CONTENT WARNING: Violence, blood, discussion of death, conflict and terminal illness, and grief for a dead child. And one euphemism sexual joke.
Gideon
I've been scouring the wilds of Henford for days looking for Oskar. I know from my days of witchfinding that witches will always head out to the woods to hide, or to find their brothers and sisters to prepare an ambush of sorts. Witchfinders flock to the woods to find them, and so Oskar will no doubt be looking around here- but I've yet to find him. The snowfall would have helped me to find a man who is almost always dressed in black, but the blizzards and fog are obscuring my view.
I don't see a lot of witchfinders around- I'm wondering whether they're hiding from the freezing snow, or from Oskar himself. All I've heard about Oskar Nivelheim are various scare stories- yet perhaps most of those no longer ring true if he's no longer a vampire. Thankfully, I'm beyond fear, regardless of the odds of my success.
Behind me, I hear a crunch in the snow- too noticeable to be from any nocturnal creature. Through the curtain of thick falling snow, I spot a shadowy figure amongst the trees. The moonlight hits him just a little, and I notice the long brown hair and warcoat, much like Daniel's description. I feel a fire in my blood just looking at him, but I can't go for him until I figure out if it really is him or not.
"You there!"
I notice the figure stop completly for a split-second. The moon reappears from behind the clouds and casts the figure in an eerie light.
"Does the name 'Daniel Reyes' sound familiar to you? I have reason to believe you tried to do harm to my son!"
He turns his head slowly, and from beyond his long hair I see an eye peer out at me.
"Ah. You must be the witchfinder. I see your son is following in his father's footsteps nicely."
His voice is dark and his accent harsh. This is definitely the man, no doubt about it. I see his sword is already stained with blood.
I say nothing else to him, and raise my sword. He charges towards me, our swords clashing with the ear-splitting sound of scraping metal.
His agility takes me completely by surprise, and his tenacity even more so. You'd be forgiven for thinking he was no longer human- the way he never seems to be in one place for longer than a second, it's confounding. Oskar was less a man, and more a ghostly swish of black and brown, followed by a swipe of cold steel from seemingly nowhere.
His expression doesn't change at all- constantly glaring at me, his eyes completely locked onto my own. I can hear it in his heavy breaths that he's never fought anyone at my level before. If I can't deliver a blow with my sword, then the blow to his pride might have to do.
We both find ourselves with each other's swords a hair's breadth from each other's face.
"I know what you did to my son, Gideon. Finding out you were a witchfinder only made me want to put a sword through you even more."
"So you tried to kill my son in return?!"
"I didn't try to kill your son," he spits. "I spared him, for Eli's sake. But if I catch him out with another witchfinder, then I won't hesistate to slaughter him!"
"I won't let anyone do harm to my children!" I scream at him, going in for a killing blow- but he blocks it effortlessly.
"The feeling is mutual, Gideon," he replies, between breaths, in an eerily-calm fashion. I can hear it in his voice and see it behind his eyes- he's faltering, and this is the first time someone else has gotten the upper hand on him. The biting cold feels as if it's seeping into my bones.
Keeping up the pressure on Oskar is a near-impossible task. I've never fought anyone like him- everyone else has normally given up at this point. Eventually, I manage to shove him away from me. Just as he's about to lunge at me again, I thrust my sword through his leg.
He falls back into the snow, and a cloud of ice sprays me in the face. He tries to lift himself to his feet, crying out in pain. He looks at me with the aggression of a wild animal caught in a bear trap, and the shame of seeing such a prideful man downed and furious as a result is almost comical at first.
He jabs his sword towards me, missing completely. Growling to himself, he lifts himself onto his knees with a yelp of agony.
Oskar
The snow is turning a dark colour with my blood. A fire rages through my leg, and the burning feeling all over from my unimaginable rage feels as if it's enough to melt the snow beneath me.
