Servus Venandi
Magistrate
Trials of Ariana
Witchhunt: Calais the Cooperative
by Servus Venandi
Calais.
The sisters of the Vastarian Monastery tell stories about the barbaric, superstitious lands south of Thym. Most sisters also whisper among themselves of a desire to visit these dangerous places. Perhaps it arises from the thirst of the arcane mind for experience and knowledge, or the inevitable wanderlust born of monastic confinement, or maybe some of both.
When Calais at last won the academic lottery in the form of a research mission far to the south, she bid her sisters farewell and exuberantly took to the road. She accompanied a merchant caravan from Banner City, down to the green hills and forests of the Exalted Republics, and then to the storm-prone plains and lowlands of Vrodiholm. The caravan went no further, and so she braved the southern badlands and desert alone. Two weeks later, tired and coated with sand, she nonetheless passed through the gates of Borra'jin, the famed imperial capital, with a sense of accomplishment unlike any since she'd undergone the Rite of Harmony.
The daytime urban environment was unlike anything she'd imagined. Shopkeepers in open markets, performers juggling and tumbling and singing on street corners, beautiful slaves on display in public auctions, the smell of grilled foods—it was a new world, like having gone to sleep and awakened in a fairytale.
Still, it was the Imperial Library that most enticed Calais—her entire reason for being here, after all. She spent days on end lost within its grand shelves and ancient tomes.
She took notes, dozens of pages, thousands of words. It would all, at some point, coalesce into a thesis for publication in the monastery's own library, but for now she wrote down anything that piqued her interest, within the confines of local rules. The librarians were sticklers about plagiarism and hovered around her like buzzards. Anything scrawled, they explained—with exception to certain spells—had damned well better be a note, not a copy. Violations were punishable via the cross and whipping post, according to the headmistress.
Alas, while Calais had no problem following rules she knew about, the unwritten rules of Borran life were something else. One night, while availing herself of a local tavern's services, ale to her left and tablet to her right as she documented the sights and sounds, a woman approached her. Clad in a cloth and leather chest harness, a short armored skirt and knee-high boots, she waved a short sword about like a professor's pointer. Behind her, a brawny bearded man lingered, fidgeting as his eyes darted side to side, like he wanted to be elsewhere.
“This can be loud or quiet, mage,” the woman said, brushing a lock of blond hair off her dusty, impish face. “Choice is yours.”
Pen still hovering above the page, Calais replied, “Forgive me, madam, I seem to have missed something. What can be loud or quiet?”
“Your capture.”
Calais blinked. “Oh my. Have I committed a crime?”
“Dunno. Malus'rett pays bounties for suspicious mages, and we're collecting yours. Everything else is for the priests to sort out.”
“I haven't used any magic. How do you know I'm a mage, let alone a suspicious one?”
“Why else would you be hanging out at the library day in and out?”
“Research, madam.”
“What kind of research?” The woman flicked her sword around. “You know what? Don't answer that. We've already questioned the librarians. We know who you are and what you've been doing. Now you're coming with us.”
Calais set her pen down and sighed. “Well, madam, if research is a criminal offense, I suppose I've been caught red-handed. You'll get no further trouble from me. Whatever happens, I simply ask that you don't steal or damage my work. Hopefully, you'll get your bounty, and I'll sort out this misunderstanding with the Malus'rett before returning home. Everyone wins, yes?”
The woman shrugged. “Sure, whatever. Stand up, and take off your little wizard robe.”
“My robe?” Calais said, barely able to contain a smirk. “By the heavens, madam, whatever for?”
“It's loot, looks nice. I want it.”
“Ah, I see. So you're a mercenary for the local church, not a law enforcer employed by the crown?”
“Don't get smart with me, mage.”
“Erika,” the man said, “this is really pushing the king's bounty decree. This lady hasn't actually done anything, and the temple might not take her for fear of upsetting the crown.”
“That's why we take them a foreign mage from some isolated sect of nature cultists,” Erika said. “Nobody is gonna care about her.”
“You know King Allejorn is a mage sympathizer. This is probably....”
Erika slapped the flat of her blade against the table, shaking Calais's ale in its metal tankard and nearly knocking the man out of his boots.
“Harvey, you fucking small-brain, think past your own cowardice for half a second. I'm done listening to this shit. Now you can either gag the prisoner like a good boy, or gag yourself. Pick one.
“Speaking of gags,” Calais said, “this is getting quite loud, and I prefer the quiet option. There's no need to squabble. Besides, the other patrons look nervous, and the last thing I want is to disturb anyone's leisure time. I surrender, madam. If nothing else, this is a rare chance for an inside look at the local religion, one I might not have gotten otherwise. I would be a fool to miss it.”
Erika's jaw hung slack for a moment. “Whut?”
“It's an exclusive research opportunity, madam.”
“You're kidding.”
“No, not at all. This is very exciting!”
“Being captured, looted, and marched in shame to the Malus'rett is … exciting?”
“Yes!”
“Wow.”
Erika looked side to side. The whole tavern had fallen silent, and Harvey seemed to be wishing he could melt into the floorboards.
“Well then,” Erika said, “for once in my life, I dunno what to say. Get up and get naked, and be still while we tie you up. The sooner done, the better.”
“Yes, madam,” Calais replied. “Give me a moment.”
Rising to her feet, Calais reached for her belt and released the buckle. Her leather skirt fell away, and her boots and panties followed. After pulling her mantle over her head and removing her sleeves and chest wrap, she folded everything into a neat pile on the table. It was the first time she'd been naked in front of anyone since her Rite of Harmony.
“I would appreciate having my hands bound in front,” she said, “so that I may continue to write. Regardless, please do keep my work intact and somewhat organized. It's valuable. In the academic sense, I mean, not as loot.”
“It's evidence,” Erika muttered. “Ain't gonna burn it or anything. As for what the Malus'rett do, that's between you and them.”
“Oh, excellent. Thank you.”
“And you're fuckin' weird. We're hog-tying you.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means you won't be writing. Or walking. Or even standing.”
“Well, no worries. My memory will suffice. I'm ready for the ropes!”
“From the sound of it, you needed them long ago, and maybe a padded room too.” Erika jerked her thumb at the naked Calais and stepped back. “Harv, tie her up. And by the gods, don't forget the gag.”
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