After righting myself to land on my feet, the first thing I did was reach up and run my gloved fingers along the crack in my mask.

What I gathered told me several things. The crack ran almost entirely from the top of the mask to the bottom. And in most areas, it ran all the way through to the back. While it was still barely holding together, it was only a matter of time before it split. That, combined with most of my coat having burned away, placed me in quite the predicament.

I could leave. Scales was fully capable of hiding The Hero now that they'd escaped the flaming cage. I also had a feeling that without ranged support, The Warren wouldn't continue the assault on the city. These people acted as a team and would likely continue to do so in the future. So, I could leave, but I wouldn't.

While six months wasn't the longest time I'd spent looking for something, it was one of the longest I'd gone without any hint of what I was seeking. I had no desire to give up on the first sign of a trail. The Warren knew something, and he would provide me with that information one way or another.

"Who the fuck are you?" The Warren bellowed across the plaza. "Before, I was thinking about letting you live. My target was only the little miss. But bossman ordered us to kill anyone who knew about the summoning. So, I can't let you leave." His words were punctuated by the first use of any kind of energy from either of us—his axe flooding with spirit.

The Warren rushed me, easily covering the distance between us in an instant, his axe already swinging down towards my head.

I couldn't avoid the blade, so I stepped into the attack, adjusting the blade's trajectory to behind me, its handle slamming down into my shoulder.

I felt my collar bone crack under the force, but I ignored it and lifted both my arms to grab the head of my opponent. Quicker than he could react, I yanked myself upward past the handle of his axe to slam my knee into his nose. With a sharp crack, I felt his nose cave to my blow.

Disoriented, The Warren stumbled backwards before regaining his balance.

I didn't wait for him to ready himself again. Giving chase as swiftly as I could, I rammed my uninjured shoulder into his chest. I felt another crack before my momentum transferred into him, flinging him back towards the fountain.

Sliding along the ground, The Warren came to a stop by digging the pick end of his weapon into the ground.

"Now that kinda hurt." The Warren said before spitting out a bit of blood that had dripped from his nose into his mouth. "I won't lie, I'd prefer to letcha go." The Warren rushed forward, spirit flooding into his limbs. "A good battle takes build up," He attempted to cleave across my chest while speaking. I ducked under the blow, bringing my leg around in a circle to kick his shin. "Several anticlimatic altercations," Using deft footwork, The Warren spun around my kick and brought the pick end of his weapon down toward my crouched form. "Getting to know the other guy through several fights before a final showdown. But, orders are orders, so you gotta die."

I once again failed to entirely avoid the attack.

I jumped towards my opponent's side, barely avoiding my skull being skewered in the process. But, my head was still struck by the handle right beneath the blade head, disorienting me.

Using my forward momentum, I pulled myself into a roll, attempting to get past my opponent, but in my disoriented state, I let my mask hit the ground, increasing the crack's severity. A spiderweb of smaller fissures spread out from the main one making it look almost like it had scales.

After a single roll, I regained my sense of balance and continued forward, turning my roll into a flip, grabbing a loose stone from the ground, and hurling it backward at the head of The Warren

Maybe the stone was weak, or perhaps The Warren had a hard skull because it shattered into dust upon contact with the side of his face as he turned towards me. The dust blasted past his eyes, obstructing his vision long enough for me to land on my feet and prepare a message for him to read with a small piece of my remaining mana.

When The Warren cleared the dust from his eyes and faced me, he saw a message reading out, "Where is the summoned?"

"I know you got a voice. So why writing that out?" The Warren asked, a look of confusion washing across his face. Shaking his head as if to clear his mind, The Warren once again readied his axe. "Doesn't matter." He said, almost under his breath. "I ain't stupid enough to spill something like that. So, might as well make your peace with whatever god you pray to. Cause I do have to kill you."

Faster than I was expecting, The Warren appeared in front of me, his axe already mid-swing, aimed directly at my neck.

I couldn't dodge; his attack would take the top of my head if I ducked and split my chest if I jumped. I had little choice but to use the last bit of my stored mana to produce a shield to block the attack.

With a loud GONG, his attack stopped dead against the almost invisible slate of hardened mana. The vibrations traveled down the handle of the axe into the arms of my opponent.

Unwilling to let go, The Warren tightened his grip on the axe causing the vibrations to rip into his forearms' muscles. Small spurts of blood scattered from his arms as the skin tore from the strained muscles attempts to mitigate the force.

