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Path of Exile: Pagan
Chapter 2: Hellfire
"In the name of God and the king, open up!"
Coloman kept playing with his horse's reigns. The mount snorted.
I know how you feel.
"If you don't open this door, fire will take it!"
Dusk had come, and the temperature had dropped even further. In a way, the lord supposed, fire wouldn't have been too bad, given the warmth it would provide. But luckily, it hadn't come to that yet. He supposed he had to give Philip that much credit.
"One…two…"
On the other hand, Coloman thought, if the resident of this hovel really was a witch, threatening to barge in while every other warrior held back didn't seem like a good strategy.
"Three! Alright, I-"
The door opened. A young woman stood there.
"What were you going to do?" she asked. "Blow my house down?"
Coloman smirked.
"You'll find I'm worse than any wolf, witch."
And the smirk left. Because already Philip had come to the conclusion that she was a witch. A witch, Coloman reflected, that had opened the bloody door.
"And I'm a pig," she said. "Wish I could say my house was made of bricks, but…" She glanced at Coloman. "You know how it is, my lord."
The knight remained on his horse and stared at her. He'd heard whispers of the villagers as they'd made their way through Strobel to its outskirts, where the woman's hovel was. Whispers that betrayed their belief that she was indeed a witch, but also the lack of any real evidence for it. They whispered in the streets, they kept their children away from her, but Coloman had noticed that they'd never cited any specific event or deed. The most they could say beyond rumour was that every so often, they would see light flickering from inside the hovel and shadows that darted through it. But this girl - black hair of respectable length, simple clothes, icy blue eyes - she looked every much a normal villager.
"There is but one true lord," Coloman heard Philip intone. "And you stand before him to be judged."
"Oh, your god is it?" the girl asked. She looked at the templar and knight before her. "And which one of you is the true lord, and which is the fake?"
Philip spluttered on his intended response.
"Or is it one of your men that hides in the dark?" she asked, gesturing to the templars and men at arms beyond the small garden. "They're afraid you know."
"Should they be?" Coloman asked. He met her gaze. "What's your name?"
"Sheba."
"Well, Sheba, I'm afraid that my subjects have been making various allegations about you."
Sheba opened her mouth. Philip interrupted.
"Enough of this," he said. "We've come to take you. You shall be judged. You shall be measured. If found wanting, you shall meet judgement. If not, you may return to your…home."
"That's nice. But I'd rather stay here."
Philip stared. Coloman raised an eyebrow. She looked up at him.
"Goodnight, milord."
And with that, the door closed.
Coloman glanced at Philip. He wanted to go home. The girl seemed harmless. Rude, abrasive, and lacking respect for authority perhaps, but that didn't necessarily mean she was a rogue magic user. Looking at Philip, he feared that the templar would drag things out. Instead, he turned his horse around and started moving back towards his men.
"Well then," Coloman said, doing likewise. "That went well."
Philip remained silent.
"I think it's safe to say that if she was a witch we'd be toads by now then?"
Philip still remained silent. He dismounted his horse, nodded to one of his fellow templar, who promptly walked over to the men at arms.
"So, it's a night then?" Coloman asked, feeling the stirrings of unease as he dismounted as well. "You're welcome to stay in my castle of course. I-"
"One more word Coloman and you'll burn with her."
Coloman held his horse in place. Philip turned to face him.
"You've become lax, Lord Coloman. Or maybe you always were. But whatever the case, I'm going to do what should have been done long ago."
Coloman stared. Stared at Philip. Stared at the men-at-arms, all of whom had drawn bows. Stared at the iron buckets the templar were laying down in front of them.
"Philip," he asked. "What are you doing?"
Flames sprung from the buckets. The tips of the arrows were lowered into them.
"Judgement," Philip murmured.
The bows were raised.
"No," Coloman said, dismounting. "No! You can't do this! Not here! Not on my land!"
He ran towards Philip. The templar stopped his charge by grabbing his neck with one hand.
"Don't try me," he whispered. "The witch made her choice. She has refused fair trial. So fire awaits her. First here, then in Hell."
"You don't even know if she is a witch!" Coloman yelled, breaking free of the templar's grip. "For God's sake, you don't even know-"
Philip struck him across the forehead. The knight fell to the ground, reeling.
"Don't use His name in vain," the templar whispered. "Not here. Not now."
Coloman wanted to say something. But his head was spinning. A wind was blowing. One of the templars shouted "ready!"
No. Not now. Not like this.
"Loose!"
"No!"
The arrows flew. The wind howled.
And as Coloman watched on helplessly, the hovel burned.
"Your beverage, my lord."
"Not wine. Bring me rum."
Coloman didn't watch the servant scamper off as best as one carrying a bottle of wine and glass could without dropping either. He just kept one elbow on the table while he used his other arm to apply the slab of meat to his forehead.
"How's it feeling?" Thiele asked, looking at her husband from across the table.
Coloman sighed and removed the meat, letting the bruise show in all its glory. "You remember when Sir Boyle got kicked by his horse?"
