Prologue II: The Inquisitor

Two weeks passed. The local priest used every spell he knew, every medicinal herb he could gather, but seemingly nothing could heal Lionel's hand. At a loss, the priest finally sent a letter to colleagues on the mainland, asking if they knew of Lionel's strange affliction.

The night he found the ring, the night Lionel had been crippled, the militiaman had dragged Quinn to the guardhouse at the far side of town to be interrogated. But in spite of their threats, and their beatings, his story did not change: he found the ring in the mine, and having not worn it for himself, was completely unaware of its curse. The militiamen were less than convinced, and it was only with the utmost reluctance that Quinn was released when dawn finally broke.

Foreman was waiting for Quinn at home. He was no more merciful to Quinn than the militia had been. And for the first time in almost eight years, the two of them missed a day of work. Foreman's anger was a terrible sight to behold, but as with the militia, Quinn did not admit any guilt, and in the end Foreman had no choice but to let him go as well. Though his words at the end of that day made it abundantly clear that all was not forgiven: "Be thankful I won't be making you pay for Lionel's treatment."

As he had countless days before, Quinn chipped away at the stone walls of the mine, continuing to follow the iron vein. The help Foreman promised never arrived. In fact, most of the other miners seemed to be avoiding him. The isolation didn't trouble him- after all, he spent most of his time working far away from the others. But, the whispers did bother him. He couldn't have known about the curse, but even if he had, harming his fellow workers would be of no benefit to him. Fewer workers meant less ore to sell to the merchants; less ore meant their wages would be lower; and lower wages meant it would take longer for his debt to be settled. And in spite of what others claimed, Quinn knew nothing of magic, and didn't even know Lionel well enough to have held any grudges against him.

Between his swings, Quinn heard the sound of hard heels clacking against the stone floor, growing louder with each tap. He gritted his teeth; no doubt it was a member of the militia seeking to bring him in for another round of questioning. Without looking back, he called out, "I already told you people everything I know. Why can't you just leave me alone already?"

A woman's voice replied, "Yes, I've read the statement. But I'd prefer to hear it from you directly."

Quinn froze. A woman's voice was something very out of place in these tunnels. No women worked the mine- for that matter, there were no women in the militia, either- and although a few of the others had wives or fiancées, they and everyone else in town knew better than to enter the mine unless it was absolutely necessary. He looked back, largely out of curiosity.

Standing in the tunnel with her arms clasped behind her back was a woman, dressed in white. Her clothes, too, were very out of place- a white coat with dark brass buttons, white pants, and a white cap, along with black gloves, black boots, and a black belt with a white sword hanging from it, all immaculately clean. What stood out to Quinn the most, however, was her height. She wasn't as tall as Foreman- nobody was- but she was taller than most of the other miners, himself included. And certainly, much taller than any woman he'd ever met.

The woman looked at him keenly. "Are you Quinn?" she asked.

"Uh… I- I am," he stammered, setting his pickaxe aside. Her voice was calm, but there was something about her gaze, about the hard expression on her angular face that unsettled him.

"I need to ask you a few questions. Come with me."

The young man huffed and turned his back on the woman. He didn't know who she was, but despite her intimidating aura, if she wasn't part of the militia, he had no reason to obey her. "I'm sorry, but whatever it is, it'll have to wait until we're done for the day."

Quinn reached for his pickaxe, but a gloved hand seized his wrist. With an icy voice, the woman said, "I'm afraid this is something that can't wait . "

Without waiting for a reply, the woman began pulling Quinn down the tunnel to the mine entrance. Her pace was unrelenting- several times, he almost tripped over loose stone or cart railways. But she didn't let him go, even after the two emerged from the mine, nor after the two entered town. It wasn't until she'd dragged him into Freed's tavern and sat him in an empty chair that she finally let him go.

In the light of the sun, the woman's features became more apparent. Her hair was seemingly tucked under her cap, leaving only two pale blue bangs that reached her chin, framing her face. Her eyes, too, were blue, but of a much deeper shade. He was reminded of a necklace a merchant had once brought to town, set with a deep blue stone that he called "lapis lazuli."