I've never been bested in a swordfight- not once. I want to thrust my sword between his eyes, but I'm exhausted. My muscles burn all over, and I can barely lift myself onto my knees, finally managing to rest on my feet.
I try the only trick I have left in the book. I try to wipe the blood from my face, and take a leaf from my mother's book- I try to manipulate him into getting what I want.
"Well, then," I tell him, barely able to speak through the pain. "Strike down a man who is already dying, if you so wish."
He looks down upon me with hesitation. He wouldn't care that there's no honour in it- witchfinders have no honour, and neither do their children. But to know he won a swordfight against someone who was at a disadvantage to him anyway- it'd make any self-proclaimed powerful man feel weak as a kitten. It'll at least stop him gloating to himself.
He doesn't know what to think, does he?
"Do you give the man who 'did harm to your son' a quick death upon a sword? Or do you let him rot away slowly with what ails him, Gideon?"
"What are you talking about?"
I point down at the blood gushing from my leg into the snow; it's slightly discoloured, and eerie to look at as a result. He turns away a little, in a mixture of disgust and what might be feigned pity, if a witchfinder could ever feel such a thing.
Gideon
After all that, it's no surprise he was faltering as much as he was despite the many stories I'd heard of his battle prowess. His blood is off-colour slightly, much like a particular sickness I know of that's completely incurable by any means. If I don't kill him, then whatever this is will.
So many voices in my mind all arguing amongst each other. My own saying I just kill him while he's down. Josiah's and Ruth's begging me not to kill him, that I've killed enough, that they don't want any more blood to be shed. Dan telling me he didn't want me to kill him.
I decide, against my wishes, to attempt to reason with him. I want to strike him down, but Ruth and Josiah's words won't stop echoing through my mind. I don't care for reasoning with him, but I figure I ought to give it a try. After all, we are both fathers who are willing to do anything to protect our children. Ignoring my child's pleas to not end a man's life was hardly protecting him. With a lot of effort, Oskar lifts himself clumsily to his feet. I offer a hand up, but he slaps it away.
"Dan isn't your enemy, Oskar. Lord Volpe is forcing him to do his dirty work- not just him, but many young men. He's threatened to kill myself and my other son Josiah if he doesn't. My son had never killed anyone- not until you killed the man who was going to be his ticket out!"
Not a sliver of emotion on his face. He almost chuckles at me.
"I didn't even see your son until after I slaughtered Micah," he replies, in an almost-sibilant tone. "Why was I supposed to know he was looking after your son? And why should I care if he was? Any man who's killed a witch deserves nothing less than his throat slit," he adds, his eyes completely fixated on mine even more."You're lucky I couldn't manage to do the same to you, Gideon."
"I haven't been a witchfinder for countless years!" I tell him. "You're a soldier. Don't act so high and mighty when you've also killed countless-"
He grabs me on the shoulder tightly, almost crushing it, and lowers his head a little.
"I fought in the war against witchfinders since it began almost seventy years ago! Thousands of vampires, werewolves and witches were murdered because of people like you! Innocent people! Don't lecture me on the people I killed when everyone I killed in the war was intent on murdering innocent people!"
"'Innocent' this, 'innocent' that. Yes, you're correct. There is a large chance that I did kill some innocent people. Maybe even quite a lot. Many others that were hanged, burned or drowned were also proven guilty of countless heinous crimes. You see, Oskar, the line between innocent and guilty is easily blurred in conflict. You're telling me that every single one of the people who you murdered was definitely guilty? In any conflict, innocent people always end up in the crossfire."
He says nothing.
"Besides, you used to be a vampire, didn't you?"
His expression...if only I could frame it and hang it on my wall. If he can dig up dirt on my past, then I can do the same.
"Don't you dare-"
"You're telling me that you always had good control over your bloodlust? That no everyday person ever died because you, in your vampiric infancy, couldn't control yours-"
"That's enough!" he screams, about to lunge forward because the agony in his leg forces him back to his knees. "You can scream about both sides and their casualties as much as you like, but I did what I did because I was protecting whole cultures from becoming wiped out. You did what you did because you narrow-mindedly belived that magic could never be used for good!"
