The Witch Hunters, Book 1: The Prophet of Ash

Siegfried woke with the dawn, just before a cockerel in the yard out the back started crooning. He rose wearily, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and stubbed his toe on the table he had spent the better part of the previous night working on. The shock of pain served to wake him. He swore viciously and collapsed into the chair before it, where he rubbed his bare foot and bit his lip. Aside from an empty tankard and a samovar a quarter full with cold, leftover coffee, the whole surface of the table was covered in the Prince’s maps, notes, and his copy of the Ignis in Tenebris. He had eventually attempted to draft a letter to the King, to further expand on the letter they had sent Janus back to Capital with.

When sleep had come, it had been a restless one, full of unspeakable dreams Siegfried did not care to recall just then. The burden of responsibility had finally found him, now that he was out on his own. It left the young man feeling sick. Part of him wished that he had gotten drunk as soon as he was safely away in his room, but a greater part was grateful that he had so far resisted that terrible craving. Lives depended on what he did here, and in Anderswo. Not just the lives of the Order of St. Heinrich, the people his uncle had nominally put him in charge of, but those of everyone from the Bauer farm up to Sturmwatch’s border with the Old World. The very idea both repelled and fascinated Prince Siegfried. Was this how it felt to be King? It was little wonder his father had failed to keep his crown, and his head. The responsibility Siegfried felt now, as head of the Order, was far more humbling to him than anything Eisengrim might say or do. Any delay he made could cost lives. Any mistake he made could cost lives…

The test he had been moving towards since his birth had now come. Siegfried had met it head on. He had not run away. He would not let his people down. This role was not what he had been born for, but he would make it his. He would succeed. He had no other choice. Too many peoples’ futures were at stake if he failed.

Siegfried looked over his papers from the previous night. He had decided against announcing his presence to the mayor, or even the bishop. It would have brought him free, comfortable lodgings and the offer of aid from the authorities, but it might have also brought distraction and other delays he could not risk yet. He chose to stay at the Totenkopf Inn, as it was right in the centre of the settled part of the necropolis that was Eichen. The night had been spent with the inn’s two most popular girls. They had been surprised at his offer of coin for questions, but had confirmed for him that no one of an unkempt nature had stayed here recently. They had seen no minotaur matching the description of the male Eisengrim had slain, nor the strange, old woman. Siegfried had been about to dismiss them, resolving to check the whore house, the general goods store, and the blacksmith in the morning, when Taya, the dwarf girl had made a suggestion the Prince had cursed himself for not considering.

“You know, sir, even if they came into the King’s Quarter, it don’t mean they stayed here. They could ‘ave easily just stayed outside of the wall in the rest of the city.”

“I thought the rest of the city was a lawless heap of ruins full of wild animals?”

Taya had shared an uncertain look with her companion then. “It is, aye sir. But…well, I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

Siegfried had the silver coins out before Taya could say another word. Time was not on his side. “Where, Taya?”

“The old temple,” said the girl, a shudder coming over her as she spoke. She wrapped her arms around her chest, looked down to the floor. “Not any of the old churches. They’re condemned. I mean the old one. The real old one. The one that belonged to the elves.”

Siegfried’s blood had run cold. He sent Margerie, the human girl, away to fetch him some coffee. “The temples of the elves were all burned down,” he had said, his fingers digging into his knees so that the girl could not see his hands begin to shake. “They were all burned down everywhere by order of King Sigismund after the elves perished.”

“Aye, sir. I haven’t seen the temple myself, but I know it was burned down, like all the rest. I know there’s nothing left atop the ground, but I heard that there are rooms underneath, like dungeons, sir. If I had to get me goods here, but I didn’t wanna be bothered too, that’s where I’d go, sir. But I warn ye, if ye think about going there, sir. It’s dangerous. Madmen are supposed to live there. Unholy men, also. Men that think the elves were gods, and worship them. Men that think, sir, that they’re coming back one day.”

“They aren’t,” Siegfried said then at once. He had given Taya a gold coin as they rose and he escorted her to the door. “They’re gone, Taya. They’re never coming back. Thank you.”

