“Fine,” I grunt. “It’s better we avoid the zealots in case they try to make trouble.”
“You mean in case you lose your temper with them,” Alastor murmurs, earning him a few snickers from the rest of the unit.
He’s not wrong, but just the same, I offer him a look that quickly shuts him up. They know I’m in no mood today.
“We’ll move on to the nearest stop from here—village or town, I don’t care?—”
“Oi!”
I’m cut off by a jowly man striding toward us with his thick brows pulled together. He’s wearing a badge that probably designates him as a person of importance around these parts, but he’s just made a fatal mistake thinking I answer to anyone in this cursed land.
“Get back into the square,” he orders. “Everyone must be present for the penance.”
He is not a smart man. I know this because one look at my unit should tell him we’re not the kind of people you push around.
Alastor glances at me and knows there’s only one way this is going. He tuts at the human. “Oh dear. You just had to go and stick your nose where it doesn’t belong, didn’t you?”
The man slows his steps a few feet from me, eyes almost popping from his head in anger. “Excuse me? The edict of the Temple demands?—”
“I suppose you’re going to say your Temple demands you make a fuss about us not attending your idiotic ritual and draw the attention of everyone in that square to our presence,” I say, my voice cool as ice. “But I’m afraid I can’t allow that to happen.”
I close the gap between us, my hand around his throat before he can even lift his own. The realization that he’s about to die flits across his face and I smile at him. I’m told that even in human form, when I smile like that, it’s frightening. I squeeze my hand and watch as the fat sod struggles to breathe.
“Leon,” Alastor says in warning. I loosen my hold on him and the human takes in a gasping breath. Before he can expel it, my hand tightens again, more sharply this time. The snap of his neck is too quiet to be heard from the square. The crowd is talking now, voices floating between the buildings, so the thump of his body dropping to the ground goes unnoticed.
Alastor turns his head up to the sky, which is rapidly turning gold with the sunset. “Let’s go get the horses,” he suggests, looking at me for confirmation. “Then we can at least reach the next village before the inns close for the night.”
I nod my approval, my soldiers shifting the body into a shadowy corner. No point bringing attention to ourselves by having someone discover it before morning.
As we make to move out, Damia crouches down beside it. To someone who didn’t know her, it might look like she was paying her respects to the dead man. But I’m not surprised when a shining black band ending in a scaled head slowly curls from beneath her collar.
The yellow-eyed snake is Damia’s constant companion. Her geostri power gives her an affinity for its kind, but magic isn’t the only reason the snake is so docile around her. It flicks its tongue excitedly as she pulls out a knife and severs two of the man’s fingers. She lifts one to the snake, who eagerly strikes at it, unhinging its jaws to swallow the digit whole. Yes, Damia always makes sure to keep her scaly friend well fed. Before she packs away the second finger for later, she pauses, squinting at the man’s face.
“Wasn’t he the one up on the platform?” she asks, “With the whip?”
I picture the dead man holding the thick leather rope, alight with the flames of an incendi. There was a smirk on his face as he made sure his neighbor pays penance with spilled blood and split skin.
I shrug. “Possibly.”
Good riddance either way.
We slip back through the square. The crowd is shifting, people already starting to peel away now that the penance has come to an end. A handful of humans stand on the stage, untying the limp and lifeless body of the heretic from its post. I doubt they meant to kill him—execution tends to be a job for the clerics—but humans do get carried away. Especially when they’re trying to avoid having the same thing happen to them. Better to take it out on a neighbor.
By the time we reach our horses, secured to hitching posts outside a public house, the streets are nearly empty. People have been quick to get home, no doubt eager to retreat to the comfort of their beds and sink into sleep to chase away the evening’s stench. By the time our group has retraced the darkening streets back to the main road, the townspeople have already retired for the night, the windows of their houses dark.
As we go, I stretch my magic outward, letting it slither into the houses like Damia’s dark serpent. Unlike humans, I have two types of magic at my disposal—a terrial power and a sensic power. One lets me reach not into the earth’s elements but into the mind, gripping people where they’re most vulnerable. That power unfurls now, seeking out those already slumbering, wrapping itself around their unconscious thoughts and burrowing into their dreams.
Hungry flames biting skin, guttural groans and a set of dead, accusing eyes…
The first scream goes up, echoing through the empty streets. Then another, closer this time. Someone lights a candle in their bedroom, scrabbling to chase away the nightmares; a few houses down, a woman weeps.
Alastor glances at me, raising a questioning eyebrow.
“It would be rude not to leave them a gift,” I say.
We ride on, a chorus of screams rising into the night air.
* * *
