Crush the witch and

  Burn her corpse and

  Piss on the ashes and

  Throw them in a ditch

  -From a popular Qarthan Children’s song

  Chapter 7

  Present day

  There was not even a trial. No interrogation nor a bit of torture. Just an immediate charge and sentence upon being brought in, then the next day, she was dragged out into the central square by the city guard in front of what looked like Longton’s entire population. There was some semblance of comfort in that. It expedited the misery at least, though any such consolation was drained away when Karis saw the giant wheel she was being led towards, and the brown stains of dried blood that were splattered all over it.

  The manacles around each of her limbs chafed against her skin as she was pushed up a staircase that led towards the city’s central tower, the stained glass eye of Qarthus at its top seeming to almost glower at her as she gazed upon it.

  Karis was made to stop right before the giant wheel, where she noted the mallet that lay at its side. As she looked at it and imagined what awaited her, she felt no fear. Fear was for those who wished to survive, and while stuck inside a cell for an entire evening, the full extent of her failure and foolishness had availed themselves to her, and she knew more than ever that her journey was always meant to end that way. The method of torment and death would differ, but for one such as her, no other fate awaited in the Empire of Qarthus.

  The tower doors opened, the crowd surrounding it growing silent as a group of guardsmen trailed through, followed by an old man who walked with the slow gait of someone pained by each step. As Karis got a better look at him, she was struck by how little he bore the look of a city’s leader. Yet his uniform betrayed him as none other than the Prince Bishop of Longton, his robes, so white and clean that they looked freshly made, adorned with gold colored embroidery that depicted the sun-eye of Qarthus, an interlinked row of them running down the front of his shoulder length, purple cape, his hat, a tall cylindrical thing that grew wider at the end bearing the largest eye of all, which was golden and encrusted with gems. Yet despite his finery, the man himself cut a feeble figure, his thin neck and wrinkled head poking turtlelike out from the wide collar of his garb, his skeletal hands trembling as he raised them while facing the crowd.

  “Hear me, people of Longton,” he shouted out, his voice a muddled and hoarse mess. “For too long, we have been held hostage by fear. By a monster that has taken the lives of many. And now we have apprehended the responsible culprit.” He turned around and waved at his guard, who pushed Karis closer towards the ravenous crowd. There was a hail of screams as she was brought before them, their faces bearing the most ferocious expressions of hate and anger she had ever seen, each one seeming on the verge of tearing her apart with their bare hands.

  Among the crowd were two people who stood out to her: a large, portly man and a shorter woman with brown hair. It took her but a second to recognize them as Ulgram and Anika, the tavern keeper averting his gaze when she met his eyes, and his wife staring on with worry written all over her face. Karis wanted to hate them. Knew she should. But in some way, she understood their actions. Not born of malice or prejudice, but simple self preservation. She figured the rest of Longton was in some manner the same, all of them put on edge by fear and danger. Probably believing wholeheartedly that her death would buy them their long awaited safety.

  “Not just a Yorrie heathen,” the Prince Bishop went on. “But also a witch.”

  The crowd’s screams of enmity intensified at the utterance of that word, a few among them attempting to throw rocks and rotten food in her direction before a pair of guards pulled her away and blocked any further salvos.

  “One whose sorceries summoned the foul demon who has terrorized us. Her darkest deeds occurring but two days before, when fifty-eight people, all of them stalwart members of the city guards or brave demon hunters, were slaughtered by her and her hell born familiar. And we have proven her witchery by these objects found in her possession.” He held up her satchel of stones, then picked one out for display. She had half a mind to shout out each and every name of the glyphs in the Lunar alphabet she had written on those stones. Would probably be enough to kill the Prince Bishop and maybe scare a few others to death.

  “Her guilt is undeniable. Her crimes of such a heinous nature that only the most severe of punishments are appropriate. So, by my authority as Prince Bishop Laurence Dorein, I sentence her to be tied to this wheel–” he pointed behind himself “–where she will have her limbs broken upon it, so as to leave her to bleed out for however long it takes for her to perish.”

  Karis experienced a tingle in her arms and legs, her whole body stiffening as her gut felt full of crazed butterflies trying to break through. She did not hear the crowd cheer with mad glee as her sentence was read, their cacophonous celebrations sounding muffled, as she could focus on nought but the giant wheel and the mallet at its side. Her thoughts then turned to her caravan, the faces of her parents and little sister still clear as the day they parted. She thought next of the coven, her brethren whom she had studied alongside, the surviving Yor housed therein, and finally of Yurina, wondering how long she would await Karis’ return, or whether she was already presumed dead.

