Strands of smoke twisted their way up into the sky. Red, fiery light from the east swept over them in waves, adding a startling blaze to the dew that covered nearly everything: rocks, grass, trees. Ash blackened the ground around the pyre. Sisters Concepta, Lanna-Marie, and Valeria huddled together, their prayers finished, their hands linked together as they stood watch other the blackened, crumbling remains.

  Hildrun, High Sister and Abbess of the Order of St. Laurin, stood apart. She observed from a place near a rocky outcrop on the side of the hill. It was a hidden place, with an excellent view that afforded lovers privacy unavailable in Anderswo. It had been a place of escape for her. Here, there were only the sounds of nature. Here, her title meant nothing. It was the only place besides her chambers she had such solace since she became the Abbess, in the rotten town of Anderswo. This place had been an important part of her old life, in days long forgotten. It had become something else a few nights ago, when Eisengrim the Hammer had come knocking at their door in the pitch darkness. They’d brought Vali, one of the last victims of the plague here to tell Eisengrim what he knew of the black bull, and then to die. They had stood over the body as it burned, nun and witch hunter, male and female, people too old to change the mistakes of their past. Where was he now, the brave, sad soul that had held her hand, and told her things he must have never said to another person? Had he found the monster he had been searching for? Had he triumphed, or had he joined the last of Hildrun’s plague victims?

  Hildrun watched the sun come up. The dawn stung her brown bovine eyes and yet she was reluctant to look away. Weeks of care and secrecy had ended last night, and it shamed her to think of the quiet relief that had built up in her with the knowledge that the suffering of these poor, abandoned people would end. The few sisters she could trust in this dangerous conspiracy of mercy had prayed for relief, and Hildrun as the Abbess had gone along with these, of course. She had to lead prayers several times a day for the sisters of her Order, and the people under their walls too poor or ill to look after themselves. The words had become routine to her long before this last straw to fall on her back. Her sisters had prayed, but she had seen lesions like that before, and knew nothing would stop what came next. Yet she had kept up saying the words, making pleas she knew would lead nowhere, that gave false hope to dying people that maybe, just maybe God might reach down, and save them.

  “Do you ever wonder if you made a mistake?” she had asked Eisengrim, as they stood over the smouldering ashes of one of her patients. Mercy had come for him in a sharp thrust of Eisengrim’s dagger, not the God she served.. “Choosing the life you did?”

  “All the time,” he had answered.

  I’m old, Hildrun thought to herself. The dawn’s brilliance finally reached the point where even squinting, the Abbess could not endure it. She looked away, towards her sisters and what remained of the pyre. The sight that awaited her, she was ashamed to say, was not so fearsome as it might have been months ago. A jumble of blackened bones lingered in the ash, all that remained of two young girls and a male in his thirties. All had wept in such fear at end, waiting for her. What else can I do?

  She walked to them, and laid a big hand on each of their heads in turn. She thanked them for keeping their vows of secrecy. She blessed them all, invoking her God of kindness and senseless death.

  “We shall return now, Sisters. The sun rises, and we might be missed.”

  They fell in behind her, following her down the muddy path. Hildrun towered over them. It had taken two days to carry all the kindling and wood she knew would be necessary. There had been no horse to help her in this, as when she and Eisengrim had prepared Vali’s pyre. St. Laurin had hated secrets. Now the head of her Order found herself slowly sinking in them. This would have troubled Hildrun once, when she had been younger and known less of the world.

  They entered the town, if one could call the wretched remains of civilisation left here a town, in good time. They reached the abbey, passing the empty stable where the horses and even the heavy gates meant for their protection had been stolen. They passed the walls with the broken windows, or those where the glass had been stolen, and were now covered in cheap boarding that would never keep the cold out. Volkard had come here with a sack that was straining under the weight of the gold it carried. It could have fixed everything wrong with the abbey. Then Eisengrim arrived, and took the elvish gold away. He had left a receipt for what it was worth with interest, and had given over every last copper pfennig in his possession, yet the damage had already been done. Orders made had to be cancelled, or the money would have to be found some other way. Many of the sisters had been outraged when they had learned of the witch hunter’s late night visit. As far as they were concerned, the old bull had robbed them, King’s Law be damned. Hildrun had wanted to be angry too, but she could not. She had known what those coins were. So had the older sisters, despite their feigned ignorance. They had broken the law, and had been caught. That would make the consequences justice, in the eyes of some. Perhaps she could have mustered a little rage, if the enforcer of that same justice had not been so utterly ashamed of himself. They had both done what they had to do. Not for the first time that morning, Hildrun wished that she could be young and stupid again. Everything made sense to her as a child. When had things gotten so complicated? Had the change come suddenly, or had it subtly crept up on her along with the years that had now turned her hide nearly completely grey?

