Chapter 3: Escape

The Conduits crept through the ruins of the broken city. The Reaper was constantly on alert, but the Cleric found herself distracted—torn by her own emotional turmoil.

If I hadn’t treated her wounds… The Cleric shook her head forcefully. No, that was never an option.

The Hex seemed to have recovered significantly, though she was beginning to tire as she led them further ahead. “Just through here,” she said, pushing past a gap in the ruins that must have once been an intersection. “The bridge is out beyond the wall, but we can cross the stream at a ford. My neighbors used to do their washing there.”

The Cleric listened, rummaging through her satchel as she strode along and took stock of what she’d brought with her. In haste, she’d selected only the most basic of herbal poultices and a few long lengths of bandages, but nothing in the way of whitecloth scrolls. That would prove a problem if it came to fighting once again.

Conduits like the Cleric relied on these scrolls to more easily tap into their latent power. Their abilities were enhanced by such scrolls, even more so if they were present near the Leylines, letting them act as conduits of the raw magic around them. That’s how they got their name, after all. The Cleric couldn’t feel anything here—just the bare, dim sensation she felt when a Leyline could be found in the distance.

It’ll be up to the Reaper if it comes to fighting.

“Careful up ahead,” the Reaper warned, keeping close behind the Hex as they made their way around a burned-out block of buildings. “We posted hunters near the outer walls to keep watch for any survivors. If an ambush comes, it will happen soon.”

The Hex nodded, but the Cleric could do little but gulp and squeeze her staff for protection. She had always studied the healing arts, and the idea of fighting against soldiers she had known and perhaps even treated was anathema to her. Still, she kept close behind, trying not to voice her concerns for fear of the Inquisitor hearing her.

They clambered up the charred timbers of what had once been a warehouse, the burned building now blocking their route, when a guard’s helmet abruptly appeared at the top. A crossbow bolt followed an instant later as the hunter took aim. The shot flew toward the Reaper, who whipped her sword upward in a flash, sending the bolt spinning in the air. She then charged up the ruins as another appeared with a hooked spear. The spearman thrust it toward her, but the Reaper evaded the strike, clutching the side of the spear with her free hand. She slashed forward, and the guard yelped as he darted back, a fresh cut streaked across his forehead.

The crossbowman fumbled to reload another bolt before drawing a short sword, though he could barely manage to parry a single strike before the Reaper impaled him. The wounded spearman jumped back, the charred timbers underfoot lurching precariously.

“Watch out!” the Hex warned, but she and the Cleric could do little to help. More hunters emerged from a side passage, and one of the guards lifted a bronze horn to his lips, belting out a long note. The spearman managed to draw blood as the Reaper tried to dodge, her ankle nearly twisting in the uneven terrain, but she split his spear in two with a single strike and then slashed clear through his throat.

“It’s the bloody Reaper!” one of the hunters said, pausing as his more eager counterparts surged forward. He hesitated, then noticed the Hex and the Cleric. The guard blowing the horn set it down, and together the two advanced toward the Conduits, working their way along a churned-up alleyway while the Reaper continued fighting the others.

The Hex backed up, sharing a look of dismay with the Cleric— then the two bounded away, putting distance between themselves and the guards. The Hex waved her to the left, and they leaped over a set of fallen timbers, making their way ever closer to the town walls.

“After them!” the hunter shouted, and another insistent horn blast echoed through the ruins. The Cleric felt her heartbeat racing as she rushed forward. She felt a tinge of regret at leaving the Reaper behind, tempered by the thought that the butcher behind the Cull could handle herself. Besides, she wouldn’t have been in this mess if it weren’t for the two of them dragging her along.

“Damn, no good,” the Hex said, coming up short just a few paces ahead. Two charred ruins had slumped into each other, blocking the route they’d been pursuing. Given a few minutes, they might have been able to work their way through, but with time as critical as it was…

The Cleric turned around, grounding her staff firmly as the two guards appeared. The first sauntered forward, a smirk on his features as he drew a longsword. The other followed a few steps behind, letting his horn fall to the side as he drew a sword of his own.

“Well now, who do we have here? Word was the Reaper had an accomplice with her. Looks like two to me… and a promotion in order when I bring back your head!”

“Careful,” the second guard said, pulling up a kerchief that had been resting on his neck. “They might have the Red Plague.”

“Don’t look like it to me,” the first guard replied, striding forward without pause. “What do you say? Want to do this the hard way?”

“I have one scroll in reserve,” the Hex whispered, setting her satchel down and rummaging hurriedly through it. “Give me a moment.”

“What?” the Cleric stammered. “How?”