  Clarity returned when two guards began pushing her towards the wheel, and Karis could hear the full force of the crowd's jubilation, some laughing, others singing of witch hunts and butchery. Karis pushed against the guards and took two steps away before tripping due to the manacles around her feet, landing knees first on the stone-paved ground.

  “Please,” she screamed. “I am not here to hurt you. I have nothing to do with the Ripper. I only wished to help you. I want to get rid of the demons once and for all. Will you please lis–”

  She was pulled up by her shoulders and dragged back. Karis kept her eye on the crowd, spying Ulgram and Anika. She saw another figure, his hand resting on Ulgram's shoulder, the wide brim of his hat obscuring all but the tip of his short beard. But as he raised his face and revealed himself to be Laurian Cain, Karis stood firm and resisted the two guards pulling her towards the instruments of her torment and death, screaming: “Help me, please!”

  One guard pulled her down and laid her onto the wheel while the other unlocked the manacles, relief washing over the bruised and cut flesh on which they had been shackled. Before she had time to resist again, the guard had her left arm held tight as he began tying it to the wheel.

  “Turn now or your dear husband will be short a head,” someone shouted from the crowd, everyone’s glee turning to either silence or startled screams. “I will count to ten,” he said again, voice now clear enough for Karis to recognize him as Laurian.

  Every guard surrounding her and the Prince Bishop fixed their attention on wherever Laurian was, Karis raising herself as high as she could to join them. She saw that a large space had been vacated on the town square, within which stood Anika, her husband, and Laurian, the hunter, holding a knife against Ulgram’s throat.

  “Ten, nine, eight,” Laurian shouted, a group of demon hunters and guardsmen running towards him. “Seven, six, five.” He raised his voice and moved the knife a bit, Ulgram shaking as a small cut was made into the flesh of his throat. “Four, three, two, on–”

  Anika screamed, sounding human at first, her voice taking on a guttural quality as her limbs elongated, her skin grayed, and her fingers sprouted long talon-like claws. The entire town square was filled with cries, along with the sound of thousands of footsteps as everyone rushed away from the demon. All but Laurian, who let Ulgram fall to his knees before dropping the knife to replace it with his wrapped up blade, whose packaging he ripped off with a single pull of his gauntleted hand. Both demon and hunter then charged towards one another and began trading blows, Laurian swinging his giant blade with all the speed and precision of a master fencer wielding a weightless stick, while the Ripper could do no more than jump away and flail its claws towards him.

  The Prince Bishop stumbled away, dropping Karis’ satchel like it was about to burst, every nearby guard flanking him as they fled back into the tower.

  Karis studied the rope around her arm and found the knot to be loosely tied, allowing her to free herself with ease. She was quick to reclaim her satchel of stones, which she tied around her waist before refixing her gaze to the battle ahead.

  Laurian fought with an amount of grace Karis found unsuspected, the hunter moving as if weight had abandoned him, jumping twice his length with every stride as he pushed against the Ripper, who tried and failed to match his speed, but could do naught but flee, trying with every evasive jump to breach into the remains of the crowd. And when close enough, the demon grabbed hold of some old man, digging its claws into his torso before tearing him in half and throwing his remains at its opponent, Laurian cutting the flesh projectiles into more pieces at impact. But it seemed that was some part of the Ripper’s strategy, as although the greater bulk of the corpse did not hit its mark, a splatter of blood did spill onto Laurian's face, blinding him for the brief moment it took to wipe his eyes clean. The demon exploited that time well by charging faster than ever before and managing to cut deep into his right shoulder and arm before the hunter could dash away.

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  Laurian staggered then, his movements getting more sluggish as blood seeped from his wounds. The Ripper did not relent and swiped at him with abandon, giving him no other recourse but to evade and guard with the flat side of his blade. But with every jump away and parry, more blood escaped from the deep gashes of his shoulder and arm.

  Karis thought of running away. The confusion was great enough to leave plenty of openings. She knew of a ley line circle less than a day’s walk from the city. All she had to do was run. But as she looked longer at the battle between demon and hunter, the former’s advantage increased, while the latter seemed weaker with every second. So after taking a deep breath, she grit her teeth and picked a pebble from her satchel before running towards the clash, evading any surrounding citizens, guards, or demon hunters.

