The Tale of the Party

The Work is almost complete.

Wrolin stares at it, such a small thing, belying the magnitude of what it represents.

The dream has shifted. The candles are brighter, the air fresher, and the faces of the people around her more clear. Yet recognition hovers just beyond her grasp, every time she thinks she remembers a name the face turns away or fades into shadow, and their identities with it.

Her hands, the hands she never recognizes but knows are hers, move with a precision that seems almost inhuman. Tracing runes, locking metal plates into place, attaching wires.

With a final flourish, she finishes.

The Work is complete.

Wrolin woke with a start, heart racing and gasping for air. A sliver of sun on the horizon igniting the sky to burn a thousand different shades of purple, blue, and orange. Dying embers of last night’s fire sent wisps of white smoke to dance a last waltz in the soft morning breeze.

Dread shadowed the beauty of the moment. Something was coming.

Wrolin didn’t know what, but she knew it would happen soon.

The others were awake and making ready to break camp.

Well, all but one.

“Oy! Wake up!” Thrum kicked Aldrich’s foot as he lay sprawled out on his back, snoring.

“Urgh… what?” Aldrich moaned, rubbing his eyes. “Leave me, the sun hasn’t even risen fully.”

Thrum grabbed the little scientist by the lapels of his ornate, silken red pajamas and hauled him to his feet.

“You’re travelling with us now. Best get used to waking up before the sun.” Thrum said, slapping the man on the shoulder. Thrum meant it as a symbol of both encouragement and welcome, but Aldrich’s pitiful yelp made Thrum roll his eyes and regret the whole thing.

Wrolin watched Aldrich begin the arduous task of packing away his supplies. She’d never seen such an ocean of miscellanea. They included such things as a hairbrush for his hair, and small comb for his mustache, for which he also carried oils and waxes, then he’d also brought half a dozen outfits. He began changing from his fine silk pajamas, moaning with despair as he noted the mud stains now on it, to his fine traveling clothes. He left the farmer’s disguise on the ground in a heap. Just as he was pulling on his trousers Sable, the strange construct of concentric rings around a glowing orb, began to twirl rapidly and give off a low, constant hum. Wrolin ran up to it at the same moment Aldrich did, staring at the wondrous little device excitedly.

“What’s it doing!?” Wrolin squeaked.

“Oh! She’s receiving a message!” Aldrich clapped his hands. Then the man closed his eyes, swaying slightly on his feet. Sable spun and gyrated as it hovered above Aldrich’s head for a few moments.

Then Aldrich opened his eyes, pupils wide and face drawn.

“That was from a colleague of mine, Harriet Steelfoot. She’s been investigating a similar anomaly to the one we just encountered, up near Ashwarren.” Aldrich stuck a finger out, pointing south.

“It’s that way.” Nanu said, pointing off a thumb over her shoulder to the northeast.

“Ah, yes, of course that’s what I meant.” Aldrich cleared his throat and continued. “Apparently the anomaly gave off a strange resonance at nearly the same moment you closed the other one. She’s not sure what’s happening now but she speculates it has become more active. Yet her investigation has been stopped; people are vanishing from the streets, others are found slaughtered in their beds. She’s had to withdraw to her lodgings for her own safety. I told her you all are quite good at holding your own against all manner of dangers.”

“Sealing whatever these anomalies are is of utmost importance.” Nanu said.

“Aye, and it’s been a while since we had a good old fashion monster hunt.” Thrum grinned, oiling his blade.

“We barely survived that last one.” Wrolin muttered. The hair on the back of her neck had been standing straight up since Sable had first begun to hum. And when she stared northeast, she swore she could feel something staring back.

“I’ve barely survived my whole life,” Genhice smiled, strumming his banjolele. “Besides, I can work on my song while we travel, it’s a few days to Ashwarren.”

“As long as we don’t have to listen to the same eight bars over and over again…” Thrum moaned.

Genhice began playing the same eight bars again, shooting Thrum an absolutely delighted grin.

“We need to report what we learned to Caelindra, but fortunately Dunholt is on the road to Ashwarren. We can report in and resupply before heading up there.” Nanu slung her pack her shoulder, and proceeded to begin marching.

Stepping back into the muck of Dunholt’s streets made Genhice wish they had gone straight to Ashwarren instead. The group made their way to The Saint’s Rest, Caelindra quickly ushered them back down into the basement. Once they were again in her secret alcove, she gave Aldrich an appraising look.

“I see you made a friend in Crestwick.” She said. She tried to keep her voice flat but Nanu picked up just the slightest lilt of interest in the word ‘friend.’ .

“Friend may be too strong a term.” Nanu said. “A useful ally perhaps.”

“I see. So, what did you find in Crestwick?”

Caelindra leaned back in her chair, her face as placid as a becalmed ocean as she listened to them recount their tale: of a shadowy portal and the creature of blade and darkness that had emerged from it. And as Wrolin finished her part of the tale, of the creation of a device of which she knew neither its name nor function, but had saved them nonetheless, Caelindra simply nodded.

“Interesting.” Caelindra pushed forward in her chair, plucking a piece of curled parchment from her desk. “I’ve received a missive from –”

It was not often Genhice received such a lukewarm reception to his storytelling. Especially one about the ending of the world.

“Interesting? We tell you of a portal to a dimension of shadow? Of a force that could be the doom of us all? And all you have to say is ‘interesting’?” He asked.

“This world is filled with magical horrors of all varieties, of which you are more aware than most. One more does not disturb me, not when the Saintlings breathe down my neck.” She drawled, almost bored.

He saw the look of warning that Nanu shot him, but he pressed on. He had to make her understand.

“I don’t think you understand –” Genhice began.

“What? What do I not understand, Genhice? Enlighten me, please. Can you tell me what this anomaly was? What threat it poses? What this creature was? Can you tell me anything of substance?”

The shattering of Caelindra’s calm was like a window breaking, showering him in the shards of her anger, forcing him a step backward.

All he could do was bow his head in defeat. He had no answers to Caelindra’s questions. Then Caelindra took in a long, shaking breath and slowly unclenched her fist, looking at the parchment she had crushed.

“Forgive me.” Caelindra said. “I was delivered unwelcome news this morning.”

She smoothed out the parchment.

“My agent in Herestad has gone missing. She is but one of many who have gone missing of late, but she is one of the most critical. She was my sole source of information in the city.” Caelindra explained. “Without her I am blind to the Acolytes movements in the northeast. Last I heard she had been investigating the death of a local priest. There was something unusual about it, she wasn’t sure what, but it seems she attracted too much attention. She’s been accused of the murder and taken prisoner.”

“Is it possible that she did kill him?” Wrolin asked.

“Perhaps. Though she’d have little reason to lie to me, I certainly would not have objected to the death of one of the Sainted fools.” Caelindra laughed without an ounce of warmth in it. “Her name is Mira Voss. As far as I know she hasn’t been broken yet, and they do not yet know her true identity or she would already be dead. I need you to recover her if you can.”

“What name did you say?” Aldrich whispered, face white.

Caelindra arched an eyebrow at Aldrich, and did not repeat the name. She knew she didn’t need to.

“Um, excuse me…” Aldrich said, leaving the room.

“I again apologize for earlier.” Caelindra repeated, staring at Genhice. “Things have… not been going well as of late. But I do not mean to force you into one choice or the other. If you believe this anomaly is the greater threat, then go to Ashwarren with my blessing.”

Outside Wrolin saw Aldrich standing on the porch of the inn, staring up at the sky.

“Who is she?” Wrolin asked softly.

“My sister.” Aldrich said quietly, his normally effusive and nasally voice now quiet and subdued. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen her.”

He paused a moment.

“We did not part on good terms.”

“What do you think we should do, Aldrich?” Wrolin asked, reaching up and placing her hand on his.

Aldrich made, based on what she knew of him, a rare admission:

“I do not know.” He murmured, eyes glassy. “I know what my heart tells me: save Mira. And yet my mind says we must help Harriet, that these anomalies must be sealed before it's too late. But my objectivity is compromised. I cannot make this choice, and I beg you not to make me. I will abide by whatever decision you make.”

“You all saw the creature that attacked us.” Genhice said. “If another one of those is ravaging Ashwarren, we need to stop it. These portals, whatever they are, are a threat to everything.”

“But his sister…” Wrolin cast a sad glance at Aldrich.

“Were it my sister… I would let the world burn to save her.” Thrum added.

“And Caelindra raises a good point: for now we remain in good standing with the Acolytes. But if that changes, if Brennan betrays us, if Caelindra does not know what’s happening with the Acolytes, we could all end up hanging from a noose.” Nanu said.

Genhice looked as if he were about to argue, then smiled broadly.

“Well, far be it from me to pass up on an opportunity to save a damsel in distress.” He pulled out his banjolele and began strumming a pleasant upbeat tune to march to. “Shall we?”

Wrolin saw tears brim the now swelling lids of Aldrich’s eyes, and felt her own eyes burning in sympathy.

“Thank you. I was prepared to head to Ashwarren, but I must admit… I am grateful you made this choice.” Aldrich barely kept his voice from dissolving into sobs. Wrolin gave his hand a squeeze and tugged him gently to follow.

The party headed south towards Kessler Pass, which would lead them east through the mountains.

Wrolin lingered behind a moment, staring off into the northeast. A warm current of relief had run through her body when her friends had decided not to head to the anomaly.

Yet now, as they began marching away from it, a cold dread settled into her bones along with a gnawing doubt:

That they had just made a terrible mistake.

The Saint’s Spine mountains cleaved the continent of Vorrenmere in two, it was passable in only three locations: a northern gap that required traversing through hundreds of miles of dense forest, a southern route that hugged the edge of treacherous cliffs where the sea met the mountains, and Kessler’s pass.

