Blood of the Fold

Chapter 10

Tobias Brogan knuckled his mustache as he glanced out of the corner of his eye at Lunetta. When she returned the slightest of nods, his mouth twisted with a sour expression. His rare good mood had evaporated. The man was telling the truth, Lunetta didn’t make mistakes about this kind of thing, yet Brogan knew it wasn’t the truth. He knew better.

He redirected his gaze to the man standing before him on the other side of a table long enough to banquet seventy people, and willed a polite smile to his lips.

“Thank you. You have been a great help.”

The man peered suspiciously at the soldiers in polished armor to each side of him. “That’s all you want to know? You have me dragged all the way over here, just to ask me what everyone knows? I could have told your men if they would have asked.”

Brogan forced himself to hold the smile. “I apologize for the inconvenience. You have been of service to the Creator, and to me.” The smile escaped his control. “You may go.”

The man didn’t miss the look in Brogan’s eyes. He bobbed a bow and scurried for the door.

Brogan tapped the side of his thumb on the case at his belt and glanced impatiently to Lunetta. “Are you sure?”

Lunetta, in her element, returned a serene gaze. “He be telling the truth, Lord General, as were the others.” She knew her craft, filthy as it was, and when practicing it was enveloped with a confident air. It annoyed him.

He slammed a fist to the table. “It not be the truth!”

He could almost see the Keeper in her placid eyes as she watched him. “I not say it be the truth, Lord General, only that he be telling what he believes to be the truth.”

Tobias harrumphed. He knew the truth of that. He hadn’t spent his life hunting evil without learning some of its tricks. He knew magic. The quarry was so close he could almost smell it.

The late-afternoon sun spilled through a slit in the heavy gold drapes, splashing a glowing line of light across a gilded chair leg, the ornate royal blue flowered carpet, and up over the corner of the long, lustrous tabletop. The midday meal had long ago been put in abeyance while he pressed on, and yet he was no further along the path than when he had started. Frustration gnawed in his gut.

Galtero usually displayed a talent for bringing in witnesses who could provide proper information, but so far this lot had proved useless. He wondered what Galtero had found out; the city was in turmoil over something, and Tobias Brogan didn’t like it when people were in an uproar, unless he and his men were the cause. Turmoil could be a powerful weapon, but he didn’t like unknowns. Surely, Galtero must have returned long ago.

Tobias leaned back in his diamond tufted leather chair and addressed one of the crimson-caped soldiers guarding the door. “Ettore, is Galtero back yet?”

“No, Lord General.”

Ettore was young, and anxious to make his mark against evil, but he was a good man: shrewd, loyal, and not afraid to be ruthless when dealing with the Keeper’s own. One day he would be among the best of the baneling hunters. Tobias knuckled his aching back. “How many more witnesses do we have?”

“Two, Lord General.”

He wound his hand impatiently. “Bring in the next, then.”

While Ettore slipped through the door, Tobias squinted past the slash of sunlight, to his sister standing against the wall. “You were sure, Lunetta, weren’t you?”

She stared as she clutched her tattered rags to herself. “Yes, Lord General.”

He sighed as the door opened and the guard led in a thin woman who didn’t look to be any too happy. Tobias put on his most polite smile; a wise hunter didn’t let his quarry catch a glimpse of fangs.

The woman jerked her elbow from Ettore’s grip. “What’s this about? I was taken against my will and have been locked in a room all day. What right have you to take a person against their will!”

Tobias smiled apologetically. “There must be some misunderstanding. I am sorry. You see, we only wanted to ask a few questions of people who we judged to be reliable. Why, most of the people on the street wouldn’t know up from down. You seemed an intelligent woman, that’s all, and—”

She leaned over the table toward him. “And so you locked me in a room? Is that what the Blood of the Fold does to people they judge reliable? From what I hear, the Blood doesn’t bother with questions, they simply act on rumor, as long as it results in a fresh grave.

Brogan could feel his cheek twitch, but he held the smile. “You hear wrong, madam. The Blood of the Fold only be interested in the truth. We serve the Creator and his will, no less than a woman of your character. Now, would you mind answering a few questions? And then we will see you safely home.”

“See me home now. This is a free city. No palace has the right to drag people in to question them, not in Aydindril. I’ve no obligation to answer any of your questions!”

Brogan widened his smile as he forced a small shrug. “Quite right, madam. We’ve no right at all, and didn’t mean to imply one. We are only seeking the assistance of honest, humble folk. If you would simply help us get to the bottom of a few, simple matters, you could be on your way with our heartfelt appreciation.”