"I realize now that I haven't yet introduced myself," the woman said, pulling Quinn from his distracted thoughts. The woman touched the beak of her cap. "My name is Ingrid. I'm an Inquisitor of the Archonite Order, and a direct subordinate of Mother Agnes."

Quinn stared at the woman- Ingrid, in silence. Whatever meaning her title had was completely lost on him.

"Now…" Ingrid began, resting a hand on the table and leaning towards Quinn. "I understand that twelve days ago, you found a ring somewhere in Lamorak's mine. I want you to tell me exactly how you found it."

Quinn looked up at the woman in silence. If she knew about the ring, then she no doubt knew everything that happened that day. Questioning him was pointless.

She leaned slightly closer to him. "And I would appreciate you telling me the truth."

Quinn quickly turned his gaze down to his hands. He couldn't face this woman- when their eyes met, he felt as though she were burrowing into his very thoughts, leaving all of his secrets bare before her. There was only thing he hadn't told anyone during the endless rounds of questioning. But beneath Ingrid's gaze, that quickly changed. "I… found it while I was digging," he said, hesitantly. "It was… I found it stuck in the rock."

Ingrid's eyes widened slightly, though with gaze averted, Quinn didn't see it. "It was embedded in the stone?"

He nodded slowly. "Yeah…" To hear it said out loud, it was completely absurd. There was no way she would believe him. In truth, even after having seen it with his own eyes, Quinn doubted his own words nearly the moment they left his mouth.

If Ingrid had any doubts, she kept them to herself. "Did you put on the ring for yourself at any point?"

"No." He looked up at her. "Why are you asking me all this? If you're here, then you already know what happened, right?"

Ingrid ignored his question, asking one of her own: "Where is the ring now?"

Quinn averted his gaze again. "Someone in the militia took it. I… don't know where it is now."

"I see." She walked to the door, before looking back. "I need to speak with this 'militia.' I'll return shortly. Do not leave this building." And with those words, she stepped outside.

For a long while, Quinn simply sat in the tavern silently, the occasional creak in the old building as his only company. He didn't leave the tavern. He didn't even dare to rise from his seat. That woman wasn't part of the militia, that much was apparent. She was another, much more dangerous beast altogether.

After several long minutes, the tavern door creaked open, and the woman returned. "I have one last question for you, Quinn," she said, as she approached. "Is this…" She held out her hand, and set something on the table. "…the ring you found?"

Lying on the table was a silver ring, adorned with a jet-black gemstone. He hadn't seen it since that day, but there was no mistaking it. Quinn nodded. "That's it."

"I see," Ingrid replied, nodding to herself. She then looked at Quinn. "I want you to put on this ring."

Quinn's eyes widened. "What?"

Ingrid folded her arms behind her back, her gaze icy. "I believe my request was rather clear."

Quinn shot to his feet. "Are- Are is you insane? There's no way I'm touching that thing! Not after what it did to Lionel!"

" Sit. Down. "

Quinn instantly dropped back into his seat. They were just two words, but they had an edge hidden within them, something he'd never heard from another person. Ingrid said nothing else as she folded her arms across her chest- she simply narrowed her eyes at him, expecting him to comply.

With a trembling hand, Quinn reached for the ring. As before, it was cold to the touch. For a moment, he held the ring between his thumb and forefinger, as he had on that day. But this time, after taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes, and slid the ring onto his right index finger.

For a moment, nothing happened. Then, Quinn felt the ring pulse with a sudden heat. It tightened around his finger, and-

…That was all.

He opened his eyes, and looked down at the ring on his finger. No black veins spread across his hand. The black stone did not shine. He tried to adjust the ring with his other hand, but it refused to budge, wrapped tightly around the base of his finger. "What… what is this?" he asked.

Ingrid touched her chin, and mumbled to herself, "As I thought…"

Quinn looked at Ingrid. At first, he was afraid, but this woman seemed to know things about this ring, things he didn't, and her refusal to explain herself was beginning to wear thin. "What? What's as you thought?" He stood, holding up his hand. "You know something about this ring, don't you? What is this thing!? Tell me!"

Ingrid clasped her arms behind her back. "The ring you're wearing is a Ring of Power. And it has chosen you to be its Bearer."