Before she could receive an answer, the guard charged forward, lashing out with his longsword. In desperation, she found herself awkwardly whirling her staff toward him. The impact batted the longsword aside, spraying a few wooden splinters into the air. She backed up, grounding herself, then called on a protective ward as the guard charged forward once again. This time the longsword bounced off, surprise showing on the guard’s face as he staggered back. The Cleric gritted her teeth, feeling nauseous as she tapped into the energy she needed for the ward. With no leyline nearby, the power it demanded from her was intense. She felt the color drain from her hair and cheeks, feeling the spell suck the life from her.

“Circle around,” the guard ordered, and the second hunter padded away from the side. A faintly purple aura radiated out from the Cleric’s grounded staff, and the two hunters studied it, looking for a weak point. Motion caught the Cleric’s attention, and she glanced up just in time to see the Reaper barreling through the ruined tavern beside them. The Reaper jabbed twin swords forward and embedded them into the back of a surprised guard.

The other hunter lost no time sprinting away, but the Reaper chased him nonetheless. It took a dozen paces, and she showed no mercy. Her decapitating strike left the hunter taking two more strides after his head hit the ground. Finally, the body toppled to the ground, disturbing ash and dust. The Reaper returned both swords to their scabbards and turned back towards the others.

“Come on,” she said, jabbing a thumb to the side as the Cleric’s ward faded away. “I saw a way toward the wall.”

“That was close,” the Hex muttered, exchanging a glance with the Cleric. Then, in silence, they trailed after the Reaper as she retraced her steps. Within a gutted-out tavern interior, another hunter lay on the ground, his head a bloody ruin. A shattered crossbow lay on the floor beside him.

“Just through here,” the Reaper said, grunting as she shoved open a charred door. Light poured in to greet them as the band staggered forward. There it was—the town’s outer wall stretching before them. “If we can grab a few long beams, maybe we can make a rough ladder to…” the Reaper trailed off.

“What?” the Cleric prompted—and then she felt it too. A rush of energy nearby, somehow alerting her on an almost primal level.

“They’re here,” the Hex muttered, breaking into a full sprint toward the wall. After a moment of hesitation, the others rushed after her as well.

Maybe there’s a gap in the wall… a door we can force open…

Horn blasts echoed behind them, along with the barking of hunting mastiffs. The Reaper reached the wall first and thoroughly scanned it for handholds. Fashioned of stone and well-mortared, the material was smooth and stretched upward, making climbing seemingly impossible. The Cleric wondered just how many poor citizens of the Cull had rushed here just like they did, only to be penned in and cornered. The charred pits around them and the scratches on the walls suggested more than a few had met their end here.

Wearily, the Reaper turned. “Look there,” she said with a hint of sadness, gesturing with a sword. A party of hunters had pushed through the ruins nearby, though they kept their distance, pulling hard on the leashes of two barking mastiffs. More forms emerged, though these bore the heavy plate of the Headsmen. From the right, the Inquisitor appeared—smirking wildly with a zealous look in her eyes. More Headsmen pushed forward, and within their number strode the Twin Kings, ready to deliver their justice in person. “I don’t plan on being captured,” the Reaper vowed.

“Keep them busy,” the Hex said, clutching the whitecloth scroll she’d kept in reserve. “I’ll see about this wall.”

The Reaper grunted, waving forward with a free hand. A wall of flame doused the front line of Headsmen, many of them howling, though others barreled through or darted away. Lit by the fire were the Twin Kings, who paused at the very periphery. They raised their arms simultaneously, and at once, a blast of wind erupted from their palms, extinguishing the wall of fire. A few Headsmen rolled in pain on the ground, their armor ruby red in places, but the Kings ignored them as they came near.

“Fitting that you should die here,” Varus began.

“As you killed so many before,” Oppius continued, bearing a massive greatsword now—the rune-etched blade flickered with purple light as if enhancing the King’s natural abilities. The Reaper knew little about the power they possessed, save that they had spent many years absorbing the knowledge of their Forbidden Library. The thought made her glance at the Hex—and realize in surprise that she was reciting an incantation, eyes flashing as she raised her hands in the air. The whitecloth scroll burned away as a massive portal opened up before her.