She scowled a moment and then rolled her bony shoulders to straighten her wool shawl. “If it will get me back home, then get on with it. What do you want to know?”

Tobias rearranged himself in his chair so as to cover a quick glance at Lunetta, to make sure she was paying attention. “You see, madam, the Midlands has been torn asunder by war since spring last, and we seek to know if the Keeper’s minions have a hand in the strife now shadowing the lands. Have any of the council members spoken against the Creator?”

“They’re dead.”

“Yes, I’ve heard that, but the Blood of the Fold doesn’t put stock in rumor. We must have solid evidence, such as the word of a witness.”

“Last night I saw their bodies in the council chambers.”

“Is that so? Well, that is powerful evidence. At last we hear the truth from an honorable person who was a witness. You see, you are already of assistance. Who killed them?”

“I didn’t see the killing done.”

“Did you ever hear any councilor preach against the Creator’s peace?”

“They railed against the peace of the Midland alliance, and as far as I’m concerned that’s the same thing, though they didn’t put it in those terms. They tried to make it seem as if black were white, and white black.”

Tobias lifted an eyebrow, trying to act interested. “Those who serve the Keeper use such tactics: trying to make you think doing evil be right.” He lifted his hand in a vague gesture. “Was there any land in particular that wished to break the peace of the alliance?”

The woman stood with her back straight and stiff as she looked down her nose at him. “They all, including yours, seemed equally ready to cast the world into slavery under the Imperial Order.”

“Slavery? I have heard that the Imperial Order seeks only to unite the lands and bring man to his rightful place in the world, under the guidance of the Creator.”

“Then you heard wrong. They seek only to hear whatever lie suits their purpose, and their purpose is conquest and domination.”

“I’ve not heard that side of it. This be valuable news.” He leaned back in his chair, crossed one leg over the other, and folded his hands in his lap. “And while all this plotting and insurrection was taking place in the council chambers, where was the Mother Confessor?”

She faltered for an instant. “Away on Confessor business.”

“I see. But she did return?”

“Yes.”

“And when she came back, did she try to stop this insurrection? Did she try to hold the Midlands together?”

The woman’s eyes narrowed. “Of course she did, and you know what they did to her for it. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

A casual glance in the direction of the window showed Lunetta’s eyes focused on the woman. “Well, I’ve heard every sort of rumor. If you saw the events with your own eyes, then it would be powerful evidence. Did you witness any of these events, madam?”

“I saw the Mother Confessor’s execution, if that’s what you mean.”

Tobias leaned forward on his elbows and steepled his fingers. “Yes, that was what I feared. And she is dead, then?”

Her nostrils flared. “Why are you so interested in the details?”

Tobias widened his eyes. “Madam, the Midlands has been united under the Confessors, and a Mother Confessor, for three thousand years. We have all prospered and had a good deal of peace under Aydindril’s rule. When the war with D’Hara started up after the boundary went down, I feared for the Midlands—”

“Then why didn’t you come to our aid?”

“Though I wished to lend my aid, the king forbade the Blood of the Fold from interfering. I objected, of course, but he was, after all, our king. Nicobarese suffered under his rule. As it turns out, he had darker intentions for our people, and apparently, as you have said, his councilors were ready to cast us into slavery. Once the king was exposed for what he truly was, a baneling, and paid the price, I at once brought our men across the mountains, to Aydindril, to place them at the disposal of the Midlands, the council, and the Mother Confessor.

“When I arrive, what do I find but D’Haran troops everywhere, yet they are said to no longer be at war with us. I hear the Imperial Order has come to the rescue of the Midlands. On my journey, and since my arrival, I have heard all sorts of rumors—that the Midlands has fallen, that the Midlands is rallying, that the councilors are dead, that they are alive and in hiding, that the Keltans seized control of the Midlands, that the D’Harans have, that the Imperial Order has, that the Confessors are all dead, that the wizards are all dead, that the Mother Confessor is dead, that all of them are alive. What am I to believe?

“If the Mother Confessor were alive, we could help her, protect her. We are a poor land, but we wish to be of aid to the Midlands, if we can.”

