Chapter 2: Hideout
The Reaper pulled out the stained pink cloth, wrenching out the water once again. She glanced over to the Cleric, who had finally taken a seat after ministering to the Hex’s wounds for the better part of an hour. Even tired and bloodstained from her work, she had a tranquil aura about her—this was not the first late night she’d spent saving a life and would likely not be the last. The Cleric stifled a yawn as she studied the Reaper with an inscrutable expression.
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“So… why did you bring a nearly dead Conduit to my doorstep? The guards seem to think you’re both traitors. Is that true?”
Despite knowing it was coming, the Reaper didn’t quite know how to handle this question. She’d unstrapped her swords and set them aside, knowing there was no need to have them quick at hand. The Cleric was as skilled a healer as any she’d met, but she was no fighter. If it came to blows with the Kings’ men, the Reaper would likely soon be dead anyway. There were only so many soldiers she could take on her own.
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“You’ve served as their personal healer for, what, four years now? You know all about the Twin Kings,” the Reaper began, leaning forward in her chair. “Their cruelty… their paranoia.”
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“Justified paranoia in your case,” the Cleric pointed out, crossing her arms. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten soft. Sepulkre was culled almost single-handedly by you… nevermind their orders. So what changed? Do you want the throne of a dead city for yourself?”
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The Reaper chuckled softly. “I never expected you to speak so plainly.” She paused. “If the Inquisitor hears of this…”
“Then you’re dead, and likely myself as well. So I would hope this passes her by. I was just about to sleep; perhaps she was as well. Regardless, we need to speak about this situation.”
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The Reaper nodded. “That is true. And last I saw her, she had been knocked unconscious. Let us hope it lasts the night.”
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“Knocked unconscious… and not by you?” This time the Cleric couldn’t hide her contempt. Somehow it stung even deeper from a woman known to all as one so charitable and wise. “This woman, then, she was doing your dirty work?”
The Reaper chuckled. “Do you not recognize her? I suppose she’s changed a lot, but she was once the Forbidden Library’s bookkeeper.”
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The Cleric’s eyebrows rose. “No…” she studied the Hex, slumbering soundly on the fainting couch, which now bore fresh, dark stains. “She did not have those horns… or the markings on her arm.”
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“It seems she did quite a bit of reading in the Forbidden Library,” the Reaper replied. “I’ve always had a knack for tracking other Conduits, but I had never noticed her power until recently.”
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The Reaper wondered about this as the Cleric nodded thoughtfully. Few people had magical sensitivity at the level they possessed, most of which were essentially wasted. Hundreds of lesser Conduits had been hunted down and extinguished in the ruins of Sepulkre, and the Reaper guessed that most of them were unaware of their powers—though a few must have wondered at the strange abilities they seemed to have. Properly trained, they could have developed into powerful fighters or magic wielders. They might have even become great healers like the Cleric, who wielded the power of the Leylines to cast potent healing spells. Though all Conduits have some connection to the Leylines, invisible veins of energy that run through the realm, the Cleric nurtured and strengthened this link. Years ago, she made herself powerful enough to even be noticed by the Twin Kings.
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“That must be it,” the Cleric mused, “for any normal human would have bled out by now. I couldn’t believe she was still breathing. It must be the Leylines keeping her alive.” The Cleric studied the sleeping form. “She’s changed a great deal. Horns, a demonic arm…”
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The Reaper shrugged. “Perhaps she hid it under her cloak. We were hired by a man known as the Savant to bring back a curio from the treasury room.” In response to the Cleric’s curious look, the Reaper reached for the bloody satchel beside the Hex. She pulled out the Soulstealer Chalice and held it up to the firelight. “He claims it’s a crucial part of his plan to remove the Twin Kings from power.”
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“Who is this Savant?”