The Hex’s arcane words died away as a colossal Pitfiend stepped through, sniffing in curiosity as he emerged in the ruins of Sepulkre. The creature was scaled with two enormous wings and bore a warhammer clutched in both hands. For a moment, the whole of the Twin Kings’ soldiers seemed to shrink back, silence falling around them. Then, the Pitfiend stepped forward, taking one pace, then another…

Then, just as the Cleric was sure it would charge into their ranks, it spun around to face them. The Cleric found herself cringing back, gripping her staff for some sense of security. It seemed as though the Pitfiend had freed itself of the Hex’s domination. Then it charged forward between the Hex and the Cleric, whipping its oversized warhammer back before slamming it into the wall. Large cracks formed, and then the Pitfiend rammed it with its shoulder, growling and roaring as if enraged that such an obstacle deigned to defy it.

“Stop… stop them!” the Inquisitor roared, and her voice seemed to snap the others into motion.

The Twin Kings sent blasts of magic forward as the Headsmen and hunters charged in. The magic streamed overhead, blasting into Pitfiend and wall alike, though the beast merely grunted and continued hammering away. The Reaper sidestepped, unsheathing her second sword, and greeted the nearest Headsman with a dazzling display of sword work. To his credit, the Headsman parried the first three blows and then lurched to the side as his helmet was stoved in by a powerful strike. The others were more cautious, fighting in a group, each darting back as the Reaper targeted them.

They tried to pen in the Reaper with the added length of their halberds, circling around her to cut her off from the others, but she would simply whirl around and break off their movements. Her slashes would cut through halberds, stagger soldiers, and force them to keep their distance—yet few of them fell to her blows. All the while, they gained on the others. The hunters drew courage from the example of the elite royal halberdiers. The other guardsmen crept in from the sides, swords raised and crossbows pelting the area, forcing the Cleric and Hex to dodge. A few bolts fell into the Pitfiend’s exposed back, but the beast continued his frenzied attack, slamming his warhammer until it broke, the pole spinning backward in recoil.

The wall spilled out around him, as much rockslide as defense now, and the Pitfiend dug into it with its massive claws. It roared, spraying chunks of masonry behind it as it cleared a path. The slope grew less and less steep with each moment—and then the Pitfiend reeled to the side, struck by a simultaneous blast of magic from the Twin Kings. The blow scoured its back, and one wing hung loose now, magic cutting through leathery flaps and ripping through scales to expose the flesh below.

“Now, Reaper!” the Hex called out.

For a moment, the Reaper didn’t seem to hear. She backed away, slashing with seemingly wild abandon as eight Headsmen cornered her. Sparks sprayed above her. It seemed all she could do was block, and then a sloppy attack left one man unguarded. She slammed forward with a kick, sending the Headsman sprawling on his back—and that was all the opening she needed. The Reaper streamed over it, ducking low as two halberds barely missed her, and then she sprinted toward them.

Yet the hunters were in close pursuit, and a carefully aimed crossbow took her in the shoulder. She staggered a moment, and the Inquisitor took the opportunity to approach, lashing her bladed whip forward. The Cleric snapped out of her stupor, blasting a protective ward outward, deflecting the whip’s strike. The Inquisitor glanced toward her, stunned, and the Reaper bounded forward once again.

“Move!” the Hex roared in the Cleric’s face, grabbing her by the robe and forcing her up the collapsed wall. Crossbow bolts landed all around them, scattering in the broken masonry. The Pitfiend’s sulphuric breathing filled the air as the creature slowly turned around, rumbling in a mixture of pain and agitation. It then rushed forward, snatching a hunter that had been too eager in his pursuit. A clawed hand sunk around his head, pulling him up from the ground—and the Cleric looked away, concentrating on the churned-up masonry just in front of her. She tried to ignore the crunchy squish that followed.

The rubble was difficult to surmount, but the chaos behind her provided all the motivation she needed. Finally, she scrabbled to the top beside the fatigued Hex, who turned to watch the scene behind them. The Pitfiend sliced downward, claws raking the platemail of a royal halberdier, as others fanned out and thrust their blades into it from the side. The Inquisitor’s whip sliced off the tip of his unbroken wing, but she left the struggle to the others, keeping a wary distance. Blasts of magic from the Twin Kings sent the Pitfiend reeling back two paces as steady crossbow work from the hunters began to take its toll.

Rocks clattered below them, and the Reaper’s dark brown hair appeared, spotted with blood and dust. Chunks of rock gave way underfoot as magical energies raged just a few paces beyond them. The Cleric stuck her staff out, and the Reaper clutched at it gratefully, pulling as the Cleric reeled her in the final few paces.

“We need to leave,” the Hex said, already bounding down the other side. She slid precariously on the slope but somehow kept her balance. “My Pitfiend will buy us all the time it can.”

“You had,” the Reaper panted, sliding down alongside the Cleric as they left the carnage behind, “one of those things the whole time?”

