The Pillars Of The World

“Come on, little one. It’s time to go.”
    She mounted her dark horse and adjusted the pup so that she could hold on to him comfortably. When she and Morphia rode away from Ahern’s farm—and Brightwood—she didn’t look back.
     

 

     
     

Chapter Thirty-three

 

     
     

     
    They were gone, Adolfo thought numbly as he packed his meager belongings in a cloth traveling bag.
    During the slow journey back to Rivercross, he’d kept telling himself that his messages had gone astray, that that was the reason he’d had no replies, that his men would meet him here as intended. But they weren’t going to meet him here. They were gone. All the fine men, all the Inquisitors he had brought with him a few months before to rid this land of the stench of magic were gone. He hadn’t been able to find out what happened to them. Every time he asked about his men, he got the same response: The person would spit on the ground and make a sign against evil.
    He’d like to meet the man who wrote that song about the Inquisitors, calling them the Black Coats, magicians of dark magic who were the Evil One’s servants, accusing them of creating the nighthunters that were plaguing several villages where Inquisitors had been.
    The Inquisitors were the warriors against evil, the Evil One’s foe . And everyone was supposed to believe the witches had created the nighthunters to harm the good villagers. The creatures had been a necessary weapon in the fight to free the world of the foul stink of magic.
    But the song haunted, and it had spread like fire from village to village along the border of Sylvalan.
    Yes, he’d like to meet the man who wrote that song. He’d like the chance to cleanse that man’s spirit of the Evil One’s influence.
    But first he would go home and rest. Rest and gather his strength and his other Inquisitors. Then, over the winter months, he would decide what to do.
    Adolfo straightened his coat, picked up the traveling bag, and left the inn. The ferry that took people and goods across the river that separated Sylvalan from Wolfram would be leaving soon, and he didn’t want to miss it.
    As he walked to the ferry station, he drew in a deep breath—and exhaled quickly, wrinkling his nose.
    The air smelled of dirty water, but underneath that was the first touch of autumn.

    He would be glad to leave this hateful land and return to his home country where there was order and men were the masters. He would be glad to return to a place that treated Inquisitors with the respect and deference due them.
    As he turned the corner of the short, cobblestoned street that led to the ferry station, he saw the black-haired woman on a dark horse blocking the way to the dock.
    He trembled, but he forced himself to walk toward her.
    “Get out of my way,” he said in a commanding voice that, nonetheless, shook a little.
    “I have a message for you,” she said.
    “Then deliver it and be gone.”
    She looked at him a long time. “The Fae are returning to the Old Places. We are reclaiming the land that has always been ours. As long as we are left in peace, the humans have no reason to fear us. If we are not left in peace . . .”
    The warning hung in the air between them.
    “It was you, wasn’t it?” Adolfo said, his breathing becoming harsh, ragged. “ You killed my men.”
    “It was the only way to stop them from doing more harm,” she said quietly.
    “Harm!” Adolfo stared at her. “ Harm ! We came here to free men from the chains of magic that keep them servants instead of the rightful masters of their world. We did no harm .”
    “You slaughtered the witches, who are our kin. We consider that harm.”
    “The witches.” Adolfo’s lips curled back in a snarl. It always came back to the witches. Females with magic who men had to placate in order to survive. Just like the foul creature standing in his way.
    Except he wasn’t some sniveling, powerless man. He was the Master Inquisitor, the Witch’s Hammer.
    He had cleansed the world of hundreds of witches. And here was this creature just staring at him as if he was something she could brush aside and forget.
    One blow to the head. That’s all it would take to stun her enough so that she couldn’t use her power against him. That’s all it would take to change something dangerous into something helpless, something that was at his mercy. One blow. That’s all it would take. And the other blows that would follow would soften her for the cleansing.
    He