Chapter 3 - The Fort in the Middle of Nowhere

The whine of an arrow jolted Malfus painfully back into the present, like a bucket of ice water sloshed onto a drunk asleep in the stables. He awoke to a throbbing, painful nightmare. The horse plunged through the trees, branches crashed and ripped around him tearing at his robes and whipping at his face. The braying of the gnoll's inhuman laughter echoed in the dark woods, sending chills down Malfus's spine. The maddening noise grew louder the closer they got to the lights in the distance. What if we're riding right into a gnoll city? Do they have cities? Malfus grinned as he thought about the look on the Inquisitor's face if they did ride right into one. Let's see his precious goddess save him then. The horse's bounding hindquarters jostling his innards and cracked rib stole any mirth from that thought. His side was on fire, from his hip to his jaw. There was no way to roll to the other side, not without probably rolling right off the horse. And would that really be so bad? Malfus looked at the ground racing by for a moment, considering, then clung tighter onto the horse's flanks with his manacled arms.

The laughter was no longer a distant echo, instead coming from all sides now. His head reeled with pain, his vision throbbed and couldn't be trusted, but he thought he saw shadows darting through the trees. Then an arrow sailed past Malfus's field of vision, lodging into a nearby tree in a spray of bark and confirming Malfus's suspicions about the figures in the trees. Nearby, barks and yelps of alarm joined in with the chorus of laughter. Malfus scrunched up as tightly as he could on the horse's back, then he scrunched up his eyelids as tightly as he could after that. No point in watching. Too dark to see the arrows, only hear their own chorus of noise; dull thuds as they hit withered trees or harmlessly buried into the ground, or sharp cracks and strange whistles as they splintered apart from hitting a rock. An arrow cracked, ricocheting from an unseen rock. He screamed a second later when splinters of wood hit his cheek. By the bones that was close. Malfus had to resist the urge to soil himself again, but luckily there wasn't much left thanks to that gnoll that had almost skewered him earlier.

"We're riding right through them!" Malfus screamed.

"You think I don't know that? Just shut up and hold on!" The Inquisitor slapped the flat of his sword against the horse's flank, nearly striking Malfus's hands as well. Over his own gurgling rasps, Malfus could hear the horse's labored, ragged, breaths, waning with each stride as it ran on toward the lantern-lined wall. Malfus's head was buzzing like a hive of angry wasps had taken up residence between his ears, ignoring the pain that came with it, he craned his neck around to risk another glance at the wall. They were getting much closer now, close enough for him to start to make out shapes and shadows on the wall carrying lanterns, torches, and long poles with shiny, metal tips that glinted in the darkness. In the middle of the wall, a massive, iron-shod wooden gate, barred any entry, theirs, gnolls, or otherwise. They were close enough now for Malfus to hear scattered shouts of alarm, followed by the rhythmic, brassy peal of a great bell chiming in the distance.

"Open the gate! By Vesenia, open the gate!" The Inquisitor's voice rang out loud and clear as a bugle sounding a cavalry charge. It hurt too much for Malfus to strain his neck to look anymore, but he heard commotion and shouts amongst the wall growing more numerous as they got closer. Still no accompanying creaking or grinding sounds of a gate being opened though, and they must be getting damned close now.

A distant voice boomed and echoed. A warning? A challenge? He couldn't tell, but the loud echoing noise was decidedly human instead of bestial. That was a welcome relief to the gods awful laughter of the gnolls, even if it still carried a tone of threat and danger with it.

"Open the bloody gates damn you! I am an agent of his Holiness's Inquisition!" The Inquisitor shouted. Idiot... The Inquisition? Do you want them to open the bloody gates, or bar them and shoot us? The call of a brassy horn answered in reply. There was rumble, a creak, then a lumbering crack like a pine tree being split in half as the gate finally opened.

"Gnolls, behind!" The Inquisitor half-yelled, half-wheezed, to the silhouettes of men standing out amidst the dark line of wall. Crossbows answered back, punctuating the air with a retort of hissing barks and rattling strings. Something yelped next to Malfus, much closer than he expected. He looked backwards to see more than a dozen pairs of green or yellow eyes peering back at him from the darkness; reflecting light in the strange and unnerving way that the eyes of beasts do in the night, like hungry mirrors. And damn close, no need for arrows at this range when they can just reach out and grab me. There was a flash of steel from a nearby bush and then claws lunged for Malfus's throat. He winced, covering his face with his hands. A few excruciatingly long seconds passed before Malfus lowered them, pleasantly surprised to find them still attached to his wrists. The hyena faces of the gnolls stared back at him from the trees, their faces twisted into fearsome snarls, barking, jeering, and brandishing weapons, but taking not a single step further.