“That’s all!” the Hex said, grabbing the Cleric’s hand and pulling her up. They were on the far side of the wall, the ford their only obstacle now. “I only had one whitecloth scroll. I was saving it for the end. It would have been useless in the castle, you know!”

“I suppose.” the Reaper muttered, as the Conduits began a shambling run forward. The cool water of the stream dampened their ardor as they waded across. From the screams behind them, it seemed the Pitfiend was still diligently guarding their escape. But each blast of magic produced more unearthly howls, the Cleric doubting the beast would last much longer. “Up… into the trees there,” the Reaper panted, pointing forward as they struggled out of the stream. “We’ll lose them in there. Take some game trails and keep off the main road.”

“Where are we headed?” the Cleric asked, as they staggered onto the far back. She glanced back a final time to see a green glow above the ruins of Sepulkre. A long, lingering death howl from the Pitfiend followed a moment later. She shivered and pushed onward with the others.

“To bring this curio back to the Savant,” the Hex said. “And I, for one, don’t mean to stop there. We need to put an end to the Twin Kings’ reign, once and for all.”

The Cleric gritted her teeth. Her stomach seemed to roil at the thought. Just hours ago, the idea would have seemed insane, despite the inhuman cruelty of their regime. Yet there was no turning back now. She pushed on, disappearing into the copse of trees. They worked their way forward slowly, evidently alert to the sounds of pursuit.

Am I a traitor now? Well… so be it. My only loyalty is to Gwyn. Perhaps this is what she would have wanted, after all.

***

The Hex’s heart beat rapidly as she ducked her head low, though she was well concealed under the nearest bush. The steady clop of horse hooves echoed along the trail, just a few paces away. They had thought the Kings’ cavalry would overlook the narrow dirt path. Yet, they’d barely had enough time to fling themselves on the ground and scramble for cover. Finally, the last horseman passed by, the din of their patrol fading away.

Another minute went by before the Reaper stirred. Over the hours that had passed since they’d escaped from the ruins of Sepulkre, they had only paused for a break once. The Cleric had tended to her then, forcing the crossbow bolt out, and treating the wound, wrapping it tightly with a fresh bandage. It was now spotted pink, but the Reaper seemingly had no desire to wait any longer.

“Let’s go,” she said, waving them forward as she proceeded along the trail.

“Shouldn’t we take a different route?” the Cleric asked. “They could backtrack and find us.”

The Reaper snorted. “Their tracking skills are lackluster at best. They relied far too much on the Inquisitor and me.” An unspoken thought circulated in the minds of the three Conduits. The Inquisitor’s ability was potent in a cramped location like Sepulkre. Out in the wilds, there was no telling just how far her power stretched. The Hex simply hoped the Inquisitor had taken a different route. All they could do was spend the next day or so marching to reach the Savant’s camp. She paused, avoiding stepping on a pile of horse manure at the last moment.

Still, the cavalry poses a problem.

As they pushed forward, the Hex felt a strange sensation. It was almost as if her body had grown lighter. She found herself striding more purposefully forward. She opened her mouth, shut it, then asked a tentative question: “Do you feel any different?”

The Reaper glanced back. “We’re near a Leyline,” she replied quietly.

“Ah…” the Hex smiled. In the presence of a Leyline, Conduits were capable of mighty feats, bolstering their otherwise limited abilities. However, her smile slowly faded as she realized she had no more scrolls. Without the whitecloth’s help, she might manage to summon a lesser being from the Void, but that was about her limit. Even so… “We can’t waste the chance of making use of this Leyline.”

“Hmm…”

To her surprise, the Cleric nodded as well. “I agree. That wound could use more tending, and I know we’ve all taken a few scrapes and bruises. I’ll be able to rejuvenate our energies and get us moving faster.”

The Reaper nodded slowly. She pointed forward, and it was in a hushed whisper when she spoke again. “I know this Leyline, having passed through here many times in the past. A peculiar set of stones are piled high where the energy is strongest. I would camp out there on patrol sometimes.” She exhaled in worry after a moment.

“What is it?” the Hex prompted eagerly.

“The problem… is that my hunters would know that.”

Silence fell as they proceeded forward. The Conduits found themselves lost in thought as the long march dragged on. Then, finally, they reached an area where the trees began to thin, the forest turning to gentle plains. The Cleric pursed her lips, not liking the idea of being out in the open with cavalry on the march. But the Reaper drew their attention to a set of three hills on the edge of the forest.

“There,” she said in a hushed whisper. “You see the stones on the highest hill—how they catch the afternoon light? The Leyline is strongest there.”