Her shoulders relaxed a bit. “Some of what you’ve heard is true. In the war with D’Hara all the Confessors, except the Mother Confessor, were killed. The wizards died, too. Since then, Darken Rahl died, and the D’Harans threw their lot in with the Imperial Order, as did Kelton, among others. The Mother Confessor returned and tried to hold the Midlands together. For her trouble the seditious pretenders to the council had her executed.”

He shook his head. “This is sad news. I had hoped the rumors false. We need her.” Brogan wet his tongue. “You’re quite sure she was killed in the execution? Perhaps you’re mistaken. She is, after all, a creature of magic. She might have escaped in a confusion of smoke, or some such. Perhaps she still lives.”

The woman fixed a glare on him. “The Mother Confessor is dead.”

“But I have heard rumors that she was seen alive . . . across the Kern River.”

“Idle rumors of fools. She is dead. I myself saw her beheaded.”

Brogan stroked a finger across the smooth scar at the side of his mouth as he watched the woman. “I also heard a report that she had fled in the other direction: to the southwest. Surely there is hope?”

“Not true. I will say it for the last time, I saw her beheaded. She did not escape. The Mother Confessor is dead. If you wish to be of aid to the Midlands, then you will do what you can to join the Midlands together once more.”

Tobias studied her grim face for a moment. “Yes, yes, you’re quite right. This is all very troubling news, but it be good at last to have a reliable witness to shed light on the truth. I thank you, madam, you have been more help than you can know. I will see what I can do to put my troops to the best advantage.”

“The best advantage would be to help expunge the Imperial Order from Aydindril and then the Midlands.”

“You think them so wicked?”

She lifted her bandaged hands toward him. “They tore off my fingernails to make me speak lies.”

“How ghastly. And what lies did they wish you to speak?”

“That black was white, and white black. As do the Blood.”

Brogan smiled, feigning amusement at her wit.

“You have been a great help, madam. You are loyal to the Midlands, and for that you have my gratitude, but I am sorry you feel the way you do about the Blood of the Fold. Perhaps you, too, shouldn’t listen to rumors. They be only that.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you any longer. Good day.”

She upbraided him with a fiery scowl before storming off. Under other circumstances her reluctance to be forthright would have cost her much more than her fingernails, but Brogan had pursued dangerous quarry before, and he knew that discretion now would reward him later. The prize was worth enduring her mocking tone. Ever without her cooperation, he had gotten something very valuable from her this day, something she didn’t know she had given, and that was his design: that the hunted wouldn’t know he had picked up the scent Tobias allowed himself, at last, to meet Lunette’s gleaming gaze.

“She tells lies, my lord general. She tells mostly the truth, to mask them, but she tells lies.”

Galtero had indeed brought him a treasure.

Tobias leaned forward. He wanted to hear Lunetta say it, to hear her voice his suspicions aloud—to put the confirmation of her talent to it. “Which be lies?”

“Two be lies she guards like the royal treasury.”

He smacked his lips. “Which two?”

Lunetta smiled a sly smile. “First, she be lying when she said that the Mother Confessor be dead.”

Tobias slapped a hand to the table. “I knew it! When she said it, I knew it be a lie!” He closed his eyes and swallowed as he offered a prayer to the Creator. “And the other?”

“She be lying when she said that the Mother Confessor did not flee. She knows that the Mother Confessor be alive, and that she ran to the southwest. All the rest she told be true.”

Tobias’s good mood was back. He nibbed his hands together, feeling the warmth it brought. The hunter’s luck was with him. He had the scent.

“Did you hear what I said, Lord General?”

“What? Yes, I heard you. She’s alive, and to the southwest. You did well, Lunetta. The Creator will be pleased with you when I tell him of your aid.”

“I mean about how all the rest be the truth.”

He frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Lunetta drew her scraps of cloth up tight. “She said that the council of dead men be made up of seditious pretenders. True. That the Imperial Order seeks only to hear whatever lies suit their purpose, and their purpose be conquest and domination. True. That they tore off her fingernails to make her speak lies. True. That the Blood acts on rumor, as long as the result be a fresh grave. True.”

Brogan shot to his feet. “The Blood of the Fold fights evil! How dare you suggest otherwise, you filthy streganicha!”

She winced as she bit her lower lip. “I do not say it be the truth, Lord General, only that it be the truth as she sees it.”

He tugged his sash straight. He didn’t want to spoil his triumph with Lunetta’s prattle. “She sees it wrong, and you know it. He thrust a finger at her. “I’ve spent more time than you’ve a right to, more time than you be worth, to see that you understand the nature of good and evil.”