I took the opportunity to retreat to the edge of the fountain.

With a moment's reprieve, I took a second to analyze my situation. I hated to admit it, but he was faster than me. Without any spirit to reinforce myself, I would lose a direct brawl. His larger effective range, combined with the speed at which he could place me within that range, guaranteed that I couldn't win with my hands alone.

I would have to do that if I wanted to win and extract information from him.

"So, what did you call us for?" The Man asked while he and The Woman entered a room near the top of the tower.

"A final truth, and a hunt." The Husk rasped out, standing with its back to the two.

"I'd be up for a hunt." The Woman said happily. "What are we after? Something tasty? Jackalope, Wyrms, Be-ar?" The Woman's questions were halted by The Husks' lifted hand.

"So, what kind of truth is it?" The Man asked. "Cause it's getting a bit frustrating not knowing the whole story." He said with a little venom in his voice.

"I am fully aware, but I can't reveal this truth myself." The Husk rasped out. "Which is why the hunt will come first." The Husk punctuated its sentence by turning to face the two and extending its hands to them. "Grab ahold, and keep your eyes closed." The Husk's rasping command washed over the two.

Trusting The Husk, The Woman stepped forward, grabbed one of the extended bony hands, and then closed her eyes tightly. Slightly more hesitant, The Man grabbed one of the offered hands but asked a question before closing his eyes.

"What are we hunting?" The Man asked nervously. But, even with his misgiving's, he closed his eyes before receiving a response.

"We are hunting one of my own." The Husk rasped out the terrifying response before the world around the two felt like it was caving in.

The feeling of the ground vanished. The air whipped around in a storm before becoming as still as a room that hadn't been opened in years. A sense of being watched rushed over the two, and a twisting not of unease settled into both their stomachs.

"Do not open your eyes no matter how much you are tempted; it will drive you mad." The Husk's rasping voice seemed to come from inside their heads.

The unease turned to fear, and the sense of being watched became the concept of a world of eyes all peering in towards them. Joining the gaze was a feeling of hands, thousands of them running about their bodies. Each without purpose, as if the hands of some grasping for something dropped in the dark.

The air remained still, but it took on a smell of something old, far too old, something that was forgotten somewhere unseen.

Half-formed whispers of words unspoken brushed against their ears, sentences left unspoken, secrets lost in the shadows, the cries of children in obscured alleys. Then came the screaming.

Constant, unbearable, anguished. Thousands of voices wailing in agony and madness. Each conveying a pain untold, a madness forged by centuries of sorrow. Each unintelligible but all the more horrendous to listen to. The hands became claws, scratching at their skin.

Ripping into them, looking for something, trying to take something, but somehow, despite the pain, the two knew they were untouched.

Then, it all vanished.

The air moved once more, a slight breeze carrying the sounds of a forest and the scent of spoiled food.

"You may open your eyes."The Husk rasped out, releasing its grip on the two hands.

When The Man opened his eyes, he was greeted with the sight of an unfamiliar village. Composed of only about a dozen buildings, the small hamlet surrounded by trees seemed more like a well kept hunting camp than a place people spent their day to day lives. The tree line sat barely past the farthest building, which wasn't more than a 10-minute walk from what appeared to be the center of town. The buildings were indistinct, each built identical to the last, likely all houses, or at least, none seemed to be a shop from the outside.

All in all, the little gathering seemed to be like any border village The Man had ever seen or heard of, but a few things were off.

The first was the position of the sun. It had been dawn when they left, but the sun now sat affixed almost straight overhead. But even that wasn't too confusing, only a sign of how far they must have traveled.

No, the truly strange thing was not in the sky, but the buildings.

A community like this was always active. Someone always running to and fro, getting something done. A necessity to maintain a life out in the wilds. The chimneys would all have smoke billowing out of them, from the fires within, especially in these cold months. The village's edge would have a couple of the stronger inhabitants as guards against any threat, whether it be man, beast, or monster.

But the only sound in the surroundings was that of the forest. And even that seemed distant, despite the treeline being so close.

Further investigation showed that tools lay abandoned on the ground. Weapons tossed away as if surrendering them. Peaking in a window showed food rotting on the table of one house. Like the occupants had been in the middle of a meal when they left.

"What happened here?" The Woman asked, a clear hint of unease in her voice.