The others nodded, already feeling their abilities growing more potent. They peered through the trees, only to see a guard striding in front of the stones. Another was just a few paces away, seemingly unbothered as he uncapped a flask and drank heartily from it. Several horses whickered softly, tied to a tree a few long paces from them. The Hex wondered how many cavalrymen were present here, but it was impossible to be sure.

A large force had galloped past not too long ago, but they likely would have split into smaller bands. She noted a horn holstered at the side of one of the guards and pursed her lips.

That’s a problem.

“You’re a healer, yes?” the Reaper said softly to the Cleric. “But no doubt you’ve dabbled with offensive magic.”

“What? Of course not.”

The Reaper shot a baffled look at the Hex, who shrugged. She fixed her attention back on the Cleric. “Well, it’s simple enough, especially with that staff of yours. The Twin Kings can do it, and they’re morons. Don’t worry about the power behind it… the Leyline will help with that. But we need to take out the cavalryman with the horn first. I doubt they have another with them… and if they do, I’ll handle it. But he needs to go down first. Understand?”

The Cleric pursed her lips. “I see… but how do I do it?”

“It’s like you’re pushing through the staff. I know you’ve pushed your healing arts onto countless others. But, the principle is the same… you just intend harm.” The Reaper paused for a long moment. “Can you do it?”

“I’ll try.”

“It’s our lives on the line if you can’t,” the Hex added helpfully. “I should be able to manage a lesser being here, even without any whitecloth. That could serve as a distraction.”

The Reaper nodded slowly. “And I’ll cut through the rest. Good.”

Before the Cleric could articulate her hesitation, the Reaper had already slipped away, her brown garments fading easily into the underbrush around them. The Hex extended her arms outward, muttering softly to herself, and a small pitch-black portal formed ahead of them. A lizard, roughly the size of a dog, emerged on the far side, scuttling a few paces farther before turning its head. A forked tongue snaked out as if scenting the air.

“What is that?” the Cleric asked, taking a step back.

The Hex chuckled humorlessly. “Let’s hope the cavalrymen have the same reaction.” The lizard darted away, moving much faster than seemed possible, disappearing into the scrub brush around them. It seemed more at home in a desert than in a tranquil setting like the forested hills they found themselves in. “Something I noticed in my readings. A lesser being from the Void, of no particular importance. Still, a bite can supposedly be fatal as the wound rots away.” She sniffed. “Though I doubt they’ll live long enough to find out.”

The Cleric nodded, trying to still her beating heart. She leaned out from beyond the tree she’d been using for cover, taking in the Kings’ soldiers at rest in the hills. The Reaper had spoken casually of her taking down her target at this range, but now that she really looked…

“Don’t lean out in the open like that,” the Hex hissed, pulling the Cleric back into concealment. “They don’t seem particularly observant, but don’t take the risk.”

The Cleric chewed at her lip thoughtfully, wondering if she should give voice to her concerns. For her whole life, she’d helped people - healed their wounds, not caused them. She’d certainly never killed anyone—though she doubted even with the Leyline’s assistance that she could do so. So instead, she squeezed her staff for comfort and remained silent. The Hex joined her silence, waiting for the Reaper to get into position.

Minutes passed with little change. Finally, the Hex nodded.

“She must be ready. Do you think you can do it?”

The Cleric met the Hex’s stern gaze. She nodded, banishing her doubt.

“Good. Because our lives are on the line.” The Hex made way, crouching low behind a bush. “My lizard is close to them. I’ll send him in after you make the first strike.”

“Right…”

The Cleric sighed, leaning out and gripping her staff with both hands, facing the soldier with the horn. The man had been casually walking around the perimeter of the stones. He paused beside an elm tree, his hands dropping to his belt. The Cleric breathed out softly, and before the man could even drop his trousers, a burst of pure white energy slammed into his chest, denting the horn and knocking him to the ground. He grunted, dazed as he fell back. A few other soldiers looked over in faint curiosity. Then chaos broke loose.

The lizard broke out of the undergrowth, streaming forward on two legs in a frenzied dash, producing shouts of alarm. Then, quickly, the creature bit down into one sentry’s calf. The cavalryman with the horn staggered to his feet, bringing the dented horn to his lips. Nothing came out but a low squealing.

A soldier careened out of the trees, toppling to the ground beside the stowed horses, and it was only then that the Cleric noted his lack of a head. The Reaper charged forward, twin blades sending droplets of fresh blood through the air, and took the next soldier by surprise. The one attacked by the lizard finally pulled out a dagger, stabbing the lizard repeatedly, and rose on weak legs. It was all he could do to attempt a parry, but both blades cut deep into his leather jerkin. The final cavalryman ran toward the horses, hurriedly trying to mount one, but his leg was severed even as it found purchase in a stirrup. He shrieked, falling to the ground only to be finished off by the Reaper.