  Life was returning to the abbey as the sun rose steadily higher in the sky. Hildrun and the sisters scattered to various duties. The morning’s breakfast needed preparing, for the nuns as well as their charges. The children sheltered here needed to be gathered for their lessons. The sick they lacked the means to help properly would need praying over.

  The day passed slowly, despite the frenzy of activity that Hildrun threw herself into. Eisengrim’s money had been spent already. She was in increasingly desperate communication with anyone in town who might be willing to loan the Order a horse for a week or two, so a sister could proceed to the Capital and collect the money guaranteed by the receipt from the Chancery. No one was interested unless she told them something of why the trip was needed. None who learned of the money due the Order were willing to do it for a flat fee. Instead, they all demanded a hefty percentage.

  The closest rate to “reasonable” was demanded from one Johan Gainz, owner of the local inn. The bastard had started with nothing, and had even sheltered at St. Laurin’s for the first few months he had been in Anderswo. They had fed him, and even managed to get him clean clothes before he went looking for a loan from the Count of the area. In thanks for their help, he asked a mere twelve and one-half percent of the sum owed. Count Schwarzenberg refused to help them. He hated the abbey, and the nuns who worked there. They attracted the scum of the earth to his fief, and he had petitioned the King more than once for the troublesome women to be sent elsewhere. As if the poor in this region would all just magically follow after them…

  God help that man if he should ever need me, Hildrun thought, as she washed the gangrenous foot of a former sailor that had somehow found his way here to die. The barber would need to be called for this. Another bill they could not pay would be written. God help him, for he’ll get no help from me.

  Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road.

  She was mid-way through leading the evening prayers when Sister Teresa, stern, greying and fanatical, appeared at the entrance to the chapel. She quietly stalked past half full pews of weary people to kneel by the High Sister and give her some news.

  They had visitors.

  “Men-at-arms, Sister. A score of them, but they are led by a woman. A massive lady, dressed in finery with her arm in a sling. She has a sword at her hip and says that she is a witch hunter.”

  Hildrun felt her blood run cold.

  *

  “Klara Graf Saddler, at your service, Sister.”

  “It is the sisters of St. Laurin who are at your service, Witch Hunter,” the Abbess replied.

  Klara offered her a bow. She had not expected Hildrun to be a minotaur, clearly. It made the Abbess wonder if this hunter knew Eisengrim. He had mentioned briefly that he was not alone in his hunt.

  “Very kind of you,” Klara replied. Her clothes were expensive looking, yet Hildrun noticed the dirt on her boots, and the dust lacing the bottom half of her cloak. Klara was indeed large for a woman, especially a human female. She had a body that made Hildrun think more of the males of the species, large and muscular. Of the men that followed her inside, the tallest could only just reach Klara’s shoulder. It was little wonder she felt safe travelling alone with so many males. Hildrun guided the strange woman deeper into the abbey, towards her offices, while the sisters attended to the welfare of the hunter’s men.

  “What’s brings you to Anderswo, Witch Hunter?” she asked, not looking over her shoulder as she guided her guest through the abbey’s halls.

  “We are on our way to The Hold, Abbess. The quickest route is near Schweigen,” Klara answered.

  “And the Dead Lands. Did you come down from Gozer?”

  “Yes,” Klara replied slowly. “By way of Alte Eichen.”

  “Is it business of your Order that takes you to The Hold?” Hildrun asked. They reached her office, and as she let the human in, she studied the woman’s demeanour carefully. Hildrun had been around humans most of her life, and had grown quite good at reading them. Klara not only looked anxious, but exhausted. There was a fear in her. Hildrun could not say for certain what its source might be, but given Eisengrim’s visit, it was easy to guess. “We were visited by another member of your Order, only last week.”

  “You mean Eisengrim,” Klara responded, though it was not a question. Hildrun circled around her desk to take her own seat. She watched the human, as the human now watched her.