"Chosen?" Quinn looked down at the ring, his frustration replaced by confusion. "How… what do you mean? How can a ring choose someone? How can a ring do… anything? "

"I assure you, everything will be explained in due time. But first, I need to report to my superior in Tristan. And I need you to come with me."

" Absolutely not! " Foreman roared.

Ingrid stood before the enraged man, her arms clasped behind her back, her face calm. "This matter is not open for discussion," she said plainly. "I'm taking the boy to Tristan with me."

Foreman stepped right up to Ingrid, and loomed over her. "And who gave you that right? Huh!?"

Ingrid didn't retreat. She didn't move at all, save to tilt her head up to meet Foreman's gaze. "The King of Bannon," she replied. Her voice was calm and level, in complete contrast to Foreman's shouts. "By his decree, the Archonite Order has the authority to recruit any wielder of a Ring of Power found on Bannish soil."

The sun had begun to set. Ingrid had wanted to leave right away, but Quinn insisted that he had to tell Foreman that he was leaving. In the end, she relented, but insisted that she be the one to pass on the news. So, Ingrid interrupted Foreman's end-of-the-day speech to explain who she was, why she had come, and what was to happen next.

Foreman had been… less than pleased by the news.

"To hell with your Order!" Foreman shouted. He raised his fist. "And to hell with you! "

Whatever happened was so fast that Quinn couldn't keep track of it. But in an instant, it was over. Foreman was lying on the ground, on his stomach; Ingrid had grabbed his arm, and twisted it up behind the larger man's back at a painful looking angle, while resting her foot at the base of his neck. A few of the other miners stepped forward, as though to intervene, but none came any closer. After all, Foreman was a strong man- and if this woman could bring him to heel so easily, what hope did they have of besting her?

"I know your kind," she said coldly. "You may be able to deceive others, but I'm not so easily fooled. Taking in a child, making him a slave, and calling it kindness… yes, I know your kind. I've put plenty of your kind to the sword."

" M-Miss Ingrid! " Quinn shouted, running forward. "Please! Don't hurt him!"

For a moment, Ingrid gave Quinn the same icy glare she'd given to Foreman, before looking down at the giant man. "His concern is wasted on you." She finally let go of Foreman's arm, and stepped over him. "I'll be taking the boy now. If you try to stop me, I won't hesitate to take more than that." She didn't spare Foreman a second glance as she walked away.

As she passed Quinn, she said, "Come. We're leaving." She didn't wait for a reply.

Whispers erupted from the other miners. Among them, Quinn made out, "Who was that woman?" "Is Quinn being arrested?" and "What the hell was she talking about slaves for?"

But Quinn wasn't focused on them. Nor was he focused on Ingrid. His attention had turned to the man who had raised him. Quinn approached cautiously as Foreman slowly rose back onto his feet. "F-Foreman?" He didn't say anything. So he called again, "Foreman, are you-"

" Go ." That one word made Quinn stumble back. Foreman's tone was cold. Not that he'd ever spoken warmly to Quinn before, but that one word was more distant than anything the boy had ever heard before. "If she wants you that much, she can keep you." Foreman dusted himself off, before he turned his back on Quinn, and walked away.

Quinn could only stare at Foreman's back. The man who had taken him in, who had raised him for almost ten years, turned his back on him, just like that. But any further thoughts were interrupted when Ingrid called, "Quinn!" With nowhere else to go, he hurried to her side.

The two began walking away from the mine, but not toward Lamorak. This path led away from the village, a path Quinn had never taken before. "I told you that we would have been better off leaving as soon as we could," Ingrid said.

"But, what about my-"

"You can consider your debt with the foreman settled." And she continued on, without another word.

Quinn came to a halt. How could she have known about that? She couldn't have been in Lamorak for more than a day, maybe two at the most, but she'd found out something that he'd kept hidden from his coworkers for years. He followed Ingrid once more at her urging, but kept a safe distance from her. This woman was a stranger to him, but somehow, she knew a great deal about him .

And that one fact frightened him more than anything she had said, or done, that day.

Quinn and Ingrid spent the next two days aboard a ferry, sailing to the mainland. Quinn spent nearly the whole journey hunched over, desperately trying to keep an unfamiliar queasiness at bay as the ship swayed beneath his feet. Ingrid was seemingly unsympathetic to his woes, however, merely saying, " If Mother Agnes accepts you into the Order, you'll find yourself aboard ships often enough."

