Screams echoed down the hallway, screams a man the size of Legs should be incapable of making. Mistress Harper shuddered at a particularly loud one as she gathered the meal plates. The woman had only been lightly injured in the attack, and Granny Esmer had been able to treat her injuries in moments.

Granny Esmer did not blink at the noise, and neither did Blake. Hellspawn made far more disturbing noises when they died. The pair sat, waiting for Lynch to be finished interrogating the one-time demonic thug. Blake suspected the interrogation was long over, and what was left was a little payback.

The pipe Granny and Blake were puffing at trailed smoke as he passed it back to the woman. Blake rolled a paper if he wished a smoke, but Granny had offered her pipe. Gorgeous carvings around the bowl, long stemmed, and of a red polished wood cool to the touch, Blake could not say no.

“This is prime Kindale tabac,” Granny said after rolling the smoke around in her mouth for the third time. Blake nodded.

“It will be some of the last ever grown,” he said with some sadness. For all their cruelties and injustices, Kindale had produced some of the world’s finest goods.

The Granny grunted. “Shame, that. Deserved what happened to ‘em. Tabac do no change that.”

“No one deserves what happened there.”

“Speak up, boy. Ye keep whisperin’ an' I’ll do to ye what I did to Howard.” She lifted her blackened stick in a threatening manner. Blake was not sure if she was joking. After a moment, she pulled another long draw from the pipe before handing it back.

“Who are you calling boy?” Blake asked. “I am old enough to be your brother.”

“Boyhood ain’t only age, Knight. Take ye and the soldier fer example. I can’t tell if ye are joking like meatheaded men or if ye hate each other true.” Smoke curled from Granny Esmer’s mouth like an ancient dragon. Dragons might well have made a home in the twisted mountains around Quincy Hill, had they survived the Crusades.

“I cannot tell either.” Blake shrugged. “But he is a good soldier, an honorable man. I respect that much about him.”

“Mmm. Ye think he’ll do what is needed?”

A scream built down the hall before cutting off sharply. Blake raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I do.”

“Good. Will no be an easy task.”

“About that,” Blake said. “I was thinking. We can have him scout the physical defenses, give us numbers and weapons and such, but there is not much he can do for anything magical Akisoromokevheje may have placed.”

“He’s no magical inclined? Thought all ye Army types had to be.”

“What? No! There would be no Army if everyone had to be…” the slight grin on Granny Esmer’s face caught his attention. “Ha. No, only the Mage divisions, and some irregulars. Most are standard mundane mortals.”

“Preston is more mundane than most, I feel.” Granny Esmer clicked her tongue around the stem of the pipe. “Can send a spirit with him. One or two around the valley would be up to the task.”

“Spirits?” Blake asked. “You have spirits in the valley? And you can trust them?”

“Dunno what ye’ve been doin’ in yer time here, but there’s a spirit around every tree.” Granny pointed out the window, uncovered now to let in the late day sun. “There’s one now.”

Pain flared in his side as Blake whipped his head around to stare out the window, eyes straining to catch the telltale glimmer of a spirit. There was nothing there aside from a bluebird perched on a tree branch. Spirits were good at hiding, so Blake kept searching, flooding his eyes with Seeking Intent. A glitter in the corner of his eye turned to be the sun reflecting from the shiny underside of a leaf. The chuckle of the Granny Woman told him he had been tricked.

“What issue have ye with spirits?”

“They are capricious, amoral, and wild,” Blake spat. “Vindictive, malicious, and—and—uncivilized.”

“Dunno the spirits ye’ve dealt with, but spirits 'round here ain't anything as such.”

“I doubt it. Spirits are tricksters.” The memories of spirit encounters set blood pumping in his ears. Blake was angry, and not without reason, in his perspective. “If you entrust a spirit with a stick, it will steal the stick and replace it with a venomous snake.”

“I’ve accompanied the spirit o’ the low mountains fer years, like my Master afore me. I trust the spirits o' this land, whatever yer misgivin’s.”

Blake threw up his hands. “I will have no part in this. Ask Lynch if he wishes a spirit companion, but I will not tolerate one.”

“Good fer ye he’s goin' alone. Ye and I will be travelling to the gravesite fer some scoutin' o' our own.”

“How deep into the mountains is it?”

“Far enough fer a day trip, Knight. If ye’re healed enough.” Granny Esmer tapped her staff against the floor, a heavier impact than the slender wood would suggest. “Despite yer prodigious recovery rate, the trip is no fer the injured or weak.”