He licked his lips as he looked at the gates, opening like the arms of a mother's embrace, only a few more strides. Relief flooded through Malfus, melting away his aches and bruises, his cracked rib nothing but a forgotten problem of yesteryear. Or maybe this is just what going into shock feels like. Air whisked at his hair as they passed through the narrow gap in the barely opened gate.

Once inside the sanctuary of the wall, Malfus could see precious little from his current vantage point, either the horse's ass, or the Inquisitor's, depending on which direction he craned his aching neck, but he heard a great many things at once. There was a bone-grinding rumble of the gate closing, the snap of crossbows firing high up on the wall above him, and then the hiss of freshly drawn steel around him. Men shouted and yelled over one another, barking commands too numerous to make out a single one. Any remaining feelings of relief faded away like melting snow as Malfus faced the quickly growing possibility of escaping a pack of bloodthirsty gnolls only to be skewered at the hands of other humans. Before any eager hand was given the opportunity, however, the Inquisitor shouted over the men in his thick accent, "I am Inquisitor Diego Deza! I'm transporting a prisoner on behalf of his holiness Pope Torquemada. I demand to be taken to your commanding officer immediately!"

The bluster melted away from the group of soldiers as quickly as a wave rushing back out to sea, leaving nothing behind but sputtering bubbles and tiny crabs burrowing in the wet sand. Hush filled the crowd, except for murmured whispers of admonishment for challenging an inquisitor. Low ranking soldiers are easily feared into impotence by a loud voice carrying an air of authority. Especially when these black-clothed inquisitors have the backing and authority of the church to imprison and torture anyone that they accuse of banned magic practices, extremes in sexual deviancy, cult-like gatherings, dissemination of cult pamphlets, crimes against the church; really it was quite a long list. The extent of their reach was notoriously long, allowing them to accuse almost anyone from any rung on the social ladder, except nobility. The crowns of the various countries begrudgingly consented to give the church this measure of power, as long as any accusations against nobility went through them first, aside from that, the gloves were off. Only a brave man or a complete idiot would willingly address the Inquisition. Everyone has something to hide.

"Make way men! Make way!" A gravelly voice shouted from the crowd of soldiers. An older soldier with shortly cropped gray hair stepped forward from the dispersing crowd, he had a craggy face that looked like an anvil and a shovel eloped and had a baby that grew up to be a cage fighter. "You know the drill! Check for wounded. Then back to your posts. On the double lads! On the double!" The soldiers made every effort to be the first to carry out the orders, falling over themselves to get away from the Inquisitor. The older soldier faced them alone, his gaze passing over Malfus and for the briefest of seconds expressed what might pass as sympathy from a stone, then turned to the Inquisitor. "Name's First Sergeant Goren, sir. The Commander is this way. Must forgive the men. Just a bit jumpy with all the gnoll attacks."

"The nature of my forgiveness is still yet to be decided. Lead on to whoever is in charge here, soldier," the Inquisitor said, with all the warmth of a winter wind. First Sergeant Goren nodded and saying nothing else, turned and strode through the grounds. The Inquisitor snapped his reins, bringing his horse to trot next to the man so that Malfus was level with his shoulder.

Malfus took as deep a breath as he was able with the horse's hips digging into his ribs, and then let out a long exhale. His pounding heart slowly receded from his throat back to his chest and he thought now would be as good an opportunity as ever to coax his hands to stop shaking. Although he was pleasantly surprised at the speed of their compliance, it was very short-lived. Once the remaining adrenaline faded, fatigue and pain rushed back in, fighting over his attention like jealous lovers. Pain demanded his cracked rib was of the most pressing importance, while fatigue demanded only a bed. Not that he could appease either of his intimate acquaintances while strewn over the back of horse like a dead deer. Knowing he would have to deal with his jilted lovers later anyway, he ignored them both and attended to his new surroundings.

All that separated them from the gnolls was a forty-stride high, stone wall with a handful of towers that jutted out like tombstones. Inside were a dozen or so buildings all made from the same red flagstone as the canyons around them. They all bristled with the spines of protruding arrows and were pocked with tiny black burn marks.