"A multifaceted tragedy." The Husk rasped out, looking toward the center of the village.

"That was pretty clear already, mind explaining better." The Man asked, the same unease in his voice, masked thinly with sarcasm.

"She arrived in the night, slow, wondering, only recently having woken." The Husk started elaborating, it's rasping voice slowly leaking out to encompass the area. "Even fresh from the edge, she was stronger than them. At first, they tried to fight her off." The air around The Husk seemed to take on an almost ethereal feeling, it's ragged bandage wrapped body slowly darkening from pale grey to a dull black. "But they didn't stand a chance. Those first lost lives were the lucky ones. When the rest ran, they scattered, fleeing in every direction, disordered, alone."

The Man's face started to pale upon realizing what exactly The Husk had brought them to hunt.

"She picked most of them off slowly, cruelly. She played with them, and they suffered for that. But, it allowed a few, the one with what could be argued to be the worst or best luck, to escape. That's how I came to know about her." The ethereal aura around The Husk vanished, leaving a much darker body that was much more monstrous in its wake.

The Bandagedes had darkened to almost eery black. Clinging loosely to the bones beneath, as if The Husk lacked any form of muscle at all. The ends of the bandages floated, almost unimpacted by the wind around them. The neck and midsection of The Husk were the only areas that appeared to house anything more than bone, but those still lacked the necessary volume to contain the requisite organs for a living creature. As if the concept of life was ripped away, leaving only an entity of fear and anguish.

"Who is she?" The Woman asked, her voice hardened with unease.

"She is right there." The Husk pointed forward, its rasping terror of a voice taking on that same resonating tone.

Looking in the direction, THe Husk pointed revealed nothing, an empty plot of land near the center of town, a tool, maybe an animal, but nothing one could be called a She.

Then the world lurched. As if trying to make what The Husk said true, space where it pointed warped, caving in on itself in a horrendous manner. Light bent inwards towards a center that seemed impossibly vast. Shadows spun about that core, cast by objects unseen. Reality strained around that core, cracks spreading outwards as if the world couldn't handle the strain of whatever had occurred.

And, just when The Man thought he would be sucked into that vastly tiny point, crushed into nothing, and lost in some unknown place, It stopped. And, in its place, a humanoid figure stood, looking about with apparent confusion.

What stood there looked humanoid but was far from it. Another Husk stood in the center of the village. This one almost white, its bandage-like skin barely having greyed with age. The almost meat beneath that skin still present, giving the body a nearly feminine figure. Even still, it didn't lack the near emaciated look accustomed to husks, nor did it lack the flat section where a face should lie. Like someone had cut clean through the skull, leaving an empty, unidentifiable slate where one should have a face.

"All I require of you two is for you to keep your eyes on her. I will deal with her as is needed." The Husk rasped out its dismissal of the battle stance both The Man and Woman had taken unknowingly before rushing forward to meet its kin in combat.

Hal quickly cast a fireball, throwing it toward Torren, while Instinct Sliced slashed their wooden sword threw a waterfall coming from behind.

Or at least, that was the idea.

In actuality, Hal put too much weight behind the throw, pulling Instincts slash off course. This caused the condensed ball of water to smack into them before the fireball had left Hal's hand, causing it to fly far to the left of Torren.

Falling to the ground from the orb's force, Hal and Instinct made sure to maintain control of their half of the body. After the brothers had gotten a handle on moving as one, Torren and Fairgarth had started punishing them for failing to maintain the balance between them, especially when they took a hit.

It wasn't the most excellent teaching method, but it was quick. And, from what the brothers had gathered, quick was what they needed.

The adults wouldn't say it directly, but something was happening that had them on edge. They'd stopped letting the brothers go into town, requiring they train in every moment of free time. The pace of the training increased every day. Even now, the boys rolled to the side quickly because Fairgarth hadn't let up in his assault of condensed water orbs when they'd hit the ground.

"Sloppy." Torren bellowed. Moving from his standing position, Torren started harassing the boy's attempts to evade the mostly harmless magic. "Burn me, cut me down, blow me away. Do whatever you must to get out of a situation." He ceased merely intervening and began his own assault after the boys managed to stand. "There are no dirty tricks in survival. ANYTHING goes. So, STRIKE US DOWN." Torren punctuated his yelling with swift swings of a deceptively sharp wooden blade.