“What’s not for the weak?” Lynch asked as he walked into the room rubbing at his arms with a towel, leaving dark spots behind. Blake cursed himself for not noticing the heavy footsteps and lack of screams.

“Hikin’ in 'em there mountains,” Granny Esmer said, inclining her head towards the window through which dark peaks of the Ebbolochian range could be seen. “What’d the thug have to say?”

“I have to say, I’m surprised at your stomach for this kind of work,” Lynch said to Esmer as he sat. Blake snorted. Many Wise Ones, be they Granny Woman, Medicine Men, Wise Women, Yarb Doctors, Folkholders, Wisdoms, or any of the hundreds of variations across the world, had stomachs to put the hardest soldier to shame. With what they dealt with on a daily basis, they could not be anything else.

“I have pulled demonspawn from wombs o' cattle, put down hell-tainted children, an' exorcised three Dark ghosts from still living flesh o' men afore ye were walkin',” the Granny Woman thundered, her face growing fierce and shadowed with every word. “What amount o' torture would bother me?”

Blake wished he had one of those new camera devices to capture the retired soldier’s expression. He could have sold it for hundreds. If only the camera was more portable.

“Noted, ma’am,” Lynch said after working his mouth without sound for several moments. “I'll share what I learned now.”

“Would be best fer ye, aye.” Blake had to keep from laughing watching Lynch come to the realization Granny Esmer was not some kindly old grandmother, but a fully fledged warrior against the Dark. She had done and seen things equal to any Knight of the Iron Order, if not more than many.

“First of import: Howard was not enthralled.”

Blake’s laughter died, replaced by irritation. “And how would you know? You detect Charm now?”

“No,” Lynch said with a frown at Blake, “but I ask questions. Howard joined with the Lady by choice. Demon. Demon by choice. Seems he wasn’t happy with his role in the town, and thought he was destined for more.”

“Of course,” Blake sneered. There was one or two in every village, a man or woman who thought the world owed them everything on a silver platter, and they shit gold. Dark forces worked as often through the greedy and discontented as often as the evil and cruel. “So there goes your second set of eyes.”

“It were a long shot anyway,” Granny Esmer said. “Howard were never much the man to run into a burning house fer a baby. Money box, maybe. We proceed as expected. Spirit an’ all.”

Blake saw her studying him from the edge of his vision, but he kept his attention focused on Lynch. “Any other useful information? Men, enchantments, weapons? Does she have a troll hidden in the basement?”

“Howard wasn’t interested in counting men, or noticing anything other than the demon and her… gifts.” Lynch gestured with both hands to demonstrate his meaning. Both Blake and Granny Esmer snorted then glanced at each other in surprise.

“So ye’ve gotten nothin' useful from this sad sack of shit in the hour ye spent beatin' on him?”

“I got immense satisfaction.” That brought a chuckle from Blake, but another derisive snort from Granny Esmer. Lynch shuffled in his footsteps. “Uh, no. Not actionable information.”

“Did he tell you how long ago Akisoromokevheje raised the Revenant?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Lynch asked. “The Captain is dead all the same.”

“It matters,” Blake said with deliberate pacing, “because the older a Revenant is, the harder it is to kill. A month old Revenant can be killed by simple physical means. A year old Revenant needs dismemberment, silver, and a noon day sun. A century old Revenant is near unkillable without extreme measures. I pray it is less than a month old.”

“Oh.” Lynch nodded. “Yes, he was complaining about it during our search for the pair of you. I hazard a guess of three weeks.”

“Right after discharge from Wealthmount then.” Blake rubbed his chin. It itched with three day stubble. He would have to ask if Farmer Harper had a razor to borrow. “He must have been taking the scenic route, the railroad passes nowhere near here.”

“Don’t I know it,” Lynch said. “I wouldn’t be here if not for the trainwreck uptracks.”

At the mention of the railroad, Blake kept all trace of reaction from his face. Internally, he winced. He may not have been directly responsible for the Gigante wrecking the train, but he was the cause of the beast’s aggravation. But if not for the beast, Blake would not be here either. So perhaps this was Yehway acting in His mysterious ways.

“Ye two are the first Federals I’ve seen fer years. If he came through, Akis snapped him up quick.”

“If Howard was the best thug in the valley, I can see why.” The sneer on Lynch’s face was a mirror of Blake.

“Seems there’s one thing ye two will agree on.” Granny Esmer chuckled. “Shames me it’s 'bout one o' my valleymen, though. He still alive?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t kill a man in cold blood!” Lynch protested.