Lunetta stared at the floor. “Yes, my lord general, you have spent more time than I be worth. Forgive me. They be her words, not mine.”

Brogan finally withdrew his glare and took the case from his belt. He set it down, giving it a nudge with a thumb to make it straight with the edge of the table as he sat once more. He put Lunetta’s insolence from his mind as contemplated his next move.

He was about to call for dinner when he remembered that there was one more witness waiting. He had found what he had sought, there was no need for further questioning . . . but it was always wise to be thorough.

“Ettore, bring in the next witness.”

Brogan glared at Lunetta as she faded back against the wall. She had done well, but then she had spoiled it by provoking him. Though he knew it was the evil in her that bubbled up whenever she did right, it galled him that she didn’t try harder to suppress its influence. Maybe he had been too kind to her of late; in a weak moment, wanting to share his joy, he had given her a pretty. Perhaps she look that to mean that he would let her get away with insolence. He would not.

Tobias ordered himself in his chair and folded his hands on the table, thinking again about his triumph, thinking about the prize of prizes. There was no need to force a smile this time.

He was a bit startled to look up and see a young girl glide into the room ahead of the two guards. The old coat she wore dragged the ground. Behind the girl, between the guards, a squat old woman in a tattered wrap of brown blanket limped along with a rolling gait.

When the group came to a halt before the table, the girl smiled at him. “You’ve a very nice warm home, m’lord. We’ve enjoyed our day here. May we return your hospitality?”

The old woman added a smile of her own.

“I’m pleased you have had a chance to get warm, and would be grateful if you and your . . .” He lifted a questioning eyebrow.

“Grandmamma,” the girl said.

“Yes, grandmamma. I would be grateful if you and your grandmamma would answer a few questions, that’s all.”

“Ahh,” the old woman said. “Questions, is it? Questions can be dangerous, m’lord.”

“Dangerous?” Tobias rubbed two fingers over the furrows on his forehead. “I seek only the truth, madam. If you answer honestly, no harm will come to you. You have my word.”

She grinned, showing the gaps where teeth were missing. “I meant for you, m’lord.” She cackled softly to herself, then leaned toward him with a grim expression. “You might not like the answers, or pay heed to them.”

Tobias waved off her concern. “You let me worry about that.”

She straightened, smiling again. “If you wish, m’lord.” She scratched the side of her nose. “What are your questions, then?”

Tobias leaned back, studying the woman’s waiting eyes. “The Midlands has been in turmoil, of late, and we want to know if the Keeper’s minions have a hand in the strife shadowing the lands. Have you heard any of the council members speak against the Creator?”

“Councilors rarely come down to the market to discuss theology with old ladies, m’lord, nor would I suppose any would be so foolish as to publicly reveal any underworld connections, had they any.”

“Well, what have you heard about what they have had to say?”

She lifted an eyebrow. “You wish to hear rumors from Stentor Street, m’lord? State which sort of rumor it is you would like to hear, and I can tell you one to fit your needs.”

Tobias drummed his fingers on the table. “I am not interested in rumor, madam, simply the truth.”

She nodded. “Of course you are, m’lord, and you shall have it. Sometimes, people can be interested in the most foolish of things.”

He cleared his throat in annoyance. “I’ve heard any number of rumors already, and don’t need any more. I need to know the truth of what has been going on in Aydindril. Why, I’ve even heard that the council has been executed, as well as the Mother Confessor.”

Her narrow-eyed smile returned. “Then why wouldn’t a man of your high status simply stop by the palace as he rode in, and ask to see the council? That would make more sense than dragging in all sort of people who would have no direct knowledge, and asking them. The truth would be better discerned with your own eyes, m’lord.”

Brogan pressed his lips together. “I wasn’t here when the rumors say the Mother Confessor was executed.”

“Ahh, so it’s the Mother Confessor you’re interested in, then. Why didn’t you simply say so, instead of going all round about? I heard dial she was beheaded, but I didn’t see it. My granddaughter saw it though, didn’t you my dear?”

The little girl nodded. “Yes, m’lord, saw it myself, I did. Chopped her head right off, they did.”

Brogan made a show of sighing. “That was what I feared. She is dead, then.”

The girl shook her head. “Didn’t say that, m’lord. I said I saw them chop off her head.” She looked right into his eyes and smiled.

“What do you mean by that?” Brogan shot a glare up at the old woman. “What does she mean by that?”