"I did. But then I did better for my sons and for myself and for the people of Henford. Is that how it is these days? Can people never be forgiven for their past errors?"
Oskar's laugh is incredibly grating, and almost haunting. He begins circling me like a carrion bird.
"I'll let you in on a secret, shall I? In the early days of my vampirism, forty-six innocent people died because of my bloodlust. I wrote their names in my diary in their memory, and every few years, I do something to commemmorate them. Not too long ago, I lit a candle for each of them at the Peteran monastery. Do you know what I didn't do? Wallow in guilt," he says, his voice becoming more and more stern as he talks before lapsing into near-theatrics. "I feel like I'm the only person on the planet not obsessed with his own guilt! I know I've made mistakes, but I don't care to be forgiven. Dry your tears and move on."
I almost want to pick my sword back up and shove it into his gut, but I resist the urge, no matter how strong. We won't ever get along, I know it- but we have a common enemy. If only I can convince him, then perhaps there's a fleeting chance that I can convince him to assist in taking down Lord Volpe. It isn't likely, but it's worth a try.
"Dan and I are not your enemy, Oskar. Look, we're both fathers, we both have pasts we partially regret, and we both do everything we do for the sake of our children. Don't waste the rest of your life fighting off who people were in the past when there's far worse in the present- people like Volpe. If you're willing to put our differences aside-"
"I'm not working alongside you whatsoever," he says, with more than a hint of venom. "You have no idea of what I saw during the Bloodmoon- how many innocent people with magic in their blood died, and what the witchfinders did to them. Men, women, children...I don't care about how you've changed- you played your fair share of the part in the slaughter of the people I fought to protect. If you cross me again, Gideon, you'll end up like Micah. If I catch your son with another witchfinder, I won't hesitate to do the same. Is that clear?"
And even after trying to reason with him, he's still holding my past against me. He's still thoroughly convinced that everyone that died at his hand was guilty, yet he acts like he's above guilt.
"Likewise, Oskar."
I realise that there's no way I can deal with Volpe. I'd have no problem trying to fight him off. He does not perturb me. The problem is that I wouldn't get far; his lapdogs will slice me to ribbons, and I'm only one man. Even if I could find help, there's far too many witchfinders to be dealing with. However, this moment has made me realise that I could always attempt a non-violent approach, no matter how much I don't want to. If one Reyes upsets him, he'll kill the others. I can't escape that.
The only thing I can possibly do now is try to make some kind of deal with him.
Julian
These past few months with Clementia, I feel myself slowing down dramatically. I find myself reflecting on how fortunate I have been to live such a long life, and yet I have wasted all of those years with wool pulled over my eyes. I dedicated my life to ruling with fear, genuinely thinking that I was saving people when all I was doing was guiding them further away from the Watcher's light. Perhaps it is too late for regrets, but it doesn't change the fact that I mostly wasted my fortune in living almost eighty years.
All of those people who would have wanted nothing more than to live as long as I did, and most likely do something much better with all of that time given to them. What about little Blanche? What would she have done, had she lived my lifespan? Perhaps that is the one thing that I did right- I helped the Jacobans to see the true power of women and girls. That their strength and wisdom is integral to the cathedrals, and that without them, there wouldn't be any Jacobans to begin with. Ever since the birth of my daughter, I truly came to realise that I was taught wrongly about women. I knew that, ever since she was born, it would be up to me to make the world a better place for her and for every other woman and girl in Henford, and yet the fear of witchcraft had consumed me as much as it had everyone else.
And yet it is another woman who wants to undo all of that work by asserting herself as above the rest of the Jacoban women...and said woman has just spotted me sitting outside of the inn.
"Julian! How wonderful to see you," she coos. "You're looking well."