“You'll kill them with artillery bombardment, rain death from the skies without ever seeing their faces, but killing them in cold blood is too much?” Blake asked, leaning forward in his bed. His side was hurting less with movement now, itched more than anything. Itch was good, meant the wound was healing.

“You have no room to judge me, Knight. Not after what you did in Aztlan.”

Wood creaked as the Granny Woman sat upright and turned to face Blake full on. “Ye’ve been to Aztlan?”

“Twenty some years ago, yes,” Blake said. A time in his life he would rather forget. Much like most of his life, if he was honest with himself. And like the rest of his life, recorded forever in his journals. “We fought in the Aztlani-Enerikan war.”

“That so? Thought ye Knights avoided conflicts like those. No politics, just supernatural.”

“I was young. And stupid.” Blake would not say more.

“Might not be young, but the other still applies,” Lynch jabbed with a smirk. Blake responded with a single finger. A broad grin crossed Lynch’s face, but was soon chased away by a frown. “You don’t look like you’ve aged much. But you have.”

Blake eyed Lynch, all seven feet of him. Gray filled his hair, lines creased deep around his wide mouth and heavy eyes, and the years dragged at his massive frame. He was as trim and fit as could be expected of a military man in his fifties, but age had not been kind to the giant Blake had fought beside all those decades ago. Blake was sure Lynch would beat him in a fair fight, but not for much longer. Blake knew he himself looked and felt, physically at least, like a man in his late twenties. A Boon of his Blood.

“It is about good living. Eating clean.” Blake shrugged. “Being a blessed apple of the eye of God does not hurt.”

“Blasphemy from a Knight? I have seen everything now.” Lynch snorted. “There is something else happening here.”

“There is,” Blake agreed. “But it is irrelevant to the task at hand. Namely, Akisoromokevheje.”

“Aye,” Granny Esmer said, “I were wonderin' when ye men were to stop yer dick measurin' contest.”

She fixed Blake with a hard stare. “I’ve seen ye naked, so I say with some confidence his is bigger.”

Laughter boomed from Lynch’s barrel chest, and a grin split his broad face to match. “Now the Wisest has declared me a victor, what are our next steps? I’m to scout the battlefield, but you are to tour the gravesite? What does this gain us?”

“It may not have settled in yet, but we are dealing with a magical threat, not a simple military matter. Knowledge of a thing takes away much of its power. Much of evil's power comes from the mystery of it,” Blake said. “We need information. Akisoromokevheje is not an ordinary demon. Too strong, too intelligent. Exhibits traits of both a vampire and a succubus, making it difficult to determine the best way to kill her. With the proper knowledge, it might be as easy as introducing a yellow haired shrew to her Domain, banishing her from the mortal plane.”

From the way Lynch’s eyebrows drew together, Blake could tell a question was forming. He did not give the man the opportunity. “But neither vampires nor succubi can be easily dealt with charlatan tricks like the shrew. Which brings us back to learning what she is. Charm is found in both species, but raising the dead is the realm of the vampire. Yet vampires do not tolerate sunlight, and Akisoromokevheje has touched the sunlight.

“There are further tests I could perform, but I do not think she would be willing to allow an iron needle or a hickory wreath in her presence. Purple snapberries do not grow this far south, either. Her form could be considered a manifestation of either vampiric or demonic origin, but could also be a remnant of her human form. Hmm.”

“She were pretty, but she weren’t the headturner ye saw. Demonic influence.” There was no malice or regret in the Granny Woman’s voice. Cold, hard fact.

“I fell asleep about halfway through your rambling,” Lynch added. “But you’re going to learn anything how from her grave? She’s not dead anymore.”

Blake sighed and rubbed between his eyes. “I will refrain from explaining anything to you in the future. My nine year old niece Margaret listens better. The important part is we are gathering more information about how to kill her. We cannot shoot her and pray. Probably.”

“If you had a big enough gun…” Lynch shrugged. “I doubt there’s much that could survive a cannonball to the spine.”

“Plenty o’ entities could.” Granny Esmer thumped her black staff on the floor, eliciting a hollow boom. “Spirits, fer one. No amount o' firepower is goin' to kill a spirit.”

“Enough about the spirits!” The red throbbing in Blake’s vision was not anything good, but neither was it new. His emotions were at a hair trigger, his control run ragged since Kindale. Before, really. The telegram called to him from his bag, damning words glowing in his vision. Blake put it from his mind, as he had every time before.