Quinn's discomfort was short-lived, as on the evening of the second day, the ship anchored at a port on the mainland- a place named Port Ysolde. From there, according to Ingrid, it would be another three days before they reached Tristan on foot.

In the morning, the two set out. But just outside the walls of the port, Ingrid stopped Quinn, saying, "I have something for you." That something turned out to be an axe. A woodcutter's axe, from the look of it.

Quinn looked at the axe warily. "Why are you giving me this?"

"It's… unlikely that we'll run into any trouble. But, we can't rule out any possibility," Ingrid replied. "It isn't a proper weapon, but it'll have to do until we reach Tristan."

He held the axe in his hands. The weight was different from a pickaxe- lighter, and spread differently, but it was still similar enough that he shouldn't have any troubles using it. And after fastening the axe to his belt, the two set out.

Quinn had never been able to wander far from Lamorak- the most he ever really saw of the outside world were the woods surrounding Lamorak, the leaves of the trees colored a seemingly perpetual gold. But the mainland… On the right of the road was a beach covered in dark gray sand- further on was the ocean, sparkling under the sun. On the left, hills covered in emerald green grass rolled gently as far as the eye could see. He turned back and forth, wide-eyed, trying to take in as much of the countryside as he could. "Wow…"

"The world is filled with many wonders," Ingrid said. "Wonders far grander than this, I assure you."

Quinn looked at Ingrid. "Like what?" he asked.

"The Arcane College in Corburg, for one. Or the White Cliffs of Wynnedown, in Morley. And of course, the Order's Abbey in Tristan."

Quinn didn't recognize the names of any of those places, though they all sounded very far from Grimhold. "It sounds like you do a lot of travelling, Miss Ingrid."

"I do. My duties have taken me all over Aurea…"

The two continued down the road, as Ingrid told Quinn of the places she had visited. Quinn listened eagerly, but he couldn't shake the strange feeling that had settled over him, that had settled ever since Ingrid gave him the axe hanging from his belt. He wasn't sure what she meant by "trouble," but he was certain she hadn't been talking about trees.

And as the sun began to set, and Quinn and Ingrid passed through a small woodland, his worst fears came to light.

"Ho there," a rough voice called. From behind a nearby tree emerged a man, who was every bit as rough as his voice suggested. Dark-haired, grimy, wearing tattered leather armor- Quinn had never seen one before, but from the stories others had told, there was only one thing the man could have been. A bandit.

What the stories couldn't capture, though, was smell. The man stank - he stood a good ten peds away from him and Ingrid, but he could still smell him even at that distance.

Ingrid must have recognized the man for what he was as well, as she whispered harshly, "Quinn, stay behind me." But her warning was in vain, as more men emerged from behind nearby trees, surrounding them. Five in all.

"Looks like luck isn't on your side today, friends," the bandit said. "Now just hand over everything you've got, and things won't have to get messy."

Another bandit approached Quinn from the side, his eyes fixed on his hand. "That's a fine ring you've got," he said. "Much too fine for a boy like you." He drew a dagger and pointed it a Quinn's chest. " Hand it over. "

There was a sharpness to his tone. The very same sharpness that was in Ingrid's words to Foreman. Quinn didn't recognize it in Lamorak, but here, he understood it perfectly:

This man was going to kill him, if he didn't get what he wanted. Him, and Ingrid.

But Ingrid showed no fear, stepping between Quinn and the bandit, her arms clasped behind her back. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

"Oh really?" the bandit asked, tracing his finger along Ingrid's collarbone. "And you're gonna stop us? All by yourself?"

Ingrid's expression was like stone; her voice like ice. "Yes."

In a flash, Ingrid had unsheathed her sword. She stabbed it up, through the bottom of the bandit's jaw, and out through the top of his head, before drawing it back just as quickly. For a few moments, the bandit stumbled backwards, before he fell, and lay on the ground, motionless.

One of the remaining bandits dropped his weapon and ran. But there were still three more. Ingrid turned and charged toward another of the bandits.