"Um, yes?"
"Well, now I know how he feels."
Thiele smiled kindly. Coloman groaned and returned the meat to his forehead. He gave a small thank you to the servant and uncorked the bottle before taking it to his lips.
"Coloman!"
"My table, my rules."
Or the lack of them, he reflected. But putting the bottle down after his swill, he couldn't care less.
He'd missed dinner. He'd missed seeing Jacob and Caletria while they were awake. He'd barely seen Sylvia, and alone, in the castle's dining hall, the lord and his wife might as well have been the only residents of Hefele. As he'd ridden through the gate alone, he doubted whether most of the castle's residents even knew he'd returned.
"Look at you," Thiele said, standing up and walking round to him. "You're a mess."
"Don't start Thiele."
"Coloman, there was nothing you could do," Thiele said, coming up behind him and putting her hands on his shoulders. "You were alone. The templars had over twenty men in total."
"I let a subject die," he grunted, taking another swig of the rum. "The templars did what they always do, and I just stood there and watched."
"No, you didn't," said Thiele firmly. "And your bump…wound…can attest to that."
"Unless I'm burnt alive too, I don't think that counts for much."
"Well, no-one's burning you," Thiele said. "And you're not staying up a minute longer."
"I-"
"Bed. Now."
Coloman groaned. But he got up from his seat and followed his wife to the staircase nonetheless.
Forgot the rum.
He turned back towards the table. Thiele steered his head back to the stairs.
Coloman's head was pounding, and it wasn't just because of the blow Philip had dealt him. He remembered the flames. He remembered the feeling of helpless and shame that had coursed through him. Still coursed through him. Maybe the woman really was a witch. Maybe the rumours of the townsfolk were well founded. But he hadn't seen anything himself that suggested that she'd done anything wrong, and as some who had to pass sentence over genuine criminals…
It wasn't right.
The lord groaned as they reached the landing where the family bedrooms were. Thiele smiled at him, as if to say, "nearly there." Her husband remained silent. All of this was-
"Aieee!"
Sylvia!
On instinct, Coloman ran down the passageway. He recognised his daughter's voice. He knew the sound of distress. So did his wife, running after him.
"Jacob!" he heard his eldest daughter cry out. "What are you-"
The exclamation cut off.
Shit!
The lord and lady rounded the corner, to the corridor where Jacob and Caletria's bedrooms were. The door to Caletria's was closed. Jacob's wasn't. And before it lay Sylvia, sprawled against the wall. Blood poured out from her left shoulder.
"Sylvia!" Thiele exclaimed, running towards her, past her husband. "Sylvia!"
Coloman glanced at his daughter as he ran towards the open door. Her face was pale, but the wound wasn't lethal. And while he was concerned for her, his instincts as a knight told him to let Thiele tend to her daughter, while he confronted the assailant. And to make sure his son was-
"Jacob!" he exclaimed, as he beheld the room before him. It was a mess. Even more so than usual. But that didn't compare to the open window. To Jacob's floating body. And to the woman standing in the gloom.
"Hello Lord Coloman."
The knight stared. It was impossible. Just impossible.
"Silent treatment eh? That's more than what the others gave me."
"Coloman?" Thiele called, walking in. "What-"
She fell silent as an unseen force slammed her against the wall.
"Thiele!"
Coloman looked at his wife. Then he looked back at the assailant.
At the witch. At Sheba.
"You bitch!"
He charged her. He was without sword or armour, but he still charged her. Which might have contributed to the ease in which she stuck her hand out, preventing him from moving. Controlling his actions. Forcing him to kneel.
"You should be grateful," she hissed. "Your wife and daughter are still alive. I could have taken this to excess."
"You…can't…"
"You tried to take my life," Sheba whispered. "I think it's only fair that I take recompense."
She turned round and started walking towards Jacob.
"You tried to take my future, my lord. So now I'll take yours as well."
"No!"
Coloman tried to move. But he couldn't. His limbs had betrayed him. His family were incapacitated. And Jacob, his son, was there before him. Floating in the air. And along with the witch, he disappeared.
"Jacob!"
Coloman fell down, Sheba's spell having disappeared along with her.
"No," he whispered. "No no no!"
Philip was right. She was a witch. A witch that had definitely done something now.
I let it happen. I provoked her.
The knight pounded the ground, tears running down his face, his head pounding, and not because of the earlier blow Philip had inflicted.
"My lord?"
Coloman turned his head around. A trio of men-at-arms stood there.
"My lord, I…what happened?" one asked, rushing over to him while the others tended to Thiele and Sylvia. "Are you alright? Where's Jacob"
The knight shook his head. Nothing was alright. "My lord?"
"Muster my men," Coloman said, getting to his feet. "Now."
"I…um…"
"What?"
"It's just…the templar, my lord. It's why we came up to find you. They've returned to the castle."
A/N
Update (08/10/13): Made alterations based on external feedback.
