An Encounter That Should Never Have Happened

Sunlight streamed through the cathedral's stained-glass windows.

Before thousands of worshippers, Bishop Leviham reverently closed the Bible.

“That concludes today's regular service. Give thanks always to Karatias, God of Light. Share the gospel with your neighbors, and show charity to the poor.”

He joined his hands in a brief prayer.

“Amen.”

“Amen,” the congregation answered, bowing their heads.

As the faithful rose and began filing out, the cathedral filled with the subdued bustle that followed worship. Leviham was gathering his belongings from the pulpit when a man in black priestly robes approached him with a troubled expression.

It was Hamtarshin, the inquisitor he had sent to the Deharem estate.

“Bishop…”

“Ah, Priest Hamtarshin.”

Leviham greeted him with his usual kindly smile.

“Is there something you need?”

“I heard that you intend to visit the Deharem mansion today.”

“That is correct. I'd like to ask about the tremendous magic manifested there yesterday. And it would be a pleasure to greet the head of that house, Theorad, such a devout believer.”

Hamtarshin's brow tightened at devout believer.

The elf's mark was still on his body, and he could not bring himself to speak openly of what had happened. But if the bishop went there ignorant, even a man of his standing might be killed. He had to warn him somehow.

“This is only my personal opinion, Bishop, but I think visiting the Deharem estate would be unwise.”

“Unwise?”

Leviham stroked his chin.

“May I ask why you think so?”

“Because… I have a bad feeling about it.”

“A bad feeling.”

The bishop tilted his head.

“Would an inquisitor who serves God truly try to prevent my visit on nothing more than a feeling? That hardly seems sufficient. Or is there some matter concerning that household which I have not been told?”

Hamtarshin's shoulders trembled.

The kindly expression hadn't changed, but there was a sharp intelligence behind it. The bishop suspected something had happened. He did not know what.

I must stop him.

Even Leviham, gifted as he was in divine magic, stood no chance against that elf. It would take at least the Church's holy knights to confront her. Perhaps only the Holy Father or the Holy Lady could enter that mansion and cleanse it of such danger.

And yet Hamtarshin couldn't force the words out.

He remembered the elf's cold face and her warning.

I can kill you whenever I please now. Do you understand what that means?

The memory silenced his conscience.

Here in the cathedral, a place dedicated to the deity he worshipped, Hamtarshin feared disobeying the elf more than committing the sin of a lie.

“…Nothing happened at the mansion.”

His conscience told him to speak, but with his life at stake he could not make himself do it.

“Please be careful, nevertheless, Bishop.”

He bowed to conceal the trembling in his voice.

Leviham's unease hardened into conviction, but he revealed nothing of it. In fact, his stated desire to discuss the extraordinary magic was little more than an excuse for the visit. He meant to discover what had made a faithful inquisitor so frightened.

If Theorad had threatened a servant of the God of Light and bent him to his will, the viscount would have to answer for it.

“Yes. I shall be careful, Priest Hamtarshin.”

“Don't worry so much,” Leviham added with a gentle smile.

He turned his gaze toward the enormous figure of a goddess reaching almost to the cathedral ceiling. Beneath that sacred image, he spoke with complete confidence.

“The God of Light does not betray those who believe.”

---

“Bwahahaha!”

Beynon burst into laughter inside the carriage taking us home.

He slapped his thigh and wiped tears from his eyes. How could he possibly find anything that amusing?

“…Have you lost your mind?”

“No, Young Master. Think about it!”

“Think about what?”

“Dremes, of all people, speaking so respectfully to you. ‘I'll be certain to treat you well from now on, young master…’ Hah!”

His imitation was so exaggerated that it barely resembled her voice. I stared at him in disbelief while he struggled to catch his breath.

“Ah, that was entertaining. Thank you, Young Master.”

“Entertaining? You were the one who insisted witches establish a hierarchy when they first meet someone.”

“That's true. It's also true I enjoyed myself. I imagine Dremes is back in her shop now, breathing fire and cursing me up and down. She may even come looking to kill me before long.”

“…Wouldn't that be a problem?”

Beynon grinned.

“She can come, but she won't kill me. Witches don't harm their own kind—or their friends. It's something like an unwritten rule among them.”

