Prelude

Gheorgas stifled his urge to wet his drying mouth with effort. He was afraid, afraid like he had never been before in his life – and just a fortnight ago he had had a dagger pressed against his neck. Now, he was simply hiding in a crowd, features hiding under the dark hood, matching what the rest of the assembly was wearing. There was nothing that could make the others suspect him – nothing but the urge to loudly wet his parched lips and tongue and the slight tremble of his hands.

Like a moth flying into open flame, he was unable to resist and dared another glance – only to swallow the gasp and feel his heart racing harder than before. It was him. He knew him. He was there with Klauseric and King Brand when… when he…

An exit. He needed an exit and fast. This was way beyond espionage. This was way beyond skullduggery and the Trade. This was wicked, unnatural, and not just because of the sight of the man at the other side of the room. The air itself felt stale in there, the scent of expensive perfumes mixing horribly with the distant smell of dirt and scat and even fish. The light, scarce and weak as only a handful of scattered candles were present, seemed lazy, reluctant, and the noises came muted, as if not daring to rise above a whisper. He needed to get out. He needed to get out now. But as great as his fear was, he knew he had to wait for to leave now was to be discovered.

So, Gheorgas waited. He waited as the man talked in whispers with the mysterious nun with the veiled face, ever flirting with the edge of the single candlelight near them but never quite entering its gaze. He waited as they whispered of others, trying in his terror to hold the names and cities, that seemed to span the Kingdoms. He waited as the others around him, whispered a word he didn’t quite catch once the two turned and spoke to them. He waited until the woman and the man finally began to leave, heading towards the dark, oak door that led to the main castle halls. Only then did he sigh in relief, the mere thought of leaving enough to offer hope.

That hope died when the woman turned, metal glistening with candlelight under the veil. The man turned with her and following her gaze until he met Gheorgas’ – who simply waited as, without an order, a shout or even a nod, one from the hooded crowd behind him slowly, carefully, slid a long stiletto between his ribs.

He tried to scream but his pierced lung stole even that from him. And as his vision faded, his eyes were locked with the grey, dead eyes of Olfrand of Riismark, a man he’d seen die years ago.

Chapter 1

To Temple Brother Siegmund of Ront

Argem Office

Dear Siegmund,

I will dispense with the pleasantries of the written word and cut to the chase. Time, I feel, is of the essence. She can’t keep slipping through our fingers and the Dawn is breathing down my neck – I am not sure which unnerves me more. That being said, I do feel we need to stop trying to rush to wherever we think she might be and start focusing on where she has been. Despite their huge differences, at least some of these sects must be more connected, must share contacts, plans, anything.

The ‘good’ news is that reports continue to increase, so there are plenty of options to explore and investigate. It is, of course, extremely hard to discern between the ones with any substance to them and simply extravagant gossip – so beloved among the bored nobility – however I do believe that three cases stand out. The trail is not as cold here as well, not in the sense that I would suggest any greater chance of her actually being present in any of the following locations, but the communities there are active and enduring, elements which I hope imply some form of greater attention on her part or at least they serve a greater part in her plan – whatever that is. These candidates are:

In Vaanburg: An Axe Knight by the name of Shermann d’Auz has founded a new, very exclusive hunting club for the young nobility. Members include multiple second or third in line members of local minor nobility. For all intents and purposes, these would be unremarkable, however reports suggest that young d’Auz had suffered a mortal injury during a boar hunt last season. While his death was not verified officially, a maid did “swear on the Mother” that she had personally prepared his body. That maid is now missing. If this is indeed one of the Whisperer’s communities, then an attempt to influence so many different noble families could suggest a grander plot at work there. Reported by Questor Sister Eva Crussandi requesting assistance of Militant. Strong support available, due to various local Order Chapters.

In Sieva: While Solifea Vozdaya is not exactly a reliable source of information at all times – reminding you, she is that former Shield who abandoned her oaths and is now acting constable for the poor wards of the city – she has sent over a dozen letters to the local Temple. And attempted to send another dozen to the Dawn, of all people. She believes that the local rumors of the fortress being haunted have rung a little too true of late. I would wait for something more substantial, however Sieva is the gate from East to West and perhaps we cannot afford to leave it to chance.

In Siilstok: Perhaps the case with the more solid evidence, however I see local politics being affected more than anything and there is a Temple presence in the area already. This was reported by a Markman King, Brand of something or another, right hand of Fredrik. Considering what the Sword pulled in Riismark, I find the fact alone that he decided to bring this to the local Temple’s attention noteworthy. One would assume they had other things in mind at the moment. Rumors placed one Olfrand, former high nobility of Riismark before Fredrik’s… rearrangements in the area, seeking refuge in Siilstok’s court. Considering Fredrik had killed the man, this seemed unlikely, so Brand sent one of his men who knew Olfred’s face to investigate. The man has since disappeared.

I have sent more details for each case through the usual, more secure channels. The choice is yours but, please, a one-person retinue is mandatory. I don’t want another Arburg.

For the Temple,

Master Andre de Chevonny.

Choice

• Go to Vaanburg
• Go to Sieva
• Go to Siilstok

Chapter 2

“Good morning, Mr. Tok!” cried the baker, her polite smile wide and warm. “What a lovely day we’re…”

“Good morning, Mr. Tok,” the man returned the greeting politely but entirely absentmindedly, without a hint of sarcasm, humor or ill-intent coloring his voice. Wide eyed and with the smile now frozen uncertainly on her face, the baker took the coins offered; twice the price of the buttered bread Mr. Tok had stuck in his mouth as he had reached in his scribe robes for the coins, dropping a rather significant looking paper while doing so.

“This is too much, Mr. Tok,” she tried to say as the man bent awkwardly to pick the fallen paper, his robes sending another buttered bread on the floor as the man got up. Bread ever held in his mouth, Mr. Tok looked at the baker intently. The baker’s husband tried not to chuckle.

“Never mind,” the woman said. “Counted wrong is all. You have a nice day now…”

The man had gone.

“…you weird, weird man,” she finished.

“They say he’s a genius, you know. Too clever for his own good, that man,” her husband remarked. “Mind all over the place.”

“Mind not all there, in other words,” she answered, shaking her head.

“Say, have you seen her this morning?” Mr. Tok’s head said, peeking from the door, with his body leaning awkwardly backwards outside.

“Said she was going to the slums, wanted to check with the pigeons,” the woman turned somewhat ambushed. “Oh, and Mr. Tok we were talking…”

The man had gone.

*             *             *

He found her the way he usually found her when she visited the slums. So, when he passed by an alley that smelled of urine, stale alcohol and blood, he put two and two together and peaked in. The sight of a handful of thugs lying in various states of violence was no surprise. Despite his eagerness, her talking to someone at the darkest corner of the alley gave him pause, so he leaned against the wall by the alley’s entrance and tried to recreate the scene as he waited, finishing off his bread. Then, bored, he took out the letter and read it again.

“You are safe, girl, yes?” she said almost merrily in her heavy accent, a bloodied figure with wild hair, a swollen cheek, bright eyes and scarred face, blood dripping from her hair and an open smile showing a missing tooth. “I am…”

The girl fainted.

She sighed, tired, then allowed herself to pant freely for some moments, the calm facade dissolving, touching her swollen face with a wince. With her composure regained, she groaned as she picked up the girl, carrying her to the exit of the alley. She stopped there and looked down at the man with the broken collarbone. He was groaning, barely moving, face buried in the dirt.

“I did try,” she said and made to move on but stopped again.

“But not much,” she added before leaving him there.

“We’re done here?” Mr. Tok asked.

“We?” she asked, with an amused smile, her ‘we’ sounding more like a ‘ve’ to any silly enough to remark on it. He wasn’t that silly, so he shrugged. “Why are you here, Ben?”

He smiled and produced the letter.

“They are sending someone. To help us find her.”

“What?” she exclaimed, surprised. “When?” she then asked, eyes frowning, while fixing her hold on the girl, before she started moving again, ignoring the people looking at her carrying an unconscious person on her lap.

“Came by horse, not special delivery…” he said, rocking his head left and right. “I’d say two days, between second and third watch, north gate, with a caravan, if he doesn’t want to be seen.”

“Who?” she asked. He just shoved the letter in front of her, tapping poignantly at the signature. She simply shrugged, somewhat relieved, not recognizing the name.

