The Barrowland Slayers

Chapter 2: Witch Hunt

 "'Jez,' he said?"

The Inquisitor shuffled his papers and looked over.

"Yes, Magister," Barnabus replied dutifully,

Varus craned his neck over. "Twice now you've been mentioned."

The thin human woman shrugged. It was of no particular interest to her. She'd been keeping an eye on the swords trapped to the hilt of the court's guards. Jez reckoned there was only one way this farce of a trial would end. Being exposed as a witch would only hasten her demise. But it didn't seem like keeping silent would be an option forever.

Looked like the best she could hope for was to steal a sword and go down swinging. The only thing that stilled her were her travel companions. They didn't deserve a death like that. At least, not without the chance to agree to it. Jez clenched her fists and nodded.

"They knew me in those parts."

Varus steepled his fingers and studied the woman intently. "How so?"

"I traveled there often, on my routes. I was a healer, you see. Something of a physician."

"A witch, you mean."

The guards bristled. If she had a half chance to snag a blade back when they were relaxed, listening to the elf's account of his arrival in Haverton, that chance had faded away. They were certainly alert now. Jez took a deep breath.

"Some called me that, yes."

Tension filled the room, though the male elf was looking over, evidently baffled.

"I don't understand. She's a learned woman, yes? Shouldn't her testimony carry more weight? Jez has proven very insightful about th—"

"Perhaps the unbelievers of the Frontier tolerate witchcraft, but that is not the custom here." Varus glowered down at them. "Why, in my very court no fewer than a dozen witches have been executed for their crimes. The spreading of heresy, importation of abortifacients, distribution of controlled substances, wild talk of treason. Yes, you will be executed in due course. The manner as yet to be determined." Varus thumped his pointer finger on the lectern. "Yet I would still hear your words, witch. What brought you to Haverton on that night?"

"I hadn't arrived there until dawn," she muttered.

"What? Speak up!"

Jez twisted her mouth. The guards watched her, fingers clasped around the hilts of their swords. Butchery at their hands might be preferable to a quartering, if not a hanging. She didn't much fancy being burned or drowned.

The truth, then.

"It wasn't until dawn that I arrived in Haverton, on the night the dead rose to swarm their settlement. I was in a little village called Ashbry, near the edge of the dead lands around Izrum, as night fell..."

***

Jez breathed in the mingled scent of cardamom and cinnamon. Acquired at great expense, the spices made up her main defense against the mysterious plague that had been reported in the area over the past month. She crammed the bundle of spices into the end of her beaked helmet before sucking in her last breath of unfiltered air. Then she tugged the beaked mask over her head. Her vision was blurry, her breathing shallow, but she was ready.

Her right hand rose. For a fleeting instant she paused, clenched fist motionless. Exposure to the plague had often led to sickness, an overwhelming fever that could last for days. Most died by the fourth or fifth day, but a few lasted out the week before their fever broke. It was one of those exhausted survivors who had mentioned the Coopers, an older couple living on the edge of Ashbry. Nothing had been heard from them for the last two days.