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The Reaper shrugged. “He’s still a mystery to me.” She set the Soulstealer Chalice down and fixed the Cleric with an intense look. “But I know he’s opposed to the rule of the Twin Kings. You must think I’m mad—a bloodthirsty killer for them. Well, I wasn’t always like that. Even the Cull, at first… to end the Red Plague…” The Reaper grimaced as her mind trailed off. “Well, I crossed the line long ago; I won’t deny that. But you always seemed to be a goodhearted person. So why do you serve the Twin Kings?”
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“Hmm…” The Cleric rose to her feet and made no immediate reply. Instead, she walked over to the kitchen, where she’d used some of the boiling water to begin brewing a pot of tea. The Reaper shook her head gently as the other woman offered a cup. The Cleric smelled it for a moment, then returned to her seat. “I didn’t have much of a choice,” she admitted. “I had become known for my skill in healing the infirm at an early age. Eventually, my fame spread and I was brought to Castle Sepulkre. Even then, I negotiated a way to tend to the common folk one day a week. As Royal Healer to the Twin Kings, my schedule wasn’t hectic… even with their complaints of ailments, it hardly amounted to much work.”
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The Reaper nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, I seem to recall hearing something along those lines.”
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The Cleric blew on her tea and took a sip. “And now you’re a traitor… while everyone I knew and loved is dead. Most by your hand.” The Reaper noticed she’d clenched the mug tightly, which shook for a moment. “I thought by keeping myself here and tending the sick, I could honor Gwyn. Even if the Twin Kings are…” Her lips twisted. “As cruel as people say…they do, at the very least, share my reverence for Gwyn. Any brute can hold power, but few venerate the goddess of the land and bringer of life.”
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The Reaper snorted. “Your loyalty has blinded you. Has Gwyn not allowed the Red Plague to desecrate our lands? The Twin Kings simply pretend to revere Gwyn to keep fools like you in line and to rule the masses. Come to your senses while you still can. It’s only a matter of time before the Inquisitor comes after us. Can’t you heal the Hex any faster?”
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“The Hex,” the Cleric repeated. She set her teacup down solemnly. “All are welcome for healing, but your words of blasphemy are not. My healing arts are imbued in the cloth I used to tend her wounds. Did you not realize I use a mixture of bandages and whitecloth? She will continue to heal until she rises—or dies. And after all this time, I do not think she will die.” She sniffed. “At least, not while under my care.”
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The Reaper sank back, feeling a mixture of relief and exhaustion. Her efforts were beginning to wear on her now. “Perhaps I’m nothing but a simple killer,” she rasped, her words cold. “But I at least see the truth. I had my chance. Not to strike at the Kings—they are too powerful for me to take on alone. But to see how they can be brought down and to see the need for it. Truly, you cannot see that the Kings must die?”
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The Cleric bit her lip. “You speak treason.”
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“I do.”
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She looked away. “That… isn’t for me to decide. I serve Gwyn in my own manner.”
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The Reaper snorted, unable to hide her contempt. The chair creaked as she leaned back. The tumult around Castle Sepulkre had ended some time ago, and now there was nothing but darkness and silence. After all the fighting she’d been through, her body ached for sleep.
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“You will have noticed that my cottage is humble. I’m well stocked with supplies, but I have little else. Of course, you are welcome to what blankets I have, but as you can see…” The Cleric gestured around her home. The house was barely furnished, aside from a kitchen table, a few chairs, and a bed crammed behind a draping cloth in the back.
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“I’ll take the floor,” the Reaper intoned. “I’ll need to watch over the Hex.” She licked her lips. “How much longer do you expect her healing to take?”
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The Cleric walked through her cottage, the floorboards creaking underfoot. She stifled another yawn and sipped from her teacup before setting it down. She pulled open a small wardrobe, took out several blankets, and then returned to hand them to the Reaper. “Let me see…”
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The Cleric knelt beside the Hex, ignoring the Reaper as the other woman made herself relatively comfortable. Her hands tapped on the cool, pallid flesh of the former librarian. The Cleric closed her eyes, focusing and concentrating on the healing arts that had won her such renown.
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“Not so very long now. Perhaps… four to six more hours?”
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The Reaper paused. “That brings us close to dawn.”