Emotions under a semblance of control, he directed the conversation away from the source of his irritation, hoping avoidance could replace absolute control for now. “The spirits will not help us here. But there are things to be done before you go to the lair of the beast, Lynch.”

“Like what?” The man did not seem concerned, just curious. Blake could not tell if the man’s bravery was due to confidence or ignorance of what he was facing. It could have been sheer stupidity as well, but Blake had known the man enough to see the sharp mind inside his thick skull.

“Ye need a Charm charm,” Granny Esmer said. “Sommat to protect ye from Akis an' her assets.”

The woman leaned forward and winked while whispering at a volume meant to carry. “An' ye’ll be gettin’ a spirit guide too. To help with the magic bits.”

The red returned to Blake’s vision, but he warded it off by focusing on what the Charm protection would require. It would have to be tuned to Lynch, Akisoromokevheje’s magic was too powerful for a generalized protection.

“A Charm protection?” Lynch asked, avoiding Blake’s eye. Blake knew the reason well. “Like the pendants the army gives out?”

“Nothing like those,” Blake said. “Those are trash, and work more on belief than on actual science.”

“Doesn’t all magic work on the belief it will work?” Lynch asked. Blake opened his mouth to reply with a detailed answer, but Granny Esmer forestalled him.

“Ye’re gettin' deep into philosophy and spellwork there, I suggest no further diggin'.”

Lynch looked between the pair, eyes lingering on Blake’s tattoos and Granny Esmer’s black staff. He nodded once and focused his gaze on the floor. “If not like the Army’s, then what?”

“A number of things,” Blake answered, “but most importantly you will need to be involved in the making. It will not work well enough without personal attunement.”

“I get my own magic?” Lynch asked with a grin. For all the man’s age, he seemed like a child promised a new pony for his birthday. A reasonable reaction, Blake supposed, for those of the mundane.

“You get a pendant, with a week’s expiration, with the inherent properties and the precise calibration to block and distort the effects of a demon’s Charm ability on your mind. If you wish to call that magic, then yes. But it is no true magic, merely a working with the nature of things.”

“Oh.”

“Yes.” Blake nodded. “And now to begin. Granny, could you give me my bag? There are a few reagents I believe will be excellent base materials. But if I cannot conjure a working from these, can you procure others?”

“Aye. But judgin’ from the heft o' this bag, ye’ve got half a forest in here. If ye can no find whatchu need from this, I fear the mountains will prove little help.” The dry note in her voice betrayed the humor her still face did not.

“It is a good bag,” Blake protested. “The fault is not mine my work requires a multitude of varied material.”

“It’s at least a little bit your fault,” Lynch said as Granny Esmer lifted the bag and set it in front of Blake. The Knight scoffed at the presumption he could ever be too prepared. A quick examination proved the contents of the bag intact and in the proper locations. Pushing aside the books and letters, Blake pulled out a leather case with the symbol for Nature stamped deep across the front.

“If you do not wish for a pendant, please tell me. I am sure Akisoromokevheje would love for another capable servant, since we have disabled her primary thrall.” Lips compressed to thin white lines were the soldier’s only response. Blake nodded. “Thought that was the case. Come here, let us get this done with.”

Walking forward with the motion of a wary cat, Lynch moved beside the bed. Blake gestured to the chair.

“Sit. This may take a while.” He rummaged through the leather case, pulling out feathers, leaves, rocks, metal shavings, anything he judged Lynch might have a base connection with. There was not any corn in his case. Perhaps Blake would need to fill out his samples even further.

“What are these for?” Lynch eyed the growing piles of reagents.

“These,” Blake said, pulling out the last reagent he hoped might be useful, a tuft of fur from a Northern Stonelynx, “are what will keep you safe from Akisoromokevheje. We are going to grind these into a stew, and you will need to eat the entire pot, or the demon can seize control of your mind again.”

“Uh.” Several of the reagents Blake had removed were glass tubes containing animal excrement, and a faint green tinge filled in Lynch’s face.

“Quit teasin’ the boy,” Granny Esmer said, ruining Blake’s fun. She spoke to Lynch. “Ye won’t be eatin’ a thing. Just findin’ things what resonant with ye, an' makin’ a bracelet or pendant fer ye.”

“Oh, is that all?”

Blake sighed. “Yes, that is all. It is not as easy as Granny Esmer has made it sound. There will be pain, and great effort.”

“But if we do it right, the La-demon won’t be able to work me over again?”

