CHAPTER 853: INQUISITOR PERCIVUS

The short winter day had already come to an end when the guest that Bors had been waiting for finally arrived at his office. The gloomy rain had once again turned into a mix of fierce downpour with sudden bursts of hail that rattled off the windows like tapping demon claws, while bursts of cold wind in the chimney made the flames in the hearth roar and dance.

Bors himself sat behind his polished oak desk, yet another of the pieces carved from the demon’s sacred tree, working his way through the pile of reports and administrative affairs that had built up during his days of bed rest.

The pain in his side made it impossible to sit comfortably or for long, but Bors refused to return to his chambers. Part of it came from a stubbornness as he clung to his work, making plans for the arrival of every baron in the march, along with at least twenty knights, in just ten day’s time. It would be the first time the full Lothian Court had assembled during winter in more than a decade, and there were countless details to see to if he was to host all of the lords of the realm.

The other reason he avoided his chambers, however, was something he struggled to admit, even to himself. Isla’s embroidery chair in his office remained empty, and he hadn’t heard her voice all day long as he worked, but after days of mistaking the Blackwell girl for her, he didn’t know how to face the spectre of his late wife when he returned to the rooms they’d shared for much of his life.

A knock at the door interrupted his brooding, followed by a footman’s announcement that the guest he’d been waiting for had finally arrived.

Inquisitor Percivus walked into Bors’ office with a posture that was perfectly straight and a gait that was neither hurried nor slow. The crimson and gold robes of his office fluttered lightly as he moved, and Bors nodded in subtle approval as he took in the man’s appearance.

Percivus wasn’t a young man, and if he hadn’t taken up the oaths of the Church, he might have had children nearing adulthood by now. He was in the prime of his life with flame red hair worn short in the style of soldiers and the matching beard that he wore covered only his lips and chin, leaving his pale cheeks and strong jaw free of even the slightest trace of stubble.

"Your Grace," Percivus said, stopping precisely three paces short of the Marquis’ desk and offering a slight bow. "It’s been many years since I’ve been able to be of service to you," he said smoothly. "I’m glad for the opportunity to help you fight demons again."

"Oh?" Bors asked with a raised brow. "We’ve fought together before?" he asked, placing his elbows on the desk and leaning forward in sudden interest. "You look a bit young to have taken up arms for the War of Inches," he observed carefully.

"I was young, your Grace," the flame-haired inquisitor said with a nostalgic smile. "I was barely thirteen summers old at the start of the war, and I’d only spent a few years in the temple, but I was old enough to serve with the priests in the healing tents."

"I don’t expect your Grace to remember me," he added. "But the day you were wounded, I assisted Pyrderi in changing your bandages. I was impressed that you never once cried out, and you never called for Essence of Poppy the way many wounded soldiers did. The strength of your resolve to fight demons was an inspiration to me then," he said without the slightest hint of false praise or obsequiousness in his voice.

Percivus was a man who didn’t need to shower others with flattery, and he bowed down to no one outside of his own order unless he had genuine respect for them. As an Inquisitor, he was a peer to almost any lord, and there had been no need to give Marquis Bors even the slight bow that he had, but it wasn’t Bors’ title that he gave respect to. Rather, it was the man’s accomplishments in the war against the demons of Airgead Mountain that had earned Percivus’ enduring respect.

"I see, I see," Bors said with a warm smile as he gestured to one of the plush, overstuffed chairs near his desk. "I do remember you, hovering in the background while Pyrderi cleansed my wound. You were a good lad back then. Never flinched at the sight of blood, even in the hell of the healer’s tents. Now look at you. Full-grown and ready to fight in the next war," he said with a touch of sorrow in his voice.

"I’m looking forward to it, your Grace," Percivus said when he took his seat. "I’ve heard that young lord Owain is a terror on the battlefield that carves a path through demons almost as well as you did in the last war. I’ll admit to an unworthy amount of jealousy that a visitor from the Holy City like Diarmuid was the one to fight at your son’s side in the spring, but the true battles are yet to come."

"No, no that’s not true at all," Bors corrected as he tapped on his desk with a thick finger. "The true battle has arrived here, now, and it’s insidious and filled with schemes," he said as a shadow passed behind his eyes.

"Percivus," Bors said in a grave tone. "I am surrounded by people who conspire with our enemies. There are demons attacking in winter, witches and their servants stalking our realm, perhaps even the spawn of the Demon Lady of the Vale," he said as his eyes blazed with fury and his body shook with the force of his feelings.

"I need to know that I can trust you," Bors said as he narrowed his eyes at the Inquisitor. "I need to know that you will ferret out the people who are conspiring against me and aiding the demons, and I need to know that you are willing to use whatever means are necessary to dig up the truth. Many men in your position bow down to noblemen and walk softly around women. I need to know that you don’t have any such weaknesses!"

"Your Grace," Percivus said with a predatory smile as the flames of passion seemed to ignite in his hardened, hazel eyes. "My abbot sent me precisely because I have found heretics among the aristocracy before. Your Grace may remember Sir Nurin in Aleese Barony," he said helpfully, bringing up an incident from just a few years prior.

The demons of the Southern Steppe were known to be nomads who conducted raids on the villages of the barony nearly every summer, but there had been one village that never seemed to suffer casualties in the raids, even though they reported losses of cattle, sheep, and barley every year.

It had taken more than a month for Percivus to break Sir Nurin, but eventually the man confessed to his scheme. The heretical knight had met with the demons years ago and paid tribute to their Demon Lord each year in order to spare his people from the violence of the raids.

Sir Nurin broke because he thought that his confession would save the lives of his wife and child, but Percivus believed in burning heresy out completely. Nurin’s eldest son had already begun to learn how to speak the demon’s foul language in preparation for taking over his father’s role in maintaining their treasonous pact, and that fact alone was enough to see the entire family burned at the stake for their heresy.

Of course, Percivus hadn’t stopped at the noblemen. There were farmers and ranchers who were guilty as well, and the Inquisitor didn’t stop until every last person who had knowingly participated in the scheme was reduced to ash that blew away on the wind.

Baron Aleese had been furious that so many households had been devastated and dozens of people needed to be sent from neighboring villages to take over the farms of the families who had died in the purge, but that wasn’t Percivus’s problem. Where he found heretics, those heretics burned. As far as the Inquisitor was concerned, the Baron should count himself fortunate that it hadn’t been necessary to set fire to the crops that had been grown expressly to fill demon bellies.

"I remember the man," Bors said with a dark, brooding look as he thought about the knight who had been willing to supply the Horse Lord’s horde in order to save his own skin. "So you were the one to root out his treachery. Good, good," he said as he stood from his desk and extended a hand toward the Inquisitor.

"Then I leave the matter of Lady Jocelynn in your capable hands," Bors said. "Whatever names fall from her lips, I trust you’ll follow every lead and put an end to this evil before winter’s end!"