“I've never heard that before. Is becoming a witch's friend difficult?”

“Well, it can be. Human beings took part in the Church's witch hunts in the old days, you know. That's one reason witches generally dislike us.”

“And yet you're friends with Dremes. How did that happen?”

“Ah, well, that's a long story. Not especially interesting, either. You wouldn't want to hear it.”

He changed the subject without even attempting subtlety.

“Have I ever told you about the time I ate an orc?”

What kind of question is that?

There were many things wrong with Beynon. His inability to change a subject naturally was merely one of them.

The greater problem was that, against all reason, I desperately wanted to know what he meant by eating an orc.

But I was the head of the distinguished House Deharem, a viscount who had to maintain his dignity. I couldn't openly ask about such nonsense.

I sent him a sidelong glance instead.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked.

“If you feel like telling it.”

“Heh. Very well.”

Beynon leaned back against his seat, searching his memory.

“This was when I was a mercenary, long before the Orc Conquest War. I took whatever work came my way. One day somebody hired me to wipe out an orc tribe living in the nearby mountains.”

“And?”

“I knew I couldn't handle an entire tribe on my own, so I gathered some capable adventurers. There was even a sorcerer among us. But when we went up there, the orcs were stronger than we'd expected. I wasn't nearly the swordsman I am now.”

He clicked his tongue.

“We lost. They captured the lot of us. I thought we were dead, until I discovered that the tribe was led by a female orc. So I tried a little trick.”

“Beynon. You didn't…”

“I did. I shouted that if I could satisfy her, she should let us all live. The chief laughed, and I was left to wait until that night.”

“But once I got inside, I had a problem. I was worried.”

I was beginning to regret having listened.

“How was a human man supposed to satisfy a woman that size? I won't claim I'm poorly endowed, but an orc is another matter entirely. So I decided I needed a tool. I borrowed the sorcerer's wand, fastened it to my cock, and had sex with her to stay alive—”

“Enough.”

“What? I haven't even reached the good part. It's a famous story among mercenaries!”

“Since you're alive and in front of me, I can work out how it ended. I have no interest in hearing every detail.”

Beynon scratched his cheek and nodded, looking disappointed.

“If that's what you want, Young Master.”

No one in their right mind would want that story told in greater detail.

Feeling strangely ill, I turned toward the carriage window. The wind against my face gradually cleared my head.

Knock!

The carriage stopped, and the coachman opened the door.

“My lord! Sir Knight! We've arrived.”

“Very well. Thank you.”

Beynon took the crystal ball and climbed down first. I followed him toward the mansion entrance, but my eyes kept straying to what he carried.

A witch's mark was inscribed on its surface.

“Beynon, there's something I've been wondering. The Church and the witches once fought a terrible war. Is it really all right for witches to do business in land where the Church is established?”

“I don't imagine there's much trouble. They recognized one another's freedoms at Walpurgis Night. Of course, if a churchman discovers that you're dealing with a witch, he might get the wrong idea.”

“What kind of wrong idea?”

“Usually he'd just give you a lecture. But a particularly devout priest might use it as an excuse to accuse you of heresy—”

Beynon stopped walking.

So did I.

I followed his gaze and felt myself turn to ice.

Bishop Leviham?

He stood in the front courtyard in pristine white priestly robes, a blue ceremonial cloth around his neck, examining the magic circle inscribed on the lawn.

He sometimes visited people after worship, but he had come here dressed for his official duties.

And Beynon was holding a crystal ball bearing a witch's mark.

“Uh… Young Master,” Beynon murmured. “I think he's seen us.”

Leviham raised a hand and smiled in greeting.

A chill ran through me. I swallowed and spoke as calmly as possible.

“Beynon, you know that I value the honor of our house and the safety of its people above everything. Even if I were to die, I would wish House Deharem's good name and the lives of its members preserved.”

“I know that.”

“Sometimes, for the good of everyone, a single person has to make a sacrifice.”

“Young Master? What are you saying…?”

It was all right if he didn't understand. I turned to him with a grave expression.

“So from now on, that crystal ball is something you bought.”

Three seconds passed.

“…Me?”