Camping along the road should have been a horrible experience. During training, Liaria had always hated it. The dormitory at the monastery was more comfortable than being outside in the wind, among the mud and insects. She hated how her clothes got dirty, her hair lost volume, and how she had to work hard to help with wood, tents and everything else.
In the past, she had survived by relying on the fact that, as the youngest in the dormitory, others had always looked out for her. Hanging out around Elora had allowed her to reflexively enjoy some of the attention that was reserved for the Saint, and Nene had often gotten her out of trouble, taking on some of her tasks. In exchange, she had had to put up with lectures from both of them, but it had been worth it.
All that had completely changed now that she was in charge of a unit.
In addition to the fact that anywhere would be better than her room at the barracks, she had given instructions to Oros and Gemma, and they had taken care of everything. Better yet, she simply ordered them to set up camp and they did. She had spent the last two hours pretending to be busy looking at the map, and they had set up a better shelter than she could have ever managed.
She held back a smile of satisfaction when she saw Gemma approaching her to report. They had ridden along the paved road all day. It was a very busy street so they had met carts and villagers continuously until sunset, when they stopped. The road ran through a hilly and rather barren region, with few trees and a shy, constant cool wind blowing from the north. In that direction, they could see the frozen peaks of the northern regions, shrouded in darkness, while to the east stretched the coniferous forest that was their destination.
Liaria was sitting on the side of the road, near the horses, and had held the map on the ground with some stones. Although she had spent most of her time dawdling, she had actually thought about the mission and possible scenarios. People around her tended to underestimate her, believing her to be a slacker due to her behaviour and her lack of desire to make an effort without the promise of a reward. That mission, however, was different. It was the exact scenario in which she would have committed herself to the hilt: the first step in her ascent through the military ranks.
They tied the horses near the white and golden tents. The twins had arranged them in a circle around a bonfire, a small circle of stones inside which a pile of branches and brushwood was burning. Oros was heating some water in a saucepan to boil some beans.
Liaria looked at the small flame and noticed that the pile of twigs was very thick. She picked up a stick, moved some brush and the flame grew a little.
Liaria sat next to the brother. She refrained from grimacing when the boy threw the beans into the pot: she hated beans. She couldn't wait to be able to choose what food to have, rather than being forced to eat what was available, like the rabble.
Liaria gloated. She loved keeping people on their toes, allowing her to savour their expressions of surprise, flattery or annoyance even more when she surprised them at the end with sharp observations. She smiled.
Gemma frowned at her. It was clear how much she despised her, and it was intoxicating that, in the end, she couldn't contradict her. Being right was the ultimate victory in any argument. Moralists usually fall apart when faced with the results achieved by a practical mind.
Oros chuckled as he stirred the beans in the pot with a wooden ladle, the stench of which was spreading through the camp.
Liaria laughed with him, but not Gemma, who sat on the opposite side of the bonfire, with her arms folded. She didn't stop pouting even when her brother handed her a spoon and a bowl of boiled beans.
He also gave a bowl to Liaria. She hid her disgust by smiling at him. She forced herself to eat that heinous food and tried to make it more palatable by gorging on bread.
Gemma didn't finish the sentence and turned red in the face. Oros covered his mouth to stifle a laugh.
Liaria shrugged. Elora hadn't performed any miracles, none that she was aware of at least.
She held back a laugh. The idea that Gemma idolised Elora was so funny. If only she had known that, deep down, the Saint she doted on wasn't very different from them... She probably imagined her as a sort of paragon of virtue and faith, but in truth, Elora had always wanted more than anything to have fun. It was no coincidence that she had been her accomplice or even the mind behind several of their pranks, at the expense of Mother Superior or Master Inquisitors. Her kind nature had often held her back from some of the more risky stuff, but she had certainly made an excellent and unexpected playmate… before the holy water incident.
The twins stared at her, totally absorbed in her story. Liaria waited a moment to build anticipation, and smiled, intoxicated by all that attention.
She looked at the fire. She had had a lot of practice in the past on how to effectively tell horror stories. Scaring Nene had always been one of her favourite pastimes, yet there was something about that story, in particular, that made her genuinely uncomfortable. The memory of how things had changed after that episode, her concern for Elora's fate, came back to haunt her. She wanted to act scared, to impress the twins, but in truth she found herself feeling genuine anxiety as she recalled that night.
<...She had stolen some holy water. By order of the Evil One, so she said>
, Liaria stated.
Gemma turned greenish at those blasphemous words and stopped eating definitively. Oros was stunned, staring at her in dismay. It took a few moments before they found their words again.
