Theiden's index finger tapped an impatient rhythm against the right side of his trousers as he sat across from Colverne, the scratching of the man's pen on the papers before him the only sound breaking the silence. Outside, the dim sounds of revelry carried through the door as townsfolk meandered towards the city center for the night's festivities.
"How did you come by the teacup, Theiden?" Colverne finally asked, his voice jutting through the air like a sudden splinter in a wound. Theiden cringed.
"When I heard of the witch's attack at the river gate, I searched the riverbank," he answered, repeating the same story he had told the baker.
"And you used it to gain information on the witch?" Colverne dipped his pen in the inkwell at the far corner of his desk.
"Yes, about her father. I had seen her use the device before, while I was her captive, so I knew how it worked," Theiden replied. "I asked it to show me how she had snuck into the city."
Colverne paused at this, his one good eye looking up from the page before him. "Fighting magic with magic is a dangerous thing, Theiden," he warned.
Theiden inclined his head in understanding. "But isn't that what we already do, with the crystals?"
The thinning of Colverne's lips was the only indication of his disapproval at Theiden's challenge. "The difference here is that Sarav Decliteur is well-versed in the use of crystals, which are naturally correlated with witchcraft. The ministers of Völpúnsgard trained him personally."
Ministers? Theiden caught the word and stored it at the back of his mind in case it became useful later.
"You, on the other hand," Colverne continued, "are a novice in this field, and on top of everything, tried to keep this a secret.
He hadn't at all, actually. Theiden had known Valas wouldn't be able to keep the information about the teacup from the witch hunters—the promise of a reward and recognition was far too enticing. So Theiden had let slip a bit of trivia about the witch's father, along with the teacup—just enough to get him invited back into the witch hunter's network of buildings.
Now, all he had to do was break the bookkeeper out of the dungeon below them.
He stifled a groan. Kivirra's power of foresight had given her faith that somehow it would all work out, but at this moment the challenge seemed impossible.
"I was just waiting for the right moment," Theiden defended. "I didn't mean to hide the truth forever."
"It's not your decision to make," Colverne reprimanded, setting the pen down with a firm tap on the desktop. He knitted his fingers and brought them up to rest before his chin while studying Theiden from across the desk. "You have ambition, I'll give you that. But it's important that you know your place in all of this. The witch hunters operate through schedule and structure, Thieden, otherwise our efforts would never come to fruition."
Colverne dropped a hand to one of the side drawers of the desk, pulling it out with a slow rasp. A brief ruffling of papers later, and the man brought out a small folder which he dropped beside the papers already on his desk.
Theiden glanced down, and though the label was in small print and upside-down from his vantage point, he easily recognized the name at the top of the folder as his own.
"It says here," Colverne drawled, slowly flipping open the folder and picking up the first page, "that your wife and brother-in-law were the victims of a witch attack."
Theiden realized his index finger was still tapping, and pressed his palm firmly against the side of his leg before replying. His voice, though quiet, came out sharp and cold. "Yes, that's true."
"And after that other witch tore you from your family and imprisoned you this past spring, I can only imagine the additional agitation and grief that caused you," Colverne said. "Of course, any man would want revenge after such unimaginable suffering was brought upon him."
Theiden remained silent, doing his best to keep his finger from tapping again. His story coming from the mouth of the man before him made him feel hollow somehow. He had once thought it would bring him some peace of mind to avenge his late wife and her brother. But where would the fighting end? He knew now that blindly lashing out at all witches would only lead to more heartache. Why couldn't the others understand that?
"Even so," Colverne continued, "you must understand where you rank in this organization and the extent of your skills. You are not yet an expert in hunting witches, no matter how long you were kept prisoner by one. You may join on witch hunts, but you cannot lead one, let alone conduct one by yourself!"
Theiden shifted forward in his chair, tired of the reprimands and of Colverne's shallow sympathy for his past. "I wasn't—"
"That means all information you receive, you report immediately, directly to either me or Decliteur, is that clear?" Colverne continued over Theiden's protest. His one eye was steely with command, daring Theiden to step one toe out of line again.
Theiden leaned back with a sigh. "Yes." Had Kivirra really seen this as the way to helping Lenesa, or was this just her way of getting back at Theiden for joining the witch hunters?
His response, however, seemed to have satisfied Colverne. The man added the new papers he had been writing to Theiden's folder before returning the file to his desk drawer and standing up.
"That's that, then," he said. "Follow me."
Theiden also stood, wincing as he stretched out his legs. "Where are we going?"
"I make rounds every hour to make sure everything is running smoothly. The supply room is first – this way."
Theiden followed in silence as they ducked through the code-protected door behind the tapestry of the golden knight fighting a Fae and began winding through the hallways of the witch hunters' vast underground tunnel system beneath the city.
"Who are the ministers?" Theiden asked, hoping for a distraction.