The pass was a long, peaceful valley in the middle of the mountain range, filled with farmland and plentiful villages and towns from which to draw supplies and bed down for the nights of travel. It was the obvious choice for the group, as indeed it was for most of the continent. They passed through it with great ease, though with equally great complaint from Aldrich, in just two days. They approached the city on the third.

The smell of Herestad hit Thrum well before it came into view: the earthy aroma of manure mixing with the acidic bite of the foundry smoke. It was soon joined by the smell of unwashed bodies as they passed through the poorer districts that lay outside the great curtain walls of the city. Towering above those massive walls was the great dome of the Basilica of the Saint’s Grace, glowing orange and red as its white marble reflected the rising sun.

They passed through the city gates, the Grims watching them with the same passive empty expression as always and making no move to stop them. They were merely five of the dozens of people making their way in and out of the city, not worthy of their attention.

“It’s been a long time…” Aldrich muttered to himself, staring up at the basilica’s dome and then the streets around him, then said to Nanu, “I know of a small inn, out of the way, but nice. If it’s still there, it will be an ideal base of operations for us.”

Nanu swept an arm before Aldrich, bidding him to lead the way. They wound their way through the city. Herestad was not as large as Sanctenholm, but was still huge in comparison to the tiny villages of Crestwick and Dunholt. And like all major cities, its roads were a labyrinth. The odd twist of a street could swallow even the most experienced traveler.

Fortunately, Aldrich’s childhood memories were enough to guide them through and before long they stood before a small ramshackle inn called The Drunken Mare. Inside they found a Dwarf, feet up on the counter and eyelids heavy with either fatigue or boredom.

“Greetings.” Nanu announced herself, again squatting to avoid slamming into the ceiling. “How much for a room?”

The Dwarf pointed to the left, where the prices were crudely drawn in charcoal on a plank that hung from a piece of twine.

“We’re not paying the price of a good dagger on a room that smells of bad ale.” Thrum said.

“Take it or leave it.” The dwarf proprietor muttered, stuffing his pipe.

“Tell you what,” Thrum smirked, sliding his emblem of the Knights Pristine across the counter, “you rent us this room for a fair price, and I won’t arrest you for price gouging.”

The dwarf blinked, staring at the badge. Thrum felt a rush of enjoyment at watching the realization slowly peel back the proprietor’s heavy lidded eyes.

“Of course!” He jumped up, grabbing the keys from the hooks lining the wall behind him.

Thrum slid the proper amount of coins over, and then snatched the keys from his trembling fingers. He began heading up the stairs.

In the room, which had only one bed and barely enough room for the rest to stand shoulder to shoulder, they finally had a moment to consider their next move.

After some griping from Thrum that is.

“I’ve been in mining tunnels wider than this.” He growled, roughly elbowing Genhice and wedging the elf further into the corner of the room.

“Perhaps if you were less wide.” Genhice muttered under his breath.

“What was that!?” Thrum snapped him a look.

“I didn’t say anything.” Genhice grinned.

“I thought not.” Thrum growled, hiding a smile beneath his beard.

“Oh blessings of the Saint this feels good.” Aldrich moaned as he lay sprawled across the lumpy, stinking straw mattress. “My feet…”

“You’ll get used to it. I can walk on nails with the callouses I have on my feet.” Thrum laughed, slapping Aldrich on the back and making the man moan piteously.

“To the matter at hand, gentlemen?” Nanu sat on the ground with her legs hugged to her chest making as much room as possible for the others.

Joviality snapped to focus.

“No doubt they’ll have the girl in at the Basilica. There’s a labyrinth of cells beneath it.” Thrum said.

“Well, thanks to Brennan you still have your rank with the Acolytes. Perhaps we just walk her right out the front door?” Genhice suggested.

“I’m a Komtur, little more than a hedge knight in the eyes of the Acolytes. I could talk my way in, yes, but it wouldn’t take long before word got to the Komankaturs and even the Exankatur himself. And questions would be asked as to why I’d been there. I’m more like to end up in the cell next to her than to walk her out the door.” Thrum said, beginning to unwrap his plate from the canvas.

“Maybe there’s something else you can do.” Wrolin offered. “We don’t know much about this priest, other than that he was murdered. It didn’t sound like Caelindra knew if Mira killed him, but if she didn’t and we can prove it, they’ll let her go.”

“They might just execute her for heresy anyway.” Nanu’s bitter words dripped from a deep frown.

“Perhaps, but I think it's our best chance. We cannot break her out through force of arms.” Thrum smiled at Wrolin. “And what role would you have me play in this?”

“Well, I was just thinking that none would blink an eye should you investigate the killing of a priest. Isn’t that what you were meant to do? Enforce the Saint’s Peace and investigate crimes?” Wrolin asked.

Thrum couldn’t help but grin.

“Always seem to find myself committing more crimes than investigating them” He strapped on his gauntlets, flexing the armored fingers. “A change of pace is always nice. And I can talk my way past any of the Grims or other Komturs that might already be investigating.”

“We don’t even know if Mira is still alive. We should confirm that before embarking too far.” Nanu said, examining the point of one of her daggers. “And if she is alive, she may know more of what happened to the priest. Perhaps she can direct us on the right path.”

“There’s also the offices of the Sainted Curia.” Aldrich moaned, leaning up in bed. “The administrative wing is housed in the upper levels of the Basilica. Marvelous place, filled with all kinds of records, I’ve had the privilege of visiting several times. In fact, last time I was trying to find the birth record of a man from Crestwick and funnily enough I ran into the man’s great grandson who was one of the curates! Well, he then led me straight to the file and also showed me the… the…”

Aldrich’s excited reminiscence died on his lips as he finally noticed the impatient stares of everyone.

“Ahem. Anyway, that aside, if there’s information that the Acolytes don’t want us to know it will be there. It would not be the first time a wayward priest met an unfortunate end. It could very well be we’re looking at an inside job here.” Aldrich finished.

“Even if it’s not… getting any records we can from them while we’re here will be useful.” Nanu said.

Suddenly the ringing of one of the Basilica’s massive bells split the quiet of the morning air. They were some miles from the Basilica still, but the sound shook the window panes and hummed deep within everyone’s chest.

Thrum felt his blood run cold.

“One…two…three…” Thrum began to count slowly.

“Four.”

As the word left his mouth it was immediately engulfed in the cacophony of yet another tolling bell. Different this time, coming from a slightly different angle. Four bells in four belfries at the four corners of the Basilica. Everything was a group of four with the Acolytes.

Thrum counted four again.

Another toll, this one much duller and quieter, coming from the far side. And after four more seconds another.

“Cover your ears.” Thrum warned as he began to count to four.

Everyone did.

It barely helped.

All four bells of the Basilica rang out at once.

Thrum always thought that if the ending of the world had a sound it would surely be this: the clashing of metal piercing through the air and shattering the very foundations of the earth.

It took nearly a minute before the residual ring of the bells faded.

It took five before the ringing in their ears faded.

“By the damnable Saint herself, what was that for!?” Genhice cocked his head, smacking his head as if he were trying to knock water out of his ears.

“It’s an announcement: a heretic will burn tonight. They’re summoning the city to watch the Saint’s Justice.” Thrum said, quickly strapping his greaves into place.

A quick glance at his companions confirmed they all knew who the heretic was.

“We have to hurry.” Aldrich gulped, voice as thin as his lips had become, face ashen.

“We need to split up, cover more ground.” Thrum announced.

Genhice and Nanu worked together to strap Thrum’s back and breastplate in place, talking as they went.

“Wrolin and I will go to the Basilica, find Mira and dig up what information we can.” Nanu said, now strapping one of the pauldron’s on.

“And me and Thrum will head to the murder scene. See what we find.” Genhice said, strapping the other into place.

“There’s a courtyard in front of the Basilica, big ol’ statue of the Saint in the center. We’ll meet there when we’re finished.” Thrum added, tugging on his armor to ensure its proper fit.

“And uh… me?” Aldrich whispered in a small voice.

“You’re a thinker.” Thrum grinned. “You’ll come with us. We’ll need one of those.”

Wrolin and Nanu made their way towards the Basilica. It took over an hour.

As they drew closer the winding, chaotic streets became a rigid grid of symmetrical roads; dirty worn cobblestone gave way to pristine white flagstones; haggard filthy clothing transformed to flowing fabrics of gold and white; the odor of manure and smoke shifting to the aroma of incense and flowers.

At the city’s center they found themselves at the top of a set of stairs that descended down into a massive courtyard dominated by a grand statue of the Pristine Saint. To the east and west the courtyard opened up into a massive curving garden hugging the large hill and upon which sat their destination: The Basilica of the Saint’s Grace.

Yet Wrolin’s eyes were drawn not to the imposing dome of marble and stone, but to the statue of the Pristine Saint. Sculpted from pure gold, she was standing with arms upraised and looking down at any who might be in the courtyard. Her face was serene, a hint of a kind smile on her lips, hood pulled down to obscure her eyes.

She couldn’t stop staring up at the face.

So familiar.

Like the faces in her dream.

If only she could see her eyes she might -

“Wrolin!?”

Wrolin blinked, looking behind her. Nanu’s hand was on her shoulder, fingers digging in so hard she could feel the bruises already forming. She looked back around to find herself staring at a marble wall.

Except it wasn’t a wall. As she craned her neck back into a position that felt both right and familiar, she saw she was standing in front of the marble plinth upon which the Saint stood.

But she’d just been at the top of the stairs, hadn’t she?

“Nanu, what happened?” Wrolin asked, the rasp of her voice the only thing making her aware of how dry her throat suddenly was.

“You just started walking towards it. Nearly ran into a priest and a fat, very angry merchant. Then you just stared up at this statue for nearly a minute.” Nanu explained. “I couldn’t get you to stop.”

“Sorry. I don’t know what happened.” Wrolin whispered, rubbing her eyes.