Liaria sighed. She felt empty, exhausted. She had told that story in the hope of basking in the twins' admiration, but she had ended up saying too much. Elora's story creeped out even her. She would never have admitted it, for fear of repercussions from Mother Superior or other leaders of the Church, but she had often thought about her childhood friend, and had often wondered how she had spent all those years in the company of what their Order might have called a monster.
Oros' statement struck her out of the blue. Her mind froze for a moment, then it started working again, very slowly. At first, she felt stupid for not having thought of it herself, then she tried to deny the hypothesis, but in the end, she was left with nothing but doubt.
The picture of Nene's tragic passing grew more sinister as they reflected on it. Their conjectures would have been of no use, since no one would have believed them. There was no evidence that Nene had been purposely sent to a dangerous place, with the hope that she would never return. Furthermore, the execution of such a plan would have required the collaboration of various members of the Church, not to mention that they would probably have to stage a case of damnation to lure her to a remote village. It would have been madness to take advantage of a real case, thus risking leaving a damned on the loose.
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Liaria blinked repeatedly. She looked around: they were camped out on a dark night, along an unknown road, telling each other disturbing stories and developing strange conspiracy theories. She giggled at her own naivety, as it was clear that she had suggested herself, and the twins had fallen for it all the same.
Gemma didn't say a word, still thoughtful. The idea that she, of all people, was the most suspicious of the Church was somewhat comical.
Oros stood up and picked up the dishes. All three of their bowls had leftovers, but he smiled, trying to sound encouraging.
<'Night>, Oros replied.
Liaria went to her tent, the one she had claimed for herself when writing down the inventory, the largest and warmest looking. She undid the ties that sealed the opening, took off her boots and sat down in the doorway. She took one last look at the twins: Gemma was huddled in front of the fire, still in a terrible mood, while conversing with her brother. She wanted to know what they were talking about, but she was also eager to try out the mat she had received from the quartermaster. She slipped into the tent claimed by darkness, except for the faint dancing light of the flames, reflecting off the fabric walls.
Unpleasant memories and disturbing conjectures followed her there. She forced herself to concentrate on the pleasant warmth that the tent had retained from the hearth, and on the comfort of her bed which, although it was separated from the bare ground by nothing more than the fabric of the tent, was so much better than her room at the barracks.
Soon she would have had a better one, soon she would have had a comfortable bed and good food.
The following day, after breaking camp, they set off at first light. They rode in line, following a dirt path through the hills for a few hours, occasionally crossing caravans carrying logs towards the capital, some of them even escorted by the Prince's soldiers. They asked some men from one of the caravans for directions, who confirmed that they were on the right path.
Autumn weather made the ride quite unpleasant, the cold wind lashed their faces. The sky became clouded during mid-morning, as if it were about to rain. That year had been rather dry, so the farmers would certainly have appreciated some rain, but for a group of young Knights on a journey, it would have been nothing more than a nuisance.
It was now almost midday when Gemma, at the head of their expedition, stopped at the top of a small bump, where the road went up the side of a hill, and turned towards her companions.
Liaria trotted over to her and Oros followed. From up there they could see the village of Finia in its entirety, about three hundred metres away, surrounded by a barren artificial plain, caused by deforestation. It was a rather large village, made up of farmhouses built of rough logs and arranged in random order, their roofs covered with black stone tiles. The smoking chimneys and the coming and going of carts loaded with logs and men carrying axes and saws confirmed that they were in the right place, a thriving settlement thanks to timber trade with the capital.
Liaria tried to orient herself based on what she knew about the place thanks to the reports and information collected. She noticed a graceful brick building, a tiny mansion with an elegant appearance, the walls painted white, and deduced that it was the home of the retired Inquisitor. To the south, near their position, at the edge of the forest, there stood a ruin that appeared to have recently collapsed, probably the sawmill where one of the alleged miracles had occurred.
The twins trotted after her. They went down the hill along the path, attracting the curious glances of some local kids. A couple ran towards the village: word of their arrival would soon spread, and they would have been at the centre of the attention of the local church, as well as the families of the alleged Saints.
After a couple of minutes, they arrived at the ruin, a building made of rotten and broken planks that had collapsed in on itself. Among the rubble, a circular saw and other partially buried tools could be seen, which confirmed Liaria's intuition.
Liaria checked the surroundings. She saw nothing out of the ordinary: a small dirt path led from the village to the sawmill, which stood at the edge of the forest, surrounded by stumps of felled trees. In the bush, she saw two people staring at them. They were leaning against an oak tree, probably loggers taking a break, their two-handled saw stuck in the trunk. One of the two was drinking from a water bottle, the other was whispering something to his fellow, without taking his eyes off her. The wind whistled through the branches, making it clear that the village, noisy until recently, had fallen into silence. The voices of the inhabitants and the sounds of their activities had suddenly ceased.