Malfus gathered his share of strange looks from the guards as he passed by, unceremoniously splayed across the back of the horse like some sort of slain monster or prized game trophy. Malfus looked back at them, nearly every one of them wore an injury of some kind, fresh weeping bandages over a head and one eye, an arm in a makeshift sling, one soldier limping about while using a spear for a crutch. Any remaining relief he may have felt was leeched out of him by the defeat plastered across every leering face. His eyes met one soldier and Malfus saw that he was little more than a child, perhaps only a few winters into his teens, he had a haunted desperation behind those eyes that forced Malfus to look elsewhere. Malfus shook his head. I'm the one being charged for necromancy, but this camp looks like it's full of the walking dead already. They were all as silent as the grave. Only the chirps of crickets merged with the moans and cries of the wounded from elsewhere in the camp. The crickets didn't seem to mind the occasional interruptions and played on cheerfully.

He was greeted by the familiar sight of neat rows of freshly turned earth adorned with sticks tied in the shape of a diamond, the eye of Vesenia. A pair of soldiers at the end of the line ignored as they passed by, too busy with shovels in hand digging the next grave. If necromancy is such a crime, and life is so sacred to the bloody church, why aren't they sending the Inquisition's forces to help these poor, doomed souls? Already sentenced to death and forgotten on this miserable piece of rock for no crime other than serving one's country.

"Alright Inquisitor, he's just through here." The First Sergeant motioned to a pair of doors on the building next to them, little different than the others. "I'd go in to make proper introductions, but I have to see to the men."

The Inquisitor nodded curtly then dismounted. Goren started to walk away but hesitated and turned back to the Inquisitor. "How did you make it through?"

"What?"

"How did you make it through the gnolls, Inquisitor?" Goren asked again. "None of our scouts have made it back."

The Inquisitor paused for a second, taking that time to adjust his sword belt. "Faith." Was all the Inquisitor said, then he turned away from the man.

"I see..." Goren paused for a second, taking that time to scratch at his chin with a gauntleted finger. Then he turned to the two soldiers behind them. "What are you two doing digging holes? There'll be time for that later. Up on that wall, on the double lads." First Sergeant Goren walked off, shouting orders to any other soldier in his path.

The Inquisitor turned, his brimmed hat brushing against Malfus's forehead. Malfus strained his neck to look up at him from the horse's rump. Yes, I'm still here on the back of your horse's ass you horse's ass.

The Inquisitor sighed, then jerked roughly on his manacles. Malfus tottered for a second then rolled off the back of the horse. He landed on his feet, standing briefly before they erupted in fiery, prickling needles and cottony numbness. He fell over in the middle of camp in front of everyone like an idiotic sack of potatoes, which was the perfect way to end this shit-stain of a day as far as he was concerned. He didn't even try to stand, just sat on the ground, and started rubbing feeling and blood flow back into his tingling feet. He found he cared a lot less for the opinions of others after he'd been put in chains.

The Inquisitor looked down at Malfus, the disdain on his face growing. "Come, we must see the Commander. Need to see about getting resupplied and... assess the current situation."

Malfus stopped rubbing his feet and looked up. "You're taking me in to see the Commander too?" At last, some damn respect for my intellect and abilities. About time for some damn recognition.

"Don't take it as a badge of pride. I'm not leaving you out here unattended while in my custody." The Inquisitor paused, bringing his black gloved hand to his beard. "Besides, I've noticed displaying the occasional prisoner in chains helps establish a proper respect for authority in conversations." The Inquisitor narrowed his eyes at Malfus. "Never forget your place."

I'll show you your damn place after I animate your corpse and turn you into my own personal undead boot polisher! Malfus glowered back wanting to spit that threat out into the Inquisitor's smug face, but just like all his best sarcastic commentary, he just swallowed and kept it to himself.

"Come. Let's go." The Inquisitor opened the large oak door which let out a cavernous creak, revealing a large stone hall with a torch-lined corridor. Malfus shuffled behind the Inquisitor, his shackles clinking together as he limped along. Angry shouting echoed incoherently down the hallway, but the Inquisitor continued unbidden and undaunted, Malfus had no choice but to follow. A wooden door stood open at the end of the hall, the source of the yelling. The Inquisitor entered the room and Malfus followed behind reluctantly.