Dies to Removal

The tavern doors broke open as two shadowed travelers stepped into the light of the hearth. The patrons fell into uncomfortable silence at the sight of their red and purple clergy cowls; the tavern keeper was already on his way over to them. This far from the cities and at this time of night, they could only be out on a hunt. The taller of the pair pulled back his hood and shook off the rain.

"Lock that wretch in a room, get the horses to stable, then you can eat."

The woman to whom he spoke nodded, then stepped forward, yanking on a chain. A half drowned man lurched into sight and crashed to the floor, unable to save himself as his hands were chained together and again to his belt. Rolling to
his back, he groaned in pain and growled at his captors through the rag tied tight around his mouth. In this moment, sound returned to the tavern in the form of mumbled contempt. Though his face lacked the brand, they knew only a sorcerer would be bound and gagged this way.

"On your feet, wretch." The clergyman turned away from the tavern keeper long enough to kick his captive in the ribs. His partner pulled upward on the chain, barely aiding the criminal to his feet.

People were returning to their meal and drink while the woman led through the tavern toward the stairs, but the sorcerer had not lost all his attention. Most of the patrons muttered curses at him as he passed; a few even spat at him. They had no fear of a sorcerer who could neither speak nor move to perform his heretical arts. Just before the staircase was reached, one of the drunkards fell off his stool and tumbled into the pair. This time it was the woman who hit the ground; the sorcerer was merely pinned between the drunk and
a wall. Her hood fell back as she did, loose red curls exploding outward. Her face was smooth and young, but bore two brands, once as a sorceress, and once again as a Repentant Hunter.

"A thousand, thousand apologies, miss," behind a soft smile and rosy cheeks, his hazel eyes gushed sincerity. His voice was moderately slurred; in spite of that, it aimed to impress, "I'm so sorry and so pleased to have bumped into you. Call me Kaz, and you?"

She noticed his extended hand first, then his light, loose and black clothing. She even observed his minor bits of silver jewelry, a chain about his neck, one ring, a bracelet, and belt buckle. Finally, she became aware that his eyes were far too attentive to her features, no longer obscured by hood and cloak. What she did not notice, perhaps as she became flustered, was the metal tine he had slipped into the hand of her prisoner.