The absurd theories advanced by Oros the previous night returned to Liaria's mind, and she shuddered. Was she about to end up like Nene? After all, she too had been very close to Elora. She would have done well to keep her guard up. After all, could she really trust the most powerful organisation in the Principality, despite being part of it?
Liaria dismounted and tied the bridle to a vertical wooden pole that had survived the collapse of the sawmill.
She smiled at the twins, hoping to hide her anxiety. It was no secret that common folk feared the Knights deeply. While on the one hand, the Inquisitors were seen as the hand of the Archangel, bringers of salvation, the Knights often were given the most inconvenient tasks. It was commonplace among civilians to believe them to be pillagers, bloodthirsty and arsonists. These rumours derived from the unfortunately documented stories of some extreme cases in which the Knights had been forced to resort to drastic methods.
They walked towards the village. People they crossed along the path kept their distance. Oros asked two young women for directions, dressed in common clothes, an apron and a cap over their hair, who, despite the boy's gentle manners and harmless look, were terrified. One of them found the courage to point to the brick house, which stood on the edge of the village centre. Their thanks did not arouse any sympathy. Instead, the two walked away at a brisk pace, continuously glancing as they fled towards a wash house, set in the stone wall of a two-storey farmhouse.
The village was crossed by a network of muddy streets, marked by the ruts left by heavy carts loaded with logs. According to reports, Finia was a wealthy community teeming with life, yet, since their arrival, the atmosphere suggested the exact opposite. The shutters of the log houses were mostly closed, men in work clothes stood on the sides of the road, with their arms folded, staring at the three Knights. The stench of a cigar filled the air, coming from an elderly woman, her wrinkled face covered in heavy dark makeup, sitting on a stool in front of a small shop. From behind the half-open door emerged the face of a little girl, her dark hair arranged in small braids, who was watching them curiously and frightenedly. Most of the women in the village seemed to have vanished into thin air, except for those who were hurrying to lead the children inside their houses, before closing doors and windows.
They walked the muddy streets with dozens of eyes focused on them. Gemma was very nervous, she seemed about to draw her sword, and Liaria was no different. Although, in case of danger, she would have preferred to try to talk her way out, she shared her discomfort. They were not welcome in Finia.
They arrived in front of the Inquisitor's mansion. It was a lovely building surrounded by a garden of petunias and other colourful flowers, protected by a low brick wall about half a metre high, above which stood a railing of sharp poles, a couple of metres high, almost impossible to climb. The iron gate led to a gravel path that took to a staircase, which then climbed up to a porch made of beams, rigorously painted white, like the rest of the house. Liaria peeked inside, and, on her left, beyond the well-kept flower beds, she noticed a tool shed, inside which a gruff-looking man, dressed in brown cloth clothes and with a wicker hat on his head, was peering at them from the dim light.
The man didn't answer. Very lazily, he walked out of the shed and disappeared around the back of the house. The three Knights exchanged a puzzled look. Liaria looked more closely at the surrounding area in search of something that could be useful, such as a secondary entrance or a doorbell, but instead, she found something else.
The little girl with pigtails was behind her, within arm's reach, staring at her with her mouth wide open. She must have been eight years old at most, and she was the only one who had dared to approach. The adults, in the meantime, had returned to their chores, or rather, they pretended to. The old woman with the cigar was watching them from afar, but did not come to retrieve the little girl.
The girl nodded but didn't take her eyes off Liaria. She was looking at her with such intensity that it almost made her feel uncomfortable, so she decided to seize the opportunity, hoping that the brat would prove more cooperative than the adults.
She knelt in front of her and smiled.
Serena was quite nervous. She was toying insistently with her dark braids and often looked down. Liaria pulled down her hood in the hope of appearing friendlier, and she was dismayed.
The little girl nodded again. She stretched out a hand towards her face, looking dreamy. Liaria instinctively pulled back, and the girl stood motionless, with her arm outstretched.
Serena stepped forward and grabbed a lock of Liaria's curls. Finally, the little girl smiled at her, a toothless smile typical of children her age.
The little girl pointed to the old woman with the cigar, as expected, who craned her neck to get a better look at them.
Serena shook her head. Then, without saying another word, she turned and ran away, towards the shop.
A sinister creak behind Liaria made her jump to her feet
The man with the wicker hat had opened the gate for them. His face was drenched in sweat, he was tall and robust, and his eyes were vacant. His voice was deep and faint, and he behaved very shyly.