“We were planning on visiting the fort,” he said. “It is Friday. Full moon.” She sighed, tired. “If we wait we could lose them!”

“And if we go alone while knowing they are coming…” her voice trailed off. “I am not exactly in good standing with them. We could lose any chance of support; now or in the future.”

He shrugged. “Your call, boss.”

Choice

• We wait.
• We go tonight.

Chapter 3

88 St. Neath Street, Bridge Ward, Sieva.

“Ben! FOCUS!”

The thundering voice drowned the sounds of the busy St. Neath street, booming against the massive wall of the Petraepes above the neighborhood, and giving pause to the neighborhood for a moment. A handful of passersby from other areas looked around alarmed, but most locals instinctively turned to look at a specific door, then shrugged and resumed their days, all too familiar with ‘Madam Vozdaya’ and her ‘loudness’. It was, to an extent, somewhat of a local attraction. Curious, the non-locals followed their eyes and saw a simple wooden door, its once bright blue color now faded to a dusty, muted violet. Above the door, a worn sign caused some to smile, some more to curse and others, the occasional child mostly, to exclaim in wonder when they noticed the shield shape with a purple sun design, even if they could not read the simple inscription: Solifea Vozdaya– Licensed Bayle.

Oblivious or indifferent to all these eyes outside staring at her door, Solifea rubbed her temple in a tired gesture, as she relented under Benjamin’s hurt look and added, in a much milder tone, a ‘please’. She was sitting behind her desk, the letter from the Sealed Temple resting over a pile of correspondence, wanted posters and expired warrants. Benjamin, standing behind his desk and in front of the board he used to present his case notes, looked around uncertain and confused, avoiding to look at her.

“Yes,” he said in the end. “Of course. Point is, we have absolutely zero certainty but high probability, therefore observation would be the sole method of confirmation.”

She looked at him blankly.

“So… We know nothing until we see something?” she asked. He nodded. “You have a board, Ben…” He nodded again. “With at least two dozen clues marked connecting to cases of missing persons and more than half of them involving families currently engaged in… spirited inheritance debates.” A third, enthusiastic nod. “And I can’t even count how many notes you have on each of these.”

“I am sorry, Solifea,” he said, meekly. “I admit, these are conjectures, not evidence. But, baring excruciatingly improbable coincidence, or rather series of coincidences, then there is a pattern here. It’s just a pattern without a physical footprint.”

“But are you sure they are meeting tonight?” He nodded. “And you are sure they use the Fortress?”

He tilted his head left and right. “No, not certain. But it is the most logical topological approach.”

“Meaning someone would have noticed something if it were anywhere else,” she said. “Makes sense and if it’s all we have then it must be enough. Where in the Fortress then?” He blinked uncertainly. “I see,” she sighed. “Any guesses then?”

“I don’t guess,” he said, almost offended and she smiled, teasingly.

“What are ‘conjectures’ then?”

“Informed speculations.”

“Aha…”

They both smiled, she even chuckled a little.

“I am sorry I yelled, Ben,” she said after a few moments. “I can be impatient sometimes.” He nodded, flashed a thankful smile, then she went on.

“The Fortress is a big place,” she said.

“We could…”

“We’re not splitting up,” she interrupted him. “So, low chances of success tonight but we can’t just do nothing either. Best gue-… Best informed speculation? I’ve always thought that it’s the Fortress. All these rumors about it being haunted would be the perfect cover for them.”

“A surface-level thought, Solifea, I’ve told you.”

“Let’s broaden the search then. The tunnels beneath maybe? Easy enough to reach from the Quarries, deep enough to remain unseen in one of the tunnels, if one knows any entrances from the Ward proper.”

He nodded. “Very possible. It’d mean they have connections in the underworld, though. Get some… protection. Otherwise, they’d risk being observed. Dusters, sniffers, destitute, they all use them for shelter and smugglers aplenty too. Remember Zoitan?”

She chuckled, mostly to humor him, but went on. “He won’t play that lute again any time soon. OK, but even if it’s the Fortress itself they use, if they don’t use the tunnels to reach it, how to they get to it? They either scale the Drop or they’d have to bribe the guards to reach the Fortress itself. And avoid patrols.”

“Or…”

“Or have men inside the guard… ”

“Would fit the hidden and mistimed disappearance cases.”

“Very high profile, though,” she remarked, thoughtfully. “The Templars say that in other cities, they seem to form societies, groups, Theist chapels or Deist sects. We have found no evidence of this here.” She sighed, tired, then lifted her legs on the pile of documents on her desk.

“Still, it’s a good idea. Tackle the approach, rather than try to find a needle in a haystack. So, we can try to check the Quarries and keep an eye out on the tunnel entrances we know. Maybe put some pressure on some old friends to see if they know something.”

“I am sure a lot of people will be happy to see us there, yes,” Benjamin remarked.

“Or we try to keep an eye out on the Drop itself. On a full moon, shouldn’t be too hard.”

“Which, on the other hand, makes it more unlikely as well, as a means of clandestine approach,” he remarked.

“Good point but we can’t exclude it either. And then there’s the front door.”

“The one with all the guards who very much dislike our licensed but not sword Baillif office?”

“The very same…” she smiled.

Choice

• Observe the Quarries.
• Monitor the Drop.
• Steak out the front gate of the Fortress.

Chapter 4

“…and yet, amazingly, my paper was largely ignored. Worst, it was dismissed! Can you imagine? They kept talking about lack of evidence and wild theories. And those were the kind comments. The others were… well, you know how people sometimes call me rude things.”

Solifea knew. And usually, when his voice trailed off like that, colored by shame and guilt – as if he had done something wrong! – Solifea became angry. But at that point, shamefully, she felt relieved. Usually, unless she urged him on, what followed that tone of voice was silence and right now she would welcome it. In fact, she needed it because Solifea was already angry. Throwing another handful of sunflower seeds in her gaping mouth and munching them with intensity, she allowed Ben to retreat into his mind for a bit, hoping it giving her own racing thoughts some peace.

It didn’t.

“Walk me through the pattern again,” she said and, as he eagerly inhaled to start, she added firmly, “in simple terms, Ben. We need the Templar to understand. And I will keep interrupting you, like he will.” He sighed, then started.

“People go missing,” he said flatly and somewhat sarcastically. She stifled a sigh but played along.

“Yes. It’s Sieva. People go missing all the time.”

“True. Approximately 4,7 per month, on average, to be precise. However, among the multiple disappearances, no one noticed that some occur on the night of a full moon, every three months, though sometimes two. No one noticed that this has happened consistently for the past six years either. Well… fiv-…” he stopped, mid-sentence, noticing her glance. “More or less six years,” he added.

She nodded and motioned for him to continue. “You are not sure how many or how often?” she said, a little theatrically. She knew all this, but it would be important for both of them to be able to talk to the Temple Brother about it. And, Aspects knew, Ben could use the practice.

“Ah, yes. See, some months seem… vacant,” Benjamin went on. “The gaps seem much larger than two or even three months. They are not. They, whoever they are, are simply being clever. A minority of the lunar cycle disappearances are high profile victims, who are usually reported the next day, at worst two or three after. That is what helped us suspect a pattern in the first place. Most, however, are not.”

“What do you mean?” she urged him on.

“High-profile cases – namely, citizens from wealthy and influential families – tend to both be reported faster and also be recorded and followed more thoroughly. That is not the case with… others. As you yourself mentioned, people go missing in large cities all the time. Regrettably, the authorities don’t investigate or record all disappearances with the same vigor.”

“How, then,” she asked, almost absentmindedly, as she turned to look high once more. Her eyes tinted with a silver glint, she scoured the cliffs of the Drop for the thousandth time that night, only to see nothing at all.

“Well… We investigated,” Benjamin replied. “To be honest, it was by accident at first. A dyer, missus Anaktova, from Miner’s Alley up in the Quarries, came to us for help, as her son had gone missing and the authorities were doing nothing about it. Now, she came to us seven days after his disappearance and she had only reported to the guards a few days before that, for it was not unusual for him to disappear for nights in a row, only to be brought back, drunk, or robbed or both. We never found him – in fact, we never found a single trace of him nor any witnesses near any of his usual ‘dives’.” He paused, looking proud with his use of slang and Solifea, turning to see what gave him pause, offered a rewarding smile. “What we did find,” he went on, “was that the actual time of his disappearance matched those few high-profile cases on the lunar cycle we had begun to find curious. He had, indeed, disappeared the afternoon before a full moon night. That got us thinking if there’s a bunch of others that matched the pattern, so we looked up ignored cases. Little by little, the pattern was reinforced. And here we are.”