“What she says, m’lord. Aydindril has always been a city with a strong undercurrent of magic, but it has been fairly crackling with it, of late. Where magic is involved, you can’t always trust your eyes alone. Though she is young, this one is smart enough to know that much. A man of your profession would know it, too.”

“Crackling with magic? That portends evil. What do you know about the Keeper’s minions?”

“Terrible, they are, m’lord. But magic is, in itself, not evil; it exists without guile of its own.”

Brogan’s fists tightened. “Magic is the Keeper’s taint.”

She cackled again. “That would be like saying that the shiny silver knife at your belt is the Keeper’s taint. If used to menace or harm an innocent, then the holder of the knife is evil. But if, for instance, it is used to defend life against a fanatical lunatic, no matter his high standing, then the holder of the knife is good. The knife is neither, because each can use it.”

Her eyes seemed to go out of focus, and her voice lowered to a hiss. “But if used for retribution, magic is vengeance incarnate.”

“Well then, in your view, is this magic you say is about in the city being used for good, or evil?”

“For both, m’lord. This is, after all, the home of the Wizard’s Keep, and a seat of power. Confessors have ruled here for thousands of years, as well as wizards. Power draws power. Conflict is afoot. Scaled creatures, called mriswith, have begun to appear out of the very air, and gut any innocent in their way. An ominous omen, if ever there was one. Other magic lurks to snatch the rash, or unwary. Why, the very night is alive with magic carried on the gossamer wings of dreams.”

She peered at him with one faded blue eye as she went on. “A child who is fascinated with fire could easily be incinerated here. Such a child would be well advised to be very careful, and leave at the first opportunity, before he inadvertently puts his hand into a flame.

“Why, people are even pulled off the street, to have their words filtered through a sieve of magic.”

Brogan leaned forward with a smoldering expression. “And what do you know about magic, madam?”

“An equivocal question, m’lord. Could you be more explicit?”

Tobias paused for a moment, trying to pick the nettles out of her ramblings. He had dealt with her kind before, and he realized she was gulling him off the subject, off the trail.

He brought back his polite smile. “Well, for instance, your granddaughter says she saw the Mother Confessor beheaded, but that that doesn’t mean she be dead. You say magic can make it so. I’m intrigued by such a statement. While it’s true that I know magic can occasionally fool people, I’ve only heard of it working small deceptions. Could you explain how death could be revoked?”

“Revoke death? The Keeper has such power.”

Brogan pressed forward against the table. “Are you saying the Keeper himself brought her back to life?”

She cackled. “No, m’lord. You are so persistent in what you want that you do not pay attention, and hear only what you want to hear. You specifically asked how death could be revoked. The Keeper can revoke death. At least, I’m assuming he can because he is the ruler of the dead, holds power over life and death, so it’s only natural to believe that—”

“Is she alive or not!”

The old woman blinked at him. “How would I know that, m’lord?”

Brogan ground his teeth. “You said that just because people saw her beheaded, that doesn’t mean she be dead.”

“Oh, back to that, are we? Well, magic can perform such a ruse, but that does not mean it did. I said only that it could. Then you went off scent asking about death being revoked. Quite a separate issue, m’lord.”

“How, woman! How can magic accomplish such high deception!”

She snugged the tattered blanket up around her shoulders.

“A death spell, m’lord.”

Brogan glanced to Lunetta. Her beady eyes were fixed on the old woman, and she was scratching her arms.

“A death spell. And what, exactly, is a death spell?”

“Well, I’ve never seen one executed, so to speak—” She chuckled at her own joke. “—so I can’t give you proper witness, but I can tell you what I’ve been told, if you’ve a wish to hear secondhand knowledge.”

Brogan spoke through clenched teeth. “Tell me.”

“Seeing a death, comprehending it, is something we all recognize at a spiritual level. It’s this seeing of a body with its soul, or spirit, departed, that we recognize as death. A death spell can mimic a real death by making people believe they have seen a death, that they have seen the body without its soul, and so make them viscerally accept the event as true.”

She shook her head as if she found the matter both amazing and scandalizing, “Very dangerous, it is. It requires invoking the aid of the spirits to hold the person’s spirit while the web is cast. If anything goes wrong, the subject’s spirit would be cast helpless into the underworld—a very unpleasant way to die. If everything goes right, and if the spirits return that which they have preserved, I am told it will work, and the person will live, but those seeing it will think them dead. Very chancy, though. While I’ve heard of it, I’ve never heard of it actually being attempted, so it may be nothing more than hearsay.”