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“It does. Do you mean to leave in the morning?”
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“I’d leave now if I could,” the Reaper grumbled.
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“Hmm.” The Cleric straightened, glancing at the Soulstealer Chalice. “Well, you have your health, the search has died down, and your curio is here. So why not take it and sell it for all the aurum you can get?”
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The Reaper chuckled softly. “Is that right… do you think that’s why I did all this?” The Cleric made no response, and so she continued after a moment. “I want my revenge,” she continued. “I need allies for that. I know that she has some skill,” the Reaper added, nodding to the sleeping Conduit beside her. “More than that, with the Savant’s band, we can end the cruel reign of the Twin Kings. Aurum? Hah.” The Reaper sighed, staring out the nearest window. “I could have left ages ago if that were all I wanted. Could have been a bandit queen in the harsh deserts of Al’Qirsan… named my price as a sellsword in the back alleys of Gen’Qui. No, it’s about more than that.”
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A long silence fell. Finally, the Cleric nodded, backing away from the other Conduits.
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“I’d advise you not to push her too hard, but I understand any delay might mean your execution. Do not bother to wake me if you leave. You’ve kept me up long enough.”
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The Reaper half raised a hand in acknowledgment. The Cleric disappeared behind the draped cloth at the end of her cottage, sliding it out to conceal her. The Reaper sank back, head nestled against a bunched-up blanket, and stared at the wooden ceiling above. The gentle snoring of the Hex continued at a steady, sedate pace.
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Heal, damn you, the Reaper thought, closing her eyes for a moment. We need to get out of here.
***
The Hex murmured, heedless of the Reaper’s snoring or the chirping birds outside the cottage. Her arm seemed to burn, a wave of pain and the inexplicable urge to scratch her wound, and her clouded dreams seemed to clear. Then, a single moment came to her: the Inquisitor, whip raised high, cackling as she lashed the Hex repeatedly. Her eyes opened at once.
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“Ah!” she choked out, lips dry and throat parched. She half rose, blinking blearily around her. Then, in the gloom, she saw an approaching figure clad in white. The Cleric came near, eyes bloodshot, with a glass of water in her hand.
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The Royal Healer of the Twin Kings! I didn’t get away! The thought of being preserved only to be tortured, again and again, almost paralyzed her with fear. She twitched and writhed, nearly slapping away the glass of water. You won’t poison me!
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“Stay back!” the Hex screamed. “Help… help!”
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“I’m only trying to—”
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“Shut up, you!” the Reaper rumbled, rising from her crumpled sheets at once. She snatched up a stray bandage and gagged the Hex in mid-shout. “Damn it all,” she said, tying it tight and staring down at the Hex’s glaring eyes. “Chances are the Inquisitor is on the mend by now. If she didn’t hear that…” The Reaper trailed off, staring out the nearest window. A gray mist was receding as the first rays of dawn shone down. “Damn it all,” she repeated. “Dawn already?”
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The Hex tried to murmur something.
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“What’s done is done,” the Cleric said, coming near and pulling the gag loose. “How are you feeling?” she asked.
The Hex did not reply, following the Reaper’s approach as she strode toward the window and peered out in silence. “Well?” she rasped. “Are we in danger?”
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“Hmm…” The Reaper frowned as she stared outward, finally turning around. “I don’t see any patrols. We were safe for a time… but I suspect our fortune has ended. Can you walk? We need to leave right away.”
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The Hex finally accepted the offered glass, drinking deeply and greedily. She stared suspiciously at the Cleric as she stepped back. “Why are you helping us?” she whispered.
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“As a servant of Gwyn, I help everyone.”
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“Right,” the Reaper grunted, coming close and extending a hand. The Hex grabbed it and lurched to her feet under the Reaper’s assistance, a puzzled look on her face from the Cleric’s statement. “Have you not met the Kings?” the Reaper added acidly. “I doubt that line of argument will work with them. Yet that is your choice. Can you walk, Hex?”