She nodded, satisfied, but her expression as her eyes kept scanning the Drop yet again drew dark and impatient.

“Someone might be dying,” she said. “Right at this moment.” Her voice bathed in irritation, as her foot kept tapping the floor. Benjamin, pulled back from his own spiraling thoughts, looked at her and nodded matter-of-factly, acknowledging it as a possibility, “And we’re stuck here, staring at some cliffs, seeing nothing, doing nothing.” Ben simply nodded again, which irritated her even more. Ben was, she knew, a loyal, loving even, and immensely intelligent friend and business partner but often lacked in empathy.

“We should try the tunnels,” she blurted out, impatiently. “Or go to the gate.”

“We could,” he said. “But what’s done is done, by now, I’d say. “It’s less than two watches from dawn. If there even was a killing tonight.

“Well, we can’t just keep sitting here staring at the rocks!” she said and he nodded in agreement.

“I’d say the most logical course of action at this time is to get some rest, meet with the Templar tomorrow and keep an ear to the ground about anyone disappearing this night. I know you are not particularly fond of them or your previous colleagues but a good impression would help us convince him this is a legitimate case. Showing up late and poorly rested won’t help.”

“Yes, how very logical of you, Ben,” she said bitterly. “That is one good, logical piece of advice, isn’t it?” Once more, he retreated into silence, staring at her as if trying to understand what he had done wrong. She stared at him, uncertain, pulled by her compassion towards him and her anger at failing so far this night. “Well, you’re right that it’s late. We don’t have time to reach the gate now. We could try the tunnels?” she asked with a mild tone.

He stared at her, blankly.

“I am going home,” he said as he turned to walk away.

Choice

• You are right, I am sorry. Let’s call it a night.
• Well, I am not giving up, Ben. I’ll try the tunnels before dawn.

Chapter 5

Part of her hated it when he was right.

Solifea spent hours scouring through the tunnel-alleys of the Quarries, to no avail. Sure, she roughed up a couple of fresh sniffers who thought they could mug her, gift-wrapped for the patrol a drunk duster who tried to sell to her and then helped that same patrol when his friends came to rescue him. But as far her investigation was concerned, she saw nothing, heard nothing and none of her contacts told her anything either. The tunnels she knew went deeper and possibly connected to the Fort looked abandoned and unused, save from the wraiths of people that sniffers became after years of use. And, as she refused to fund their self-destruction even under the circumstances, they had no tales to tell either, save for tall ones and blatant lies. So, as she decided to call it a night, she thought again about how part of her hated it when he was right but what she hated more was her being wrong.

Cussing under her breath, she wrapped her cloak tightly around her and turned towards the open streets. It was cold in the Quarries, usually through the day, but doubly so in the small hours and until near midday at least, for the sun only touched the face of the district much later in the day. “Bright and warm as a Quarries dawn” the saying went sarcastically and she felt it, as a shiver climbed up her spine, making her shake her head to dispel the feeling.

When she reached the open road crawling like a snake, the magnificent view of the city below spread before her. As the full moon slid towards the horizon, the city was bathed in pale light that muted color, but the city’s splendor could not be hidden. From high above, the tower roof gardens of the city and the endless fabrics spread around any and all high places, usually sparkling bright and colorful, now danced lazily in shades of grey and white, as if nature and manmade wonders alike were carved of living silver. She wondered at the sight as she started descending the street down the cliff, but soon forgot the beauty. The cold somehow got, not worse, but more invasive, as the humidity from the river crawled under her cloak, clothing and even skin. Cussing once more, she tightened her cloak around her chest, put her head down while raising her shoulders as if that would shield her more, and headed downhill, towards the office.

“Heroes…” she heard a soft voice say. “Heroes are not supposed to curse.”

Another chill climbed up her spine only this time it was not from the cold. Instinctively, she turned towards the whispering voice, hand already tight around her sword’s hilt under the cloak. She saw a man, young and lightly dressed in a white shirt under a dark, velvet cloak, his skin pale and shivering, lips almost blue from the cold. He was sitting on a bench on the side of the street, overlooking the city proper below, looking at her over his shoulder with a weak smile; he looked like a romantic soul sulking over a lover, Solifea thought, the cold and sleeplessness not mattering or even appropriate companions to his heart’s ache in his foolish, youthful mind. Solifea nevertheless kept her hand on her sword and threw a cautious glance around. Street thugs and muggers sometimes used such distractions.

“I am no hero,” she said in her thick, Russ accent. “Go home, boy. You’ll catch pneumonia like this. Drown your love-struck heart in spirits, if you must. At least it’s warmer.”

His smile widened and he got up, turning to face her with the bench between them.

“Helping again. Caring. Saving people. You are a hero.”

“I am a bailiff. That is not the same thing,” she answered then, relaxing her posture, she went on. “Wait, do I know you from somewhere? Do you know me?”

The young man nodded, the smile never waving.

“We have met though I do not think you would remember me. It doesn’t matter,” the young man shrugged. “You will remember me tomorrow.”

“Seems like I was wrong. You are already drowned in spirits,” she chuckled and turned to leave. “Go home, boy. Get warm.”

“You took something from Her,” the boy said. She paused.

“What did you say?” she asked, turning to face him.

“You took something from Her and now She will take something from you.”

“Wait. I do know you,” she said, taking a step towards him. The boy took a step back in response. “You were in that alley. The one who did not want to do what the others did to that girl. The boy I…”

“Yes,” he said.

“Who are you talking about? How did you know I’d be here? What will she take from me?”

The young man’s smile widened.

“The girl!” she suddenly exclaimed. “She was supposed to be…”

The young man nodded again, the smile ever-present on his face.

“You took something from Her,” he said. “She will take something from you.”

And with that, he took two steps back and jumped off the cliff.

Choice

• Ben! – Fearing for her partner’s life, Solifea rushed to the office.
• No! – If the boy knows anything, Solifea must see if he survived the fall.

Chapter 6

Eyes glistening silver in the gloom of a dawn hidden by the Drop above her, Solifea run like the wind, caring little about how unsettling her speed could seem or about how – yet again – she was betraying her promise to herself to not use any of the Blessings. She had given that promise when she had renounced the Shield and opened a legitimate Bailiff’s office. She had broken it a hundred times over, sometimes without even realizing it. She was absolutely, deliberately and with no second-guesses breaking it again now. Because, there were many reasons she had made that promise in the first place, the catalyst had been Ben.

Few people could understand her connection to Ben. Most people thought they were siblings. In what physical resemblance they based this on was beyond Solifea’s comprehension but, in some ways, she could see the source of their confusion. Not many people could endure working with someone like Benjamin Tok. Fewer would have the strength to care for him; not without being related to him. And even less would allow him to walk free if they knew what she did about him. When she met him, she abandoned her duties as a Knight of the Shield to work with him. And not because he had saved her life, although that did allow her to get to know him in the first place. Because Ben was bloody brilliant, but without someone to keep him anchored to the world, the world would lose him. What’s worse, he would lose the world. And he deserved a whole bloody world just as much as the world would be less without him.

Promising doom in her mind to any who threatened him, she sped like a maniac through the city streets until she reached the office. She didn’t even stop to take her keys out.

Ben woke up screaming.

To be fair, this happened at least twice each night, once because of some revelation which was more often than not forgotten by morning and another because of the nightmares. In fact, he had already woken up screaming before, that very night. But this time was different. This time, the source of the scream was the noise. The wood that held the door’s locks moaned and cracked but the door broke before all locks gave way, a bunch of splinters escaping as the heavy figure of Solifea burst in, her loud pants filling the room, before dogs started barking and neighbors started shouting.

They looked at each other in the gloom, him with the cover brought to his face as he had sat up on the couch, her panting at the door, eyes fading out in the darkness.

“You slept on the couch,” she said, in the end.

“I wanted to know when you come back,” he answered.

“Well. Now you do,” she said.