"Juniper."
"Shepherd Juniper."
I look her dead in the eyes, and repeat myself. "Juniper."
Her laugh fills me with irritated dread. "Oh, my, Julian, we aren't still miffed about what happened at that meeting, are we? You are an old man, you've had a good run as the Eye of Jacob. But times are changing, and as such, leadership must change with it, hm?"
I can't bring myself to look at her at all.
"I'm not annoyed about me losing my position. I had that position for many years, and I was misled that whole time. But I don't forgive you for what you did to young Clementia. I never will. You threw your fellow woman to the wolves."
"Goodness, Julian, you really think it's anything to do with man and woman?" She walks around the bench, and the only sound around us is the clatter of her shoes against the cobbled floor. "This is nothing to do with either, Julian. This is to do with the evils of witchcraft, and the fact that, in your old age, you've gone soft. The cathedral needs a strong leader to help in the war against witchcraft, and that just happens to be me instead of you. You know, I'm surprised you haven't exacted your revenge yet- I thought you were from Champs les Sims? Where's your sense of protest, hm?"
I did consider trying to tell the Jacobans that Juniper planned to mislead them, right outside of the cathedral- but I decided it wasn't worth the effort. I knew they wouldn't believe Juniper the way they believed me, and I knew why they would- I didn't want them to value her less because she was a woman, as much as I despise her. The other reason it was worthless? The reason this broken version of Jacobism worked at all is because of the willfully-misled. Woman or not, whatever the Eye of Jacob says, the majority will take it as unabridged truth.
"It isn't worth the effort," I tell her. "As you say, I'm an 'old man'. Dealing with you is a waste of the little energy I have left. I never wished to hurt you, Juniper, even after all you did. I don't wish to knock a woman in power down. But I know that you'll dig your own grave with your hubris. Even if I wanted to protest, there'd be no need- any way you fall will be from your own actions."
Juniper scowls at me for a moment before scoffing. "Well, if you have such little time left, then you have no reason to hide anything more, do you?"
"Hide what, exactly?"
"Oh, give it up, Julian. You won't feel any guilt when you're dead."
I return her scowl straight back to her. I'm not telling her anything.
"I know both you and Clementia have a cosiness with witchcraft. Why else would a Jacoban, of all people, suddenly decide to be such a philanthropist on such a matter? If you can even call witches human in the first place."
I hold my hands together to prevent myself clenching a fist.
"Such an old and frail man making such a miraculous recovery from being stabbed through the stomach- rather fatal for most people, and yet not for you. Clementia being saved at the last minute from witchfinders...by a werewolf."
...Did Juniper...did she send those witchfinders after Clementia? Clementia mentioned Juniper's suspicions, and giving her a dagger shortly after warning her of potential danger...I can't believe what I'm hearing. I almost wished I did exact a revenge upon her.
"Juniper...if you dare do anything to harm Clementia, I will haunt you every single night for the rest of your days- if your own actions don't already."
The look she gives me is uncharacteristically dark even for her.
"And what connection do you and Clementia both have?" she asks, in a mocking voice. "Ah, of course- a cosiness to a certain Peteran priest."
I feel my heart freeze in my chest, and not from the winter cold. She can't find out who- what- Reynold is, for her sake and his own. Lunvin's children are not to be trifled with. The witchfinders of Henford already know this.
"You genuinely believe a priest to have magic in his blood? What priest would risk something so ludicrous?"
"One desperately looking to overcome his wrongdoings under the guise of faith," she spits. "Soon, I will be meeting with him myself, the way you once did, and I will find out the truth for myself."
"You'll find nothing out from him. Do you think I would have come to respect Reynold before I realised my wrongdoings against witches if he were a witch? Or is this as low as you have become, Juniper, that anyone you don't like is a witch?"
She turns away from me and heads back towards the cathedral.
I have to warn Reynold of this right away.