But Quinn could only stand, frozen. Ingrid… had killed that man. It wasn't that death was completely unknown to him- he was a miner, after all. Whether it was from collapsed tunnels, hidden pockets of poisonous gas, or something as mundane as falling on a stray pickaxe or sharp rock, he knew more than a few people who went into the mine one day and never came back out. But all those had been accidents . Ingrid-

" Quinn! " Ingrid shouted.

He looked up- a bandit had closed in on him, sword pulled back for a powerful swing from the side. His body reacted to what he saw before he recognized what he was seeing, grabbed the axe from his belt, and brought it up to block the blow. There was a loud crack as the blade struck the axe's wooden handle and cleaved straight through it. Before Quinn could react, the bandit drew back his sword for a powerful thrust. The blade was aimed at his throat.

And he had no way to stop it.

He was going to die here.

This bandit was going to kill him, and cut the ring from his lifeless finger.

The broken axe handle fell from Quinn's hand.

Quinn closed his eyes.

But it was not Quinn that opened them.

A blue light began to shine from the ring, as something that was not Quinn caught the blade with his bare hand. Blood leaked through his fingers as his grip tightened, and the metal shattered in his hand, like glass. "Wha-" was all the bandit could manage before not-Quinn shoved him back, knocking him over. The thing that wasn't Quinn then fell on the bandit with a flurry of crushing blows, blows that cracked the ground beneath his body. Within seconds, the bandit's face, his head, his skull and his brain were all pulverized into a soft red gristle. Then, the beast in Quinn's body reared back, and let out a deafening roar- a terrible screeching sound, like metal plates being sheared in half.

The other bandits stumbled back upon hearing that sound, upon seeing the beast Quinn had become. Even Ingrid froze at the sight. One of the bandits shouted, " What the hell is that!? " Instantly, the beast's attention snapped towards him, and it charged. The bandit swung his sword, but the beast caught his wrist. He grabbed the man's chest with his other hand, and pulled, tearing the man's arm from his body in a spray of dark red blood. The bandit staggered, screaming in agony. But he was silenced when the beast ran him through with his own sword, his severed arm still clinging tightly to the hilt, and he fell.

The last bandit tried to run. But escape was impossible. And with his back turned, he never saw his death swiftly approaching. In the last moments of his life, the bandit felt a burning pain, as something pierced through his chest; the last thing he saw was an arm, covered in plates as black as coal, emerging from the middle of his chest. He died on his feet, moments before the beast tore its arm from his body, and let him fall forward.

Then, the beast turned to face Ingrid.

Its image was burned into her mind forever. It was Quinn, the boy from Lamorak, but… not . It looked at her through his eyes, wore his face… but it was not Quinn. A single short horn sprouted from his right temple, curling forward. Below that, its right eye shone with an unnatural, cold blue light. For a moment, the beast looked at her.

Then, with a deep growl, it took a heavy step towards her.

In that moment, Ingrid would do two things. Both things she had only ever done in her life once before.

First, Ingrid retreated from an enemy- not because she was ordered to, not because it would provide a tactical advantage, but from pure, instinctive fear of the presence before her. It was only a single step backwards, but it was enough.

And second, Ingrid dropped her weapon. She knew that to lose her weapon in battle would mean certain death. But once again, instinct took hold. It told her that if she did not disarm herself at that very moment, then she would die where she stood. Her sword clattered against the ground, and all at once, the beast's growls became silent.

Quinn blinked, as if suddenly awakened.

Before him, some distance away, was Ingrid. There were a few streaks of red on her coat, and she had an odd expression on her face, as though she was… afraid . "Ingrid?" He stepped toward her, but his foot hit something soft. He looked down.

Lying on the ground in front of him was a body. One of the bandits. There was a hole in his back, large enough that Quinn could see the ground beneath his body. "Huh?" He reached for the man, but there was something… strange about his arm. He looked at it.

His arm…

Enormous black plates sprouted from his skin. Caught on them were flecks of red and white- bone, flesh, blood. Beneath the plates, he saw veins- countless veins, twisting like the roots of an old tree, all shining with a brilliant blue light. The black gem of the ring, too, was glowing with that same light. And his hand, it had turned into a black talon, covered with those strange black plates. His fingers ended in black claws that looked sharp enough to rend steel with ease.