“The whole neighborhood knows, Sol,” he answered frankly, and she laughed, before she was next to him, hugging him, his hands uncomfortably stiff, his eyes wide.

*             *             *

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, pouring coffee, after they’ve dismissed the patrol. “You abandoned the best lead we have had so far because you thought he meant me.”

She did not reply.

“You did so even though the message was clear: she took the one you had spared earlier that same day in the alley. I mean, it was obvious.”

“Yes,” she said sarcastically. “Obvious.”

“Aha. That was not very clever, Sol,” he said. She gave him a few moments before answering and, to his good fortune, he eventually got there. “Still, I appreciate the sentiment,” he added. “And I can see the misunderstanding on your part. They are obviously aware of us. It is safe to assume that, at least as of the alley incident, they’ve been tracking us – or tracking you specifically. Which is how they knew where the boy should wait for you. Which also meant they would likely know where the office is.”

She looked at him. She hadn’t even realized half of that, really. She had just acted out as it felt right, like she usually did. “My thoughts exactly,” she said.

“Amusing, really,” he went on. “We spent all night watching out for them when they were likely already watching us.”

“I am practically in stiches,” she said.

“Look at the bright side, partner,” he said, smiling. “We’ve actually rattled them. We’ve drawn them out. And confirmed Her presence.”

“I have actually thought of that, yes,” she muttered, sipping coffee. “Question is, what next?”

“Well, for starters we need to cover our door with a sheet,” he said, waving and smiling politely at the latest curious group that was peaking in from their broken door. “Then, we have to go find the Templar and get him in the city.”

“Why? He probably isn’t coming until tomorrow, no? You said two days.”

“True,” he said. “But if we are being watched, as we likely are, I was thinking we could leave, meet him before he comes into the city. It would be easier to spot someone tailing us and they will likely not attempt it. They might even consider the possibility that we are skipping town. We find the Templar, update him on the situation, then we send him to the Flightless Goose to stay, which would be usual for you to visit. Perhaps this way we can keep the Templar a secret, an ace in the sleeve if you will.”

“We can’t leave the office like this, and we don’t have time to fix the door,” she said, tired. “Not to mention I haven’t closed an eyelid for a moment. I am also not convinced we should update the Templar; not fully, at least. You don’t know their type. They like to be in control. If he finds out we tried an operation yesterday even though we knew he is coming, he might think us unreliable. He could take what we know then do his own thing without involving us.”

“Nonsensical,” he said. “Perhaps your opinion is… biased?”

“Perhaps but it is a possibility,” she shrugged. “Listen, I don’t dismiss the benefits of keeping the Templar as a secret weapon. We can be the loud front; he can do the shadowing. But if rattling their feathers once forced their hand, perhaps we can do it again. Adding one to the team might help. At the very least, it will force them to up the surveillance, making it easier to spot.”

Choice

• Go meet the Templar outside the city.
• Let the Templar find them.

Chapter 7

“How will we know him?” Ben asked.

“He will know us,” Solifea answered.

“How can you be so sure?”

“Oh, it’s easy,” she answered nonchalantly, as she stepped out of her room, floor sighing with every step and a broad smile on her face.

“Ah,” he said, then, after a moment’s pause he added “It could use a polish. Maybe some oiling?” Her smile gone, she looked at him confused, then looked down at her armor.

It looked simple enough; a chain mail suit, reinforced with plating on the thighs, a gorget and a single pauldron over her right shoulder. It looked old, the chain rings dark and the plating greyed, almost tarnished. But as she moved her hands to check her armor, her movements comfortable beyond Benjamin’s comprehension, the armor barely sighed or rang, the pauldron shifting seamlessly with her shoulder’s movements, countless hidden joints and pieces of plating fitting her like a second skin, while on the surface the plating looked almost the same.

“Looks fine to me,” she said. “It’s supposed to look like this. The Shield makes them so. Shiny, silvery metal would attract attention, see? But this? When you blend in as a mercenary or with the militia, it could just be something looted or found in one’s attic, yes?” she said and he winced, his eyes locked on that pauldron and its mesmerizing movement.

“Yes, of course,” he added in a weird tone. “Anyone could have one of these.” She nodded, innocently, smiling.

“It’s light too, compared to what you’d expect. For travelling on foot,” she explained, as she brought her scabbard around her waste. “Lot’s of travelling on foot as an Errant,” she said, almost wistfully. “Horses are expensive, they attract attention,” she went on as she balanced her maul behind her back.

Stifling a snicker, as if she had been joking, he changed the subject. “You miss it?” he asked.

“Not at all,” she said. “Shall we?”

He nodded and smiled as he jumped down from the desk he was sitting on, letting her lead the way. He usually missed the cues that allowed one to read people but even he could notice the spring in her step, despite her long night. She had missed that armor, he thought and, as an afterthought, he added, she had missed what it meant to wear it too.

“North gate then?” she asked. “Caravan?”

“If he tries to hide, yes. If he doesn’t, then west. He’d come from Arburg, probably.”

She paused, just as she was lifting the big plunk of wood they had bought to cover their entrance.

“Templars don’t like hiding. Not Temple Brothers at least. Their whole point is for the world to see what they’re capable of, if you ask me. On the field, at least.”

He shrugged. “If he is desperate enough to come to us for help, they are running out of leads elsewhere and She has eluded them thus far. I think he’d try to hide.”

“Or, the fact that he and his lot don’t hide is exactly why she has been eluding them,” she retorted. He starred at the giant maul in her back for a moment before shrugging.

“Your call, boss,” he said.

Choice

• North gate
• West gate
• Split up

Chapter 9

“You there!”

The voice came low and husky; it was the voice of a man who’s spent hours upon hours in the stuffy air of disreputable inns, until, inevitably, the stench of opiates and stale ale scarred throats and broke voices. The face and expression matched the tale; scarred cheek, rough skin, haunted eyes, and a four-to-five-day beard to further testify that decorum mattered little.

“There’s our man,” Solifea whispered to Benjamin as she eyed one of the caravan’s guards who had broken off from the pack and was walking towards them. Ben looked awkwardly at her over his shoulder, then the man, then at her again.

“How can you tell?” he asked.

“Tries too hard,” she said, stifling a chuckle. “Never heard of a man with such a voice leaving the inn that gave it to them.” It wasn’t how she could tell, of course. He sported no company’s crest or colors, for one. Had he been wearing, he would risk meeting someone asking all kinds of questions; no good for a Templar playing guard. Then it was the walk, the way the hand rested on the sword; few have skill enough to suppress such things. And then, there was the way he measured her as much as she was him. That man expected to see her but was not sure what to expect until he saw her. Her eyes’ glimmer fading, she looked bored and agitated as she answered him.

“Aye, raven, what’d you want?” she played along. Caravan guard freelancers were often called that. It rhymed with craven. If a company did not respect you enough to pay you, chances are you were just there for show, circling the carriages, only to fly away at the first sign of trouble.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, spitting annoyed. “I work alone better. Guard, are you?”

“More or less. Had trouble?”

“Nah, all clear for miles,” the man answered looking up the rock Solifea and Ben were seating. He had not tried to come too close. Good. “Know the city, non-guard?” he went on.

“I do. If you are looking for an inn, the Flightless Goose’s your place, I’d say.”

“That’s good and all,” he said, “but I am looking for work. We’re coming from Elysses and Soldier damn me if I walk another mile.” He spat and cleared his throat before he added. “Perhaps something easy, quiet. Night work, even better.”

“I see. There’s night work, alright,” she replied, “though not the kind a non-guard would send you to, usually. You want something square with the Aspects and on the level, there’s sometimes a midnight shift open at ol’Aldegov’s warehouse. Boys keep breaking in, stealing women’s undergarments, the pervs. You think you’d handle that?”

“Not tonight, for sure. But I’ll see to it. I should clean up, though. Know a bathhouse?”

“No, no bathhouse I’d send you to.”

He nodded and turned. “Aspects with ya,” he said as he was walking off.

“Aye, alright,” she returned and sat next to Ben, shushing him when he opened his mouth. Only after the caravan was gone did she look at him.

“We’re meeting him at the Goose then?” he asked.

“No, no,” she answered. “He’s alone and he wants to keep it that way. We’re meeting him tomorrow, midnight, at the square with the Trickster’s statue, near the Goose. Told him to keep undercover at least until then and we can decide our approach.” Ben blinked.