Nanu said nothing, but Wrolin saw the corners of her mouth tighten and her eyes flared briefly, her normally calm breathing now rapid.

Nanu was afraid. The bravest person she knew was afraid for her.

Or perhaps of her…

“Come on, I’m okay now.” Wrolin said, but even as she said the words she found herself looking up at the statue’s face again. It took a firm shake of head that made her neck ache to drag her gaze away.

They continued through the courtyard, passing dozens of people from all walks of life. Priests, pilgrims, merchants, and nobles. Interspersed among them were patrolling pairs of Grenz, each of them accompanied by a Komtur, their shining polished armor and white tabards glowing like beacons in the midday sun. They tried to give them a wide berth, without looking like they were giving them a wide berth. It was impossible to avoid them though, because Grenz lined stairs like guardrails on the ascent up to the Basilica.

Now standing before the archway Wrolin found the scale of the Basilica terrifying. Even craning her neck all the way she could not see the top of the walls, and the great dome which had dominated the skyline had vanished entirely from view. Yet she could still feel it looming above her. Bas-reliefs covered the exterior walls, depicting the Pristine Saint in various mythological stories, and her emblem was emblazoned in gold above the arch. Several Komturs stood at rigid attention, eyeing every approaching supplicant. They were only two among dozens, but a 7-foot goliath with a 4-foot gnome tended to stand out. A woman with a vicious scar approached with a hand on the pommel of the morning star at her hip.

“Come to offer prayers for the condemned?” Her voice was piety dipped in venom.

“Yes, we hope the condemned finds redemption in the light of the Saint.” Wrolin murmured with soft submission, it wasn’t the first time faking piety.

“Once cleansed by Her light, all find redemption.” The woman’s eyes drifted over them, Nanu knew the look well: a glance made to look casual while assessing the weapons and abilities of a potential foe.

“May we enter?” Nanu asked, bowing her head.

“Aye.” She stepped back to her companions. She didn’t say a word, but the other Komtur all glanced at them as they entered.

Nanu found it a welcome sight to see the grand vaulted ceilings, it was the first time in recent memory that she’d entered a human building and hadn’t needed to duck. Despite her hatred for the Saintlings and their backwards religion, Nanu still found the frescos painted on the ceiling beautiful. These glorious depictions of the Saint’s deeds brought to life by a myriad of vibrant colors were unlike anything she’d seen before. Unlike other churches of the Acolytes, there were no rows of pews, just an unbroken sea of solid white marble. On the far side of the chamber was another statue of the Saint.

It took Nanu’s eyes a moment to realize what she was looking at. The statue had been carved in four pieces, each slightly staggered and off center from one another. If you were looking at the Saint from directly in front of her, a clever optical illusion would make her look whole and unbroken. But from every other angle one would see the great seams dividing the Saint in four. They believed Saint’s soul had split into four parts when she saved the world from Death, and only utter devotion to her teachings could restore her. And here they had created a literal interpretation of that belief, forcing supplicants to walk a narrow line down the middle of the chamber to see the Saint unbroken.

Hundreds were lined up in single file, the one in front kneeling before the Saint. Nanu noted that before the faithful could approach the statue a priest was making them give a “donation.” Nanu scowled at the cynicism of it.

Then a most unwelcome sight greeted her.

A Komtur was approaching them from the far end of the chamber. His armor was restored and his arm healed, his golden hair beautifully coiffed so that it shone in the light.

It was Brennan.

“Great…” Nanu whispered under her breath.

“Should we hide?” Wrolin looked around for anything to hide behind, ultimately settling for Nanu’s leg.

“We’ve not done anything wrong… yet. He can’t do anything. Let’s just see how this goes.” Nanu said, smiling at Brennan as he approached.

“Well, if strangely, met my friends. You’re a long way from Crestwick.” Brennan said, extending a hand and gripping Nanu’s forearm in greeting. The man was smiling and his voice pleasant, but his eyes were searching, brow slightly knit.

“As are you.” Nanu countered.

“The Saint calls, I answer. I was summoned by the Exankatur of Penance to investigate the death of the priest, Berath Drael. He is eager to exact justice for this heresy.” Brennan shot them a knowing look. “I also let him know of Thrum’s bravery. And how you saved my life.”

Wrolin, who had now stepped out from behind Nanu’s leg, smiled up at him.

“I’m glad you’re better, I see your arm’s been healed now too!”

“Yes, our healers here can do absolute wonders.” Brennan, lowering himself to one knee, took Wrolin’s hand in his. He gently placed a kiss on the back of her hand. “Yet without your ministrations on the field, I would have died there. For that, I owe you a great debt. And my undying affections.”

Nanu saw Wrolin blush furiously, a silly grin splitting across her face. It reminded Nanu of a different time in her life, when it she who made Wrolin blush. Nanu couldn’t help it, her hackles raised. Apparently Brennan noticed, giving her a quick glance before releasing Wrolin’s hand and standing.

“What brings you to Herestad? And where are your companions?” He asked, glancing around as if hoping to spot them.

“We were on a job nearby, quite an arduous one, so we decided to stop here for some supplies and rest.” Nanu explained, then pressed on before Brennan could ask any problematic follow up questions. “As for the others; Thrum will either be drinking the local establishments dry or brawling with the other patrons. Probably both. And Genhice will either be there enthralling the patrons with a song, or trying to pull Thrum off whatever poor soul decided to antagonize him.”

Brennan laughed. Nanu was surprised to find it warm and inviting. She’d never thought of a true believer having a sense of humor.

“Sounds like Thrum. I wish Genhice luck, moving that dwarf is like trying to push a boulder underwater.” He said. “And you two? Not to cast aspersions, but I do not see you as the faithful kind. Why are you here of all places?”

“We heard the ringing of the bells and came to investigate. Seems like there’s going to be an execution?” Nanu asked.

Nanu watched with curiosity as she watched him flinch inside his armor and his brow knit tightly.

“Yes. A young woman who murdered a priest.” Brennan swept a hand across his tabard, lingering for a moment on the crowned star of the Saint, then whispered solemnly: “May she find peace in the Light of the Saint.”

“Yes.” Nanu said tightly, making no attempt to hide the contempt in her voice.

Brennan closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again Nanu could see zealotry had burned away whatever humanity was trying to surface in him.

“I do not know your true intention here, but I know you did not come to offer prayers. Heed my warning: do not try my patience. I appreciate your assistance at Crestwick, but do not presume to think I will not stop you if you break the Saint’s laws.” Brennan placed a hand on the hilt of his blade. “Please… do not make it five executions tonight.”

And with that, he departed through the archway.

“Well, that went better than expected.” Nanu commented. “Let’s find a way into the prison.”

“I’d say this is the place.” Genhice observed, plucking idly at one of the strings of his instrument.

After traveling for an hour to cross the city, they’d arrived at the warehouse district at the eastern end of the city. It was a dull, gray place filled with the most visually unappealing buildings he’d ever seen. It was almost a relief when he’d spotted a dozen Grenz standing outside one of them.

“I’ll handle the Grenz, if we’re lucky we won’t find another Komtur.” Thrum said.

“Perhaps I should wait here, until the coast is clear.” Aldrich suggested.

“Oh, you’re coming with us. Trust me, better you be within eyeshot of me. Can’t keep you safe if I can’t see you, can I?” Thrum shook his shoulders out and cricked his neck as he spoke, then began striding forward.

The pair of Grenz at the forefront looked forwards into the nothingness. It wasn’t until they were almost on top of them that the Grenz’s eyes flicked towards him.

“Citizens, this area is off limits, you must leave immediately.” The two said in unison with eerie hollow voices.

Thrum displayed his emblem to the Grenz.

“I am Komtur Thrum and I’ve come to investigate the murder of the priest. Step aside Grenz.”

The Grenz gave a strange twitch, as if a sudden electric shock had passed through them. Genhice’s spine gave an involuntary lurch at the sudden, unnatural movement of them as they snapped into position, line abreast of Thrum.

“At once, we shall accompany you.” The Grenz drone in unison.

“That won’t be necessary. Stand guard here and make sure I am not disturbed.”

The Grenz snapped back into their former positions, and the group moved into the warehouse.

At first, it was like any other warehouse. Wooden crates stacked high in rows that left narrow aisles between them. They made their way through them, until they came to the center of the warehouse where there was a large gap in the crates forming an empty square of about 50 square feet.

And in the center was a now all too familiar symbol.

A giant circle, drawn from ash and bisected by a line that, if it were a clock, began at 10 o’clock and carved straight through. The left half was empty, the right half filled with the same black ash used to draw the circle. In the center was a tall altar built of what could only be described as wood made glass, the dark grain both shimmered in the low torchlight and yet seemed to absorb it at the same time. And just in front of it, lay a shattered bowl of onyx, a thick black liquid staining the ground.

It was not like anything he’d seen before. It was blacker than night, not simply the absence of light but the devouring of it. It was like a hole in reality, as if where it had spilled had simply ceased to exist. And that’s when Genhice realized he had seen it before.

At the Marrow Estate it was twisting shadows haunting their every move. At Crestwick it was the beast of blades and fangs. And though this pool lacked form there was no mistaking the substance. If it could even be called that.

“It can’t be.” Genhice whispered.

“It’s…” Thrum’s voice trailed off.

Silence hung between them as their eyes remained fixed on the altar.

“Excuse me, gentlemen.” Aldrich interrupted, stepping between them. “Quite fascinating. Quite fascinating indeed.”

Thrum and Genhice’s jaws went slack as Aldrich stepped into the circle, uncaring as to whatever magical properties it might possess. Fortunately for the foolhardy scientist, nothing happened other than his shoes getting covered in ash.

“Saint’s mercy, man, what are you doing?” Genhice asked, stepping into the circle behind him.