“Not so long as you hold the talisman, and the connection is not severed.” Blake sorted through the piles, pulling out the objects he could now sense would not match Lynch. “But the connection between a talisman made for you, with your Intent mixed in, is almost impossible to sever. General talismans, like the Army pendants, are trivial to sever with the right knowledge. But it works more than it fails, so the Army continues to use them as they have.”

“My intent?”

“Intent, boy, no intent,” Granny Esmer said.

“...is that not what I said?” Lynch asked. His jaw tightened. “This some sort of joke you magic folk play on the normal people like me?”

“Neither of us are magical folk,” Blake said. “Common mistake. We just perceive more about the underlying truths of reality.”

The look Lynch gave him deserved the camera treatment as well. If he survived, Blake would have to improve the current technology. “That may be the most pretentious sentence I've ever heard, and I served under Major Killian.”

“Ah, Killian. He did not deserve the flock of bats.” Blake shrugged. “Still, could have been avoided. Now, time is a-wasting. You need a talisman before the sun sets.”

Sunlight flooded the room, overpowering the blue elymis glow of the magelights. Blake swiftly sought the source and saw Granny Esmer had drawn back the curtains and poked her head around to the window. “Ye’ve got less than two hours. Best hustle.”

“I realize it is day, and unlikely for Akisoromokevhejeto be roaming the countryside for us,” Blake said with a cold bite, “but she could have sent more scouting parties than only the giant and the blockhead. Kindly do not reveal our location.”

Granny Esmer shrugged and let the curtain fall back into place. “If ye insist.”

With a shake of his head, Blake turned back to Lynch, who was still sitting beside the bed with a puzzled expression.

“You have never had a real talisman, so I will touch upon the theory behind the working. Talismans can take any form, but what unites them as a whole is the use of Intent to create and bind, with symbols to hold the Intent to physical form. The mundane person cannot summon their Intent for any sustained duration and must use these symbols, with the help of someone possessing Wisdom, to create an item through which Intent can be channeled and sustained.” Blake would have continued but Lynch interrupted.

“You mean I could keep her Charm off by thinking about it?”

The ferocity with which Blake’s eye began to twitch was almost enough to cause him to grab his face, but he restrained himself. He resorted to controlled breathing and ignoring Granny Esmer’s choked laughter.

“There are,” he began with as much calm as he could, “several things wrong with what you said, the foremost of which is you possess zero ability to manifest your Intent. I would know, I have been around you enough to learn your capabilities. You have none.”

At the briefest sign Lynch was going to reply, Blake held up his hand. “No, we will not be testing this. You will get a talisman to protect from Akisoromokevheje’s Charm, and that is that. Put your hand out.”

“You-what?”

“Hand,” Blake said, demonstrating. “Put it out, palm up. Time to select your symbols.”

Lynch narrowed his eyes but put out his hand without further argument. As soon as he did, Blake placed the first item from the pile in the soldier’s hand. It was a simple penny, minted several years ago. There was nothing special about the construction of the coin, but Blake had found it head side up, under a rainbow. It was a lucky coin, even if carrying it had not given Blake any discernible boons in the last year.

“Concentrate on what this penny means to you, what it represents,” Blake said, watching the penny carefully.

“What?” It did not come as a surprise Lynch did not understand what Blake meant, but it was still an annoyance.

“What it means to you. That is all you need to think about.” The soldier only appeared more confused. Blake sighed. This would take a while. Time they did not have. There was a chance a general talisman would work. Akisoromokevheje already thought the man was under her control, she might not Charm him again. As succubi Charmed like they breathed, Blake doubted it.

“At its basic self, what do a penny represent to ye? No money, no wealth, but ability to feed yer family, travel the world? The concept, boy.” After a brief moment, Lynch’s face brightened and a smile split his face.

“Yes, I understand. It means-”

“Do not tell us,” Blake said hurriedly. “If you share your meaning, it defeats the purpose of having you infuse the reagent.”

“Hmm.” The giant stared at the penny tiny in his hand. “I’m thinking about it. What now?”

Blake watched the penny, playing his own Intent across the coin. There was no reverb, no resonance.

“Now nothing. This is not a part of your talisman.” The penny was replaced with a hawk’s tail feather, collected from a male broad-wing, the black bands on the feather stark against the white. This feather had come from the nest of a family of hawks who had roosted in the tallest tree for a hundred miles around Blake’s hometown. The nest had been there for decades, reused and reclaimed by generations of broad-wings. Not that any hawk feather could not have worked, but Workings performed best when there was Meaning behind them. “Try this one. What does this hawk’s feather mean? Concentrate.”

