Bank of Westminster

Chapter 24

At the servant's relay of Yalilan's orders, torches were driven into the ground and the demon-hunters' usual flippant smirks vanished in an instant.

They formed up in trios, hands resting on sword hilts, sweeping the village with cold, level stares. A leaf-green glow seeped into their pupils as alchemical circuits crawled across their eyes, like wolves stirring in the dark.

Baron knew it had nothing to do with mere Bronze rank. What they displayed was the Hunter's Eye—granted to Silver-path demon-hunters after they survived the Black-Iron ascension draught.

Unlike the Beast-path, who relied on branded lycanthropy, the Silver-path honed the "original body." Their battles against fiends depended on skill and alchemical arms. Thus the Hunter's Eye served as support: Black-Iron night vision plus spirit sense; Bronze execution instinct; and, it was said, Silver-tier precognition. Anything beyond that—Gold—Baron could only guess at. According to the Handbook of Professions in Baggin's clinic, all the Gold ranks in Britannia wouldn't fill two hands. And here on Prol, though the local demon-hunters felt much the same as those from the Inside, Baron supposed Golds were just as scarce.

The villagers shrank back in dread, struck dumb. A few, mustering courage, copied the hunters and stuck their own torches into the earth...but the brands toppled and sputtered out, save for a handful held by brawnier youths.

One hunter couldn't help snorting.

Years spent slaughtering fiends had honed both muscle and technique far beyond anything these farmers—who spent their lives tending sheep and crops—could match. Driving a torch into wheel-packed earth looked simple, yet the sweat and blood behind the gesture outmatched anything the villagers had ever paid.

The rest of the hunters joined the laughter, the sound rolling across the clearing, the air suddenly light.

Zod and Macquire didn't laugh. The former, a lifelong drunk, simply planted his torch and tipped back a flask; Baron suspected the man's entire pack was lined with iron bottles. Macquire muttered under his breath, "What's so funny? We all live on the knife's edge. Without farmers, more hunters would die of hunger than of fiends or war..."

Well said, lad.

Baron glanced at Macquire's thick brows and honest eyes, thinking such insight rare in this grim, almost medieval land.

A short while later, commotion broke out up ahead. A hush fell, then the villagers' terrified voices rose in unison:

"God's Punishment Fire! God's Punishment Fire is coming! So much of it—Heaven is truly enraged..."

The hunters turned. Beyond the altar, deep within the black forest, balls of ghostly blue flame drifted upward, like devils' eyes in the dark.

God's Punishment Fire... Baron studied the blue lights threading through the trees... and frowned. They looked far too familiar. A wild guess twisted his expression.

Yalilan cut straight to the point. "Into the woods. One flame, one silver Prol."

The Prol was the accepted coin across every nation of the continent—Prol's equivalent of the US dollar, sensibly minted in base-100. Unlike some benighted realm still counting twenty shillings to the pound and twelve pence to the shilling.

A common farmer's yearly income was seven or eight silver Prols. Yalilan's bounty was no trifle. Even some villagers' faces lit with greed. The coin-hungry hunters needed no second urging.

Pack after pack loped into the forest like wolves. Baron's squad was not among them; Andre had ordered them to "hold the line," watch the horses, and keep the villagers from turning violent.

Baron, Zod, and Macquire exchanged glances. If the crowd did riot, the three of them would be swept away in moments.

From the forest came hunters' exultant howls as they struck the flames. A villager muttered, "I wonder if I'd get a coin for one..." Others' eyes gleamed, but when they looked at the hunched black-robed figure on the altar, they stayed where they were.

Zod took another pull from his flask. "L, you owe me a silver."

"Same here," Macquire grumbled.

Thanks to wagon-ride banter and Baron's earlier takedown of the thug, the two had begun to trust him. Still, hearing silver clink into other pockets stung.

Baron only smiled. If I had the money... His hand slipped into his hunting coat, and he glanced down—

Quietly he slid twenty-some gold pieces into his dragon-gall ring. He had no idea where the coins had come from, but finders keepers.

Soon every last flame had been hunted down. Back at the altar, Yalilan addressed the village chief:

"The sacred fire is extinguished. If any divine punishment remains, it will fall upon we who struck the flames."

"Release the girl on the cross."

The chief said nothing, only let out a long, resigned sigh. He would keep his word. Besides, reneging on a Viscountess recognized by the Empire was tantamount to declaring war.

Yet as he opened his mouth to give the order, the crowd below erupted in a sudden roar. They screamed, shrieked, raged.

From the forest, blue sparks blossomed again—like fireflies adrift.

"Look! God's Punishment Fire... the fire has returned! Viscountess, you see? Until Heaven's wrath is appeased, these flames will always reignite!"

The chief's voice cracked. On the cross, the girl woke, took in her plight, and burst into helpless sobs.

The sound tore at the younger hunters; the veterans merely sighed. After years of slaying fiends, they understood the fiends within men were hardest to kill.

"Only by killing her—only then will Heaven be calmed!"

The chief's cry was taken up by the crowd. Scythes, spades, and pitchforks flashed beneath the twin moons like tongues of steel.

"No! Cecy!"

Olivia, silent until now, screamed like a mad she-wolf racing to shield her cub. She called on her god and reached for the cross, but Yalilan's men seized her around the waist. One step more and the furious mob would have hacked the little novice to pieces.

Slowly Yalilan drew the silver blade at her hip. "Tell them," she told her servant, "I have one order: no killing."

Silver light flared. The hunters unsheathed their swords; alchemical circuits bulged their muscles, command sigils on their knuckles glowing with spirit power. Their eyes turned a uniform jade.

Both Zod and Macquire summoned the Silver-path Hunter's Eye—yet from the start, Baron had stood silent. No blade drawn. No glow in his eyes.

He merely stared at the drifting flames in the forest, as still as a stone statue.

"L?" Macquire tugged his sleeve. "What are you doing?"

This time Yalilan herself spoke. "What do you know?"

No need for Andre to bark; she demanded an answer.

"I know what the God's Punishment Fire actually is."

Baron slipped free of Macquire's grip and spoke quietly.