The boys attempted to evade but only managed to mitigate the damage from each blow slightly—minor lacerations marking what could have been severe wounds if they'd tried to take the strikes.

"every individual thing in your environment is a tool to be used: the dirt, the air, everything," Fairgarth said calmly, having remained in the same position the entire match, his constant assault of magic thwarting every attempt the boys made to approach him.

The boys remained quiet through all of this, not out of choice but from an inability to speak. Any attempt to talk while maintaining the balance between them had resulted in slurred words and bitten tongues. This had proved difficult during matches, as it meant neither could ask for any advice from their teachers, only each other.

>What are we supposed to do? They said we wouldn't end today until we'd managed to land a blow on both of them, but we haven't gotten close even once. >From what I can tell, the point of today is to teach us something about going against our preconceptions. >Yeah? So how do we do that? Cause I would prefer to end this soon if we can.

Instinct did not respond for some time—the continued assault by both teachers wearing down on the boys' shared body with every passing second. Torrens light but swift swings leaving shallow cuts more often than not, and Fairgarths condensed orbs of water, leaving bruising whenever they hit. Both Hal and Instinct did their best to land a blow on even one of their teachers. But, as if mocking them, Torrens seemed to always be exactly where an attack would land if it had gone where intended. And when they got close to Fairgarth, his pace picked up so much it was like walking against a waterfall.

After some time, Instinct asked a question of his brother.

>Can you cast magic without your hands? >....I don't know. Never even tried. >Try.And give me all you can.

Hal was quick to comply, handing over both limbs he controlled to allow Instinct to move with less restriction. Hal made sure to maintain enough control to show on their face to make it clear that they had chosen to switch, rather than Hal failing to maintain balance with his other half.

Instinct started moving significantly faster, successfully striking down almost every orb that came towards them and evading most of Torren's blows entirely. But, still, without Hal's support, he still lacked any way to land a blow on the two masters. He could reinforce himself and the weapon in his hand with spirit easily. He could even create a ranged attack with it. But Torren could evade such things with ease, and Fairgarth would block it with a wall of water should it come towards him.

So, while the switch up had lessened the amount of damage the two had to endure, it had not yet placed them any closer to ending this session.

Fully aware of this, Hal began attempting to cast a spell without the ability to shape the mana with his hands or any limb at all.

Without a limb to move, Hal was almost forced to create the groundwork of the spell inside of their body. But this seemed wrong to Hal. Not to mention, it would prove deadly. With the ignition point of attack magic being the center of the formation, it would blast a hole through them if Hal cast it from within them.

Mana had little desire to exist inside of a living creature. It's tendency towards straight lines and geometric patterns ripping apart the meat of those it occupied. >But then, how does it move inside of me before I start using it in a spell.

This wasn't exactly the best time to ask such things, but Hal felt that it was a viable path to finishing today/s training.

So, Hal looked inward, toward where he felt his mana. The feeling was similar to a belly filled with warm liquid, contrary to how Instinct described spirit, like lungs filled with fresh air. Neither was an accurate description, as these resources did not occupy a physical location. But, it was the best one available without relevant experience with the two energies.

Delving to that false stomach, Hal took control of one arm and cast a simple spell. Watching the energy closely, Hal saw it flow along an unseen path. Like vines or tree roots, they occupied every part of Hals body, but only in certain places did they open to the outside. Mostly near his hands and feet, but also a few in the joints and eyes. As the energy approached the ends of these paths, it ceased to flow like a liquid, taking on the characteristic geometry Hal was accustomed to.

Hal released his control of the arm, returning it to Instinct. Hal had seen the openings but didn't understand how he moved mana inside his physical body. Those path's appeared to restrict the nature of mana to something less volatile but not directly usable.

With a new question, Hal moved a small bit of mana inside of himself as if to cast a spell.

This time, when Hal watched the liquid mana flow through him to the point he wanted, he was surprised to see it punch a hole through the wall of the roots and instantly took on a rigid nature.

The sudden spike of pain from the rigid mana caused Instinct to stutter for a second. This resulted in him taking one of Torrens' blows to the back, leaving a red streak that slowly closed, leaving nothing but a torn shirt.

Maybe he trusted Hal or was concentrating on not taking another blow, but Instinct did not comment on the spike of pain. Hal was grateful for this, as it allowed him to observe as the pathway rebuilt itself from the breakage.