  Hildrun nodded as she adjusted herself in her chair. “He came here searching for information about a witch named Volkard, a black minotaur with strange eyes,” she began. “He came here, but we threw him out. Eisengrim told me that he was hunting this monster. Were you doing so as well?”

  “Yes,” answered Klara.

  “Did you succeed?” Hildrun asked. She turned away then, looking at the crude icons of saint she so often sought inspiration and guidance from. She had felt her throat go dry as she asked the question, and feared she might look too concerned or invested. She waited impatiently for an answer she was not sure she wanted.

  The witch hunter’s silence lingered for several long, uncomfortable moments. “We did,” Klara nodded at last. She sighed, her eyes bright with tears for a few moments before she blinked them away. “Volkard is dead, but many of our people died stopping him.”

  A feeling of ice creeping along her veins returned to Hildrun. She wanted to ask after Eisengrim, but something held her tongue. She waited for Klara, and hoped that Eisengrim might be counted among the living. When Klara said nothing more, Hildrun realised that this poor girl had doubtlessly suffered loss during that confrontation.

  “You have my sympathies, and my prayers, Witch Hunter. Do you require any aid from us?”

  “Thank you,” Klara said, her eyes cast down to the desk. Something in her aspect suggested shame then to the Abbess. “Eisengrim yet lives, thank God. He was wounded, and is recovering in Eichen. He spoke highly of you when we were on the hunt.” Her eyes flitted up from the desk as a humourless grin flashed across her face. “I had hoped that you might be willing to let us borrow horses from your stable, but I see you are without any,” she said with a sigh, her face falling. “I need to get to The Hold as quickly as possible, Abbess. Please, tell me, who might be able to supply me with horses and provisions for a dozen men?”

  Relief came over Hildrun as Klara spoke. Eisengrim was injured but alive. He had triumphed, though at a cost. What must he be feeling right now? Where was he wounded, and how badly? These questions sprang up around Hildrun with stubbornness of newly budded flowers, but she pushed them back. Already her mind was racing, and forming a plan.

  “Count Schwarzenberg is your best bet, Witch Hunter. He has whole pastures of fine horses that he keeps ready for the King’s use during times of War. If you show him your star stone, and make him aware of the urgency of your quest, he will have no choice but to give you what you need.”

  Klara seemed to sink a little into the small chair then. She looked more than tired to Hildrun just then. She looked drained, of almost everything. It was a feeling the Abbess could more than sympathise with, and take advantage of.

  “Thank you, Abbess.”

  “You can stay the night with us, Witch Hunter,” Hildrun said. “We will provide you with food and shelter. In the morning I will take you to the Count’s estate personally, and conduct you to him.”

  “Thank you, Abbess. I was not sure what I would do, if I found no help here.”

  You’re nobility, Hildrun thought then, noting the excellent and proper tone of the woman’s speech. He’d have heard of you and come looking within a day or two, while his wife sits alone at table and despairs.

  The ground work sufficiently laid, Hildrun dared ask the question that could mean salvation for the Abbey. “I would be grateful, Klara Graf Saddler, if you would do me and mine a kindness in return.”

  “Oh? What is it?”

  And now for it. “I need to borrow some horses. It’s essential we get some funding from up north to see to repairs and the gathering of supplies for the coming winter,” Hildrun replied, hoping her acquaintance with Eisengrim and the obvious crushing poverty of the abbey would forestall the questions that the citizens of Anderswo had asked. “Count Schwarzenberg has not been sympathetic to our cause. In all honesty, he hates us. None of the rest of the town will help us, either. Would you be willing to requisition some horses for us, as well as yourselves, from the Count?”

  “I can do this for you, Sister. How many might you need?” replied the witch hunter without question or hesitation.

  “At least three mares for my sisters…and a shire for myself.”

  “The Count has those?”

  Hildrun nodded.

  Klara smiled. “Then I’ll get you one, Abbess Hildrun. Eisengrim thinks very highly of you.”

  “I think very highly of him.”

  “Will you all be journeying to Gozer?”

  “I intend to go north, yes,” Hildrun replied. St. Laurin had opinions about lies as well, but her Abbess was past caring.

  “Will you do one more thing for us in exchange, Abbess?”

  “Name it, child.”

  “I cannot tell you my mission, but it is likely to be dangerous. It’s always comforting to know that the Lord is on your side, as I’m sure you know already. Will you pray for my success, please?”

  Hildrun smiled, and cupped her hands together. “Of course.”