The Tale of Tarrance

Tarrance's Trial Part I

The village green was as busy as it has ever been. The congregation from the church assembled there was a sight to behold. Dozens of the clergy clothed in the finest cloths and silks, the armour of their guards trimmed with more gold than Tarrance had ever seen in his life before and not to mention the finely carved wood of the carriages, also bathed in gold, pulled by strong thoroughbreds with perfect black coats exuded the full power and majesty that the church was expected to show.

It was truly an awe-inspiring sight, for everyone else.

For Tarrance it was terrifying, as each and every member of that group could be his executioner should he make a mistake. Could be Maria's too. We really should have talked about what we're going to do now, he thought to himself while lamenting the necessary decisions that had led him to where he was now. That led him to finally, after years of hiding, now being squarely under the scrutiny of the church.

The existential dread and fear the whole ordeal subjected him to was interrupted by the herald of the congregation stepping forward to address the assembled villagers.

"My good people," his voice almost echoed over the green as the smatterings of conversation through the crowd died down almost immediately at his voice. "It is an auspicious day that brings us here to your lovely little village."

Tarrance wanted to snort at the idea that some highbrow clergymen and their retainers could ever think of this village as anything but a backwater. All you had to do was look at the poor excuse of a preacher who had been sent to tend to the souls here. Tarrance was sure the man was being punished for some great sin he had committed.

"I'm sure you all know why we are here however if you are not let me enlighten you. News of the sickness that cursed the land here had reached the church and as his holiness prepared to render more earthly aid he also tasked the faithful to pray for your deliverance," the herald informed them.

Tarrance barely held in the snort as the man spun a yarn about the church's response to the sickness. Instead of listening to the lies the herald spouted he busied himself with analysing the party the church had sent unto them.

He wondered who among their number was the greatest threat to him and his grandmother. And for all the numbers that had been assembled for this spectacle only a handful stood out.

There was Renworth, the leader of the delegation, a withered old bishop whose eyes shone with an intelligent and penetrating gaze that seemed to see too much for Tarrance to be comfortable with. He had surely seen much in his long life, and that accumulated knowledge and experience would be a threat to anything Tarrance cooked up. The bishop oversaw such an investigation for a reason after all.

Then there was Joseph. By all appearances, he was a humble yet joyful priest, easy to talk to and all too willing to share a word with any passerby. That is if his having already talked with about half the villagers already was anything to go by. He had been eager to speak with anyone who gave him the time since the delegation had arrived. The reason that Tarrance was able to put names to so many of the new faces was solely thanks to this one priest.

He struck Tarrance as the inquisitive sort, and one, who whole-heartedly believed in the church's teachings and Orros' love for him and the people of the church. He seemed to be the most taken with the idea that Orros had tread the mortal realm again in the village and that it was he who had fended off the sickness that had plagued them.

Overall, he seemed like a good man, harmless in and of himself, but zealotry such as his was dangerous. Couple that with his desire to learn the truth of what happened in the village could lead to him easily stumbling over the truth. And there was little doubt he would share that truth with someone far more dangerous than he.