“Come on,” the Hex said, eagerness showing in her eyes as she rose and made her way forward. The Cleric gulped, trailing after her.

I didn’t kill him, at least.

It was a small comfort. There was something recognizable about the cavalryman’s appearance, which the former Royal Healer tried not to dwell on. Instead, she navigated her way through the underbrush, finally rising to the clearing in the hills. The powerful surge of energy from the Leyline served to help her keep from retching, at least. She spared a single glance at the fallen soldiers and then held her focus on the horses. Two were neighing and bucking in place, their reins still tied securely, but the others were calm as ever. One even sniffed and ate a dandelion, indifferent to the nearby deaths.

The Reaper patted the horse’s back, murmuring something encouraging to the beast.

“What do you think we can do with them?” the Hex asked.

“I’ve never been much of a rider,” the Reaper admitted. “Don’t quite have the knack for it. How about you?”

The Hex shook her head. “Not at all. How about you, Cleric? Cleric?”

She slowly realized the other Conduits were staring at her. “Oh…” The Cleric brushed away a few strands of purple hair that clouded her vision. “Ah… no. Never ridden any.”

“Hmm.” The Reaper circled around the horses, studying them from a distance. “Four deaths and four horses. Let’s see…” She shaded her eyes as she took in the setting sun. “Another hour of daylight. I’ll take them with me, start an obvious trail in that direction.” Her outstretched hand now pointed to an unremarkable hill in the plains south of them. “Then I’ll backtrack on foot and meet you there.”

The Hex nodded. “What if you’re caught?”

“Then I’ll wriggle out,” the Reaper said calmly, working the reins free. She mounted the nearest horse, sliding into place cautiously. “Besides. You have the Soulstealer Chalice.”

The Hex nodded. The horse backed away a pace, whinnying nervously, but the Reaper forced it forward. “Hiya!” she barked out, gripping the other reins tightly. The other horses whickered, but they followed along until gradually the Reaper and her stolen horses disappeared. The Cleric found herself staring in the distance for quite some time.

“Hey. Hey!”

The Cleric glanced over with a start. The Hex frowned at her as she pulled loose a canteen from one of the fallen soldiers.

“Stay with us. Not used to this, are you?” The Hex downed a long swallow, wiping her mouth with her demonic arm, the runes rippling in place. She handed it to the Cleric, who accepted it after a tentative pause. “I suppose that when I still oversaw the Forbidden Library, I wasn’t too different,” the Hex said charitably. “Though my reading changed me… and what I realized about the realm afterward.”

“What you realized?”

“Heh.” The Hex shook her head. “This is all a bit too much for you, Gwyn Worshipper, isn’t it? Just stay with us. The Savant… he has a way of explaining things.”

“This Savant… who is he really?”

“Oh… you have to see him to believe him. And even then, he never really seems to be there,” the Hex said, gesturing vaguely. “Anyway, it won’t take long to reach the hill. Do you need more time to recover?”

The Cleric almost laughed at the question.

Do I need more time? For months I’ve seen the Cull firsthand, heard the screams of the innocent for days and nights, and wrestled with morality. Only to be visited by strangers, Death in human form, and this twisted demon of a woman. Yesterday I was a loyal healer; today, I wounded a man and was branded a traitor. It would take me years of prayer to find the meaning behind any of this.

“More time to recover…,” the Cleric echoed sluggishly, taking another sip and handing the canteen back. “No. Let’s go.”

***

It was the morning of the third day when they reached the outskirts of the Gallowoods, the Reaper now back amongst them. They’d had a few close encounters with the King’s hunters, still pursuing them relentlessly across any trail, but had so far remained undetected. And so, when a figure emerged from behind a tall tree, the Reaper drew her swords and charged at once.

The robed figure was quick to raise his hands high. The Reaper’s charge ended after a few paces, coming to a sudden halt as she gripped both swords. The man flung back his hood, and the Reaper recognized him vaguely as one of the Heretic’s apostles—the man who had guided her back when she’d first made contact with the Savant.

“You,” the Reaper said in recognition, belatedly sheathing her swords.

The apostle nodded, peering over at the approaching Hex and Cleric.

“I brought two of you to the forest’s edge,” he said, puzzled. “Three return?”

The Reaper shrugged. “The Savant spoke of needing help. Besides, the Hex was wounded in the operation.”

“The Soulstealer Chalice,” the apostle said as the Hex came near. “You have it?”