“I’m col-”

As soon as Genhice’s shoe crossed the threshold, everything stopped. Aldrich was half turned to face him but his mouth was frozen midword. Looking to Thrum, Genhice saw that the dwarf was still moving and was looking at him with an unsure glance, drawing his great sword. Genhice drew his rapier, and the two of them stood back to back, prepared to fend off whatever was coming.

Then Genhice’s fingers began strumming on the hilt of the rapier in a familiar pattern: The Song. He sheathed his sword, taking the banjolele off his back instead.

“Are you mad? This is hardly the time for a song!” Thrum growled, looking back over his shoulder at him.

“No.” Genhice whispered as his fingers began to strum. “It’s exactly the time.”

The Song filled the air, triumphant melancholy echoing off the boxes and ceiling. And just as at the mill in Crestwick, as he played, more of the song unfurled before him and new chords began joining the old. The ash in the circle began to move as if picked up by a small tornado. The swirling cloud of ash began coalescing into a man kneeling in the center of the circle. It was so detailed that he could see crow’s feet at the corners of his eyes. The ash expanded outwards, passing along Genhice’s body but without leaving a single speck on him. Seven figures now ringed the circle, each wearing robes with wide heavy cowls low on their bowed heads. Then another figure formed standing next to the altar. He looked like the others and yet he was not, like the altar itself he stood and demanded Genhice’s attention with a terrible will that passed even through this facsimile. In his hands was an ashen recreation of the onyx bowl, now whole.

Mezmerised, Genhice and Thrum stood watching as the imposing figure at the altar handed the kneeling figure the bowl, who immediately drank from it and handed it back. A few moments later, the old man collapsed forward in a heap. Genhice understood then: this was the priest. This was how he died. For the man was dead, he was sure of it, his face was slack and eyes though only made of orbs of ash seemed to see nothing now.

The figure with the bowl set it back on the altar, studying the collapsed man on the floor, hands clasped calmly in front of them.

And then, Genhice was startled back a step as the figure on the ground slowly rose to their knees, body shaking with the effort. He remained there, his eyes darting wildly from side to side as if he were dreaming. His face was blank and emotionless as if there were no life in him. The leader moved forward a step, to which Genhice instinctively moved back from. Only the man’s mouth was visible beneath the cowl and it was clear he was saying something, but no sound came forth.

Fortunately, reading the lips of one not wanting to be heard was a skill Genhice had honed well.

“Do you see now, Berath?”

“I do.” Berath, the kneeling man, nodded.

“Will you join us?”

Berath did not reply and Genhice watched a myriad of emotions flow across the man’s face, lips twitching from manic grin to trembling frown in a flash with eyes shut tight against some unseen horror and then widening with terror. It lasted but a moment and then lost all emotion entirely.

“I need time.” Berath finally said.

“Of course. Whatever path you choose, know that there is no wrong choice.”

The compulsion that guided Genhice’s fingers fell silent. The ash lost whatever energy had bound it, it fell to the ground in great heaps where the figures once stood.

And then he froze.

For as the image of the cowled leader fell, it revealed a figure standing behind it.

She was tall, a black veil obscuring her face, the skin on her arms the pale of moonlight. Exactly as Wrolin had described.

The Veiled Lady.

Her body turned as she began walking the perimeter of the circle, but her eyes remained locked on Genhice and Thrum.

“You see her too?” Genhice whispered to Thrum, drawing his rapier again.

“Aye…” Was all Thrum could force out.

The Veiled Lady circled them four times, before coming to rest at the exact position she’d started in. The veil fluttered in a wind that he could not feel and caught sight of a pair of eyes.

Eyes of luminous shadow.

Moonlight reflecting off onyx.

They were beautiful.

They were horrifying.

Her eyes flicked to the altar, then back at him.

The Veiled Lady began to fade away, but those eyes floated in the air for a few moments after her body had vanished. Then they too, winked out.

“-lecting samples of course!” Aldrich finally finished, then looked around confused. He turned, shrieking with surprise to find that somehow Thrum and Genhice had gotten around behind him. “How did you do that!?”

“What is she?” Thrum murmured, ignoring Aldrich.

“I don’t know.” Genhice admitted with a hoarse whisper.

The silence was as deep as the void in the Veiled Lady’s eyes.

Despite her immense size, Nanu had learned how to go unseen. It was amazing how unobservant most people were, and she especially found that guards seemed to let their attention drift at the most opportune times.

Yet even this could only carry her so far. Walking past the two guards that stood between her and the door to the jail? Even she couldn’t manage that.

Following the directions Thrum had given them, Nanu and Wrolin had wound their way through the public areas of the basilica and had finally arrived at two grand doors made of white oak, bearing the Saint’s emblem made of solid gold. It led deeper into the basilica, from where the highest ranking devotaries and castellans governed the city. It was also where the entrance to the prison was located.

Two komtur’s stood at attention in front of it.

“Now what?” Wrolin whispered, pretending to look fascinated by one of the murals on the wall.

“We need to distract them, somehow.” Nanu smirked mischievously at Wrolin.

“Me!?” Wrolin squeaked.

“Unless you want to try sneaking into the prison and I’ll distract them. You are smaller. Perhaps they’ll mistake you for a large mouse.”

Wrolin groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose.

“Fine.”

The gnome started making her way down the long hallway, and the two armored soldiers immediately began moving to intercept her.

“Restricted area! You can’t come down here.” One of them called out.

Wrolin kept walking forwards, her little feet pattering on the floor excitedly and her eyes darting to all the paintings and murals that lined the hallway.

“Did you know the Saint once brought her Light to a village plagued by Death, expelling it with but a single breath of her radiance!?” Wrolin pointing back to the mural she’d been looking at. “Isn’t it miraculous!”

“Yes, yes, it is, but again you cannot be here, this hallway is restricted.”

Nanu smirked, the two guards were impeding Wrolin’s path, but were also visibly relaxing. There was no threat from a tiny gnome enraptured by her faith, after all. Wrolin shot past the guard’s feet to look at another mural further down the hallway. Nanu was grateful to whatever incompetent bureaucrat had decided to place such beautiful, important murals in a hallway meant to be restricted.

Turning to pursue Wrolin, they turned their backs on Nanu. Breaking into a confident and quick stride, she quickly closed the distance, approaching the guards. She began twitching her fingers in a pattern as she summoned The Talent.

True invisibility wasn’t possible, though Nanu tried every time to accomplish it. However, what her Talent could do was distract one’s attention. To suggest to a mind that the moth flying around a flaming torch was of more interest than the figure in the dark. It was such a minor thing that no one even realized they’d been charmed. And it worked even better when there was an active distraction nearby.

Just as the guards began to turn back towards Nanu and lead Wrolin away, Nanu stepped in the opposite direction of their turn, skillfully avoiding their line of sight. To any passerby it would have looked choreographed. She was through the door before the guards had even gotten Wrolin out of the corridor.

The doors opened into an opulent square chamber where long golden fabric was strung along the crown moulding of the ceiling. A silver sea of carpet was almost blinding to look at. Fortunately there was no one in sight at the moment. She kept casting the talent, but her hand was beginning to burn and fatigue ran up her arm. She moved quickly down several hallways, ducking into alcoves and around corners whenever she spotted someone.

Finally she reached a small stone archway, standing at the end of a small, narrow hallway. The gray, pitted stone was a shocking contrast to the rest of the basilica. Thrum had said the whole place was built atop an ancient castle, and this had been one of the entrances to its many turrets. The castle was now nothing but a prison complex, a dark pit of suffering hidden beneath a golden veneer of piety.

She ran down the circular stairs, daggers drawn. If someone bumped into her on the staircase, no amount of talent would keep them from noticing her. But she made it to the bottom of the stairs where a pair of Grenz stood flanking the entry way. For whatever reason, Nanu found the Grims could be made entirely oblivious by her Talent and their cold empty eyes kept staring straight ahead as she walked right past them.

Moans of misery, and the occasional scream of agony, echoed through the stone halls and chambers. Each cell contained its own unique vision of suffering; a man huddling on the ground muttering to himself, his back a mass of scars; a woman sobbing as she held a small bundle in her arms, a silent, still child; and a young girl who stood facing the wall of her cell with eyes as empty as any Grim. For a moment Nanu considered throwing all the cells open in a doomed effort to save them.

Perhaps death would be a mercy.

However, she’d never leave alive either and this was not the moment for such a sacrifice.

She gave a small prayer of thanks that the next cell she examined held a young woman with red hair. Unlike the other prisoners in rags, she still wore filthy but intact clothes, and her face still had the color of one who’d seen the sun recently. She was sitting on a flat piece of rotting wood anchored by two chains in the wall that served as her bed, shoulders sagging and her head bowed.

“Mira?” Nanu asked, letting the Talent disperse.

The woman jumped, only now seeing the 7-foot figure looming in front of her cell.

“Yes, yes I am.” Her eyes lit up. “Did Caelindra send you?”

“She did. We’re trying to get you out of here, but I need to know what happened. Did you kill the priest?” Nanu whispered. She kept her back pressed to the wall, eyes flicking back and forth to both ends of the hallway, making sure no one was approaching.

“Berath Drael? No, I didn’t.” Mira leaned back so she was now lying flat on the makeshift bed.

“Do you know who might have killed him?”

“In the weeks leading up to his death, Berath had been acting strangely. I’d been following him because in the wake of his son’s death, his faith wavered. I thought perhaps he might become a valuable source of information to us. But he kept going to a warehouse near the docks. Eight other figures would join him, their arrivals carefully staggered over the course of hours, their departures equally cautious.”

“Who are they?” Nanu asked, still looking out for approaching guards.

“I never got a chance to find out. One night Berath went in, but none of the others joined him. When he did not emerge after several hours, I went in to see what happened. That’s where I found him, and where a Komtur and their Grims caught me.”