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“I… I think so,” she replied, picking at the bandages around her demonic arm. The Hex winced, but she stood upright without faltering. A smile slowly spread across her features as she spotted the Soulstealer Chalice. She grabbed it from the table, stowing it back inside her bloody satchel. “We have it… after everything we went through…”
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“Mm.” The Reaper held a finger to her lips for whatever good it would do. She nodded gratefully toward the Cleric, then pulled the Hex forward. The Reaper gingerly opened the door a hair and peered outward. Emulating her example, the Hex bowed low in gratitude, her jaw clenched shut.
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We’ve all seen what the Inquisitor can do.
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“Damn,” the Reaper muttered softly, turning back from the door. Above her crimson silk mask, her eyes looked uncharacteristically worried. “Is there…” she paused, then pointed at the far end of the cabin.
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The Cleric seemed to get the message.
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Is there a back entrance?
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She shook her head.
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The Reaper took in a deep breath. Then she pulled her mask down and spoke quietly but forcefully. “It’s too late. There’s a troop of Headsmen marching toward us, and I can sense the Kings are with them. The Inquisitor found us. We must go now; I cannot hope to fight them alone.” The Hex nodded, and the Reaper fixed the Cleric with a steely gaze. “Do you really mean to plead a case with the Inquisitor and the Twin Kings?”
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“Well… but I…” The Cleric stammered. “I am a servant of Gwyn. I serve all without exception. I…” Finally, she seemed to come to her senses as she darted to the far side of the cottage.
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“Get ready to run, Hex,” the Reaper continued, pulling her mask back up. “I’ll buy us some time.”
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“What?” The Hex stuttered in surprise as the Reaper flung the door open and stepped out into the empty street. Framed in the light of dawn, she seemed almost contemptuous in her confidence, striding several paces forward to greet the approaching Headsmen.
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The Reaper was well acquainted with the halberdiers of the Twin Kings’ court, but the Headsmen were a select band of even that elite cadre. Clad in full golden plate mail that gleamed in the light, bearing surcoats emblazoned with the Twin Kings’ lion-flanked insignia and prominent red plumage sprouting from their full-face helmets, a formation of twenty came to a halt barely a dozen paces away. From within their number, the Reaper caught a glimpse of a King, though she couldn’t be sure which one. The man glowered and pointed at her, though she couldn’t make out his words.
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“What’s the matter?” she taunted. “Did you not bring enough men?”
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The Cleric emerged from the far end, now wearing the customary white and gold robes of an acolyte of Gwyn and clutching a gnarled ivory staff topped with a fist-sized sapphire. At her waist, she bore a hastily packed satchel stuffed full of as many bandages and medicines she could grab. The Hex stepped out cautiously after, following the Cleric’s lead.
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“Treason everywhere!” one of the Kings ranted, his hair and clothes disheveled from the night's events. “The Cull was not enough! Still, dregs lurk in our castle!”
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“My Kings!” the Cleric called out. “I just want to say, these two sought shelter. According to the teachings of G—”
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“There is no misunderstanding!” the Inquisitor yelled at the head of another approaching band of guards. She tottered forward, a bandage strapped around her jaw, wild eyes gazing at them. “I hear your words clearly, traitor. You are all in league against the Kings.”
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One of the Kings let out an almost feral shriek, and the Reaper sidestepped quickly. The others weren’t so quick. A blast of magic passed them, slamming into the cottage and toppling both wall and roof. Scattered by the impact, ashes from the fireplace began to sizzle.
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“Go!” the Reaper roared, and the Hex snapped into motion.
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“After her!” the Inquisitor snapped, but the Reaper charged forward, drawing the attention of the Headsmen. They bristled, holding position and ready to receive her with weapons drawn, but she darted back just as quickly as she had charged. Her hand whipped forward, and a wall of flame erupted along the front ranks. The Reaper dodged to the side as they bellowed and backed away, patting the flames out or toppling into the muck.
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In an instant, the Hex saw why.
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If she can take out the Inquisitor, we stand a chance of getting away!