The Hex pulled it loose, letting it shine in the morning light. The man bared his yellowed teeth in a wolfish smile.

“Excellent. And who is this?”

The Cleric tried, without success, to hide her suspicion. “Royal Healer to the Twin Kings,” she said. “Ah… the former one. You may call me the Cleric.”

“The Cleric!” The apostle’s eyebrows rose. “Fascinating… you treated my uncle’s back sores not four years ago.”

“Oh! How is he now?”

“He’s… dead,” the apostle declared, grimacing. “As is most of Sepulkre. He was culled… you must have known, ‘Healer.’”

The Cleric winced at the news.

“Leave it be,” the Reaper cut in. “That was my doing.”

The apostle snorted. “And I never imagined we’d be working with the butcher behind it all, but here we are. Mistress Tevora assures us that Ashuthrux’s plan is not one fit for human understanding.”

“Mistress Tevora?” the Cleric sputtered out. The Reaper could see the shock was genuine. After all, Tevora had once been the head of the Church of Gwyn in Sepulkre years ago. She’d revealed her treachery in a bloody display, taking a core of zealots with her to become the apostles of her new order. The Reaper herself had led out punitive patrols more than once, penetrating the Gallowoods to hunt down the Heretic and her band of apostles.

In the end, the hunters had become the hunted, and the Reaper had found that several patrols had ended up in bloody ruins, with no sign of their attackers. The Twin Kings had eventually called the patrols back, though, when the Red Plague had begun to ravage the city. Guards and workers from Sepulkre had begun carting off a steady stream of bodies to deposit in the Gallowoods.

The Reaper wondered if the Red Plague had spread among the Heretic’s mysterious band. She knew little about them, except that they had been challenging to track down.

“She will, no doubt, be interested that the Cleric of Sepulkre has joined her order,” the apostle said, flashing that smile again and turning back into the Gallowoods. “Follow me.”

“I am not joining her,” the Cleric said stiffly. “Gwyn, protect me. Amidst the unbelievers, shield me from their lies. Bring me strength, now and forever, oh Gwyn. Guardian of the land and soil, champion of…”

The Reaper tried her best to ignore the Cleric’s prayers as they made their way into the Gallowoods. It reminded her of the bleating of a sheep led to slaughter. Still, she couldn’t help but feel faintly protective of the Cleric. After all, they’d traveled and fought together, and the Cleric was a good sort in the end—despite her zealous beliefs.

Much better than myself.

The overhanging branches cut out the sun as they ventured ever deeper, and the warmth faded away as they entered a gloomy, almost ethereal climate. The Reaper always felt a sensation of being watched in the Gallowoods, a feeling that stuck with her even now. Based on the Hex’s jittery movements and the Cleric’s muttered prayers, she guessed they felt the same way. Only the apostle seemed perfectly at peace as they marched forward, hopping over a small, murky puddle.

“Don’t stray from this path,” he advised over his shoulder, with another strange smile. “We might not find you ever again.”

The Reaper snorted dismissively, hiding the tension within her. She marched at the rear so that she was able to keep an eye on the Conduits, but she also felt ready to spin around should a threat appear.

What’s gotten into me? I wasn’t even this nervous when the whole of the Kings’ enforcers were pursuing us. We’re in friendly lands now, as safe as any since leaving Sepulkre. The Savant and his allies can’t be far off now.

Still, she couldn’t relax. Instead, she embraced the feeling, keeping a watchful gaze on their surroundings. Hours passed, and if the apostle followed a trail, he must have been the only one able to determine where it was. Occasionally the distant smell of noxious fumes came to them, drifting along the still breeze. It was an uncanny wind, as the air seemed stale around them, even as tree limbs rustled and shifted. No longer was there any sound of birds and other wildlife. There was nothing here but silence and the faint smell of death.

Yet as they continued, she felt her spirits lifting again, more energy flowing into her even as the hours continued to pass. The Reaper realized that they were once again close to a powerful Leyline. As they continued, she suddenly realized that it was no accident.

Of course, the Savant must have built his camp right beside it. How could I not have seen it before?

“Just up ahead now,” the apostle said, and past the nearest tree was a broken-down wagon. Bodies littered the ground, several in hauberks marked with the insignia of the Twin Kings. Several of Sepulkre’s fallen countrymen stuck out of the stream nearby, though others were still piled up in the wagon or slumped along the ground. It looked as though a corpse-disposal cart had been ambushed by some unseen foe, the scene still undisturbed until they passed by.