“A strange coincidence to be caught so.” Nanu remarked. How had the Komtur arrived so quickly after the priest’s death?

“If you believe in coincidence.” Mira said, shooting Nanu a wry sidelong glance. “I have one lead for you: Calder Pell. He’s the wealthiest merchant in the city. He owns the warehouse, and this is just a feeling, but I think he knows what’s happening inside.”

Nanu memorized the name, filing it away for later. For now, she needed to know one last thing.

“Do the Acolytes know who you are?” Nanu asked.

“They don’t know I’m Unsainted,” she whispered at the ceiling, “nor do they know my true purpose here. I’m just another heretic to them. A murderer.”

“I admire your strength to not have broken yet.”

“Strangely, I have not been tortured. A man named Brennan has been questioning me. He seems different. He’s genuinely looking for answers, not a quick execution.” Her eyes flicked to Nanu. “Though it seems his superiors have run out of patience. He told me this morning that my execution will be tonight unless he can find proof of my innocence. He was going to return to the crime scene and look for clues one last time.”

Great, Nanu thought.

Just great.

“This liquid.” Aldrich muttered as he dipped a thin metal rod into the puddle of black liquid on the ground, swirling it around as if mixing milk into his tea. Long viscous tendrils of the stuff clung to the rod as he pulled it out, breaking loose only with a violent shake. “It’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen before.”

“Careful you fool. Last time we saw this, it was trying to kill us.” Thrum warned him.

“Ah, you think it’s the same material as that entity?!” Aldrich beamed excitedly, leaning closer to the material. More tendrils erupted from its surface reaching out towards his face. “How did you reach that conclusion?”

“My gut.” And that was all Thrum needed to know he was right.

“Hardly a scientific appraisal.” Aldrich’s voice was heavy with a disappointment that made Thrum bark a laugh.

“Well then what do you think it is?” Genhice asked.

“I’m not sure exactly! Which is why I simply must take this with me!” Aldrich said.

Before either of them could object, Aldrich carefully fed some of the black undulating strands into a small glass vial, sealing it with a cork. The liquid seemed to strain against the glass as if testing the confines of its prison, coils of it shifting and dancing.

“Absolutely fascinating! I’m quite glad you convinced me to come along!” Aldrich smiled, holding the vial up to his eye to stare at the roiling blackness within. Sable darted in close, the glowing center of the device lancing out beams of gold, white, and yellow through the vial. None of them pierced the strange material.

“I’m sure my invitation must have gotten lost.”

Thrum rubbed his temples as a familiar and unwelcome voice echoed from behind them.

“Oh, Brennan.” He said, turning with a smile plastered on his face. “Good to see you again, brother.”

“Is it?” Brennan asked, stepping into the circle with them and crossing his arms. “Strange then that I do not find you at all a welcome sight. Not here.”

“Well, that’s quite rude.” Genhice smirked.

“Interfering with an investigation.” He cast a withering glance at the elf. “That’s a serious offense.” `

“I am performing my duties to the Saint, I am investigating this murder.” Thrum pointed out, and it wasn’t entirely a lie. He was still a Komtur after all.

“Oh, I believe you’re investigating, Thrum. To whose end is what is unclear to me. However, this is not within your purview and somehow I doubt you are investigating for the love of the Saint. So what is it that you seek here?”

“A friend of ours has been accused of the murder, we’re trying to clear her name.”

Thrum could hear Genhice’s voice ache as it beseeched Brennan.

“Mira? How do you know her?” Brennan’s face softened noticeably.

“You know my sister!?” Aldrich said, stumbling over himself, practically knocking the altar over.

“I do. I’ve been questioning her.” Brennan said, then caught the hard stare Thrum was shooting at him. “I’ve not harmed her. She’s quite a lovely conversationalist, in fact. I believe she’s innocent of this crime. Unfortunately, I’ve yet to be able to prove it to the Exankatur. Have you found anything?”

“Not yet.” Thrum muttered.

Thrum stared at the altar. The Veiled Lady had stared at it, but her eyes had not been drawn to the bowl atop it, but something lower. Stepping up to it, he examined it, and there on the other side of it in plain view, was a small alcove carved into the wood. His fingers slipped inside, pulling free something small and smooth.

A small wooden carving of the Saint. Its surface was worn smooth like a stone from being held in one’s hand many times. A child’s devotary symbol.

“How did you find that?” Brennan asked. “I’ve checked this altar a dozen times and found only solid wood.”

“I believe someone wanted us to find it.” Thrum murmured, the memory of those beautiful, horrifying eyes flashing before him.

“May I?” Brennan held out a hand, and he placed the carving into the man’s armored palm.

“This must have been Halix’s.” Brennan said. “He died a few months ago. An accident. Berath was never quite the same after that, kept seeking answers from the Saint.”

“And do you think he did?” Thrum muttered bitterly.

Brennan didn’t answer, instead running a gauntleted thumb over the Saint’s face.

“We saw what happened here! Or, I mean, at least we saw some kind…recreation of it. Ash and magic formed to make…” It was rare for Thrum to see Genhice’s silver tongue trip over itself and tie itself in knots. But he could hardly blame him, Thrum also couldn’t explain what he saw. Genhice seemed to give up on explanation and instead moved to the important piece: “There was a group here. Clearly some kind of cult. They were trying to get Berath to join them. He drank from that bowl. And something happened to him.”

“What?” Brennan asked flatly.

“I don’t know.” Genhice’s voice drawled in defeat.

“As soon as I analyze this material I might be able to tell you!” Aldrich piped up excitedly, holding up his sample.

Brennan’s eyes went wide at the sight of Aldrich’s vial, he rushed forward, hand stretching out towards it. Thrum stepped between them, catching Brennan’s wrist.

“You fool! Put that down now!” Brennan snapped, struggling to free himself from Thrum’s grasp.

“Why?” Aldrich asked, and Thrum could hear the tears in his eyes. The man was a child.

“We have tried to purge that material several times. Even the Saint’s Light cannot touch it. It must not leave this place.” Brennan urged, then turned to Thrum. He’d never seen such terror in his friend’s eyes before. “Do you not recognize it, Thrum?”

“Aye. I do.” Thrum nodded, releasing Brennan from his grip. “And that’s why we must allow this man to analyze it. You saw what it can become at Crestwick, and if we’ve any hope to defeat it, we must understand it.”

Brennan stared at the vial in Aldrich’s hands one last time, then stepped back, bowing his head. And Thrum pressed on.

“If we can find these cultists, I believe we’ll find the answer to both: how to fight this and who killed Berath.”

“Then we best hurry.” Brennan said. “Night approaches quickly.”

The administrative wing of the basilica was quite different. Gone were the murals, bas reliefs, and statues all praising the Saint’s Light. Instead the walls were lined in bookcases filled with books and scrolls of all descriptions, made of rich wood they matched the many desks that sat in tight rows in the long, cavernous hall. Wrolin breathed deep the musty smell of old dust encrusted tomes and parchments, smiling with memory.

A desk sat at the front, wider and bulkier than those of the scribes behind. A small gnome sat behind it, glasses pushed up his short wedge of a nose, scribbling something onto the parchment before him.

“I bet he’s lonely.” Nanu smirked.

“What? Me? Again!?” Wrolin threw her arms up in the air, letting them slap against her thighs as they fell.

“He’s one of your kin, after all.”

“Just because he’s a gnome does not mean he’s gonna want to talk to me.”

“Well, I’ll get backache if I bend over to talk to him.” Nanu clutched the small of her back while flashing Wrolin a wide grin.

“Very funny!” Wrolin stamped her foot, the hung her head. “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“It’s not that I don’t love you.” Nanu chuckled after her.

“Kinda feels that way.” Wrolin threw over her shoulder.

Up close Wrolin could see that the gnome’s skin was wrinkled like a raisin, but his gray eyes were keen, sweeping over the parchment with mechanical precision as he wrote.

“Excuse me, could you assist me in finding some records?” Wrolin asked, only her eyes and forehead making it above the desk.

His eyes darted up from his parchment, but only for a moment, his scribbling growing even more furious.

“Find a clerk to help you.” He muttered.

“I thought you were a clerk.”

The scribbling scratched to a stop, his glasses dipped down his nose until they hung precariously from the tip, and his eyes slowly drifted upwards to meet hers.

“I am the head clerk.”

“Apologies.” Wrolin said, rising onto her tiptoes she could rest her nose on the edge of the desk. “But maybe you’d be an even better person to ask! So you see, my great-great-great grandmother Yuliar was once married to my great-great-great grandfather Eustof, and well some things happened, and they got divorced. But my great-great-great aunt, Peliah, she was a great woman apparently. Tall too! Almost four feet! Boy, I wish I was four feet tall! Can you imagine? Anyway, Peliah apparently married Eustof! Can you imagine? Marrying your sister’s husband!? Well it was a scandal as I’m sure you must know -”

Even she was wanting to tune out the drivel she was spilling from her mouth. But it was working, the old clerk seemed to relax and the contrast told her he’d been nervous about something. She watched as his eyes darted briefly to something at the bottom left of his desk before returning to match her gaze. Nanu must have noticed it too, watching from the corner of her eye she could as the Goliath moved towards the left of the desk. She must have been spinning her Talent because the gnome didn’t notice.

“Anywho, my current Aunt, Puhgla, is looking for the records of the divorce, because if we find them, we can prove we’re the actual inheritors of the farm!” Wrolin finally finished.

The head clerk’s mouth hung open, as if to say something, but then just stayed open. She looked around the room, seeing everyone had frozen in place. And when she looked back…

The Veiled Lady loomed over the old gnome’s shoulder. Eyes burning behind the veil. She pointed a finger downwards to the left.

Nanu took a halfstep backwards, daggers drawn.

