This one was so bright it brought tears to Kestrel's eyes, and when he blinked them clear again, gasping, all sign of the demon was gone. Padrik stood triumphantly before the altar, alone.
Was he the only one to notice that there was no sign literally of the demon_not even a blackened spot where the "bolt of lightning" just hit?
Silence for a moment, then a single voice rang out over the crowd, as a single, discordant chord of jarring music rang through his head.
"Get the witch!"
Before Kestrel could blink, the crowd had turned to a mob, a raging, maddened mob. He tried to stay where he was, tried to cling to the statue, but the press of people surging towards the exit was too great, and his grip was torn loose as the mob carried him away. It was all he could do to stay on his feet and not be trampled!
Now he was afraid, really afraid; frightened that he would stumble and fall, frightened that the mob's anger might turn against him for no reason at all. The brief glances he took at the faces of those around him only frightened him more. There was no sense in those dilated eyes, no sanity in the twisted mouths that spouted shouts of hatred.
He could only hold to one thought. If I try to leave now, they'll turn on me and tear me to shreds along with whatever they do to Orlina Woolwright.
Orlina Woolwright's home was one of the many fine houses on the square facing the Cathedral; the mob did not have far to go for their victim.
Two burly men at the front of the crowd sprinted ahead and broke in the door just as the main body of people got there. The house could never hold them all; and only part of the mob surged inside; the rest waited, shouting, for the first group to find their prey. Jonny could only watch helplessly as one poor servant who tried to stop them was beaten half to death and left beside the splintered remains of the door. Other servants ran for their lives; some crawled away with the marks of more blows upon their faces and bodies.
Within moments, glass shattered as something was thrown out of a window_a beautiful silver candelabra. A woman snatched it out of the air, and screamed, "Take the witch's wealth! Strip her as naked as she was born!"
That was the signal for all-out looting. Windows shattered as goods came tumbling out of them. The mob surged forward and people snatched at anything that the righteous looters inside pitched out a window_lengths of fabric, paintings, furniture, clothing and jewelry_a fork, a glass paperweight, an ornamental letter-opener_
People snatched their prizes and ran, and no one did anything to stop them. The City Guard had vanished; there wasn't even a Cathedral Guard to be seen. Jonny was quite certain that there was nothing left but the bare walls by the time Orlina appeared, herself bundled up like so much loot, bound and gagged and carried in the ungentle hands of the two men who had first broken down her door. And now the mob parted to let them through, then surged along behind them as they carried her off to Padrik. Strangely, they had not stripped her literally; that seemed odd in the light of their lack of restraint so far_she remained clothed in her fine gown of mulberry-colored wool; not even the badge of Master on its chain around her neck had been taken from her.
Once again, the mob surged forward; somehow, this time, Jonny managed to get to the edge near the front. If he got a chance to bolt for the wagon, he was going to take it!
The High Bishop met them at the foot of the staircase in front of the Cathedral doors, his face the very essence of a grieving saint. The two men tumbled the woman at his feet and forced her to kneel before him. Jonny could not see her face, but her back told him that if she had one hand free and so much as a letter-opener in it, Padrik would have been eviscerated before anyone could blink.
"You are a witch, Orlina Woolwright," Padrik thundered, as the mob quieted. "You are a dark mage, and a foul demon-lover. Your own acts condemn you, as should I. And yet"_his face softened, and his tone took on new sweetness_"and yet I cannot do other than forgive you."
Gasps came from everywhere, and one woman began to weep. Jonny had been nauseated before, but now his gorge rose, and he fought down a wave of sickness.
"Yes, I can forgive you, for you are only a woman, and by your very nature you are weak and need to be led in the proper path," Padrik continued, magnanimously. "And I, as man and as your spiritual leader, failed to give you that guidance. I shall remedy that lack now."
He took a pendant from around his neck, a peculiar piece of jewelry that Kestrel did not remember him wearing before. It was made of iron, black wroughtiron, in a lacy filigree design in the form of a double circle or an orb. That was all Kestrel could see of it_but something about it made his stomach twist, and he suddenly did not want to look any closer.
Padrik put the pendant around Orlina's neck, removing the chain that held her Masters badge_and that rigid, unyielding back went limp; she sagged forward in her bonds, bowing her head before him.
Padrik's smug smile of triumph made the hair on the back of Jonny's neck rise, and he forced back a snarl. "Here then, is your only sentence. You must make a pilgrimage, alone and unaided, on your own two feet, without benefit of carriage or beast. You must go to Carthell Abbey, place this token of your obedience on the altar with your own two hands. Only then can you return, and resume the proper duties of a true woman and a daughter of the Church."
He expected the woman to fight_or at least to defy the High Bishop. So Orlina's submissive nod made Kestrel's mouth fall open with surprise.
The mob, however, was not going to give her any opportunity to display that submission on her own.
The same two men hauled her to her feet and half-dragged, half-carried her along the street of the inns to the city gates. Once again, Jonny was forced by the press of bodies to go along, and so it was that he saw the end of the incident.
Once the mob reached the city gates, the two men who had carried her all this way cut her bonds and set her free, shoving her out of the gates and onto the road leading downward.
She stood up, shook off the bits of rope, and brushed her hands absentmindedly across her hair. And without so much as a glance behind her, as if she was setting off on a stroll across the street, she strode down the road that led eventually to Carthell Abbey.