“Ernheim? What the hell is Ernheim?”

Metterlich grimaced as the dilapidated village slowly rolled into view.

“A town,” Eris said sarcastically, chewing on a stale biscuit as she did so, “A lovely one, clearly.”

Hubert said nothing, casting a glance at the small guard-post set at the town's edge.

“I'll keep my mouth shut I think,” the woman said suddenly as she caught sight of a pair of soldiers keeping watch.

Soldiers. More like ragged lepers, Metterlich thought as they drew close to the unsavory-looking duo, one of whom ran back toward the town with all haste as they caught sight of their approach.

“Keep your cloak up too,” Hubert added, “There shouldn't be trouble. But if we want information, best to feign normalcy.”

For once, Eris said nothing, drawing back and pulling her hood over her head. Truth be told, Metterlich wasn't sure it helped much, the dull yellow gleam of her eyes from beneath the recessed darkness seemed less human than her normal features.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing-” he wavered, “I just?”

“Take the hood down?”

“Yeah, I'd think so. Honestly just makes your eyes stand out more.”

“Thanks,” she muttered miserably.

“You don't look bad- it's just, you know,” he stammered, “The yellow eyes don't seem very normal.”

Eris twisted her mouth slightly and sighed, “It is what it is, can't help it.”

“No magic either. As far as these bumpkins are concerned, we are investigators looking for a dangerous fugitive,” the inquisitor said suddenly, “A Malthorian traitor and heretic.”

“Better keep your hands in your pockets Met,” the woman chuckled at the older man's order, “Magic doesn't seem very normal either.”

“No talk of who was murdered. The people here will think Orrin deserved it anyway.”

Through the black cloud that was Hubert, there was a clarity of purpose and certainty in his decisions that Metterlich could not help but admire. The man did know his craft, of that he was sure.

“We should stay here I think,” Eris said suddenly, her eyes gazing up at the darkening gray sky above, “There will be a storm soon.”

“Yes, there will,” the old investigator agreed, scratching his beard and glancing up as well, “But we won't be stopping. We can't afford to. We can't risk the trail going cold.”

“What about supplies?” Metterlich asked, frowning as the young woman drew another biscuit from her saddle bag, popping it between jagged teeth with a jarring crunch.

She smiled toothily before drawing her lips tight as they drew near the guard post.

“We have enough for a few more days. We'll get them at our next stop,” Hubert said, his nose wrinkling in clear disgust as he glanced at the town before them, “At a better stop.”

“Halt! State your business!”

The guards shout interrupted any further desire the young wizard may have had to argue, or to plead for rest for his tired body. One glance at the pox-marked, gap toothed grimace facing him reminded the young man just how far he was from any real civilization.

“Royal investigator. Inquisitor Hubert Krem of the Southern Church. And my- assistants,” the inquisitor said smoothly, flashing a royal sigil so as to leave no doubt.

It was a surprise that he managed to mask his repulsion at the thought that the pair accompanying him could be considered assistants.

“Here 'bout the duel, eh?” the guard said warily, a mixture of fear and resignation in his tone, “It's a bit late now.”

“Duel? What duel?” Hubert asked, brows furrowed in surprise.

“There was a witch trial. Was resolved no more than three nights ago-"

"A witch trial? That's barbaric! Those aren't even lega-" Metterlich burst out in stunned shock, only to be silenced by a swift glare from Hubert.

"Shh, remember, no problems," Eris whispered quietly from behind him, "Impulse causes problems."

"You spoke of a duel? What- Why?" the old inquisitor asked, somehow maintaining a neutral expression when facing the decrepit soldier before him.

"Well, you see-" the man dawdled.

"Tell me now, or I will, in fact, start a full investigation," Hubert said harshly, his tone shifting to an uncompromising growl in an instant, "And trust me when I tell you that will not be enjoyable."

"Well there were two witch-hunters, and-"

The inquisitor's eyes furrowed as he heard those words, even as Metterlich let out a small hiss of surprise.

"What is going on here?!" a man shouted suddenly, no doubt the village alderman judging by his garb, and the contingent of slightly less-disheveled guards escorting him.

"The inquisition-" the guard said slowly, awkwardly, "The duel-"

“The man's gone by now. Went out to Helmstadt," the newcomer said, his foul mood glowing hot in the wyrd, "The duel was unauthorized and-"

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He was lying, the intent plain enough in spite of the man's irascible facade. Even without the wyrd Metterlich could sense that truth.