This was the spectre that had haunted her friend since that day at the Marrow Estate. Wrolin had described her many times, and here she was, but no description could have prepared Nano for this horror. Of those eyes of void.

Then she vanished as if she were never there.

“Well?” The head clerk snipped.

“Uhm, sorry, what did you say?” Wrolin asked, shaking her head.

“Do you know if your great-great-great aunt was in Saint’s Reach county or Saint’s Grasp county?”

“Uh…Saint’s Reach.” Wrolin said, snatching at the handhold in the conversation.

“Hmmmm.” The head clerk grumbled angrily, but his eyes had a new fire in them. “Been a while since I had a challenge. Let me look in the deep archives.”

He hopped off his seat, waddling into the back.

Nanu immediately began reweaving the Talent, vanishing from the sight of the Grenz scattered across the area. A few moments with her lockpicks were all she needed, and the drawer popped open. Inside was a small leatherbound notebook.

Nanu tucked it beneath one of the thick straps of her leather cuirass.

“Did I see you speaking with Komtur Brennan, earlier?” The voice was a low, lustrous timbre like a drum’s fading vibration after being struck. Nanu was not startled often, and yet turning to find a man standing mere feet away made her stumble backwards.

He was dressed in rich purple robes, thick bejeweled rings of gold and silver on every finger, a thick golden chain hung heavily around his neck. A head of black thick hair trailed down into a slightly graying beard that was kept short trimmed, and some kind of waxy finish made it shimmer in the low candle and torch light. The complexion of his skin was without flaw. He regarded her with eyes of blue and silver.

“My apologies, I should introduce myself first.” The man extended a hand while Nanu struggled to understand how he’d spotted her. “Calder Pell. A pleasure.”

He must have already been looking at her to see past her Talent. That was the only explanation that made sense. She shook the man’s hand, a gesture that despite her large hand, made her feel enveloped by him.

“Nanu. And yes, he’s an acquaintance of mine.” Nanu granted the knowledge carefully, sensing the man had observed it, but not wishing to give more than he already knew.

“Tell me, did he happen to tell you any of the investigation into my good friend Berath?” It had the tone of a question, and yet she knew it was a rhetorical one.

“No.” Nanu said simply, and it was the truth, and it was now her turn to probe. “How did you know Berath?”

“Ah, I met him at the bar of the Weeping Willow Inn. He was a man lost, broken over the loss of his son. I offered drink and sympathy. We struck up a friendship of sorts. I was the only one who could coax him from the darkness of his little rented room.” A smile that did not reach his eyes revealed rows of sparkling white teeth, stars amid the darkness of his beard.

“The Weeping Willow Inn?” Nanu asked. “Can you tell me where that is?”

“Certainly.”

The way he said the word made her spine bristle with chill.

Thrice now I have attended the rituals. And finally I was permitted to drink. To see.
Now I know what a terrible curse it is: to see.
I realize now that the world was out of focus before. Lines blurred, colors melded, and light reflected off every surface. But now that I see everything clearly the lines are so sharp they cut me, the colors blind me, and the light casts shadows so dark I cannot my way out.
I cling to the Saint still. I hold onto Halix’s idol of the Saint, hoping it will anchor me as it did him. But the line has been cut and I am adrift.

The final words echoed off the walls of the alleyway as Nanu finished reading the last few entries in Berath’s journal. The group had met back at the courtyard as agreed and had darted into a nearby alley to plan their next move.

“Betrayal.” Brennan spat as if to clear the bitter taste of the word. “If this was in the records office, then it means someone was at the crime scene before me, and took it. Hid it from me. Someone with the authority to catalogue new documents.”

They all looked at him.

“Surely this is enough to save her?” Aldrich said, hopeful and his hands clasped in front of his chest in a silent plea.

“It says nothing. At most this proves he was a heretic himself. That will not be enough to save your sister. If anything it might suggest a heretical conspiracy, in which case they will send a Komtur to torture your sister into giving up the rest of them.” Brennan stated grimly.

“But there is no them!” Aldrich cried, running frantic hands through his hair.

“I know. But they won’t believe her and won’t stop until…” Brennan didn’t finish the thought, he didn’t need to.

“So… Mira will die then.” Aldrich covered his face in his hands.

“There is one last lead.” Nanu said. “I ran into a man named Calder Pell, the owner of the warehouse. He said Berath was staying at the Weeping Willow Inn.”

“Could be a trap.” Thrum growled. “Given what we saw in that warehouse… more of the blackness from Crestwick, some strange ritual. He must have known it was there.”

“The man owns half the docks and warehouses in the city.” Brennan said. “I doubt he knows what’s happening in most of them.”

“What a coincidence he should be friends with a man who died in one of his properties.” Genhice tossed back at Brennan.

“Only if you believe in coincidence.” Nanu whispered, echoing Mira’s words from earlier.

The group exchanged a glance, and then began heading for the inn.

The Weeping Willow is a damn sight nicer than the hovel we’ve been staying in, Genhice thought as he walked in, I could have made a killing here.

The lightness of his coin purse was an open wound as he looked at all the wealthy looking patrons around him. He thought about playing a quick song, but a knowing look from Nanu nudged him forward towards the bar. An Elven woman stood behind it, pouring a stein of beer and sliding it to one of the other patrons.

Genhice leaned an elbow on the bar, propping his head up with his hand.

“Greetings, I must say you’re a bit more attractive than the average barkeep.” He said, smiling as he got a whiff of blackberry from her perfume that managed to cut through the stench of alcohol.

“Flirted with many of them in your time?” She arched a beautifully curved eyebrow at him while tilting her head, a smile dancing along her elegantly thin lips.

“Be surprised what I’ll do for a free drink.” Genhice said, leaning forward, trying to catch more of her perfume.

“Would I?” She leaned forward now too, her face inches from his, now bathing him the sweet scent of blackberries. “Tell me, what would you do for me?”

“Ah, where to start? I am a font of generosity.” Genhice murmured softly.

His eyes were just following the curve of her neck down to her collarbone, and were about to delve lower, when a steel-plated elbow suddenly slammed into his ribs. The blow knocked his knees out from under him and he was suddenly in the very undignified position of trying to hold himself up with his arms, head slowly sinking below the edge of the bar.

“Oy!” Thrum barked sternly.

“Okay!” Genhice wheezed, clutching his side. He got his feet back under him and straightened his cravat, then gave the beautiful barkeep an awkward laugh.

The woman was laughing.

No.

Chortling was the only word for it.

Suddenly the cravat felt very hot, and he tugged at it for some air.

“We’re looking for a friend of ours. Older gentleman, he suffered some tragedy lately and likely kept to himself. Was renting a room here, we believe. Don’t suppose you know who we’re talking about?” Genhice said, still pulling at the cravat but doing nothing to extinguish the fire in his cheeks.

“Yes. I know of him.” She said, wiping a tear from her eye. “Afraid your friend hasn’t been back in several days though.”

“Yes we know. Would you mind if we looked in this room?”

She slid a key across the counter and when Genhice made to take it, the woman ran her fingers along his, flashing him a smile filled with possibilities.

“His room was upstairs, third door on the right.”

Perhaps it wasn’t a lost cause after all. He was about to say something when he suddenly felt himself being yanked away by the collar of his shirt by Nanu.

All thoughts of her were extinguished as they moved upstairs and down the hall towards the room. It was as if all the light and heat was being extinguished the further they moved towards it. By the time he was trying to slide the key into the lock his hand was shaking and felt like ice. As the door creaked open a stale burst of air slapped the scent of blackberries from his nose.

Despite the overwhelming sense of dread he felt, the room was normal. The canopy bed was made, the window curtains were half open letting in the dying embers of the setting sun. And then he looked up.

She was standing on the ceiling, looking down at him, her veiled face mere inches from his. He felt the others behind, just as frozen as he was. The eyes behind that veil were searching him for something, peering deep into his soul, it was an overwhelming pressure from within him. Like all his internal organs were being compressed into one giant knot in the middle of his abdomen.

Then there was a tearing release of the pressure into an overwhelming wave of bereavement as he realized that whatever she was searching for… it was not within him.

She turned, pointing to the top of one of the bedposts that held up the canopy.

Then she was gone.

And he realized he was sobbing. He fell to his knees, his chest wracked with coughing, wheezing sobs of utter despair. The origin of which he could not place. Wrolin came to him, hugging him tight from behind like a backpack. He patted her hands.

Nanu reached to the top of the post where the Veiled Lady had pointed, and he watched as she pulled a bundle of rolled parchment from a secret compartment carved into the wood.

She began reading them aloud, but it was not until the end that the words pulled his focus to them.

Grief is not a sufficient word for what I feel.
Grief is what I felt for my son.
Grief is what I felt for my wife.
This is without words. For how can one describe the loss of everything. Faith, love, desire, fear. It is all gone, vanished into the dark. How can one grieve for something so utterly lost and so far forgotten that they no longer even remember what it is they have been bereft of.
Pages and pages I have committed to these thoughts. I have struggled to hoist this knowledge upon my shoulders, to carry it forward as Calder asked me. Yet I could sooner carry mountains then bear this truth. There can be no going forward. And no going back.
So tonight I will return and this time I shall drink deeply. I will embrace the beautiful oblivion and at last return to the natural order of things. As a child I believed the Saint was the hero and Death the villain. As a man I believed She was our Savior, and Death our predator.
Now I see I was wrong.
The Saint was the predator.
And Death our Savior.
And tonight, I will let it save me.

Nanu was racing through the streets, the last sliver of sunset had vanished behind the city walls and soon the horizon would devour it completely. And then Mira would die.

Nanu skidded to a halt at the end of the street, just before it opened into an intersection. A tingle up the back of her spine stood her neck hairs to attention. The others came to a stop behind her. Except Brennan.

He strode forward and turned to face her, impatience etching his face.