Colverne barely glanced back over his shoulder. "A guild of sorts," he replied, coming to a stop as they reached the storeroom door. Völpúnsgard mines crystals that a witch then casts to inhibit witchcraft. The ministers use these crystals to exert their power over any witch they hunt down." He unlocked the door and held it open for Theiden to pass through first. "And they are expertly-trained in both the use of crystals against witchcraft and of the witch's abilities. One can never be too prepared to defend against those creatures, as you well-know."
Theiden felt a twinge of pity for the unknown witches in Völpúnsgard as he tried to imagine Lenesa facing off against one of these ministers Colverne had described. The one crystal Decliteur had here was enough to give an advantage to the entire witch hunter organization in Patachal City – he could only imagine what it was like in a place where the crystals were mined regularly.
"We've actually given some thought to bringing a minister training program down here," Colverne continued, lifting up the lid of a wooden crate to inspect the newest shipment of crossbows inside. Not wanting to look too horrified at the man's words, Theiden hurried to do the same.
"It seems like it would be a lucrative business," Theiden answered steadily, his grip perhaps a bit too tight on the side of the crate.
"Well, of course there's plenty of fear of the witches to go around," Colverne mused, sifting through some straw used for packaging, "but I'm not sure we have enough game for that sort of thing."
Theiden looked up, momentarily puzzled. "Game?"
Colverne's lips twitched, as though he found amusement at Theiden's confusion. "There are more witches up north than here around Patachal City," he explained after a moment. "And the crystals are so effective against witchcraft – we wouldn't want to lose business by not having anything to hunt anymore, would we?"
Theiden fumbled one of the crossbow bolts and nearly dropped it before catching his composure. "Of course. That's quite reasonable," he said, though his stomach roiled as he played along. It was the same reasoning that Callan had used when explaining the tapestries in the main room where Colverne sat. "People might not be united in the fight against ma— against witchcraft anymore. And if there are too few witches, the city would be lulled into a false sense of security and might let down their guard – we'd be vulnerable to a surprise witch attack."
Colverne nodded, seemingly pleased at Theiden's statements. "Let's continue our rounds," he said, closing the lid on another crate of weapons. "I think our inspection here has been thorough enough."
"Lead the way," Theiden said, his own smile a pale reflection of Colverne's.
Back into the hallways they went, meandering down stairs and past candelabras and mounted torches, the ground sloping and rising beneath their feet. Theiden had completely lost his sense of direction and could only guess at what part of the city they were underneath now.
Finally, they stopped.
They were in a medium-sized, gray-stone room with a small window above them at what was presumably street level. Across the way, a thick, windowless door stood, somewhat ominous in its austerity.
With a start, Theiden realized that they had somehow gone a different way to the witch hunters' prison, and could only watch in muted astonishment as Colverne brought out a ring of keys.
"We're going to check the prison?" he finally asked, clearing the roughness out of his voice after the question.
Colverne raised a scarred elbow. "I don't neglect anything in my inspections," he stated coolly, unlocking the door and returning the keys to his pocket. "Just because the prisoners are locked up doesn't guarantee that they will stay that way. We must be ever vigilant."
Theiden swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. "Of course."
"Besides..." the subtle wicked smile returned to Colverne's features before giving way to a laugh "I figured you'd enjoy the visit."
Theiden laughed along, but couldn't manage to force the humor all the way to his eyes. Instead, he shifted his gaze to the side, hoping to hide the emptiness he felt. He hoped Colverne didn't notice.
The same flickering torch was still there, as evidenced by the smoke sputtering up from the bottom of the stairs. Theiden waved his hand in front of his face and bit back a cough as they descended, his eyes watering until finally they reached the landing with the locked doors on either side. A guard was stationed at the far end of the hallway, and snapped to attention upon seeing the two visitors.
"All in order here, Heran?" Colverne asked the guard, muffling a cough at the end of his question. Theiden noticed that Colverne's eyes were watering – evidently the smoky torch had affected him too.
"Yes, sir. Easy to do when there's only one of them. I'm hoping we catch a witch soon – that'll liven things up a bit I imagine."
Colverne's grin was wide despite such a grim topic, and he clapped a hand on the man's strong shoulder. "It will indeed my friend. Not long now – they're hunting tonight."
Theiden eyed the door that he knew held the bookkeeper, Mr. Eltwen. Kivirra had warned him what would happen to Lenesa if he didn't do something about this. He needed to act, now. But how?
"Will you be wanting to see the prisoner?" the man named Heran asked, already reaching for the ring of keys on a hook on the wall.
"Might as well," Colverne replied impartially. "We've come this far already."
Theiden steeled himself as Heran unlocked the cell of the man in question. Much like the last time, Mr. Eltwen was kneeling in the middle of the cell, hands raised above his head in shackles suspended from the ceiling. Thankfully, Theiden noted, despite the threats from his interrogation, the man still had all of his fingers.
At the arrival of the visitors, Mr. Eltwen cracked open a swollen eye, his gaze flickering over the first two men before landing on Theiden, where it remained for just a moment longer before returning to the floor.