The rest of the Prince’s night had been spent drafting questions to ask of the notables in town who were most likely to have met or interacted with the group from the plantation house, but his mind would not let him concentrate after his conversation with Taya. He had thrown more logs in the fire to heat the room, but it had still remained cold, and no amount of candles kept the dark away. Siegfried had tried to write a brief report in a letter to his uncle, but his thought were dragged back through the years when history and myth had been deliberately mixed. King Sigismund, the great-great-grandfather of the current King had a choice when the elves fell. No, it hadn’t been a choice really. What else could he or anyone else, have done?

Siegfried had given up, and yet had only dared to remove his boots before he lay down to sleep, or try to. In his youth, he had been taught many prayers. His nation’s Cardinal had been his own tutor in matters of history and religion. Siegfried had wanted to pray as he stared up at a black ceiling, but the words would not come. Where had god been when his family had been slain, and his whole world burned to the ground? Instead, he realised after some time that he had been repeating a phrase as he waited for sleep, and hoped against dreaming.

“They’re gone. They’re gone.”

Even when he had realised that he was doing it, Siegfried found that he could not stop himself. He was still muttering it when sleep finally took him, and the unwanted dreams began.

A floorboard creaked outside of his door. Siegfried was up in an instant, pulling a dagger from under his pillow. When one of the serving boys knocked, and reminded him that he had wanted to be woken early, the Prince’s whole body sagged a little, and he released a breath he had not known he was holding. His clothes felt warm and heavy. Sweaty. It had not been a good night.

“They’re gone. They’re gone.”

“I’m sorry, sir. What was that?” asked the boy from the other side of the door.

“Please have some breakfast ready in twenty minutes,” the Prince called back quickly. He looked at the plethora of paper on his desk, and realised it was worthless. He was not going to see the blacksmith, or the general store manager. He was not even going to check the registers at the gates. He already knew exactly now where the people they were hunting had stayed.

*

The whorehouse had a strange atmosphere, as if the owners were trying to make the setting exotic, without actually knowing anything about other cultures, or people. Incense sticks were burning here and there, adding a thick musk to the air which irritated Janus’ nose. He alternated between the occasional sneeze and a coughing fit. There were crude pornographic pictures on the walls with parchments underneath explaining in bad hand writing why minotaurs loved being sodomised, or dwarves had a thing for whips. He would not have stayed here at all, if other options had been available. The innkeeper had been right. This place did have a runner female. She was older than he, and a little less surprised to see another of her kind than she should have been, especially after he had learned from the madam in charge that she was the only runner that was supposed to have lived in the city. The madam told him something else very interesting, after a trio of silver coins found their way into her hand.

“Coming?” he asked Kurt, the female dutifully holding his hand.

The heavy human had stared at him for a long, confused second, before it dawned on him what Janus was proposing. He became a little paler than usual, and his scent loudly declared alarm and fear. “Both of us? At once?”

“Why not?” Janus asked, very matter of factly. “It’s very common back home.”

The female, whose name was Biana, nodded. Janus watched her closely, caught the glint of sadness in her eyes and scent, partially covered by her lust.

Kurt did not move. He started looking around the wooden, poorly lit hall they had been greeted in.

“A girl for my friend,” Janus said, calling back to the madam and pointing to his companion. “Human. Charge it to me.” He gave Kurt’s huge belly a playful swat as the human sighed in obvious, grateful relief. Biana led her runner client to her cheap looking, private room upstairs. Janus locked the door. After she undressed him and laid him on the bed, she began to undress herself for him.

“That’s the Great Stag of the Woods,” he said, noticing the silver pendant she wore, after her human dress was gone.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you defy Him here?”

“No, sir. It is forbidden. Our ceremonies are punishable by death in the King’s Quarter.”

She kept the necklace on, seeing that he clearly liked it. She crawled on top of him, and began her trade. Janus moaned and closed his eyes, letting the sensations claim him for a moment. It had been so very long.

“Did they decry the Stag?”