“I know I get distracted sometimes but that’s not what you said to him…”

“Trust me Ben,” she said with a smile, putting her hand on his shoulder. “It’s settled. Let’s stay tonight out of town. Talk with a couple more mercenaries and such. Ask if there’s been trouble, like we did with him. Just in case someone’s watching. Tomorrow we can go to the meeting.”

“Are we telling him everything then?”

Solifea sighed.

Choice

• Share everything.
• First we need to learn more about him.

Chapter 10

“No.”

It was an unexpected answer.

“N… No?” he asked, gently.

“We can’t tell him everything,” she explained, and he shook his head, ambushed before he had realized what she was referring to. She had thought about it for a day, which Ben had found exceedingly uncharacteristic of her. She had stayed quiet, then, thoughtful, then proceeded to play her part as she had planned. They had spent another night by the road, now and then engaging mercenaries or answering questions. Her plan, he had realized, was to behave like someone who tried to hide the fact they were trying to hire mercenaries. Better yet, she only seriously questioned mercenaries from organized companies, making it seem like she was thinking of hiring manpower, not just a sword or two, and throwing any possible observants off the scent of the Templar.

Now, as they were walking slowly back towards the city, her eyes seemed focused in the distance and she spoke lowly but with certainty, excitement even.

“Ah, alright, but I asked how much you think Sekka will ask for the door, so…”

“We won’t tell him about the boy that jumped to his death, for starters,” she went on with her thoughts, ignoring him. “Most importantly, we won’t share the fact they probably know about us.”

“That sounds… danger-.” He paused, realization hitting him. “You think to use him as bait!” he exclaimed, smiling.

“The opposite,” she said. “We will be the bait. He will be covering our backs. But we won’t tell him he is covering our backs. That way, we’ll know what alloy he’s been forged with.”

“Solifea, I think you are losing it.”

She scoffed, and for a moment he looked hurt but then he noticed her smile and they both chuckled.

“I mean it, though,” he went on. “Don’t you think you are overcomplicating things?”

“Maybe,” she said, shrugging. “But I’ve been squeezing my brain for an idea about how to find out more about the guy. And the truth is, unless we send riders or he volunteers information, we can’t. And even if both those would happen, the question I care about answering the most is this: can we trust him in a bind?”

“I see.”

“So, we’ll present to him the evidence we had up to the last full moon. Nothing more, nothing less. Nothing about the events of the other night. We went to observe, but they don’t seem to be scaling the Drop, at least, and our contacts in the Quarries either know or say nothing. That’s our story.”

Ben nodded, kicking a stone absentmindedly. “It’s getting dark,” he said. “I think I’d like to wash before meeting him.”

Her eyes widened, surprised. “You want to meet him? I was thinking I would go to the Goose, pretend to have a chill night out after our little trip out of the city, then meet him half-drunk at the square. You think you should be the one to go?”

He shrugged. “We know they follow your movements, we are not sure about mine. It’d a safer bet.”

“You think you can stick to what I told you?”

“Positively possible, yes,” he grinned.

She paused, for a moment, in thought. She’d rather meet the Templar herself and Ben could be… an acquired taste, but what he had proposed had made sense…

Choice

• Solifea will go – Solifea will risk the meeting being tracked but she (and the audience) will have control over the discussion.
• Ben will go –  The risk to be tracked will be lessened but Solifea (and therefore the audience) will not have control over the discussion.
• They will both go.

Chapter 11

“If what you say is true, then we have a month, at least, until they next resurface.”

Silence fell, or at least what passed as silence in the night streets of Sieva. The muffled laughter from the Goose reached them clear enough, stopping only for cheers or teases. Some youths, too young to be out at this time of night as far as Solifea was concerned, could be heard from a couple of alleys to the east, trying to act older by adding profanities to nearly every sentence. A half-drunken group cheerfully sang from afar, mixing their words and singing different lyrics, before they descended into laughter. A lone street performer, too tired, perhaps, to sleep, gently scratched his lute somewhere close by. Then, of course, a shout, a fight, a couple arguing, their sounds bursting suddenly only to disappear into the night as fast as they had sprung to life. Leaning against the statue’s base, a flask or a bottle in hand, the Templar and the two partners looked just like another of those groups that lazily let the night slip away, too tired from the bustle of an inn but not wanting to go home yet either.

Solifea simply nodded, and Siegmund went on.

“I must admit I was hoping for more,” he said but quickly added, as he saw Solifea’s furrowing eyebrows. “But I also admit this is more than we’ve had in other cases. This seems solid and repetitive, which, in theory, should allow us to track it sooner or later. In most other cases, the patterns, the observable activities of these cults, seem erratic, random even. There is… constancy here.”

“Perhaps the constancy was simply missed,” Ben said, some measure of smugness in his voice. To his surprise, Solifea agreed.

“That could be true,” she said. “Ben’s talent to identify patterns is extraordinary. It could be that similar…”

“No,” Siegmund said. “I don’t think so. Admirable as the find is, this case seems different. Feels different. I wonder…” he paused, bringing his bottle in his lips, but he never continued. He looked almost… exited, Solifea noticed.

“You are thinking she is here!” Solifea exclaimed, standing straight as she turned to look at him. “Or at least that she’s somewhat based here.”

“It crossed my mind,” Siegmund admitted. “The city is a hub, a crossroads with avenues to most main cities around the Kingdoms and the Principalities. Control the Petraepes passage and you have access to both sides.”

“That’s why I have been focusing on the Fort,” Solifea said.

“And perhaps you should continue to do so,” the Templar agreed. “But the explanation could simply be that this group is just older, grown bolder, developed more ritualism.”

“If that is true,” Solifea remarked, “then perhaps locating them should have been easier. If they are this ritualistic, they must have a base, convene more than once a month to organize and arrange the murders.”

“And if they are older,” Ben added, “they must know each other, meet, perhaps even socialize. Prolonged exposure to others tends to create bonds, doesn’t it? I so, wouldn’t we have heard something? Seen something?”

Siegmund threw a sideways glance at him but did not respond. All three brought their respective drinks to their mouths, thoughtful.

“You could be made,” Siegmund said after a while and Solifea felt her pulse quicken but tried to keep her composure. “If you’ve asked questions, stirred people, it could be that they know you’re looking for them. So they are just being sure you don’t pick up the trail, because they are thinking you are the only ones looking.”

“That makes sense,” Solifea said simply, shifting her posture, almost without realizing, while being thankful Ben had shown no reaction whatsoever.

“If that is the case, then you must keep doing what you were doing. Keep going after them the same way you have been so far.”

“And what will you do?” she asked.

Siegmund grimaced. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I could trail you, see if you are being followed or watched. Or I could look into that ‘organized’ idea a little more. If they are indeed more organized, they might be using a front. A card club, a hunting or a literary group… Something private that allows them to meet. We believe they’ve used such practices in other cities. Is there anything that connects the victims? Anything that could link them to any-”

“No,” Ben said, flatly. “It’s the first thing I looked for. Whatever criteria they have for choosing their victims. they seem to be random. Women, men, nobles and lowborn, different professions and different parts of the city. My current theory suggests it is deliberately so.”

The Templar nodded, accepting this. “In any case, we need a plan. At least for the next month. I think you should keep doing what you have been doing.”

“And you?” Solifea asked, weighing the man’s reaction.

“I am new and an unknown. Infiltrating their ranks in the past has failed. Repeatedly. I do not intent to share the same fate. But I could just… shop around. Investigate possible fronts, even if I don’t properly join. In any case, I have no contacts here, other than you. I will defer to your judgement,” the Templar said.

Choice

• Trail us – Siegmund will try to see if Solifea and Ben are being watched.
• Investigate clubs – Siegmund will try to see if any private societies or groups could be harboring cultists.

Chapter 12

Days passed. Then a week. And then another.

Solifea and Benjamin tried to behave as they would have anyway; more or less, at least. After the events on the last full moon, Solifea was confident that the cultists knew about her, but the Templar didn’t know that. So, they had to adjust their behavior enough for any spies to think that they were trying to avoid them, while making sure that their secret comrade didn’t understand their attempts to lose any trails as deliberate. All too soon, during those two weeks, Solifea caught herself cussing between her teeth for making a mess of things. But, even now, she couldn’t trust the Templar. She couldn’t trust most members of the Orders – or rather, she trusted their allegiances to be as single-minded as she had known them to be from her days in the Shield.