He did not make way for them. He simply closed the gate behind them, and then disappeared back into the tool shed. Liaria could see him in the shadows. He wasn't working, he wasn't tidying up his tools. He was just watching them walk down the path, as if to keep an eye on them.
They arrived at the porch. The scent of flowers from the flowerbeds filled the air, together with the few sounds that came from the neighbourhood, still almost completely silent. Gemma looked for confirmation from Liaria, before knocking on the door.
Gemma obeyed. She opened the door onto a living room worthy of a noble, in terms of furniture and decorations. The floor was covered with red cloth carpets, the walls with dark green paper with pink floral motifs. A sumptuous stone fireplace heated the room, or rather, contributed to its suffocating atmosphere, together with the armchairs and the leather sofa arranged in a semicircle around the hearth. Above the fireplace numerous trophies were leaning from the walls: the head of a boar, of a deer, some weapons and hunting tools. On the right, there was a large bookcase, loaded with heavy dusty tomes, and a rocking chair under the window that illuminated the reading corner. Nearby was a small table, on which stood a bottle of spirit and a glass. On the left, there was a dark wooden staircase, the handrail richly carved, on which a hand was resting.
It was a wrinkled, plump hand, and it belonged to the lady, who peered at them from up there, halfway up the stairs.
Alana was an elderly, fallen noblewoman, married to a retired Inquisitor. Her appearance showed off well-being, so desperately that it was even pathetic. She had grey hair pulled back into a very high bun, made even more ridiculous by her otherwise short stature. Her white, powdered face was distorted into a grimace of disgust, highlighted by red cheekbones and the heavy makeup around her icy eyes. She was wearing a sumptuous golden nightgown, embroidered with (obviously) floral motifs.
Liaria was left enchanted observing that bizarre creature, the personification of a life dedicated to appearance and lack of substance, or so it seemed to her. She noticed that her feet were bare, which seemed rather bizarre to her, given the look that the woman was trying to give off.
Alana's voice was shrill and scratchy, her tone annoyed and dismissive. Liaria held back a sigh, now certain that she would have to use her diplomatic skills to the fullest to get on good terms with the lady.
The woman went down the stairs and stood in front of Liaria. She barely reached her chin, even though she was just fourteen. Oros and Gemma, instinctively, remained behind, apparently intimidated by the ways of that little powdered creature.
Liaria couldn't help but grin. Perhaps, under other circumstances, she and that woman might even have become friends. She jumped at the opportunity.
She felt Gemma's gaze on the back of her head. Surely that bigot was not happy with her manipulative way of talking, but she was about to change her mind soon.
Alana smiled back. She picked up a fan from one of the armchairs and used it to cover her face.
The woman led Oros towards a small door beneath the staircase. The boy glanced at Liaria, who gave him a nod of approval. It had been clever of him to offer himself for the task, thus saving the lady from having to admit that she didn't have enough staff, or something similar that could have hurt her pride as a noble.
Liaria sat on the sofa. She shared Gemma's feelings, but she couldn't admit it, or it would have worsened the morale of the unit even more. With a gesture, she invited her to do the same, but the girl stood standing, staring at the door leading to the kitchen, apparently worried about Oros.
Liaria sighed. The journey, although short, had been somewhat tiring, perhaps due to the bad mood caused by her stories around the bonfire. She tried to distract herself by looking at the trophies displayed above the fireplace when something caught her eye. She stood up and walked towards the wall.
Gemma's surprised expression confirmed her suspicions: lying on a plaque with two wooden supports lay a worn-looking dagger, the blade heavily chipped. It was no ordinary metal, yet it glittered as it was reflecting the light of the flames. Gemma walked beside her.
Liaria reached out to grab it, but Gemma sprang forward, grabbed her arm and squeezed hard.
Gemma grumbled, looked at her fiercely, but finally let go. Liaria was finally able to pick up the mystical-looking dagger.
It was worn, very light, and not at all practical. The Inquisitors were well known for giving more importance to rituals than efficiency, but that was a sacred object, capable of striking down the minions of the Evil One as no conventional weapon could. The fact that it was so battered was evidence that it had surely struck down dozens of the damned. Liaria almost trembled with emotion, imagining how many lives had been taken, and saved, thanks to the object she held in her hand.
She offered the blade to her companion, who was immediately tempted. Her conflicted expression almost made Liaria burst into laughter. After some hesitation, Gemma finally accepted the dagger and was delighted.
The kitchen door slammed vigorously. The sudden sound startled Gemma, and the dagger slipped from her hand. Liaria watched in disbelief as the precious object fell towards the table in front of the hearth. Gemma turned pale and neither of them was quick or careless enough to reflexively try to grab it.
The dagger landed on the table with a metallic clang, drowned by the lady's screams of disdain.