This time, as Blake pushed out his own Intent he felt the resonance with Lynch’s Intent. The feather was a powerful symbol for the soldier, one of freedom, of sovereignty. This would form the foundations for Lynch’s talisman. Lynch could do nothing himself, of course, the man was mundane enough to counteract any Working below a minor tier by his sheer presence. But with Blake to guide, to shape, Lynch would be able to construct a talisman built on his own Intent, his own Meaning. Such a safeguard was impenetrable by the likes of Akisoromokevheje.

“Good!” Blake said. He grabbed the feather and set it to the side, placing the next object in Lynch’s hand. It went like this for three quarters of an hour, leaving three items for use in the talisman. The hawk’s feather for freedom, rosemary for remembrance, and iron to protect. A good start.

“Hold the iron spike out between your fingers,” Blake instructed Lynch. The soldier did as he was told. “Now, while I am assembling this, focus on what these three components mean to you. Focus on the Meaning, and I will do the rest.”

With a glance to confirm Lynch was doing as he had instructed, Blake turned the hawk feather in his hand, searching for the connection point. To assemble such parts together into a coherent whole, there needed to be great care taken to allow the flow of energy and Meaning to flow as effortlessly as possible. Practitioners in the southern bayous had taught Blake much about such talismans, more than he had learned in his Knightly education. There was much still he could not do, but the education had been startling.

“How come you don’t summon an angel to deal with the demon?” Lynch asked, ignoring Blake’s instructions to focus on the pendant.

Blake sighed, losing his thread of concentration. “Because I do not feel like leveling the local mountains by summoning an angel. Now be quiet and focus like I told you.”

“The fight would be bad enough to level mountains? How are we going to deal with the demon then?”

“I did not say the fight would do it.” Blake grimaced. “The sheer presence of the angel, a true angel, would turn this town to dust. Angels are not considered lightly.”

“Do no the fool priests summon 'em all the time?” Granny Esmer asked, voice curious.

“Absolutely not,” Blake said, voice firm. “Priests and other Faithful can channel the power and Will of an angel, or through an avatar. Never does the angel appear in true physical form.”

“It’s that bad?” Lynch asked. Blake nodded. He had seen the aftermath of an attempted angelic summoning. It was not something he would forget. The summoning had only been for a cherub, nothing like an archangel or even a lesser seraphim.

“All this talk aside, I do not have the proper tools. I lack Holy Flesh and a Bible to summon anything powerful.”

“All 'em books in yer bag an’ ye do no got a Bible? Thought ye were a man o’ God.”

“I am of the Blood of Yeshas, I am not a man of God.” Blake did not feel like explaining further. He knew, by the fact of his own existence, God existed. But Blake did not worship Him with anything nearing the devotion of the true believers. God was a fact, and Blake served him by fighting Evil.

“Now, Focus, Lynch. This needs to be done.” The soldier jumped and cleared his throat. Blake held the feather out again, raising an eyebrow at the soldier in question. The man nodded and Blake returned to his task.

Once the connection point was found, Blake bound the hawk feather to the iron spike with a thread of string, hand woven by himself at dawn, noon, and dusk. The surge of Meaning in the joined talisman told Blake he had done well, but he confirmed with Lynch.

“Did you feel that? The energy surge?”

“Is that what that was?” the soldier asked. “Felt like a ten pounder went off right beside me, but there wasn’t any noise.”

“Good, it is working.” Blake repeated the process with the rosemary, and asked the Granny Woman to confirm the final arrangement of the talisman.

“Ye’ve done good work here, Knight. An’ quick too.”

“Quick?” Lynch asked. “It’s been hours.”

“Protection talismans and personal wards can take days to fully assemble, boy. What the Knight’s done is impressive.”

Blake shrugged. “It was nothing I have not done before. It will protect against mental intrusion, and not much more. I would have liked to add a physical component, but there is not enough time.”

A yawn forced itself between his teeth, and he was too tired to fight it. Holding the mental energy necessary for the working he had completed was as exhausting as carrying a dozen sacks of grain up a mountain at once.

“To bed with ye, Knight. Ye’ve to be rested fer the journey tomorrow, an' be up afore the sun rises.”

Blake wished to argue, but there was not energy enough left in him to do so. He leaned back and let sleep overtake him, to prepare for the day to come. Questions needed answered, and Blake wished this affair to be finished and on his way upriver. There was business that needed attending.