“Why are we stopping? We’re running out of -”

His words stopped as a small triangular piece of metal suddenly sprouted through the left side of his neck. He turned, reaching back behind him to gently touch the fletchings on the crossbow bolt. He collapsed to one knee.

Nanu didn’t need to tell the others to scatter, everybody knew to take cover immediately.

Nanu groaned.

` Almost everybody.

Nanu rushed forward and threw Aldrich, who’d been standing like a statue in the middle of the street, over her shoulder and forcibly carried him behind a barrel filled to the brim with rainwater. Then she waited.

Brennan was on all fours, coughing and wheezing, trying to crawl towards the group.

“Did anyone see where it came from?” Nanu called out.

Silence was her answer.

“We have to get to Brennan!” She heard Wrolin cry out from wherever she’d found cover.

“I keep telling you to carry a shield Thrum!” Nanu barked angrily.

“Bloody well good that observation does for us now!” Thrum called back.

Nanu let her head fall back with a dull thud as it struck the barrel.

The barrel.

“Aldrich, when I move forward you run back to the Willow and don’t leave until we get you.” She told the trembling scientist, then she pulled the barrel over onto its side, spilling the water in a great rush that ran down the street into the courtyard.

“Thrum, Wrolin, be ready.” She yelled.

She heaved the barrel up, holding it in front of her as she ran forward, kneeling in front of Brennan’s now prostrate body. Thrum grabbed him under the arms and began dragging him back up the street while Wrolin ran alongside trying to weave her healing Talent.

“No need to be so dramatic, Nanu!” The words cracked like a shattering glacier, sharp and deep. “And put the barrel down, you look like a fool.”

She placed the barrel down in front of her, so she could use it for cover if Motus shot at her again.

For that was who now approached, walking calmly across the intersection towards her. She had not seen him in the flesh since the day that she kept buried in her mind. He did not look like she remembered. Somehow he was bigger, his face now heavily lined, his lower incisors had gotten longer reaching almost up to the tip of his nose. The massive orc held up his arms as if he were preparing to hug her.

She drew her daggers.

“Is that anyway to greet your long lost friend?” He gave an ugly, barking laugh.

“We are not friends.” Nanu spat. “Not anymore.”

“We could be again.” He grinned, incisors glowing red in the fading light.

He took a step to the side, leaning slightly to look at Brennan being hauled away. The grin vanished.

“You let the little saintling knight where he is. The poison’ll do its work quick. He won’t suffer.” Then he grinned again. “Much.”

Nanu never took her eyes off an enemy.

And yet she had to look over her shoulder at Brennan.

Motus was here for him?

“I see you’re still a bit self-obsessed.” Motus smirked. “Did you think the Vethara would send me all this way just to settle a score two decades past? This is the reason they chose me as the new Exalted Assassin.”

“I am glad now that they chose you, Motus. Otherwise I would be as you are now.” Nanu said, a sharp pang in her chest as she stared into her friend’s now empty eyes. “The Vethara has already taken too much from me. Too much from us both.”

Motus’s confident smirk dissolved into an ugly grimace. He drew a long, curved blade of black metal.

“Walk away, Nanu. You hate the saintlings as much as I do. Why stand in my way for one of them?” Motus began moving forward.

“Because I’m the only one who can.”

And Nanu charged.

Wrolin carefully examined the crossbow bolt. It had entered just a half an inch away from Brennan’s spine and exited near his Adam’s apple. She wasn’t sure if it had hit an artery, but for the moment he wasn’t bleeding severely.

It was whatever was turning his veins black and causing him to bleed into his eyes that was her immediate concern. She began weaving her Talent, a pale blue fog of energy emerging from her fingertips and dancing across his throat and head. The black distended veins began receding to their point of origin at the wound. Just a few more seconds and she could deal with the bolt in his neck.

She heard nothing, but suddenly Thrum was charging towards her. She turned just in time to see someone covered head to toe in black leather armor, just a foot away, a dagger lancing down towards her face.

She ripped her Talent free from battling the poison and directed it all into a massive uncontrolled blast from her palm. It struck the would-be assassin in the chest, flinging them backwards into a stone wall that cracked under the impact. They collapsed in a heap and didn’t move again.

Turning back to Brennan, the black veins had surged forward with a vengeance, spreading even faster now. She began weaving the talent again, but the blast left her arm feeling numb and her vision blurring. Stupid, she knew better than to let the Talent rage free but she hadn’t had time to focus it against the assassin and now she was already all but drained. But she had to press on.

“Hold on Brennan. Fight it.” Wrolin whispered as she looked down at his pale, agonized face.

Thrum was charging towards the assassin about to kill Wrolin, but he knew he’d be too late. He was about to call out, to roar a warning, when the little gnome blasted the assassin into a wall. A warm swell of pride rumbled through his chest, but before he could enjoy it, he felt something moving behind him.

He swung his greatsword in a sweeping sideways arc as he turned. The assassin behind him, a broad shouldered figure in armor that bulged from atop bulging muscle, jumped back just in time to avoid being disemboweled. Thrum gave a hearty laugh.

Too slow. Too clumsy.

Thrum grinned.

A sharp pain at the back of his right knee drove him to the ground for a moment. He swung the greatsword back around him, staring at the second assassin, a slender wisp of a figure that weaved and ducked like a snake. He stumbled back to his feet, pain flared through the injury but the fact he could still stand meant the blade hadn’t severed any tendons. He backed himself against a nearby wall, so he could keep both of them in plain view. The big one began advancing, a long serrated sword in his hand. As soon as Thrum’s eyes flicked to the man, the slender one pulled a small crossbow from his belt and fired.

Thrum flinched away just in time, the bolt meant for the gap between his helmet and neck instead plinging harmlessly off his breastplate. The assassin loaded another bolt and began cranking his crossbow. Thrum gritted his teeth, now seeing their plan. The big one would press him and the little one would be firing into the gaps in his armor, and based on what it had done to Brennan, it would only take one lucky hit.

He would have to finish this fast.

Genhice began closing in on Nanu’s right, positioning himself to take advantage of the big ugly Orc’s unguarded flank. Just as he was passing into the intersection, a flash of steel came from his right, and he threw himself into a chaotic roll just to avoid it, landing hard on his left shoulder.

He immediately jumped to his feet but a sharp heat radiating down from his shoulder into his hand made his rapier shake in his grasp.

“Afraid are we?” Came a soft feminine voice dripping with venomous faux concern. “I’ll make it quick, my little point ear.”

The inferno that the racial epithet sent raging through him steadied his hand immediately.

“Such a sweet voice.” Genhice smiled.

The woman lunged in with a long narrow blade that was somewhere between a shortsword and a dagger, and Genhice stepped to the side while batting the blade away with his rapier. She was fast and agile, but Genhice was more than able to keep up with her. In fact, as he realized he was in fact faster and more agile, he began pressing forward. On the defensive she seemed to grow even slower, her parries and ripostes becoming clumsy and obvious. He was backing her slowly towards the wall. She quickly was running out of room to maneuver and based on the panic in her eyes, she knew it.

He would end this quickly and then move to help Nanu.

The panic in her eyes vanished in a flash and even beneath the black mask she wore, he could tell she just smirked.

Too late did he realize he’d moved too close to her, surrendering the advantage of his longer blade. Mid thrust he watched, as if in slow motion, as the woman jinked to the side, sank into her knees, and then lunged forward.

Hideous shattering pain exploded through his entire groin as the tip of her blade sank deep into his upper thigh at the junction where it met his hips. He felt it tear through flesh and muscle, terrible enough, but then felt the blade hit his femur. The bone stopped the blade in its tracks, but the utter destruction it had already wrought was overwhelming.

He stumbled back, agony flaring anew as he tried to keep himself upright.

She’d baited him. Made him think he was the superior fighter, let him get overconfident, and lured him in.

“I’m going to enjoy this,” she said.

And began moving towards him.

Nanu caught Motus’s blade in the junction between her crossed daggers, deflecting it down and away from her as she kicked out at his knee. Motus shifted just in time, her boot slamming into his thigh instead. He gave a sharp snort of pain and backed away. While the kick hadn’t been harmless, it had not been the crippling injury she’d been aiming for.

Though she had superior height to Motus, he had superior mass. He was broad and thick with muscles. In their sparring matches twenty years ago, her most effective tactic against him was always to take his legs out from under him. Once on the ground he was slow to rise, providing the window she needed. But most importantly the one thing she had to avoid was getting within grappling distance of him.

And he was not making that easy.

Despite his longer blade, the orc continued to try to press inwards. Her short daggers meant she had to close distance as well. She made a mental note that if she survived this fight, to carry some kind of longer blade as a back up.

“Oh this is like old times, Nanu!” Motus laughed, temporarily backing away. He rolled his neck and flexed his shoulders. “Do you know how long it’s been since I had a challenge like this?”

Nanu didn’t answer, watching as Motus kept slowly circling to her left, forcing her to move closer to the wall on her right.

“Most just lay down and die.” Motus grinned.

Suddenly Motus flung his sword at her, and it flew end over end like a gigantic throwing knife. Ducking aside and barely avoiding the blade slicing into her shoulder, she watched as Motus used her distraction to close the distance impossibly fast. She stabbed both her daggers into his abdomen as he rushed forward, but he’d already gotten so close that she’d been unable to put any strength behind it and she felt the blades lodge in the leather armor instead of his flesh. He grabbed her wrists and headbutted her viciously, his ridged forehead shattering her nose. His grip on her wrists was crushing and when he drove each knee upwards into her forearms, the agonizing rattle of her bones made her drop the daggers.

A blinding punch flooded her mouth with blood and several teeth, she raised her arms in time to block the second punch to the face, but not the third to her abdomen. The breath was torn from her lungs, but she kept her feet. Motus took the momentary lapse to tear the daggers from his armor and fling them away. Then he ducked low, thick arms circling her waist, and hauling her up over his shoulder. He began charging towards the nearby wall even as Nanu repeatedly drove her elbow into the top of his head.