"I am not here for excuses. I am here to hunt for a dangerous individual. A suspected witch-hunter of the excommunicated order of Malthor," Hubert said bluntly, "Be quick, Alderman-"

"Ham. Torin Ham."

"He had the cross-" one of the guards suddenly blurted out, clearly unthinking of the consequence.

Excitement and anger in equal measure surrounded the inquisitor now, his interest piqued.

"There was a man of the Korotian and Troia here, both seeking to prosecute the case of recent witch-craft that plagued our humble town. There was a dispute-" the alderman began.

"What sort of dispute?"

"A young man. A boy. Stood accused of the crime. The foreigner said he was the one. We all believed him. We almost- We almost murdered the poor lad," the man explained, "But the Korotian. He said he was not. He used the cross to prove the boy's innocence. We almost- we were almost led astray-"

"So what is this talk of a duel?" Hubert was getting impatient now, the rush of the pursuit lending him newfound energy.

"The Troia- he forced it. They engaged out on the town outskirts, not far from here. The man never- the shot struck him right in the heart-"

Sounded like a marksman. No wonder they were nervous, the murder of a witch-hunter, especially in an illegal duel, that was a cause of concern. Metterlich glanced at Eris for some sort of silent confirmation, all he saw from the young woman was an awkward, tight-lipped expression.

"What did this man call himself?"

"The one slain-"

"No. The killer. What was his name?" the inquisitor pressed.

"I don't- I don't really recall-" the alderman wavered, feigning uncertainty.

"The Korotian. Name him," Hubert said frostily, his hand resting casually on the saber at his hip.

"I don't- I think it was Roland," the man stammered nervously, his hands crossed awkwardly before him, "That was what he called himself. Roland Arnow."

----------------------------------------

"I think there's no doubt about it, I'll be glad to be rid of this bastard of a witch hunter," Hubert said miserably, wiping his nose with the back of his hand as they made their way up the slopes of Trevigen, free of Ernheim at last, "Be gone from this unkempt shithole."

"Can't disagree," Metterlich nodded in answer, glancing about their bleak surroundings in disappointment.

"Gotta wonder what possesses the bastard to run all the way out here, he must be really desperate," the inquisitor shuddered.

"He's a coward. Will kill a man who doesn't expect it from a quarter mile away, but won't face justice," the young wizard grumbled, echoing the older man's disapproval, "So here he is. Bastard probably ran out here to hide."

"You should show some respect," Eris muttered quietly.

Her sudden, lisping interruption did not go unnoticed.

"What was that?" Hubert frowned at the woman with annoyance.

"You should show the man some more respect," she said loudly, not bothering to turn around as she led her horse through the snow.

"He is a heretic, murderer, and a traitor, that's the last thing he deserves," the inquisitor snorted.

Eris turned about to face them, and for a split second, Metterlich could have sworn he saw a glimmer of sadness in her big yellow eyes.

"He is the last of his kind," she said slowly, speaking slowly and clearly.

For once her speech did not have a hint of the usual slurring, and it gave her words a strange severity.

"He clings to the old ways, and does not surrender, hide or cower even as his certain end closes in," the woman continued, "He is an honorable man and a worthy foe. If nothing else that deserves our respect."

"You do realize other Malthorians gave up the practice, others went into hiding," Hubert frowned.

"And there are many other witch-hunting orders, some just as violent as him, perhaps even more so as we saw in Ernheim," Metterlich added.

"Don't play word games and technicalities," she sighed and shook her head, "He is the last true Malthorian. He clings to his creed with a dedication that is inspiring. He stood for that boy in Ernheim, he gave him justice in the face of the people, and his fellow hunter. And you know as well as I the old southern orders are no more than spineless puppets. He is very much the last."

"You seem to empathize a lot with this murderer," the inquisitor sneered derisively, "If I didn't know better I'd deem you a traitor and heretic too. A sympathizer to the most wretched breed of individual. Or is it some quirk of your people? Do you savages feel the fact that one can draw blood deserves your respect? It's preposterous."

"I couldn't care less about your heresy, nor your childish insinuations," Eris sighed warily once more, shaking her head and pushing back her hair with a long-taloned hand.

Metterlich wanted to say something, yet remained silent, allowing the back and forth to continue. He was not one for such philosophical foibles, Katarina had warned him to stay well clear of those. Somehow it all seemed wrong. Eris' strange sense of sympathy for the man who had very nearly killed her and Hubert's sudden, overzealous rage at the witch-hunter they hunted. It was all out of place, even if he could not quite put his finger on it.