* * *
Reynold
Trying to sort through all of my letters are a nightmare. Some are asks for charitable donations, others asking for guidance. Some are letters from children and adults alike about the true nature of the Watcher. One is some kind of strange snake-oil advertisement 'for when one's soldier does not stand to attention', whatever that's supposed to mean.
"Father!"
I almost leap out of my chair.
"It's Julian. I have something you must know immediately."
"Goodness, you almost frightened me to death! What has happened, Julian?"
He stops to breathe before he talks. "I have reason to believe Juniper of the Jacoban Cathedral knows that you are a were-"
I completely stop thinking and interrupt him before he can finish.
Did she tell him? Did Clementia tell him?!
"What did you just say?"
He awkwardly adjusts himself, wiping sweat from his brow. It feels as if my heart is about to burst from my chest- with fear or anger, I can't quite say.
"She told you, didn't she? I told her not to tell anyone!"
"Reynold, Clementia didn't tell me anything," he says, his voice shaky and panicky. "I'm from Champs les Sims. I know the stories of the Lunvinchenaîné. I've known ever since you told me of your lunar magic exactly what you are. I knew from the moment I saw your eyes glow bright blue."
So he's known ever since then. It didn't even cross my mind that Julian's birthplace would have meant he'd have been more than familiar with the moon-shackled, and how much that could have endangered me.
"You don't breathe a word of this to anyone. Is that understood?"
"I wouldn't dare, Father," Julian replies, in an uncharacteristically-submissive fashion. Still, I can't be too angry with him for knowing. In fact, now that he's older and likely doesn't have much longer left in this world, perhaps I owe him the entire truth. I gave him a second chance- maybe he'll be just as generous. He knew I was a werewolf. He likely knew of the witch killings by said werewolf, and he hasn't breathed a word of it to anyone- and I choose to believe that.
"Julian, there's something I ought to tell you. About Clementia."
His expression of panic fades into pure concern.
"...What did you do to her, Reynold?"
It feels like a weight in my chest, and I cannot let it sit there any longer.
"I wasn't told how to deal with any of that when I was younger. During a heated argument with her, I lost control...and I almost killed her."
Julian almost falls backwards onto the stone floor.
"You- what do you-"
"That's how she got the scar across her face, and all of the scars you don't see, physical and otherwise- and that's how I ended up here. Mother Joyce let her rest, and then she ran as soon as she awoke back to you. The reason she even became Jacoban at all was because of what I did to her."
There it is. His face turns into something almost vengeful, like a father protecting his daughter. I don't blame him.
"Reynold...how could you keep this from-"
He already knows the answer. His emotions stew in his mind for a while.
"She came to you, Julian, and although I didn't want her to become a Jacoban, you saved her, in a way. I have lot I realise I should be thankful to you for. But I swear to you, I would never hurt Clementia now."
He still gazes at me as if he wants to kill me.
"I have a deep suspicion that Juniper sent witchfinders after your sister, Reynold. Juniper told me that she was protected, not harmed, by a werewolf."
"She was," I tell him, without a hint of emotion in my voice. "I don't know anyting about what I do in the form of the wolf- I can't remember a thing. But the only people I've ever hurt or killed since then are all witchfinders...well, and one scuffle with a vampire-"
"Wait, with a what-"
"-but I promise you, Julian, I've worked on controlling the wolf for years since that happened, and now I have the help of my father, even if it is much too late. It won't happen again, I promise you. I would never knowingly do harm to my sister. My partner and my daughter have also seen me as the wolf- and I didn't hurt either of them."
Julian puts his hands on his hips and sighs deeply to himself, lowering his head.
"I can't be angry at you, Reynold. I too have made plenty of errors in my past, and you were willing to give me a second chance and work on your issues so your loved ones would not end up in harm's way. I know that you have changed, otherwise you wouldn't have tried to protect your sister from the witchfinders, and she wouldn't speak so highly of you as she does now."