She felt something crack in her spine as she was thrown into the wall. Her legs went numb and she collapsed. She began reaching for the backup daggers in her boots, but Motus kicked her onto her back, making her cough up blood as she felt her ribs shatter. Then he was on top of her, straddling her chest, his hands squeezing her throat.

She grabbed at his wrists.

Punched him repeatedly in the face.

But she knew.

She’d lost.

Wrolin felt lightheaded and the world was spinning on its axis.

But the black veins were gone. Brennan’s eyes flicked open.

“Ugh… Wrolin?” He groaned, his words slurring. He gave a stupid, oblivious grin. “You look beautiful.”

Wrolin blushed even as she slapped him across the face.

“Snap out of it! We need you!”

But Wrolin could tell by the way his eyes were twitching that though the poison was cured it would take him a few moments to regain his senses.

She looked up at Thrum. He was slashing desperately at a huge assassin in front of him, but then had to duck away as a bolt ricocheted off his pauldron.

She didn’t have a few moments.

She had nothing left in her to summon the Talent and so instead surged forward, staff held over her head, and giving the fiercest warcry she could. It was enough to catch the smaller of the two off guard, he fired his crossbow wildly at her but it went wide, and he pulled his dagger.

But not quickly enough to avoid the knobbly wooden tip of the staff from crashing into his face. The man roared with agony, wheeling backwards, but Wrolin quickly followed up with a thrust of the staff directly into the man’s groin. He fell to his knees but managed to grab the staff before Wrolin could follow up. She tried to pull it free but it was like trying to rip a tree out by the roots. Dagger poised in one hand, he yanked Wrolin forward by the staff. She let go, barely avoiding getting skewered on the blade. The assassin flung the staff away.

She was now totally defenseless.

A great guttural roar shook the air, and it wasn’t until Wrolin saw Thrum that she realized it was not in fact a bear. Somehow he’d grappled the big man’s legs and was now hoisting him into the air. She watched as Thrum swung the assassin like a giant club. Wrolin’s assailant didn’t even see it coming and was smashed into the ground to the horrific sounds of shattering bones. Both lay in a tangled mass of limbs, blood pooling around them.

“That was fun.” Thrum grinned, then grew grim, picking his greatsword back up.

They both rushed down the street to where Genhice and Nanu were fighting for their lives.

Genhice stumbled heavily, rapier low and his breathing shallow and rapid.

“That’s a lot of blood.” She crowed. “You must be getting tired.”

Genhice let the tip of the blade scrape the cobblestones. He was lurching on his injured leg now, his knee refusing to bend and so swinging it forward with his hip. Each time he did that though, shooting arcs of electric pain made him dizzy.

He stopped.

“Are we finally done?” She asked, striding forward.

Genhice nodded, falling to his knees. “We’re done.”

Beneath the mask he saw her wicked smile. She stepped forward, blade raised in a reverse grip. He swayed weakly from side to side.

She lunged down at him, the tip of the blade barreling down at his face.

He lunged forward on his good leg, ducking beneath her blade and thrusting upward with his rapier. The blade sank into her throat and out the back of her neck. Her blade clattered to the cobblestones.

She wasn’t the only one who knew how to bait a trap.

“Sometimes silence is the sweetest sound of all.” Genhice said, rising to his feet as the woman moved her lips silently, staring down in disbelief at the steel in her neck.

She fell backwards as he pulled his blade free.

Then he began limping his way towards Nanu as fast as he could.

Her lungs no longer burned for oxygen, instead Nanu just felt heavy. Darkness was creeping into the edges of her vision now.

Motus leaned forward, hands still around her throat. She felt his hot breath against her ear.

“Before I send you into the next life I want you to know,” he whispered, every word dripping with satisfaction, “that I will find you there too, and kill you again. Just for the inconvenience you caused me tonight.”

Even though he was speaking directly into her ear his voice sounded like it was coming from down a long hallway. She looked into burning yellow eyes, remembering the first time she saw them, the first kind eyes she ever saw after leaving her childhood home of Godsknuckle. Now mere husks filled with nothing but empty rage.

Suddenly she took a ragged, coughing breath as the pressure around her throat vanished. Her vision was still blurred but she saw Motus backing away quickly. Thrum and Wrolin came into view on either side of her, holding their weapons out. And behind Motus she saw Genhice, limping badly, but moving towards him nonetheless.

“Shame.” Motus shrugged. “I was having so much fun too. I’ll give the Vethara your regards, Nanu.”

There was an explosion of swirling inky smoke.

And Motus was gone.

The tolling of the bells were shattering the night air.

Thrum was hurrying along behind the others as they wove and muscled their way through the massive crowd that was now clogging the great courtyard in front of the Basilica. Wrolin had patched their wounds enough for them to move, but it had taken precious minutes that couldn’t be spared. The last bell was ringing out now, which meant they had only moments left. Already he could hear the Exankatur.

“Mira Voss. You have been found guilty of the murder of one the Saint’s Chosen and heresy.” A roar of ravenous approval answered the booming voice.

“Out of the way!” Thrum roared, shouldering a man to the ground and stepping over him.

“For your crimes you will be cleansed by the Saint’s Holy Light, and your sins will be burned away.”

They reached the ranks of the Grenz that blocked the path up to where the execution was happening at the top of the stairs.

“Komturs Brennan and Thrum with urgent business! Stand aside!” Brennan screamed at them, making them part without a word.

Other Komturs that were aligned behind them moved to intercept but when they saw Brennan seemed to hesitate.

“We have new evidence!” Brennan yelled at them, not bothering to stop to talk to them.

Thrum followed him up the steps.

His eyes went wide, heart leaping to his throat, as he watched a woman in red robes step toward where Mira was kneeling in chains.

“STOP!” He roared at the top of his lungs.

The Priest of Purification lifted her hands, golden light beginning to coalesce around them.

“I SAID STOP!” Thrum roared so loudly he felt something in his throat tear and began to taste blood.

But it worked. The priest turned, lowering her hands, staring in disbelief.

The Exankatur of Penance turned, mouth agape and his face turning purple.

“What is the meaning of this interruption?”

“Sir.” Brennan said, gasping for air after their long sprint. “I have new evidence.”

He handed over Barath’s journals.

“The priest was not murdered!” Thrum barked. “He took his own life! This woman is innocent, she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

The man’s face began to shift from anger to something else, something Thrum couldn’t quite place. Then his eyes seemed fixed on something. His eyes flicked upwards, and Thrum followed them to a familiar figure who was standing as part of the audience of nobles and merchants who’d been allowed to view the execution up close.

Rich purple robes, rich jewelry.

Eyes like silver ingots and blue topaz.

“Calder Pell, please step forward.” The Exankatur pointed at Calder.

Calder stepped forward calmly, not even acknowledging the two Komturs that began slowly moving towards him.

“Exankatur, how can I be of assistance?” Calder’s voice was soft and low, and yet it seemed to carry across the whole courtyard.

“Berath Drael speaks of you in these heretical documents.” The Exankatur said, holding out the documents in a clenched fist. “Explain your involvement.”

“I simply let the man see. As you all will see soon enough.” Then Calder fixed Thrum with a stare.

Everything stopped. Everyone was frozen in place. Except Calder.

Stepping forward and circling first around Mira Voss, regarding her curiously, he then moved towards Thrum and his friends.

“Very good.” The sly smile on his face made Thrum shiver. “This is not the first time we have danced. In fact we have done it so often that I am glad to see some new movements at last.”

He stepped in front of each of them, regarding them with cold stares, and Thrum wanted to punch the man in the face. In fact he was, he could feel himself doing it, and yet his body wouldn’t move. Calder simply laughed.

“If only this were this a problem you could fix with your fists, Thrum.”

Thrum could only watch as the man extended his index finger towards him, gently rubbing away a spot of dry tacky blood. He examined the finger tip, then pinched and rub to grind away the clotted substance.

“I encourage all of you to continue. Perhaps this time it will be different.” Calder walked up and down the row of them, like a general inspecting his troops. “Perhaps this time, you will see what I see.”

He began walking back to where he’d been. And Thrum’s eyes went wide.

For he was no longer alone.

As he turned to face them, The Veiled Lady appeared behind him.

“I’ll see you soon.” His face split into a grin more unnerving than the eyes of the Veiled Lady behind him.

Then time resumed, the Komturs forcibly grabbed him by the shoulders and began hauling him away.

He never stopped smiling.

Wrolin stepped into the cramped little room, several loaves of bread cradled in her arms. Nanu sat leaning against a wall, still nursing her left side. It would take Wrolin several days of intense healing to mend all of her broken bones and ruptured muscles.

“At last!” Thrum said, roughly tearing a loaf from her arms and biting into it. “I’m starving.”

“You literally ate half a pig’s worth of salted pork six hours ago.” Nanu moaned miserably.

“Bah! An appetizer!” Thrum coughed out between a mouthful of bread.

“Any news of Mira?” Wrolin asked, passing out the bread to the others.

“Oh yes!” Aldrich said. “Brennan sent a message saying that once the legal formalities are complete, Mira will be released. He expects within a week or so.”

“And what about Calder Pell?”

Silence followed in the wake of the name.

“Brennan… isn’t sure. There is no official arrest record for him. He checked the prison himself and could not find him.” Aldrich said.

“Well, I guess there’s nothing to do but wait then.” Wrolin said, hopping on the bed beside Aldrich. “Where’s Genhice?”

Thrum rumbled with a low laugh.

“Said he was going back to the Weeping Willow inn.” Thrum had a sparkle in his eye. “I wouldn’t expect him back tonight.”

Wrolin smiled.

“Good for him.”