The Pillars Of The World

inside him—and salvage this disaster—was standing before him.
    Adolfo placed his hands on Harro’s shoulders. The power that flowed through his hands flooded the weaker man so fast Harro barely had time to realize what was happening.
    “You will return to the village,” Adolfo said, his voice soft as his power of persuasion ensnared Harro, leaving the man vulnerable—and obedient—to whatever was said. “You will stay at the inn, not at the baron’s estate. You will tell the villagers that it was not Death’s Mistress but the Evil One in disguise who attacked the men when they attempted to cleanse their village of the witch’s foul influence. It was the Evil One who killed Konrad.”
    “The Evil One,” Harro mumbled.
    “You will tell them you believe that the Evil One is still nearby, waiting to devour other good folk as it devoured Konrad, and you have returned to keep watch until I, the Master Inquisitor, can arrive and free them.”
    Harro’s eyes were blank and glassy now. Perfect.
    “The second night you are at the inn, you will retire immediately after the evening meal, and you will sit before the fire in your room. You will watch the fire carefully. When it has burned down to embers, you will take an ember the size of your thumb from tip to the first joint. You will place this ember on your tongue. You will make no sound, no sound at all. When the ember has burned out, you will spit it out on the hearth and take another, smaller ember. You will swallow this ember. You will make no sound, no sound at all. You will continue to swallow embers until you can swallow no more. Do you understand?”
    “Un . . . der . . . stand.”
    “You will remember reporting to me about Konrad’s death. You will remember that you confessed that you had failed him, and that, when you asked my forgiveness, it was freely given. You will remember that we grieved together for the loss of a fine young man. That is all you will remember, but you will follow my instructions exactly as I have told you.”

    “Will . . . follow.”
    “Good. That is good.”
    Adolfo stepped back, returned to his chair. He carefully released most of the power that now ensnared Harro, leaving just enough to ensure his will would be obeyed but not so much that Harro would notice it.
    He waited until Harro blinked, drew in a deep breath, then looked around as if slightly bewildered.
    “I thank you for bringing me the news yourself, Harro,” Adolfo said quietly. “Please leave me now. I need to be alone with my thoughts—and you must prepare for your journey.”
    “Journey?” Harro appeared to be thinking hard. Then his face cleared. “Yes, the journey. I must return to the villagers and keep watch. Even in grief, the great work must go on.”
    “Yes, it must.”
    Adolfo didn’t move until Harro left the room. Then he rose and stood before the hearth. He stared at the fire for a minute before releasing one little burst of power. The fire roared, the flames leaping twice as high as they had a moment before. After a count of ten, they shrank back to normal size.
    Adolfo still stared at the flames.
    Perhaps it was for the best. Even before they had come to Sylvalan, Konrad had begun showing signs of being a bit too much like his grandmother. The day would have come when Konrad no longer saw him as the uncle who had guided and trained him but as a rival for the title of Master Inquisitor.
    He had been fond of his nephew. After all, the boy was the only close family he had left. But he wouldn’t have tolerated the boy as a rival. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone having command over him ever again. So, perhaps, it was for the best that Konrad had died this way. Still, the villagers had to pay for allowing the Gatherer to kill an Inquisitor.
    The last of his family. Oh, there were other relatives—after all, his father had had two older brothers—
    but it had been so long since he had seen them, he no longer thought of them as family. Nor did he consider his wife in that way. She was just a flawed vessel that had never been able to properly grow his seed.
    No, women were not family. They were like the cow that gave milk or the hens that laid eggs. They were a necessary part of a man’s life for his comfort and well being, but they should never be thought of as being more valuable than the cow or the hen. Their purpose was to open their legs for a man’s pleasure and to birth the children who would be his heirs.
    If his father had