The Rider

The great bells of The Church of The Holy Staff at the small town of Harthpoint, rang out a lot earlier than anyone would have wanted for them to. They were rung for one reason and one reason only, to herald the arrival of the rider that was at that moment travelling at breakneck speed down the single dirt farmer’s track. Even the wildlife had come out to see the black robed man riding into the town along the one and only dirt track that ran into the little hamlet on the cliffside.

The wind fell silent at the man’s approach. The weather seeming to know what was about to happen as much as the living of the small town.

The rider was here on a simple mission. Normally when strangers came, it was to announce a change of leader. The last time being the succession of Titus to the Imperial throne. This man though, came with other news. News that would implicate the entire town in a crime.

He was a witchfinder, dispatched from the sacred temple of his order on one mission, to hunt for a sorcerer that they had procured evidence was here.

It wasn’t long until the stranger dismounted his horse in the middle of the town square. A right that was usually reserved only for The Mayor of Harthpoint, a weak man named Philip Harth, and due to that immediate appearance of weakness, it was a right that was ignored by the newcomer.

“Ladies and Gentlemen of this great town of Harthpoint.” The Rider said after ascending the small and hardly used podium that stood in the middle of the town square. Normally, whenever anyone tried to address the townspeople, nobody would listen, they would nod, and then return to their homes having forgotten everything that would have been said. Not today though, as the speaker had all of their attentions with his first words. “Last week, we received word that late last night. This town has been cursed with a Sorcerer.”

A hushed murmuring began in the enthralled crowd, the word that had been uttered was one that they had all thought to be spared, their little home was so far out, so far away from the problems of the bigger settlements, or The Wastelands that dominated the north of the world, that the thought that a Sorcerer being amongst them was both crazy, and terrifying. The mere sight of a travelling dwarf was the most unusual thing that any of them would ever see.

“Silence!” Mayor Harth shouted, he was a weak-chinned man who looked more like a weasel than the actual creatures that existed on the road that led to their home. And if it hadn’t been for the colour his face was glowing, the sight would have been comical.

In comparison the black robed man merely held up a thin, bony hand, and the crowd fell silent, like they would not do for their supposed leader.

“My presence here, will not be intrusive at all. Think of me as a simple observer of your, erm, simple lives.” The black robed man said calmly. “I am here, as your humble servant. All I ask, is that my conditions are adhered too.”

Silence gripped the crowd, as people looked at each other. One of the advantages of moving out here, was the fact that they were free to live in peace, and so long as they observed the Emperor’s peace, their own liberties were usually respected.

“Nobody must leave.” The newcomer said, ignoring the way that his crowd was starting to turn against him. “Everybody must register themselves by the end of my time here. And any magical sighting must be reported to me. I need not remind you that these are under the penalty of death. These decrees have been signed off by Emperor Titus the Sixth, First Lord of Eogliagarth and Gaghgon, Protector of Dwarves and Men, and Holder of The Golden Staff.”

And with that, the man descended from the podium and almost glided towards The Mayor’s own private residence that sat directly behind the podium. It was an opulent house, much taller than the others that surrounded the square, like the Witchfinder thought, that the Mayor was trying to compensate for another deficiency.

“I hope my humble home will be to your liking good sir.” Mayor Harth said after he made sure that the crowd was properly dispersed by his guards.

“It will suffice.” The Witchfinder remarked. Compared to his own order’s temple in Isloni, The Imperial City, this place was a pigsty. But he was a guest, a guest on a mission. And he needed the cooperation of this man. No matter how odious he found him.

“Me and my guards are at your service, Witchfinder.” Mayor Harth said as he followed the man into his own home. “They are good men that will help you in your searches for this criminal in our back gardens.”

The Witchfinder found it hard not to laugh at the man. These guards were nothing but cattle to those he worked with. In fact, the cattle would be more useful to him.

“Your guards are not necessary, my good man.” The Witchfinder said as he turned to face him. “All I ask of them is to make sure that nobody leaves this place.” The Witchfinder smiled with mockery as The Mayor bobbed his head like a trained dog. “Failure will find you and your residents explaining why to a power greater than mine.” They would anyway. But he saw no reason to say so. It would most likely cause a riot and after all, obedient men were often more willing to give up information, talk neighbours into their own pyres. Resistance ruined that chance. So, he would wait. They would all burn by the end of his investigation anyway. The Witchfinders had quotas to fill, what did it matter if a few innocents got torched to meet them, so long as they got the guilty in the end.