Instead of closing up and returning to how it was, the path continued to act like a plant, growing out from the new hole till it contacted another pathway. This formed another way for mana to reach, where Hal willed it to, even if it was seemingly a thinner one.

With this knowledge in hand, Hal took to poking holes in the paths closer to the surface of his skin. Like the damage from before, these ones started growing outward, but instead of contacting another route, they met the air, where they formed similar openings to those already present.

Hal knew he'd have to ask Fairgarth if it was a good idea to do this later, but for now, he used these new openings to finish the training session.

The next time Torren engaged Instinct, Hal constructed a spell from the center of their chest, blasting a ball of sticky mud into Torren's astonished face. Following the rules he'd set, Torren retreated to the edge of the training field, leaving Hal and Instinct to engage Fairgarth without the interference of a melee combatant.

But, contrary to the boy's expected, Fairgarth did not continue to assault them with any form of magic. Instead, when Torren retreated, a familiar voice cut across the courtyard closing the training for the time being.

"Enough, Boys, take a break; I need to speak with your teachers." The Old Man bellowed from the house.

The next time The Warren assaulted me, I used all of my strength to blow myself away from him, putting as much distance between us as I could. Directly behind me, the flames rumbled, the heat washing over my back, the roar drowning out all other sounds. The Warren stood at the fountain, a slight look of confused irritation on his face.

"YOU TRYIN TO RUN?" He bellowed at me while preparing to intercept any attempts to breach the flame cage.

But, I had no intention of fleeing. I needed time, yes. But, I didn't need that time to leave. I needed it to begin ripping the energy in the air into its composite parts.

Usually, this process happens naturally and randomly. You would then slowly take in the ambient spirit and mana to convert it into something for your own usage. But, I didn't have the time to wait for natural occurrence, and I absolutely couldn't take the time to convert anything to my own unique blend. So, I ripped and tore, shredding the energy down till I had usable spirit and mana.

The process was inefficient and terrible for the natural flow of this city's energy. My only hope was that enough people came through this area later, else I create a dead zone in the middle of a populated place.

I could feel the temperature dropping as I tore the energy around me apart. The world attempting to correct the deficit by using heat as a supplement. But, I did not stop. I kept ripping till I had enough mana for some spells, then I Ripped some more. I was unwilling to risk losing my first lead for fear of damaging this city.

With my reserve of mana growing and a coating of spirit on my limbs, I finally took action.

With some semblance of efficacy in mind, I started with pyrokinesis, the cage of flames acting as ample resource for the spell, for now. I reached back and grabbed at the invisible anchors around the fire and yanked the forward, flinging a veritable wall of fire towards The Warren. The Flames rushed past me, close enough to visibly heat my mask's material. A creaking sound originated from the cracks, just loud enough to hear but low enough to ignore in the moment.

I imagined a massive serpent leaping through the air, jaw wide, it's prey to be engulfed by the enormous open maw. And, so it was. The flames took on the image I imposed, becoming a snake flying through the air toward The Warren. I chased after the snake, hiding in the blinding light of its false scales.

The Warren didn't stand idly by and take the torrent of flame. I raised his axe above his head. And While flooding it with spirit, he brought it down on the head of the flaming serpent, scattering the flames to either side of him. But, he failed to react to me, leaping through the remaining flames. I slammed my right fist into his face, I could feel his nose crack under the blow before he flew backward from the force. He'd likely taken the lull to repair some of his injuries, a luxury I did not have. When my fist landed, I felt my damaged collar bone creak, threatening to immobilize my arm entirely if I continued straining it. I would have to avoid a melee if I could.

I didn't wait for The Warren to stop his tumble along the ground. Grabbing flames behind him, I pulled them towards me, another snake forming, it's body fed by the cage of fire. This snake did not seek to bite or swallow; instead, I commanded it to circle its prey and constrict his movement. The flames took to this eagerly, their origin being a spell meant to entrap meant they quickly took the concept of restraint.

When The Warren regained his footing, he found himself surrounded by burning scales. Not one to let my opponent think, I used another spell to flings spikes of stone through the fire towards my opponent. Each one small, having formed from the bricks at my feet, but they still packed a punch if they hit.

That is IF they hit.

The Warren evaded these spikes with ease, moving around them in a manner resembling a dance. And, before I could use another form of assault, he once again flooded the head of his axe with spirit, and with a quick spin, he disrupted the flames surrounding him, scattering them into the air.