"I have plenty of reason to believe you've worked on yourself since then, Reynold. It was out of your control. In the same way you forgave my wrongdoings, Father, I forgive yours. Your secret stays with me- you have my word. I just hope it stays far away from Juniper."
I try to withhold the tears. Getting the weight off of my chest has done me more good than I thought it would have. It was only right that Julian deserved to know. I have no doubt that, since he knew I was a werewolf, he's been eyeing Clementia's scar with concern.
"Thank you, Julian. It means the world. But don't worry about me or Juniper- let me deal with her."
* * *
With Eli visiting Áine, deeply hurt by the news of his father's illness, I decide I ought to check in on Oskar. Eli had told us, through tears, that it was confirmed his illness was still incurable. Owen Annorin had done everything he could, to no avail. Samuel had created a prototype and made notes on a potential cure many years ago, and had destroyed it knowing either Eli or Owen would try to cure Oskar. It made me sick to my stomach to think about. One of these days, someone will be back to finish what Kat had started, and what Oskar had tried to finish.
When I arrive, a pleasant smell wafts in from the kitchen- Oskar's clearly come a long way with cooking basic meals. These look edible- delicious, even. I hear the folk in Windenburg make the best egg dishes. Still, eggs on toast, scrambled eggs and bacon, and oatmeal and fruit on the side? How does someone so thin have such a healthy appetite? I suppose it's been years since he could eat any of this. I notice a deep scar down his face, but I don't bother to ask about it.
"Afternoon," he says, not peering away from his book, ravenously swallowing a mouthful of egg on toast. "Don't mind the make-up and dress."
"I think it suits you."
"Oh? You do?"
"What? I don't mean it like-"
"I'm only playing," he replies, with a mocking laugh. He gives me a smug, egotistical grin, and returns to his book.
For some time, he responds to my small talk with little but grunts and 'm-hms', until he suddenly lowers his book and looks me dead in the eyes.
"I understand you're trying to be polite, Reynold, but I don't have much room in my mind for small talk right now. I don't know how I'm supposed to tell Róisín about the recent news. I'm sure Eli has already told you."
"He has, Oskar, and I'm terribly sorry. I hope you know you can come to me if you need anything, anytime."
He simply nods to me, sighs to himself and returns to reading his book.
"Reynold...You don't think you could tell her, could you? I don't know if it would hurt less coming from her own father. You have a way with words."
I take a deep breath. I wouldn't mind doing that, but I know that isn't what my daughter would want.
"To tell you the truth, Oskar, death is no stranger to her. A lot of the Peterans she meets- the adults and children alike- they don't always come back to the monastery. She knows more about it than she should at her age. I think she would rather hear it from you."
He leans on the table, trying to feign a casual air.
"You're a priest, Reynold. You know the right things to say and the right ways to say them. I don't. I never have, not since I was a child."
"That's not true, Oskar. Your words meant a lot to me. They changed everything for me back at Nebelstadt. You've changed a lot of people's lives for the better- mine, Alistair's, Áine's, Róisín's, Ilse's, Violeta's...and far more, I'm sure."
He stands up from the table, with a noticeable grunt of pain. I hope that his sickness isn't already affecting him like this...
"There's just too much to think about," he says to me, in a solemn tone. "I already told everyone about my illness, but I told most of them that a physician was working on a cure. When everyone knows that it's definite that I won't be around forever, it's going to break their hearts. I can't bear it."
Oskar
I welcome Reynold being here. Somehow, being in the presence of a priest gives me a little comfort- but I have too much on my mind right now. The encounter with Gideon. Dealing with Daniel. Having to tell everyone that my illness is definitely incurable. What to do with all of my money. Reynold asks why I'm limping. I lie to him and tell him I tripped over a bench near the village hall.
"...Know it will be difficult..."
"...One step at a time..."
"I might just have to get everyone together, in one room, and kill four or five birds with one stone. What do you think? I know Violeta and your partner won't want to be in the same room for long together, but it's far easier than telling everyone individually."
