practically ran down them. The doorman was startled by his abrupt appearance but before he could open the door for him, Caste flung it open and ran for the steps, descending into Quarre.

He had already guessed where Judd and the others were staying and decided to try to reach the tavern through the back, unwilling to go anywhere near the front in case the guards took his presence as being ‘too close’ to the well. He had to negotiate back streets and alleys, stumbling over piles of rubbish and getting caught in washing that hung from low clotheslines. By the time he reached the tavern, the hem of his robes was dusted grey, he was sweaty and out of breath but Caste didn’t pause, sprinting for the back door.

However, before he could reach it, he was grabbed and thrust against a wall.

“Get away from me!” He screeched, brandishing his letter opener blindly.

“Caste, it’s me you freak!” Judd bellowed and Caste opened his eyes and stared at him.

“Oh thank Astaril…I…I thought…”

“He’s going to faint.” Judd hauled him to a crate and set him down, pushing his head even lower. Verne took the letter opener out of his hand. “What were you going to do with this? It’s about as blunt as the cobbler’s granddaughter’s suggestive overtures.”

“Jealous?” Giordi teased.

“Of her, please!” Verne snorted then saw Giordi’s expression. “I mean, of you? Certainly not!”

“Gentlemen!” Judd snapped then turned to Caste. “What in Maul are you doing here, Caste? Why are you creeping around Quarre, armed with a blade…a blunt one at that?”

“I thought you’d be enjoying Deacon Clariet’s philosophies of monsterical manipulation.” Giordi remarked.

“He’s…he’s out of his mind!” Caste gasped. “He’s completely convinced that humans and monsters are meant to coexist.”

“Coex…they eat humans!” Judd roared.

“Coexist as in, monsters are subjugated to humans.” Caste explained. “He claims monsters just need to be broken in.”

“Like a horse?” Giordi was aghast.

“He can’t be serious.” Verne shook his head.

“He’s already done it.” Caste tried to stand but his knees wouldn’t let him. He sank back onto the crate. “He blinded a basilisk with acid and keeps it as a pet.”

“That’s…disturbing but hardly…”

“He’s also had…communications…with the werewolf.”

“He spoke to it?”

Caste nodded, mopping his brow. “I think he formed an understanding with it. Humans, criminals, brought out every full moon...”

“For the werewolf’s pleasure.” Judd ground his teeth.

“What does Clariet get out of this?”

“No one would dare break any rule here. After the way Quarre was falling into anarchy, Clariet’s solution has merit,” Verne shrugged, “but is that really enough? What about all the other monsters?”

“There are none.” Caste closed his eyes. “I think the werewolf keeps Quarre safe in this agreement.”

“As long as humans are sacrificed.” Judd snarled. “That’s despicable, Caste!”

“Judd,” Giordi put his hand on Judd’s arm, “Caste came to us to warn us. He’s not agreeing with Clariet.”

Judd rubbed his hands on his face. “Sorry…I’m sorry Caste…I don’t know what to do. Aalis is chained to that well with the man from Maul and if we go anywhere near her, the guards will arrest us. In order to save her, I’d have to fight humans who are just doing as they were ordered.”

“And there’s no other way to stop Lord LeMewn’s command?” Verne looked at Caste. “Surely this wouldn’t be condoned from Astaril.”

“Perhaps if an independent cleric with testimony and observations were to appeal before Bishop Peele and King Rocheveron, then yes, something could be done.” Caste argued. “However, that would take months!”

“We have hours…if that.” Judd looked at the sky.

“Wait, you’re a monster killer!” Giordi slapped his forehead. “So go, do! Go kill the werewolf!”

“I wouldn’t know where to start looking.” Judd confessed. “If I charge into the mountains, I could miss it. At least I know it’ll be here when night falls.”

“It’s in the quarry,” Caste said softly and they all turned to him, “that’s where the worst of the monster attacks occurred because the quarry is always breaking new ground, expanding territory. It’s the only gate left open at night so it has to be there and someone left the manor house grounds through the back. The only things behind it are the mountains and the quarry.”

Judd licked his lips. “Right…well…that’s where I’ll go.”

“You’ll have to go the same way as the workers.” Caste explained as Judd checked his sword.

“I will then I’ll head to the back and hopefully I’ll find a path. If it comes through the quarry, there might be tracks left from last night.”

“Then that’s what we’ll look for.” Verne said, picking up his bow. Judd put his hand out.

“No.”

“I’m going with you.”

“You’re staying here.”

“Why in Maul would I do that?”

“Because,” Judd swallowed, “if I fail…you’ll be the only one standing between Aalis and a werewolf.” Verne gazed at Judd, stunned. Judd put his hand on Verne’s shoulder. “When I told LeMewn you were the bravest of all of us, I wasn’t exaggerating. I need to know you’re here, defending Aalis…so I can leave.” Verne nodded, tight lipped and severe. Judd breathed out, his shoulders relaxing. “Thank you.”

“I’m not keen on you going on your own.”

“I won’t be.” Judd looked at the minstrel. “Giordi is coming with me.”

“I am?”

“Don’t you want to see me cut down a werewolf?”

Giordi sighed dramatically. “A minstrel’s life was never meant to be this dangerous. Can I have a bow?”

“No,” both Verne and Judd said at the same time, “but you ought to have a weapon…” Judd looked at the seal opener. “How blunt is that?”

“Very,” Verne held it out, “but I’d wager it’s silver.”

Giordi took it with a rueful sigh. “I’m going to die with a letter opener in my hand…”

“What about me?” Caste asked fearfully. “I suppose you want me to defend Aalis with a plank of wood…”

“No,” Judd tightened his belt, making sure his sword was strapped on firmly, “no matter what happens tonight, I need you to live, Caste.” The cleric gazed at Judd, surprised. “If we fail, you need to get back to Astaril somehow and expose what’s happening here.” He paused and gazed at Caste. “Do you understand?” Caste nodded. “Then we need to get moving.”