Biana paused. He felt her claws press against his chest, and thought of Nyx.

“Who?”

“The two runners who were here,” Janus groaned, opening his eyes, staring up into hers. “The male and female that came here a few days ago. They hired you. They stayed with you all night. It feels good, being with your own kind, doesn’t it?”

Biana nodded. Her bearing became defiant, proud. Beautiful, in spite of the grey in her fur. Janus admired her. He ran his hands along her thighs, was pleased to feel her tremble at the touch.

“You had breakfast with them.”

“Is that a crime?” She asked, with the threat of a snarl in her voice.

“Of course not. I’m not a bloody monkey, Biana. You’re not in trouble.”

“Are they?”

“Not anymore,” he stated bluntly. “They’re dead.”

She covered her mouth with her hand, stifling a noise. Her scent warned him of fear, but was quickly suppressed. She was angry now. She remained on top of him. One of her hands moved up to his throat, the other rubbed his soft belly. Her claws at his throat danced along his jugular. The claws at his belly drew blood. Janus lay still, moaning.

“Did you kill them?” Biana asked him, leaning down so that her enraged face filled his vision. Janus breathed her in. She twisted her claws in his belly, and for a second he was with Nyx, out in the woods the night before he left the tribe.

“No, but I would have,” Janus moaned, shuddering under her. “They were kidnappers. You know that human you saw me with? He’s the father of a child those two helped steal. They killed people to do it, Biana. They had it coming.”

Biana snarled at him. Her claws stabbed deeper into him and his abdominal muscles spasmed. The claws at his throat pressed down harder and harder, their sharp tips beginning to cut into his jugular.

Janus lay still, feeling truly relaxed for the first time in more than a year, and groaned.

“What do you care about some monkey child?” Biana growled at him. Her mouth moved down as she pulled her hand away. Now her teeth hovered over his defenceless throat, saliva dripping from her canines.

“The man’s name is Kurt Bauer, and he hired me to help find his child. Do you have cubs?”

She hissed loudly and breathed hate down on him, but it wasn’t enough to hide her scent or the secret she tried to hide. The tears came. She got off of him and tried to get off of the bed.

Janus held her by the wrist. He pulled her to him and held her as she sobbed into his chest.

“Where’s your tribe?” he asked her. “Who took you from them?”

Biana told him. It came out in a sobbing flood. It had been dwarves. They had caught her by the river, and had taken her north to sell her as a foreign delicacy for fat, greasy monsters. The years dragged by, taking her youth and beauty with them as she was sold from one monkey hellhole to the next. She had run away more than once, only to be caught each time, and beaten afterwards.

Janus held her silently and thought of the gods laughing at them and their suffering.

“What’s your contract worth now?”

She told him. It was surprisingly high. She must have still been pulling in a lot of clientele, or had plenty of regulars among the garrison. Janus did some ‘mathematics’ in his head, just like Klara had taught him to. He didn’t have enough, but Kurt would. It would forfeit his earnings and leave him in debt to the human--and that was assuming he would go along with the idea. And yet, the runner had little doubt that Kurt would agree. Bauer was a good man. Janus’ return home would be delayed, and he would be going back penniless. The runner acknowledged these realisations quietly in his head, as Biana stopped sobbing. She held him close, offered him an apology, and Janus realised he did not care about the money anymore.

“Tell me about them, Biana. Tell me everything.”

An hour passed. Biana and her client came back down into the hall, where the madam eyed them oddly. Kurt was in the bar, waiting. He had lost the nerve, or perhaps the thought of his son still being out there had dimmed his body’s appetites. He smiled when Janus appeared and offered him a drink. He did not look drunk, thankfully.

“Kurt,” Janus began, speaking his rehearsed speech closely. “I need to beg a favour of you.”

*

They left the whorehouse shortly after. The innkeeper of the Totenkopf raised his bushy eyebrows in disgust.

“No runner whores here.”

“She’s not a whore,” Kurt snapped, placing a restraining hand on Janus’ arm as the runner growled and prepared to do something rash. “She’s with us, and you will treat her with due courtesy.”