"That could work, Reynold replies, in a soft voice. "And everyone can be there for each other."
After that, I'd need to keep helping Eli with his work. Make sure he's prepared for the road ahead. Catch up with everyone. Do something nice with Dinah. I'm sure Violeta will force me to stand there for hours so she can paint a portrait. Maybe I'll surprise Alistair and turn up to his home in a dress. It would be fun to see his reaction, at least.
"I don't think you should rush all of this, Oskar," Reynold tells me. "Owen found it much earlier than it was found before, didn't he? You could have a lot more time than you think."
"Indeed, but I want to tick everything off of the list first, Reynold. Then I can try and relax and just help Eli with his work."
The more we discuss possible options for all of my concerns, I find myself slowly falling to pieces again.
I hope Reynold realises how far he's come since we first met back in Nebelstadt. Back then, he seemed so young and foolish, and he's matured so much in the time that I've known him.
"I know that this is going to be difficult, Oskar, but you've already been through a lot, and I know you're strong enough to handle this. You have all of us you can lean on if you need to. I don't want you trying to do everything yourself, okay?"
I choke back the tears as much as I'm able.
"I understand, Reynold. Thank you- for everything. I hope you realise how much of an asset you are to Henford."
Gideon
He's fuming when he realises it's me at the door.
"What on Earth are you doing here?!"
"I just want to talk, Volpe."
Begrudgingly, he lets me in, looking down to notice that I'm not armed. His living room is somehow even more garish than before. Strange how people who can afford to have taste have none at all.
"So what are you doing here? Is this about your son?"
"In a sense. I'm here to make a deal with you, Volpe."
His open wide as an owl's, and he looks up at the ceiling. "Do you think I make deals with peasants?!"
"I know that you threatened to kill my son if he tries to ditch being a witchfinder. I know you threatened to kill me and Josiah as well."
I hate trying to say this with a straight face. I wanted to slit his throat.
"So I am asking what you would ask for in return for freeing Daniel from working for you. Under one condition- I am not killing any witches for you."
Volpe tuts to himself.
"Quite a shame, that. I still despise you for betraying me the way you did and going soft, Gideon. You were a formidable swordsman...but perhaps there is something I am willing to do for you. Something happened recently that would likely make Daniel a liability to me anyway. These young boys can't handle anything nowadays, can they? Here I am, in a mansion of my very own after everyone else in my family died in an arcane fire...and yet these boys can't even handle seeing a little blood or a dead body without losing their touch-"
"What do you want from me, Volpe?"
"Patience, Gideon," he replies, in a sneering tone. "You see, tthere is a man who has been decimating my workforce for years, and not a drop of magic in his blood- well, not any longer. I thought that his humanity would weaken him, but it hasn't. The problem is, no-one other than your son has ever managed to even land a hit on this man with a sword."
...I think I know exactly who he is speaking of.
"Oskar Nivelheim?"
Volpe seems pleasantly surprised. "Indeed. I'll admit, his swordfighting skill is something my witchfinders could only dream of. But I think you could match him fairly easy. You made it look like an art form, Gideon."
"He's been a thorn in my side for many years, and come to think of it, I think you might be the best man for the job. I will make you a deal, Gideon Reyes-"
"I will free Daniel from his work as a witchfinder, and I will leave Josiah alone. But I will only do so if you kill Oskar Nivelheim, and bring me proof of it once it's done. That is my only offer- I'll even put it in writing if you don't trust me."
Oskar tried to attack my son, but Daniel asked me not to kill him. But if it's the only way to free him from all of this, then I have little choice. I could have killed him back in the woods, but I didn't. I didn't see the point. But no-one's life is as important as my son's.
"So you'll free Daniel from being your witchfinder if I kill Oskar Nivelheim?"
"Precisely."
"Then consider it done, Volpe. After that, you stay the hell away from my children."