The Price of Faith by Rob J. Hayes Page A

meant harm to anyone. She simply didn’t understand what her magic let loose in the world. She didn’t even fight him when he came for her, just submitted to his judgement and allowed him to burn her at the stake. She deserved better than burning but Thanquil had been young and full of righteous glory and determined to cleanse her with fire.
    “So can you only assume the form of heretics?” he asked.
    The old woman smiled a toothless, gummy grin and stepped towards Thanquil. “Perhaps.” With that step she changed again, this time into Jezzet Vel’urn.
    Thanquil knew the figure that stood before him so well that the image the witch pulled from his mind was perfect. The way Jezzet stood just an inch taller than him. Her lithe body so tight with muscle. The way she stood; a warrior’s stance, ready for a fight at any moment but always leading with her left leg. Her short, black hair and the way it framed her face and her dark brown eyes. That half smile that was so familiar to him played upon her lips. Thanquil couldn’t put into words how much he missed her, the real Jezzet, but he wasn’t so foolish as to believe this magical imitation could ever live up to the real thing.
    “That glamour won’t stop me,” Thanquil said.
    “You would kill me?” Jez asked.
    “No, I wouldn’t, but you’re not her.”
    Thanquil’s hand found his sword hilt and the blade cleared the scabbard with a metallic ring that was drowned out by the roar of a dragon from somewhere behind him. He turned, searching for the winged monstrosity and found it clinging to the battlements, high up on the wall, staring at him just as it had back in the great hall. Nearby soldiers had scattered giving the creature a wide berth and were starting to recover from its sudden appearance, stumbling over each other as they tried to back away from it.
    Satisfied that the creature wasn’t close enough to eat him Thanquil turned back to the witch to find not one but ten images of Jezzet spread out all around him, each one as beautiful as the real woman and each favouring him with that suggestive half-grin.
    Thanquil leapt at the nearest image and slashed with his sword but the blade passed straight through her. The image of Jezzet laughed and stepped through him. When he turned again the ten images had shifted places and again Thanquil had no idea which was the real witch.
    A pointed laugh from the crowd spread like wildfire and it soon seemed like the entire fort was mocking him, jeering as he flailed against a superior opponent. Something hard hit him on the back and Thanquil stumbled forwards a step as the stone thudded to the floor. Another missile flew at him from somewhere but this one missed by inches. He looked to the prince but Naarsk did not seem inclined to stop his subjects from interfering. Thanquil knew then he needed to do something to bring the situation back under his control. Or at least take the situation out of the witch's control.
    The images of Jezzet Vel’urn watched Thanquil, waiting to see his next move. He planted his sword in the ground and pulled out his pistol.
    “A one in ten chance, Arbiter. Assuming you don’t miss,” the images shouted at him in unison over the mocking of the crowd.
    Another stone launched from the crowd shot towards Thanquil and he ducked underneath its arc as he pulled a paper rune from his coat pocket and unceremoniously shoved it into the barrel of the gun.
    “Which one of us will you shoot, Arbiter?” the Jezzet’s asked.
    A stone collided with his head and Thanquil careened to the ground, the pistol falling from his hand as his vision rocked and blurred and sprouted flashing white lights. The roar of the crowd seemed to be everywhere, deafening as it swallowed him up and buffeted him from all sides. With feverish eyes Thanquil looked around for his pistol and found it lying a few feet away. Another stone hit him on the back and more struck the ground around him, a veritable hail of rocks falling