Brogan sat quietly moving the pieces of information around in his mind, pulling together things he had learned this day, and things he had learned in the past, searching for the right fit. It must have been a trick done to escape justice, but not one she could have accomplished without accomplices.

The old woman put a hand to the ghTs shoulder and started shuffling off. “Thank you for the warmth, m’lord, but I grow tired of your haphazard questions, and I’ve better things to do.”

“Who could perform a death spell?”

The old woman halted. Her washed-out blue eyes lit up with a dangerous cast. “Only a wizard, m’lord. Only a wizard of immense power and great knowledge.”

Brogan fixed her with a dangerous look of his own. “And are there any wizards here, in Aydindril?”

Her slow smile made her faded eyes gleam. She reached into a pocket under the blanket and tossed a coin on the table, where it spun in lazy circles before finally toppling over before him. Brogan picked up the silver coin, squinting at the strike.

“I asked a question, old woman. I expect an answer.”

“You hold it, m’lord.”

“I’ve never seen a coin like this. What’s this image on it? It looks to be a grand structure of some sort.”

“Oh it is, m’lord,” she hissed. “It’s the spawn of salvation and doom, of wizards and magic: the Palace of the Prophets.”

“Never heard of it. What is this Palace of the Prophets?”

The old woman smiled a private smile. “Ask your sorceress, m’lord.” She turned again to leave.

Brogan shot to his feet. “No one gave you permission to leave, you toothless old hag!”

She peered back over her shoulder. “It’s the liver, m’lord.”

Brogan leaned forward on his knuckles. “What?”

“I’ve a taste for raw liver, m’lord. I believe that’s what makes the teeth fall out, over time.”

Just then, Galtero appeared, squeezing past the woman and girl as they went through the doorway. He saluted with fingertips to bowed forehead. “Lord General, I have a report.”

“Yes, yes, in a moment.”

“But—”

Brogan held up a silencing finger to Galtero as he turned to Lunetta. “Well?”

“Every word true, Lord General. She be like a water bug, skimming the surface of the water, touching only the tips of her feet to it, but everything she said be true. She knows much more than she tells, but what she tells be true.”

Brogan waggled his hand impatiently for Ettore to come forward. The man stiffened to attention before the table as his crimson cape swished around his legs. “Lord General?”

Brogan’s eyes narrowed. “I think we may have a baneling on our hands. How would you like to prove yourself worthy of the cape you wear?”

“Yes, Lord General, very much.”

“Before she gets out of the building, take her into custody. She be under suspicion of being a baneling.”

“What of the girl, Lord General?”

“Weren’t you watching, Ettore? She will no doubt prove to be the baneling’s familiar. Besides, we don’t want her out in the street crying out that her ‘grandmamma’ is being held by the Blood of the Fold. The other, the cook, would be missed, and that could bring troublemakers down around us, but this pair won’t be missed from the street. They be ours, now.”

“Yes, Lord General. I will see to it at once.”

“I will want to question her as soon as possible. The girl, too.” Brogan held up a cautionary finger. “They had better be ready to answer truthfully any question I ask.”

Ettore’s youthful face bent into a gruesome grin. “They will confess when you come to them, Lord General. By the Creator, they will be ready to confess.”

“Very good, lad, now be off, before they gain the street.”

As Ettore dashed through the door, Galtero stepped impatiently forward, but waited silently before the table.

Brogan sank down into the chair, his voice distant. “Galtero, you did your usual, thorough, good job; the witnesses you brought me proved up to my standards.”

Tobias Brogan slid the silver coin aside, unfastened the leather straps on the case, and dumped his trophies into a pile on the table. With tender care he spread them out, touching the once living flesh. Each was a desiccated nipple—the left nipple, the one closest to the baneling’s evil heart—with enough skin to include the tattooed name. They represented only a fraction of the banelings he had uncovered: the most important of the important; the most vile of the Keeper’s fiends.

As he replaced the booty one at a time, he read the name of each baneling he had put to the torch. He remembered each chase, and capture, and inquisition. Flames of anger flared up at remembering the unholy crimes to which each had finally confessed. He remembered justice being done each time.

But he had yet to win the prize of prizes: the Mother Confessor.

“Galtero,” he said in a soft, stony voice, “I have her trail. Get the men together. We will leave at once.”

“I think you had better hear what I have to say, first, Lord General.”