  When close enough, she and Laurian locked eyes as she held the pebble aloft, his eyes alight with recognition. “Nirath,” she said while throwing the rock towards the Ripper, Laurian backing away and shielding his eyes with the brim of his hat. The pebble burst into a brilliant explosion of bright yellow light upon hitting the demon straight in the head, the Ripper screaming with terror as the illumination dissipated, holding one hand over its eyes while slashing wildly into the air with the other.

  Laurian ran towards it, blade held aloft for a vertical strike. But as he was about to lay waste to the demon, Ulgram rushed towards him, crashing into his side and pushing the hunter ever so slightly away, the blade cutting deep enough to let out a torrent of blood, but missing any vitals.

  “You wish to join your beloved?” Laurian growled as he regained his balance and kicked the tavern keeper in his gut, sending him to the ground.

  The Ripper ran off, reaching the nearest street in just a few jumps, leaving a trail of blood, Ulgram running after it with greater speed than Karis would expect of a man his size.

  “That man better hope I don't find him,” Laurian said as he rubbed his injured shoulder. He then grit his teeth and took the first steps in pursuit. But as he was about to charge forward, the two of them were encircled by guards and demon hunters, the closest of them pointing spears at the young witch and hunter. “Seems everyone has a death wish today.” Laurian held his blade up to shield any incoming attacks. Karis picked three pebbles, all bearing the glyph of fire, out of her satchel, and the row of spearmen closed in like the teeth of some great maw.

  “How are your wounds?” Karis said as she put her back against Laurian’s.

  “Deep and severe. And I'm feeling quite disoriented. Whether that is the loss of blood or the wine, I can't quite tell.”

  “I could patch them up. Give us a fighting chance.”

  “No need.” He held his gauntleted hand up to his face. “First seal, release.” Sparks flew from it, then a handful of dark-red fire filled his palm. But Karis was more fixated on the state of his wounds, which closed with rapid speed after he had uttered the three words, leaving only splatters of blood and torn leather as a remembrance of the previous battle. “I can handle that myself. The real question is whether you can do the same? Because I tend to strike in a wide area, and if my life depends on it, I will not let the risk of you getting cleaved in half stop me from doing so.”

  Karis thought of the bloodshed he had caused the night they met, remembering well the ease with which he had severed each person with just a single strike. “I can bend down.”

  Laurian shrugged, then put his right leg forward in preparation to attack. “How many here like a good spit roast?” he said, raising his voice for all to hear. “I see you have all provided the sticks. Let me bring the fire.” He held his gauntleted hand forward.

  “Stop this, in the name of Qarthus, stop,” someone with a frail voice shouted from far away, sounding pained to do so. “Stop before he kills us all, damn you.”

  The crowd of guards and hunters parted for a figure too short to make out from afar. But as he poked out his turtle-like head from between two spearmen, Karis could see it was the Prince Bishop, now red faced, panting and dripping with sweat, looking near to death with eyes widened by fear.

  “You,” he said, now angered, his voice still trembling. “You damnable traitor. I should have you killed right here and now.”

  “Oh, please. Then why don’t you?” Laurian said in a teasing manner.

  The old man gritted his teeth, then waved his right hand to signal the surrounding warriors. “Leave him be. You wouldn't stand a chance against him. And he's viable to torch this entire city down.”

  “But he's only one man,” a guard to his right said.

  “And he's also a Sineater.”

  The whole crowd's demeanor changed at the utterance of that word, near half of them sheathing their weapons and backing away, the rest tensing up or shivering. Laurian relaxed his pose and raised both arms as he spun around, his lips stretched into a devilish smirk.

  “That's right, dear people of Longton,” he said right before pushing his gauntleted hand upwards to shoot out a jet of flame, the surrounding miniature army gasping or shouting in startlement, most of them retreating and looking transfixed at the crimson inferno that burst upwards like a geyser from Hell. “Now, I want no trouble here. Just to be left alone to finish my hunt and then get paid. You allow me this one grace, and I shall spare your lives.”

  As he walked off, the guards and hunters in his path retreated, creating a near even path for him to travel. He then stopped for a moment to look back at Karis, who was darting her eye about, noting the remaining crowd, some of whom had their sights and weapons pointed at her.

  “Leave the girl be as well,” he said, sounding almost exasperated. “She's my… apprentice, or servant. Touch her, and I'll kill half the people here.”