The changes they made were small but, she felt, impactful. They kept their shutters closed at all times, bought new clothes, changed the time of day during which they did their shopping and even changed their regular patrol routes – all things that the Templar wouldn’t be able to pick up or that, hopefully, he would think were done to help him spot any trails. Benjamin, at least, looked and behaved much more naturally than her. He more or less blindly followed her suggestions and performed his part with his signature absentmindedness and social awkwardness.

Siegmund took up a job as a bouncer at the Goose, which gave them a good enough excuse to run into him and exchange a few words. The Goose rarely had need for muscle but just the next night after their meeting, a huge fight broke out and caused significant damage so Herman, the Goose’s owner, had to hire help, for some time at least. No doubt, thought Solifea bitterly, a coincidence. Still, to his credit, Siegmund proved extremely competent in trailing them. During those weeks, only twice did she spot him, but it was clear from their meetings that he was constantly near. When she expressed her frustration with that, Ben offered his help but she refused. Ben’s… talents were her ace in the sleeve and she intended to keep it that way. Alas, it was not meant to remain so. For ten days before the next full moon, all hell broke loose.

It was just a night stroll. That’s what she kept telling herself. They had agreed that they would only do patrols when Siegmund could trail them, after all, especially at night, but this was not a patrol. It was just a night stroll, a small walk in the brisk night air to clear her head and stave off her headache.

The truth was, she needed time to think. Alone. Ben was excellent at giving her space when she needed it but, even when quiet, was almost always there. Usually, she found comfort in that. She had come to consider him almost an extension of herself. But lately, these last few weeks at least, he too had become a burden. Keeping him in line, keeping his talents secret from a Templar, keeping his past hidden, while at the same time keeping the Templar in the dark about what had truly transpired during the last full moon… It was exhausting, draining, for if Solifea disliked something, it was secrets.

It is exhausting, a thought crawled sneakily, and the admission of the truth behind it washed over her, filling her with relief. It was exhausting. This whole thing was exhausting. Chasing shadows, double checking every dark alley, weighing the intentions behind every glance and every greeting, at all hours of the day, wondering, is this one of them? Is this one of Her followers? Am I being spied on. She had left the Shield because she had grown tired of hiding, always hiding, from nobles, from sherifs and guards, all the while trying to dispense justice, to stand for the people, to protect them. Then all the moving around, roaming the Kingdoms, never able to stay in one place for more than a few nights, before the one, stupid, short-sighted idiot from the very people she was trying to defend, betrayed her to the guards to be looked upon favorably by the very people who she was opposing in the first place. She had come to Sieva looking to escape all that. She had openly declared her oaths to the city’s powers-that-be and they had agreed to let her help them police their streets, here, at the border between Kingdoms and principalities, where the reach of the Conclave was weak in such matters. But now the secrets were back, the suspicions were back, and she could not stop looking over her shoulder once more.

When was the last time you just stood still, Solifea? her tired thoughts whispered and her shoulders lowered, defeated and tired, as she eyed a nearby bench. Even that raised alarms, the memory of the boy she had spared rising to protest, but they were quieted, gently but firmly, as Solifea sat down and sighed tired.

When was the last time you rested? Truly rested? She chuckled. Not for months, she said to herself, not since Ben found the pattern. How could she? Her old contacts kept her informed about the things the world knew nothing about and if an Anointed had visited Sieva, none in the city was more equipped than her to deal with it. You can take the armor off, you can put the Shield down, but your Order you carry with you.

No, her thoughts protested. Just a night off, tonight. No work. Just rest. Quiet your mind. Rest your muscles. Just take a breath. Rest. She protested, even as she yawned.

“I can’t rest,” she said to herself. “Not while all this is going on. Who holds the Shield over mankind, if we put it down?” she recited the old mantra.  There will be time for that. Tomorrow. Her eyelids grew heavy, as she leaned back on the bench. She struggled to keep them open but she was tired… So tired. Perhaps it was alright. The streets, she saw between weak, half-closed eyes, were empty. Empty but for that figure…

“No..!” she said. “I shouldn’t. I mustn’t…”

Rest, the whisper caressed her ears once more.

And Solifea slept.

Who will we follow next:

Choice

• Siegmund
• Benjamin

Chapter 13

It had been a quiet night and Herman, much like any other quiet night, was at the very least unpleasant. Gold and good company, that’s what drove him, the man had repeatedly admitted, half-jokingly. “Gold and good company, in that order. That’s why I bought the Goose. What good is it to me empty?” There was a tale there, Siegmund suspected, about how he had come to buy the Goose but Herman’s lips were as tight as his coin pouch on the matter and the Templar had let it be, hoping the discretion would invite reciprocation. It had so far and that’s all that mattered. He had a solid story for ‘Gunther the Mercenary’ but the less he had to elaborate on it, the better.

He kept back a chuckle, as he nodded a goodnight at the tavernkeeper and locked the door as he exited. “The less you have to elaborate, the better,” could have been the motto of the Temple. Perhaps all the Orders, if Solifea’s behavior was any indication. She was keeping things from him, he knew that much, for she lacked the talent for it. She tried, to her credit, but people of lying silence know its sound – and Siegmund was very talented at his lying silence. What he didn’t know was what she was keeping from him. At first, he had been inclined to believe that it had something to do with Benjamin. It didn’t. The man shared his name openly when he offered his hand and anyone well educated would have at least heard of his ‘Conjunctures and Conjectures’ or at least instantly recognize the name. The man had once been a prodigy of the academic circles, having released a series of twelve tomes by the age of nineteen. Each and every one of them challenged anything from Theist dogma to the basic teachings of most Chapters. To no one’s surprise, they had been received… poorly, managing however to attract a loyal, niche following, admirers of his wild theories. Then, as suddenly as he had appeared with his tomes, he had disappeared, bereft of patronage, most likely, and the recognition of his peers. Apparently, he had ended up acting as a deputy by the side of a former Knight Errant, playing coppers and robbers in Sieva. Go figure.

Therefore, no, what Solifea hid from him was not about her companion, even if neither had once discussed his past. It therefore had to do with the case. With Her. And that, Siegmund, found dangerous. So, as he locked the Goose and bid Herman goodnight, a bottle in hand to match his “night stroll” story, he wondered if he should do some patrolling of his own, or stake out the unlikely duo’s house.

Choice

• Patrol
• Stake out

Chapter 14

Bottle in hand, steps heavy and tired, Siegmund turned towards the duo’s house. He had come to know the city, somewhat, but he had no real contacts or true insight into where he should patrol. Solifea and Ben had tried to educate him, at least explaining why they chose the routes they chose each night they went on patrol, but as he had dogged their steps night after night nothing had drawn him or piqued his interest enough; not in relation to the case, at least. So, staking out the duo seemed like the only productive option, since he was determined not to sit on his hands.

He took precautions for being followed, more out of habit than a sense of necessity, took twist and turns, stopping now and then to take a sip from the bottle. Eventually, however, he was there. He had not dare to rent a second room, near them, but he had found an empty wreck of a house, and from the east window of the attic he could see their entrance well enough. He stepped in from the back alley, doing all the song and dance he would if he were planning to relieve himself, as any self-respecting drunken mercenary would in the middle of the night. Once inside, his posture changed completely, his steps lightened and his eyes focused, as he climbed to the attic, as quiet as one could. Then, he crouched in the shadows near the window and simply looked. From the window, he could barely see Ben’s legs on the couch; he had no idea what type of allergy the man had for beds, but he favored the couch most nights. Relaxed, seeing that the duo was home and hadn’t slipped away without him knowing, he settled for a long night. And half a watch passed, before he saw the shadow on the roof across his partners’ office.

*             *             *

It is a truth well known among those who study magic, that the effects of its presence can be detected by the observant and the imbalanced.

Ben was sleeping. His dreams were haywire – even by his standards – then his leg grew numb and his lips dried up, while his tongue rushed to wet them. All of this would have been perfectly natural, of course, for a man sleeping.