"See?" Heran said as the three of them stepped back out and he re-locked the door.
"He looks sufficiently regretful of his actions," Colverne commended. "But do be vigilant. You never can be too careful in quashing out a rebellious streak."
"Aye, sir." The man gave a low nod of the head – or perhaps a shallow bow – before returning to his post at the far end of the room. Theiden watched him go, unease twisting within him as he sensed his opportunity to take action slipping away quickly.
"Shall we go back upstairs?" Colverne said, more of an order than actual question.
"Lead the way," Theiden replied evenly.
Colverne stepped forward, unaware of Theiden's inner turmoil. They started up the stairs again, each step taking them farther from Mr. Eltwen. All the while, Theiden' could hear his pulse pounding in his ears as he racked his brain for something he could do.
Then they passed the spluttering torch, and an idea finally came.
Afraid he might miss his chance if he thought it over more carefully, Theiden reached out, snagging the back of Colverne's shirt and pulling back, hard.
"Watch out!" he yelled, jumping to the side as Colverne fell backwards down the smoky staircase. The man twisted to catch himself, but the stairs were too steep—there was a loud and painful-sounding snap as Colverne tried to break his fall with an arm, and he let out a piercing scream continued to fall, silenced only after hitting his head on another step farther down.
The seconds seemed like hours as Theiden stood staring at the crumpled form of the man, the reality of what he'd done slowly setting in. Was he dead? Did it matter, if he was such a terrible man to begin with? He could feel his hands begin to tremble and pressed them against the sides of his legs.
"Hello?" Heran called up the stairs rom the landing below. Theiden thought he saw a glint of metal in the dim light. "Is everything all right?"
The smoke was burning his lungs, but Theiden managed to catch enough breath to answer. "Colverne – he's hurt," he began. "I think he lost his footing in the terrible lighting. The smoke from this torch is horrible! Can you come up and help me get him to a doctor?"
The rapid tapping of boots on stone answered him as the guard hurried up to join them.
"Shit." Heran looked at the body between them, then coughed and waved a hand. "Yeah, the smoke is bad here."
The man crouched down and looped his hands under Colverne's armpits. "You take the feet," he ordered. "We'll carry him up this way."
"Wait—" Theiden began, trying to run through possible scenarios that could work in this situation. "Is – is he bleeding? We should stop that first. And brace the neck! Here, hold on..."
He shuffled around to where Heran was crouching and leaned over, pretending to inspect the injuries. Even in the sputtering light, he could tell Colverne was badly hurt. The man's head was gashed and hung limply over the edge of a stone step, while one arm was bent backwards and his legs askew further up the stairs.
"He's got a concussion at least," Heran said, "but I don't know how to tell if his neck is hurt. What do we do?" The man's voice was steady save for a slight tremble at the end of his sentence that betrayed his anxiety.
Theiden's mind was racing. What should he do? What could he say? If he were to push another man down the stairs, he'd be putting his whole family at risk of the witch hunters' retribution once this situation was passed and the truth of what he'd done come to light. It was best to use as little violence as possible.
"I know some first aid," Theiden finally said. "We should bring the doctor here rather than try to move him. How long will it take you to bring someone?"
Heran glanced up, his face half-shrouded in shadows and making it impossible for Theiden to tell what the man was thinking. Seconds stretched for an eternity in the silence as the man thought over Theiden's proposition. Then, he nodded.
"Fifteen minutes perhaps, if the doctor can run quickly," Heran replied, rising to his feet. Theiden took a step down to allow the man to pass Colverne's still form and head up the staircase. However, before he did so, Heran reached out and grabbed Theiden's arm in a firm grip.
"If anything happens to him, it's on you," Heran said, a cold glint in his eyes. "Understood?"
Theiden swallowed the sour taste in his mouth at the man's words. "From the way I see it," he replied icily, "none of this would have happened if the guard on duty had replaced the sputtering torch to begin with."
Heran narrowed his eyes, but didn't reply.
"Go get the doctor," Theiden said. "And be quick about it."
Heran opened his mouth again, obviously disliking being given orders, but Colverne suddenly let out a pained moan.
"What are you waiting for?" Theiden barked. "Hurry!"
Heran's upper lip twitched, but the man finally turned and marched up the steps, his pace increasing as he disappeared into the gloom above. Then Theiden heard a creak of hinges and the door at the top of the staircase slammed shut, leaving him in relative silence.
Theiden shut his eyes for a moment, trying to regain his composure. His heart was pounding in his chest, fueled by a mix of nerves and adrenaline. At his feet, the sounds of Colverne's labored breathing rose up as needles on his guilty conscience.
He's a bad person to begin with, Theiden reasoned, refusing to think about it any longer. With that thought, he turned and hurried downthe staircase to the floor below.
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Sorry for the long, long, wait everyone, and thank you for still reading! Here's a long chapter after all this time. My writing updates are still slow and sporadic, but I will still try to write whenever I can. Have a great day and stay safe!