The Reaper adjusted her face mask. Staring at the bodies, she felt the uncomfortable sensation of recognition as she took in the sightless eyes of a fallen guardsman. She looked away and then noticed with surprise that more robed figures stood beyond the nearest trees. The apostle raised a hand in greeting, and then they made a final turn, revealing an outstretched campground beside the corpse-strewn river. Tents had sprouted into existence like mushrooms, the Savant’s personal tent chief among them, and the apostle led them unerringly toward it.

Emerging from within stood a sturdily built young blonde man in gold-trimmed violet robes, crossing his arms and staring at the new arrivals before nodding in recognition. He sported large gilded pauldrons that curled into a collar, flanking his neck in traditional Al’Qirsani fashion. The Reaper glared at him as he approached the group. He had claimed to be the Savant’s right hand when he recruited her some weeks prior, and she still did not understand how he managed to dodge her every strike long enough to convince her to join them. He had moved with such ferocity—it was as if he could predict her every move. The man smiled and raised a hand in salute.

“Good, you’re back! Do you have it?”

“We do,” the Reaper confirmed with a nod.

“Oh… a stranger,” the young man said, noticing the Cleric’s approach. He stuck out a hand. “I’m the Augur. Personal servant to the Savant.”

“Ah… I’m the Cleric.” She grasped his hand firmly, smiling faintly. “I won’t be here long.”

“Oh?” The Augur blinked. “That’s a shame. I’m sure the Savant would be glad to have you at his side. I can tell you’re a powerful Conduit. Well, in any event…” He paused at the entrance to the tent and grinned back at them. “Are you ready to see him?”

As the others nodded, he flung back the tent’s door flap and stepped inside. The interior seemed larger than the outside would have suggested. The Reaper stepped inside, curious to find an utter lack of guards or other lackeys about. She was used to the nobles of Sepulkre, who seemed to take a perverse joy in showing off their power by retaining a large staff. The Savant was evidently content with just the one.

The Savant sat beside a flickering fireplace, staring into the flames. He was an older man, though well-muscled under his robes, with a long goatee of pure white and stubble along his bald head. A bit of spittle dribbled out of the side of his mouth, resembling a graybeard well into retirement. Had she not known any better, she would have thought the man was addled, thinking only of days long ago and broken dreams.

The Reaper glanced at the Cleric, who couldn’t hide her skepticism.

It wasn’t much of an introduction.

“Master, they’re here,” the Augur said, tapping the old man gingerly on the shoulder.

“Eh?”

The Savant turned partway to look at them, but his gaze seemed to be somewhere else entirely.

“The ones you sent after the Soulstealer Chalice.”

At that, alertness flickered into his eyes, and his powerful gaze met the Reaper’s own.

“Ah, yes. I have need of that.”

“We were promised aurum,” the Reaper prompted. The Cleric snorted beside her, but the Reaper paid her no attention. Vengeance was motivation enough… but it could not feed a person.

“Oh yes. See they’re given what they’re owed,” the Savant rumbled, and the Augur nodded, making his way to a massive wooden chest in one corner of the tent. The Savant turned his chair to face them directly, steepling his fingers. “Where is it, then?”

The Hex pulled the Soulstealer Chalice out of her satchel, holding it up. The metal gleamed in the firelight. “It wasn’t easy to get,” she admitted. “We nearly died half a dozen t—”

“Good, good, bring it here,” the Savant interrupted, reaching forward. The Hex handed it over, and a broad smile spread across the old man’s features as he adjusted it in his hands, gazing at it in approval. The Augur approached, satchels filled with aurum in the crook of his elbow. He handed one over to the Reaper, then the Hex, then paused as he glanced at the Cleric.

“Ah…”

“No, no. I don’t need your blood money,” the Cleric said stiffly.

“Perfect,” the Savant murmured to himself, setting the Soulstealer Chalice down. “Now I just need souls… and their blood. Oh yes.”

“Ah…” The Reaper glanced at the Hex. She had never gotten used to the Savant’s peculiar attitude. “If that’s all, then—”

“Oh, hardly. Hardly!” the Savant snorted. “We stand at the very beginning of a new era.” The Savant pointed a thick finger at them. “A next step faces us. I need you with us if we’re to seize their blood.”

“Their… blood?” the Hex repeated.

“The Twin Kings!” the Savant roared as if annoyed at explaining himself to a pair of dunces. “Come with me. Kill them. I shall give you aurum and all the whitecloth you can dream of.”

The Reaper began to chuckle slowly, cracking her knuckles. “Oh, I’ll bleed them dry for you.”

The Hex nodded. “I’m with you.”

Framed in between them, the Cleric shuffled her feet. “This is crazy,” she muttered, staring at the flickering fireplace.

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