Ben, instead, woke up, his head pounding the moment he opened his eyes. Cold sweat covered him and his blood pulsed behind his eyes. He neither screamed, nor called out. He only whispered three words, with widened, fearful eyes.

*             *             *

Few would have noticed it. Less would have given it its due attention. Siegmund did. Whoever it was, they had made a mistake, an awkward shift born of discomfort. Then a baby cried, piercing the night’s quiet with its urgent call. At the same time, a dog barked, and a soft wind whispered among the neglected apple tree under the street’s lantern, whose flame flickered and danced. Siegmund barely fought the urge to rub his stiff neck, ignoring the sounds and keeping his eyes peeled on the shadow that had moved. He swallowed, a bead of sweat forming on his forehead. But he bit his lip and waited, unmoving.

*             *             *

A figure walked, slowly, gently, almost ethereally in an empty, gloomy street. It walked with purpose and a clear destination in mind: an armored woman, asleep on a bench. Step by step, the figure was coming closer, its long robes whispering as they caressed the dirt and stones under silent feet. Sleep… they whispered. Sleep…

*             *             *

Knowing what to look for now, Siegmund scanned the shadow. Cloak, dark, smoked face… His eyes, one barely exposed in the street lantern’s distant light, the other in shadows, narrowed: a crossbow. Then, Ben moved and the crossbow was suddenly raised.

Choice

• Yell something to distract the assassin.
• No, stay hidden.

Chapter 15

“Oi!”

Not the most sophisticated of yells, but it did the trick, Siegmund thought, as the crossbow retreated back into the shadows, uncertain. Mind racing, the Templar was considering his options. The assassin was no doubt looking for the source of the shout or at least an explanation to its origin. Not daring to peak, he remained motionless behind complete cover. Much like him, the assassin’s mind was uncertain; had he or she been discovered? Or was it a coincidence? The dog was still barking from a distance and luckily another, closer by, picked up the challenge. The baby cried louder; it sounded as if it was coming from near the assassin but he couldn’t be sure. Did he dare risk moving? Did he follow up on his yell? He had to, he concluded, otherwise the only logical conclusion for the assassin would be to realize he was being watched and that his mark was guarded.

A gamble then.

His face changed, unfocused, eyes half-closed, posture uncertain and wavering as he got up and stepped into the light, pulling out from his pants half his shirt as he did.

“Fall damn it, shut that damn baby up! Some of us are trying to…” He paused, faking a swallowed burb. “…to sleep, eh?” he concluded, then mumbled something unintelligible as he turned, knocking down his bottle as if by accident. He didn’t look towards the assassin, he didn’t dare to. But he threw a glance towards the office window, as he was turning and hid a smile of satisfaction. Ben’s legs were missing.

Painfully aware of how exposed he was, with his back – well, his behind, really – turned towards the assassin and his crossbow, he leaned to reach for the bottle, wavering.

*             *             *

The assassin cursed under his breath, his eyes scanning frantically each window of Solifea’s office, in stark contrast to his remarkably still body. Where had the weirdo gone? The yell was loud but couldn’t have been loud enough to wake him inside the house, not with all doors and windows closed. No. Reliving the scene in his mind, his target had moved just as he was about to shoot and only half a breath before the yell.

He had been warned to be careful with this Ben. He never understood why. That awkward bookworm could not be a challenge to him on any – he paused, eyes darting to his left, on the abandoned shack the yell had come from. Half-mooning him, the drunkard was picking up his bottle, making more noise than a bull in a cellar of wines. Almost by instinct, the crossbow trained on him – but he didn’t take the shot. If the guy had faked it, he never would have exposed himself like this. Then again, could he afford to take the chance? This felt like too much of a coincidence. Finger reaching for the trigger…

A door opened and shut; the door.

Shifting his aim quickly, he got up to line the new shot, as the robe-clad weirdo, still in his sleepers, all but dashed to the street. The assassin aimed… then paused, uncertain, unable to find the aim he was looking for, unable to focus on the shot like he always did. Cursing between his teeth as Ben was rushing down the street in his night robe, he aimed again, then blinked and readjusted the crossbow against his shoulder. Why did he have to wear that stupid night cap? It was so distracting. And those boots, they looked ridiculous worn with the robes and… He sighed, frustrated, not even caring any more about who could be watching, then aimed again – finally he fired, frustrated.

*             *             *

Hearing a twink then the thung of the crossbow firing, Siegmund’s eyes widened, shining in the darkness, recognizing the sound of a glass breaker and a bolt being released, one moments after the other. A professional then, part of his mind thought. Well equipped. Hope withering that Ben would survive the thought, he gasped when a thud followed, as the bolt hit something but no glass broke.

Caution be damned, he started running, no longer caring to play the drunkard. Jumping down the neglected steps of the abandoned house in threes, he was on the street in seconds; only to see Ben walking, night cap and leather boots included, robe flying behind as he walked with quick steps, as if the bolt had been aiming someone else – only, he realized he see him… well. Not really. His eyes refused to focus on Ben’s figure, his mind protesting about the ridiculousness of the sight. Confused for a moment, his eyes then widened, finally Ben’s secret sinking in. But before he had a chance to berate himself for missing the obvious, he heard the mage’s voice, as he muttered to himself the same thing with each step, the same three words over and over again.

“She is here… She is here… She is here…”

Freezing in place, his mind raced; mage or not at his side, they had little hope to capture or even face an Anointed like this. Not so unprepared and ill-equipped. But, if Ben was right, would they get another opportunity like this? No one had ever even seen the Whisperer; no one alive, at any rate. On the other hand, if there was no hope of success, would it be better for him to ensure his presence remains a secret? After his reaction to the shot, the assassin would connect the dots if he was allowed to escape.

And where was Solifea?

Choice

• Go together with Ben.
• Follow Ben.
• Go after the assassin.

Chapter 16

“Ben! Where is she? Did you not see the assa-”

Clunk.

Amidst the dog’s barking, which now competed with another one, and the baby’s cries, now joined by a frustrated neighbor, he heard the string being locked, only because he was a Templar. He grabbed the man by the arm and walked faster. Ben looked at him, curious and slightly offended by this invasion of his personal space, but only said She is here.

“Ben!” he said again. “Where is Solifea? And where is…” He paused to cry out, as he shoved the lean man behind the corner, moments before another bolt flew harmlessly by. He heard curses from the assassin’s rooftop – but now Ben was finally truly looking at him, even as he himself couldn’t help but glance left and right rather than face the mage eye to eye.

“Solifea? No. I mean, yes. She is with Solifea. I think.”

“What?!” The Templar’s eyes widened. “How do you know?”

“The whole city is alight with magic,” Ben answered, fixing his sleeping cap. “And my wards on Soli were undone. It was so gentle, so natural, I almost didn’t even wake up. It was as if they just… expired.”

“We cannot hope to fight an Anointed.”

“I agree,” Ben said. “So, we’ll just have to do it hopelessly, yes?”

“No, you do not understand. Ben, it’s impossible.”

“I understand,” Ben said, smiling while gently releasing himself from the Templar’s grasp. “Believe me. It is as if she is pulling entire blocks around her. Notice how everything screams? The baby, the dog, you, the assassin, myself? We sense we’re being dragged to where there’s silence and stillness eternal. And we protest. But! We’re not really being dragged. She just wants us to know she’s here. She is showing off.”

The Tempar looked up. “What do you mean?”

“If this was her default state, there is absolutely no way she could have remained hidden. Not here, not anywhere, not for so long. No. She allows this to happen – or she fakes the effect. In short, she either wants us to chase her, setting a trap. Or she is trying to intimidate us before we get to Solifea.”

“Then we must scout… I need to bring my weapons first.”

“You do that,” Ben said. “Very sensible. If Soli and I die, you can keep chasing her. But I am not leaving Soli alone with that thing.” He started walking hurriedly. Cussing, Siegmund followed but did not try to hold him.

“Ben, if the Anointed is indeed with her and if she wanted her dead, why the show? Why not just kill her, while the assassin was taking care of you?” The Templar paused, as did the mage. “I feel like we’re being played. We need to be clever.”

“I am always clever. You are just asking me to slow down. For all we know, she wants her for the next sacrifice.”

“If that’s the case, then we’d have days still!”

This and only this gave Ben pause.