"But you are right, he has my sympathy," she turned to face the inquisitor once more, thin lips drawn in a tight line as she faced the old man, "To watch all you stand for, to see those who once stood and believed as you did. To watch all those things wither, degenerate and collapse. To find yourself completely and utterly alone as all others falter and fall. And to continue standing alone-" Her sentence faltered and petered off as she turned away once more, as if suddenly cognizant of her rambling. "He has my respect, that is all," she finished quietly.

Hubert ground his teeth in silence, anger and resentment clear in his gaze as it bored into the back of the woman's head. Yet he said nothing. He only slowed his pace so as to get some distance from the girl. In his turn, Metterlich glanced back and forth between the two, watching the steadily increasing gap with some concern. He hesitated, unsure of how to proceed, then slowed his mare to match the inquisitor's speed.

"Hubert, might I ask a question?" he hissed quietly, glancing forward to see if Eris heard him.

If she did, she ignored him, continuing to guide her horse onward at a steady pace.

"What?" the man raised an eyebrow at the attempted whisper.

"What is she?" the young wizard said bluntly.

"Shouldn't you ask her?" Hubert laughed harshly at the suggestion, drawing a quick glance from Eris.

Metterlich hesitated, Eris scared him, and asking her such a question seemed both uncouth and foolish.

"I figured you would know," he whispered, "You mentioned something about her people."

The inquisitor blinked at him in confusion, as if the question the wizard was asking was completely moronic. Metterlichs blank expression and clear befuddlement soon made Hubert realize the query was, in fact, sincere.

"She's a damned dryad, don't tell me you didn't know," he said loudly and with clear bafflement, "Woodlanders. Forest ghouls. Elf-kin. Have you really never heard any of those terms?"

If Eris heard his outburst, she made no comment, yet somehow the wizard suspected she was listening to the whole thing.

"I didn't know a dryad looks like that! I assumed they'd be more monstrous, more teeth and claws, more fur!" the young mage argued emphatically.

"What did you think she was?" the inquisitor asked incredulously.

"A mutant, some sort of- I dunno, magical experiment or something!" he spurted out abruptly.

The dryad snorted with laughter. Even Hubert smiled. Metterlich turned beet red.

"You're a piece of work," the inquisitor said, shaking his head helplessly, "Both of you are."

"So are there more dryads out here, working in the kingdom?" the wizard asked, undeterred.

"Yes," Eris said simply.

Something in her tone made him think he should lay off the subject.

Hubert however, had no such qualms, "They used to be pretty prolific in the North-Western regions. Most of them just don't travel too far from home. They're very fond of their forests."

"Got it," Metterlich nodded.

"You're not well-traveled, are you?" the inquisitor raised an eyebrow.

"No," the wizard answered.

"Well, at least that will be one positive from this whole ordeal," the man snickered and urged his horse forward, "Broaden your horizons a little. It does one good. Makes you appreciate home all the more, eh huntress?"

"I suppose so," she said.

"The worst is naval travel. Never been so queasy in my life," the inquisitor continued, "The boat rocking, the stench of fish and salt air. Makes you ill. It's absolutely disgusting."

Metterlich nodded along with the man's speech. Somehow, the black pall around him seemed diminished slightly. What had caused the change, the young wizard could not say, but the shift was unmistakable.

"I've never seen the sea," Eris said abruptly.

"You aren't missing much."

"Would still be nice to see it though, it's about broadening your horizons, no?" the dryad turned back and raised an eyebrow. She turned back to the road ahead slowly, her voice wistful and soft, "One day I'll see. Sail the seas. One day."

"If you say so," Hubert chuckled, humoring her, "You can enjoy the sea sickness. I just want to be back in the capitol in the warmth of my chateau."

"You have a chateau?" Metterlichs eyebrows arched in surprise.

"What?" Hubert shrugged.

"Aren't men of the church supposed to lead- more frugal lives?" the wizard asked.

At that, Eris snorted back bitter laughter.

Hubert was unfazed, "I'm an inquisitor, not a priest or pastor. I may do holy work, but that does not constrain me from enjoying the niceties of life."

"Sure sounds that way," Metterlich nodded.

"It's a most lovely little country house right outside Toulan," the old man continued, "Once this mess is over. Perhaps I'll stop there, enjoy some fine wine and food. Sit in the sunshine and think back fondly on the miserable cold and hard tack."

"Will you now?" the wizard laughed, in spite of himself.

Huberts bearded face crinkled with humor, "Trust me, there's no better way to enjoy this sort of thing than hindsight."