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Taken by surprise, the Inquisitor backed away as the Reaper charged into the guards, clad only in leather breeches and light mail hauberks. She slashed away in a frenzy, eviscerating the first unlucky soul and lopping the arm off another. Familiar with the Reaper’s skill, the guards lost their courage, either cowering away or wavering in place. Still, enough blocked her path forward that the Inquisitor was able to rush away, even if she was ungainly and undignified in her attempt to flee.
Then the elite headsmen charged in, and it was all the Reaper could do to cut her way free. Where her blows would have sliced through limbs, they now glanced off shields and plate mail, if they hit at all. Sparks flew as she parried wildly, somehow working her way back and sending the nearest Headsman reeling back with a solid kick. She dodged a halberd, the axe point piercing into the muddy ground, and then fled away from them as the rest pushed forward in hot pursuit.
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“Go, go!” she roared.
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The Hex limped forward, but this time it was the Cleric who led the way. They rushed away from the smoldering ruins of her cottage and past the nearest houses of the landed gentry still kept alive outside Castle Sepulkre. A few of her bewildered neighbors glanced out as they darted into the alley, the Reaper suddenly appearing beside them, her legs almost a blur as she sprinted through the muddy pathway.
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The Hex felt a faint ripple of energy as the Kings readied another blast of magic. The Cleric must have sensed it too, for she slammed her staff into the ground and a white translucent ward sprouted into place around them. As soon as it formed, the blast streamed through the clustered houses around them, bricks collapsing into the alleyway and bouncing off the translucent white shield. The Hex gritted her teeth, gazing around, but she recognized the area beside them and the burned-out bridge just beyond. It had been one of the earliest parts to be culled, but she had grown up in that region, and even in the blackened ruins, she felt able to guide their way through.
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“Come on, I know a way out!” the Hex roared, tugging on the Cleric’s sleeves. They moved forward, and then the ward gave away at once, toppling rubble into the ground behind them. Already the first of the Headsmen emerged, the Inquisitor chief among them, fast upon their trail. The Reaper spun around, throwing out another wave of flames atop the rubble pile. The Inquisitor yelled in annoyance as her pursuit was blocked. Then the Reaper rushed forward, keeping pace with the Hex as they left the collapsed buildings behind.
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Screams echoed from those fortunate enough to have escaped the Cull until now. The familiar scent of charred meat and burning wood lingered in the air, but the Conduits were already passing it behind, the Hex pushing herself to move even faster. Steadily, the carnage was left behind, and they entered an entirely different devastated section. These timbers were utterly blackened, extinguished by the many rains that had come since the Reaper had first set them ablaze. Despite the best efforts of the Kings’ hunters, rotting bodies lay strewn in the streets or trapped under rubble.
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The Red Plague might yet still linger here, and the Hex envied the Reaper’s mask. Instead, she snatched at her nose and squeezed hard as she ducked down low to avoid an overhanging beam and moved past what had once been a lively tavern.
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“Are you sure you know the way?” the Reaper asked, but the Hex made no reply, and no further questions followed. The Inquisitor was undoubtedly on their trail, and her tracking abilities were second to none—save, perhaps, the Reaper. The less said, the better.
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Besides, the Hex hadn’t agreed to the Savant’s terms out of any sense of fellowship with the Reaper. No, she just sought revenge on the Twin Kings and a return to the sacred texts of the Forbidden Library. Both had still been denied to her, but she at least bore the curio the Savant had wanted. She had no idea what power it possessed, but it was clearly magically crafted, and the Hex trusted the Savant to make use of it.
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But I don’t know her true intentions, she thought, glancing sidelong at the Reaper as they passed a lodging house that had once hosted a hundred souls. She looked over at the Cleric, chewing worriedly at her lip as she jogged alongside them. And this healer has no sense. If we hadn’t forced her out, she would be facing torture and death at the Inquisitor’s hands.
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The thought sent shivers down the Hex’s back, and somehow it produced another burst of energy as she passed a bakery she had once visited monthly.
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We'll be fine if we can just make it to the Gallowoods. We just need to keep moving…
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