*             *             *

The figure sat on the bench near the armored woman’s feet. From afar, night noises of a city tried to reach, distorted, muted, but around her all was silent; all but the whispers of her robes as she sat and the soft breath of Solifea sleeping. Under a thin veil, a metal mask with a hint of motherly smile looked at the sleeping woman, white eyes full of care, before she whispered.

Wake up.

Choice

• Ben and Siegmund rush to find Solifea.
• Siegmund and Ben try a careful approach.

Chapter 17

They run through the streets and alleys of the city, Ben huffing and puffing but stubbornly pushing himself on. Siegmund barely panted and could have easily outpaced the mage but he didn’t; by default, Ben had to lead, much more sensitive to the power emanating from the Anointed.

“Is it… Is it true?” Ben asked Seigmund, between breaths, nodding towards an alley before he turned. “Severance? Can you do it?”

The Templar said nothing. “We need to be faster, Ben,” he urged the mage and Ben stopped, panting as he bent, hands leaning on his own knees.

“I… I know..” he said. “I can’t… You…” He took a deep breath, tried to steady his breathing as he stood straight once more. “You need to run… ahead. I don’t dare do magic… Not before we meet Her. Go! Northeast, more north than east.”

“Ben, I would be looking for a spot of ink in coal. Just catch your breath and…”

Ben, leaning against a wall now, shook his head. “No. There’s… There’s no time. Stall her. Just go. Follow… the silence. GO!” Growling in frustration, Siegmund started running, as the mage kept saying. “If you can do it… Severance… Do it… You must… Must be able. Why would they send you… otherwise?”

The Templar dashed into the night, trying not to laugh at Ben’s words. Severance. The dreaded legend. The fabled ability of the Templars to cut someone off from magic for a time. A nightmare all Gifted feared, for they said it restored balance in their soul for a moment. And for that moment, they were different people, unburdened by the strain of the Gift but entirely changed personalities; habits of decades felt annoying, loves of the past make sense, choices made felt idiotic. Then it was gone, only for that feeling to haunt the Gifted forever after, as the imbalance of the Gift returned.

A boogeyman. All he had was a tiny piece of silubaster around his neck. Helpful, undoubtedly, but hardly the game changer Ben was counting on. Groaning with the stupidity of his own decisions, he kept running in the night, trying to aim north and east and to follow the silence.

What silence? his thoughts grumbled. Like outside the duo’s office, dogs were barking, babies were crying, drunkards were singing, lovers quarreled. He dared to stop, just for a moment, to try and listen if from any direction it was not so but no. It was like the whole city was awake, or close enough, considering the hour. And yet…

He tilted his head. If one actually stopped to listen, if one paid attention, then all the sounds, all the noise, somehow did not… fit. It was as if each and every noise carried the same quality, that same jerking reaction of one sound breaking the silence; the door that slams in the middle of the night. A plate moving, while the house is asleep. The sudden laughter in the small hours of morning. Each sound the city was making was like those sounds, feeling out of place, sudden and violent, an intrusion or an insult to the senses. Behind all the sounds, the Templar felt, something was disturbed by them, annoyed. Silence felt insulted.

Grinning like a hunter finding a trail, the Templar ran into the night once more.

*             *             *

Solifea opened her eyes and saw her.

She looked calm, serene even, her features barely discernable under her veil, kept by a nun’s headpiece, white, but faded, even yellowed at places, and torn. Her blurred vision took a moment to perceive the details of the mask beneath the veil. Unlike the veil and robes, there was nothing neglected, faded or simple about the mask, finely sculpted and adorned to look as the serene face it was supposed to. But for all their craftmanship, the artist lacked… something, and while the expression was there, while the features were perfectly aligned for it, the cold metal of the mask held no sentiment behind it.

Why do you hunt me?

It was hard to tell if the whisper reached her ears or her mind first, but the mask had moved and Solifea determined it had at least passed from both in some order. She tried to focus and get up; her shoulder was hurting and her right arm was numb, having laid on it for some time. She discovered that she couldn’t; no. She didn’t want to.

Why do you hunt me?

The question came again, stopping her from exploring that sensation more. While it was hard to determine a tone in the whisper or an expression under the mask, Solifea could feel the frustration as much as she felt the urge to answer. She could resist, for now, and she could draw strength from her Order if she needed to, but she wondered if she should answer anyway.

Choice

• Answer – Solifea will fake weakness and answer.
• Resist – Solifea will defy the Anointed and remain silent.
• Taunt – Ignore the question and attempt to get up.

Chapter 18

She tried to shake her head and get up. Her head was heavy, as if her neck wasn’t strong enough to hold it, and the muscles on her back felt… weak, helpless, like they were sunk under meters of slime and mud. She groaned angrily at the presence sitting next to her but her own voice sounded foreign to her, more like a wounded beast’s moan than a defiant growl.

It is better if you just… rest.

Just the sound of the whisper nearly sent her mind into a panic. She groaned again, defiantly she thought, but weakly, desperately in truth. Her legs proved as unresponsive as her back so she just rolled to her side and…

No. Stay.

She cussed in her head or at least she was ready to before her body simply… stopped. This time it wasn’t the body that disobeyed her. It was her obeying the command. Her mind, her very will, felt as drained as her muscles, sunk under miles and miles of thick, sickly water. Desperation showered her and she almost whimpered. Only once before in her life had she felt as exposed, vulnerable, helpless… Her wrists and ankles were held then, her young will drained and stolen; now, they were just being told – no, expected! – to obey. And the mere comparison lit a fire.

She would not obey.

Stay. There is no need for this.

The veterans used to say there is always a moment, one moment that made one a Knight of the Shield. Most of the times, it came before one’s communion but sometimes, rarely, it came after. They said that those who tried to escape that moment became like rocks on a mountain slope. They would stand there, high above, looking at creation, motionless and grim. The elements would lay siege on them. Winds would whip them. Rain would gnaw at them. Snow would cover them. Hale would scar them. But still they would stand, firm. All that they would suffer, all the scars and cold and silent pain, all the forces that would try to break them, all of it, would simply forge them. Little by little, their mind and body would be brought to just the right shape. Their edges sharpened, their weakest parts dissolved, their core strengthened from the pressures of the world, their path decided as firmly as the stone they are made of. And then, without warning, without the slightest indication, under the heat of sun’s light, their will would expand and push their body. And in that moment, they would fall upon the world, neither angry, nor vengeful; perhaps not even willing. Simply inevitable. A Knight of the Shield.

She turned her head, eyes flaring with stubbornness. Her back, legs and arms felt heavy as stones, and she could barely move them for anything beyond keeping her balance as she lied sideways on the bench, but she could at least turn her head and look at the veiled bride.

Stay. Force not my hand.

It wasn’t a voice. Not really. And it wasn’t in her head either. It came from the Whisperer and to her ears but the sound was empty of the color and warmth of life, devoid of any feeling or urgency. It was there, undeniably, and it had weight, but it was no voice. It was… just wind. Dead wind talking.

I can teach you much. I can offer an eternity of justice.

Solifea wanted to say something clever. Something provocative that would potentially distract her enemy, something to taunt her and force her hand so that her hold on her would weaken. Her throat disagreed, refusing to cooperate. So, desperate but determined, Solifea… chuckled. It sounded like a croak, she thought, but her eyes glittered tauntingly to drive the point across, as she looked up, before she forced her body to roll and just drop down from the bench.

The Whisperer spoke and this time the mask moved with her mouth, under the veil.

“As you wish,” she said in a hoarse voice and the cruelty in it was palpable. “Bring her.”

Face planted in the dirt, Solifea kept chuckling tauntingly, as hands, living and obedient, grabbed her by the wrists and ankles and carried her away.

        *             *             *

He couldn’t even say where the men had come from. Dressed in grey robes, it almost seemed as if they had been standing there all that time and he had just been unable to focus on anything else but the Whisperer. At the end of the day, it didn’t matter. Whatever Solifea had done, whatever the power of her defiance, it had clearly disrupted the effect of the Whisperer. It had simply left behind the dread of her presence.

They were taking her to be the next sacrifice. That much was obvious. And if he lost her now, she would be lost period.

It was four men and the Whisperer. He could follow and hope he could keep up and discover where they were taking her, without being discovered in turn. Or he could strike now, knowing Ben should be with him soon.

Choice

• Follow
• Don’t let them leave