"So the little missus got a full-fledge warmage on her side." The Warren said gleefully before bursting into raucous laughter. "This be much more fun than I expected." He lowered his weapon in a manner that suggested the fight was not over, but he intended to talk for a moment. "You got a name?" He asked, a massive grin on his face.

Choosing to humor the lull in the fight, if only to gather more mana, I responded. "I currently go by Mask." The letters glowed in a way that highlighted them against the shrinking fires around us.

"Littel on the nose, innit?" The Warren said before chuckling. "Well, no matter." He jammed a thumb towards himself. "Names Kahr, no family name worth given." He lifted his axe again, readying to continue our fight. "Now, even if I was willing, I can't give you the info you want. Bossman made me make a binding oath about it." He seemed slightly disappointed about what he was saying.

I could understand his frustration as I shared in it. He'd die long before the oath let him speak on what he knew. Mind magic would only give me a second more to get what I wanted before the magic at work caught on that the information was at risk and ended him anyway. The available methods to circumvent the oath and acquire the information I was after were limited. I could attempt to break the oath, but I'd prefer to survive to act on what I learned. I could still pry the information from his mind if I was fast enough, but I had no personal grudge against this man. That and the fact that any knowledge I preened from such a thing would likely be outdated.

>I could track him.

I should have noticed at this point that the balance I had with my curse was fading. The damage to my mask, combined with my cloak having burned away, meant I no longer had anything other than my own mind working to hold the curse at bay. And I was slipping.

"Fine," I spoke aloud for the second time this fight. The world turning at the sound.

Hal let the adults leave. He wanted to hear what they had to say, but they'd never let him listen in. So, he let them go, or at least acted like he was. A little while after they'd left, Hal asked Instinct to follow them. He'd do it himself, but Tinct was better at being sneaky.

When the boy's caught up to the adult in The Old Man's study, the conversation was already well on its way. As made apparent by the sound of troubled voices coming from the other side of the door.

"They're not ready," Torren said, clearly straining to avoid shouting.

"I disdain to agree with him, but they will not survive at their current skill level," Fairgarth said, clearly just as troubled, if better at controlling his emotions.

"Do you two think I don't know that?" The Old Man asked what sounded like a rhetorical question, his tone almost enraged. "If this were normal circumstance, I'd be ecstatic for one of the children to be as skilled as they are before their fifteenth." The Old Man's voice took on a desperation Hal had never heard. "But, we're out of time. The Lord of the city died this morning, and his son is far more devout than he was." The Old Man didn't continue speaking, but the other two clearly understood what he was implying.

"They'll have the approval within the month." Torren's voice was distraught. "That's not enough time." A loud thunk came from the room; Hal guessed it was Torren collapsing into a chair.

"Is this why you created those." Fairgarth sounded more grave than Hal had ever heard him. Whatever he was referring to, Hal could only guess. "If someone gets even an inkling of what those are, they'll do far worse than kill for them. You understand that, correct?"

"I am fully aware of the risk creating these entails." The Old Man's voice became just slightly harder than his usual tone. "But, I'd rather prepare a child to face the world by handing something that will make the world target them than let them leave this place unable to stand against even the enemies that they are guaranteed to encounter." The Old Man sounded vehement in his stance on whatever they were talking about.

A pause overtook the conversation on the other side of the door. And it continued for some time before it was finally broken by Torren. "Can they do it? Survive, I mean." Torren said, almost desperate.

"Those two are unique. Both are geniuses beyond compare. Together, they already would stand quite the chance at carving out a small place in some mountain range somewhere." The Old Man's voice contained more than a hint of pride. "But, with this, I hope to give them a chance to not only hide from but fight against their fate." The Old Man stopped, speaking for a moment before continuing with resignation in his voice. "If it's not enough, then there was nothing that could be done."

Hal heard some motion on the other side of the door, and Instinct seemed to hear it as well since he started moving them away from the door. He moved them back towards the courtyard, and from there, they started doing the drills their teachers had instructed them to do at every opportunity.

Later that night, Hal lay in bed thinking about what he'd heard. And despite all his efforts, he couldn't draw any good conclusions from the contents of the discussion.

And as Torren had said, they came within the month. Dozens of clergy at the door, a decree from the Lord in hand. Far more bodies than was needed to perform an inspection, but that was never their real goal. They were out for the head of a child, and they brought what they thought was enough people to ensure they got it.