Betrayal Read Free

scattered and hear his son yelling.
    Too late. They were upon them in moments. Boj was trampled on his way across the street as a dozen riders came at full gallop into the village square. The face of the man in charge was unmistakable. Tor had not seen him before but vivid descriptions by others assured him this man was Chief Inquisitor Goth.
    Goth’s face was a tortured mound of flesh. Savagely pocked, one side lay slack whilst the other twitched incessantly, giving his right eye a permanent tic. His sneer turned into a nasty smile as he drank in the village’s silent shock. Boj, almost dead, still managed to snap at the heels of Goth’s mount. A sword was driven into the dog’s belly to finish the cur off but inwardly Tor cheered his courage. Some of the folk flinched at Boj’s cruel death but held their tongues from a familiar fear.
    Tor blinked his distinctive, cornflower blue eyes. He could feel his power gathering.
    His father must have sensed it because he squeezed his son’s shoulder. ‘Don’t do anything foolish, Torkyn,’ Jhon murmured.
    Goth stared at the villagers. They were still, watching the reviled Inquisitor carefully, waiting for his inevitable command. He allowed the silence to hang just a moment longer, relishing the fear he created wherever he rode.
    When he spoke his voice was vaguely effeminate, its high pitch always a surprise for new listeners.
    ‘Good people, it’s been a while since we last visited. I see you have rebuilt the alehouse.’ He nodded towards the White Hart.
    The inn had suffered the firebrands of the hated Inquisitors three winters previous. The sweating innkeeper groaned. Goth’s small, sharp eyes picked him out instantly.
    ‘Ah, Innkeeper Pawl,’ he cooed, ‘fret not. This time I’m sure the village will give me what I want.’
    His fellow riders, dressed in their black cloaks and purple silks, sniggered.
    Tor sensed a movement to the back of them and noticed a lone horseman turn into the street. He was old. Wispy grey hair struggled from beneath the brim of his hat and flapped around a silvery speckled beard. The rider paused, taking in the scene ahead before urging his fine black stallion forward.
    Rhus, Goth’s second, had also noticed him and signalled his chief. Goth turned, lifted his eyes in irritation and cursed.
    The stranger spoke. ‘What evil do you do here, Goth? Tell me, has some poor child seen animal shapes in the clouds and frightened you in your sleep? Or perhaps that poor creature I see at your feet had some profound ability to…what? Sniff out bones from the air, maybe?’
    Somebody choked on a laugh but most of the village folk remained silent. No one who challenged Goth lived long enough to tell the tale. Tor shifted to get abetter look and was glad to see Goth’s complexion now almost matched his expensive purple silks.
    ‘Like you, I carry out the King’s work, Physic Merkhud.’ Goth was struggling to remain calm, hating the royal healer for his untimely appearance.
    The old man sneered. ‘Never compare my work to your ignoble doings, Goth.’
    ‘Oh, I’ll be sure to pass on your sentiments to his majesty,’ Goth replied sweetly, regaining some composure.
    The older man shook his head. ‘Don’t trouble yourself. I shall tell him myself when I share a meal with their majesties next.’
    Merkhud knew that would sting. The Inquisitor may ride under the King’s banner but Merkhud was the King’s oldest, dearest friend. He promised himself he would take up the matter of Goth more vigorously with King Lorys.
    The Inquisitor was obviously at Twyfford Cross for a bridling, Merkhud thought sourly. Lorys’s loyalty to this barbaric law to punish all sentients was primitive. Surely the centuries of persecution of these empowered innocents must soon end. Innocents may well be the very people to save Tallinor’s precious throne in years to come, he concluded to himself.
    A stable boy appeared and took his horse’s reins but Merkhud did not