  As Laurian continued his advance, Karis followed, looking to her sides for signs of anyone attempting an attack. But every guard and hunter remained still where they stood, some looking frozen by terror, save for the Prince Bishop, who spat in their direction and walked off while shouting something inaudible.

  They were soon far enough to not see any of them, Karis still looking back for any pursuers, Laurian's gaze focused on the ground and the trail of blood painted upon it.

  “What was that?” she said.

  “A lie. Or about half of one.” He stopped and looked at where the trail led, the blood ending near the door of some derelict house, its broken door hanging loose on one hinge. “Matters little. It should buy enough time. Though I will need to leave fast before news of me spreads.”

  Karis ran ahead a few steps and stood in front of him. “Why? And what is a Sineater? And what is that gauntlet of yours? How does it work? Is it mag–”

  Laurian lowered his back to face her, the smell of alcohol wafting from his mouth making her almost gag. “I have saved your life three times now. The least that you owe me is quietude.” He brushed past her and walked towards the house.

  “I count only two. Once when I was almost strangled, then again now.”

  “Don’t forget, before that, when I forced the demon to reveal itself. It was an unintended consequence, one which I'm starting to regret, but allowed for your escape nonetheless.”

  “And then I helped you after that. You know, when the Ripper had cut you up?”

  Laurian grunted. “You have two, I have three, leaving me with one over you. I shall request my privacy as payment.”

  He entered the derelict house and shut its half-attached door after him just for it to fall open once more, its rusty hinge screeching as if in pain, after which Karis followed him inside.

  Ulgram and Anika lay there against a wall, husband holding wife, her torn clothing drenched in blood and sweat. She looked close to dying, her face pale and glistening, her hair a tangled mess that flowed down in all directions. But there was no sign of the scar Laurian had inflicted upon the Ripper, save for a large splotch of blood surrounding the big tear in the front of her apron and dress.

  “I beg you,” Ulgram whimpered, holding onto his wife as if doing so could shield her from Laurian's blade. “She's turned back. It's gone now.”

  “Move aside or you’ll share her fate,” Laurian said as he pointed his blade at them.

  “We can leave. Karis told us that she could take us to her coven. That Anika could be fixed there. That she could have the demon taken out.”

  Karis grabbed Laurian by his blade-bearing arm. “It could be possi–”

  “No,” Laurian said. “The woman is possessed. And once a demon takes hold of a human host, there is no getting it out. Not without the demon hopping into a new body. Though that would kill its previous one. Only the mercy of death is applicable here. Trust me, you do not want to carry this thing with you.”

  “How can you know?” Karis cried out.

  He showed her his gauntlet, a small flame still alive in its palm. “I carry here a demon myself, contained within my arm by the gauntlet. If there were a way to free myself of it without severing my forearm, I would not be wearing this thing. So I say with absolute certainty that only death can free this woman.”

  “But–”

  “You wish to traverse these lands? Let me give you this one bit of advice: Do not expect things to be pleasant or end well.”

  Laurian took slow steps towards the couple, blade in both arms, held sideways for a horizontal strike. Ulgram stood up to face him, hands clasped as if in prayer. The beginnings of a plea exited his mouth before Anika turned once more into the Ripper, who punched its claws through Ulgram’s chest. The demon threw its host’s husband to the ground, then screamed as it swiped both hands towards the hunter. But Laurian was quicker still, severing its torso in half with a cut that began on the fiend’s right shoulder and ended over the left side of its hip.

  Another gasp escaped from its mouth before the demon collapsed, its body turning back to human, one half of Anika falling beside her husband, their hands ending in a fortuitous position, hers atop his, looking almost like they were holding onto one another for comfort.

  Laurian ruined the scene by decapitating Anika’s corpse. “Well, it took some time. But all in all, this was a fruitful hunt if I do say so myself.” He kept his blade in his gauntleted hand, then cut the palm of his other one before letting the sword fall to the ground. “By my blood, as Laurian Cain, I seal you,” he said as he dripped his blood onto the back of his gauntlet, its red glow diminishing. “I mean, I got paid in the end, and made some friends.” He patted her on her head, smearing her hair with blood. “Keep safe, child. And far away from me.”

  As he walked off, blade slung across his back, Anika's head in the crook of his arm, Karis looked at him, then back at the fresh bit of gore he had left, and wondered if Blind Bava was either mad or wished her dead.