For a moment, Quinn looked down at himself, at his hands, covered with blood.

Then, he screamed.

His screams were so loud that for a moment, he deafened himself. He wasn't sure when he started running. And he wasn't sure when he'd stopped. It seemed that one moment, he was staring down at himself, and the next, he was bent over in front of a tree, breathing hard. But every time he blinked, he saw his blood-covered hands, and the mangled remnants of those bandits.

And then the smell came to him.

He vomited. The smell… for some reason, it was… sweet . Like the candied apples Miss Heather made when the merchants came in the spring. That thought alone was enough to make him vomit again.

His legs, already shaking from weakness, could no longer support his weight, and Quinn fell to his knees in his own sick. But that was the furthest thought from his mind. The weight of his actions was only now beginning to sink in.

Those men… they were dead.

They were dead, because he'd killed them.

Even if they were bandits, even if they'd threatened him and Ingrid first, he'd still killed them.

At first, he didn't make the connection. Even though he felt their flesh and bone give way under his blows, it all felt so… unreal. As though he were in a dream, watching someone else act, through their eyes. But the sticky blood covering him was all too real.

He looked down at his hand, still unable to catch his breath. It was… normal, again. The gem in his ring had gone dark once more. He reached for it, and tried to tear it from his finger. But it was to no avail. It was just as the militia… as everyone had said. This ring truly was cursed. Only an evil thing could drive him to do what he did. His axe. Where was his axe? He'd cut off his finger if he had to, if it meant being rid-

"Quinn."

He looked back at hearing his name. Ingrid was there, but there was something different about her. Her usual stony, stoic expression had been replaced with something else, something… softer. Her tone, too, had changed, to something softer, and quieter.

Quinn struggled to find his breath. "I… In… grid…" was all he could manage, before he began to cry.

They were small at first. But his cries quickly grew in strength, until they became powerful sobs that racked his entire body. He tried to hold them in, to stop himself. Ingrid was there- she would no doubt look down on him for his weakness. But he couldn't, as hard as he tried. He felt… something warm wrap around his waist, and press against his back. He tried to pull away, but the warmth simply tightened its grip on him.

"It's alright," he heard Ingrid say.

So, drained of all his strength, he fell against the warmth, and cried, like a helpless child.

And he cried.

And cried.

Until he finally ran out of tears to shed.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before his cries finally ebbed away, nor how long Ingrid sat, holding him in her arms. But eventually, the only sound in the dark woods was Quinn's ragged breaths. It took a long time before he was able to find his words again.

"…I can't do this."

Ingrid didn't reply.

"I'm sorry, Miss Ingrid. But, I can't do this." He tried to pull away from her grip. But she held him closer.

"I wish I could have your innocence. To be able to grieve, even for my enemies," she said, in a low voice. "But Death has always been my companion. Even before I became an Inquisitor."

For a long while, Ingrid was silent. Quinn, too, said nothing. But soon, Ingrid began to speak again.

"I know that I can't begin to imagine how frightened you must be. But you have to believe me when I say that I'm here because I want to help you. It's why I'm taking you to Tristan. It's why the Order I serve exists: to help Ringbearers like you. To train you, and teach you to control the power you've been given."

Quinn didn't care why the Order existed. At that moment, all Quinn wanted was to slide that damned ring off his finger, hand it to Ingrid, and go home.

But he couldn't. There was no place for him in Lamorak now.

"I want to help you, Quinn," she continued. "But you have to help me as well. And the first thing you need to do is trust that everything I do is in your best interest. Can you do that, Quinn? Can you trust me?"

Quinn didn't answer.

Ingrid placed her hands on Quinn's shoulders, and turned him, so they were face to face. " Can you trust me? "

The stern-faced woman who'd come to him in the tunnel, the same woman who had so effortlessly brought Foreman down, who'd killed without a moment's hesitation, seemed so far away now. And as Quinn looked up at Ingrid, her eyes full of concern, for an instant, he truly believed her words.

He gave her a faint nod, and with an even fainter voice, he replied. "…I trust you."

Ingrid gave a small smile. "That's a good lad." She stood, pulling Quinn to his feet as well. "Now, there should be a river not too far from here. We can wash up there."