Peter was dreaming of an angel. It was the first time he slept in two days. For the past week, he had had to flee from one shelter to the other as the human bandits and outlaws made use of the chaos to plunder and burn. First, he went to hide with Remi in her family house. Then, when it was set aflame, he had to rush with her to the old blacksmith’s workshop. And finally, after the shop was ransacked and leveled, he found himself here in the Church of St. Cornelius. Priest Alphonse told him that he was safe now; Remi smiled at him through her tears; Marthe, Remi’s mother, told him that he had been very brave. And that was when he surrendered to exhaustion, forgot his anxieties, and slept like the child that he was.

Who was the angel in his dreams? Through a faint shroud of silk, an ethereal screen of light and shine, she looked quite like his mother—warm blue eyes, long blond hair, a pair of lovely dimples. She was full of tender kindness and sympathy, yet she also exuded strange strength, bitterness, and wrathfulness. As the dream unfolded, she flew across the sky from east to west and rained fire on all the dwarves. They couldn’t hide from her, because the scorching flames chased them into their caves, into their secret houses, into the core of the earth. Evil was wiped out from the face of the world, and peace returned so that he could walk home with Remi and enjoy a pot of leek-potato soup. This humble meal was more satiating than the feasts of kings and queens, and its oneiric taste brought tears to his tired eyes.

He woke up with these tears still sliding down his cheeks. Turning his head to one side, he found Remi fast asleep next to her tired mother. Then he looked around him and found countless other refugees who had also sought the safety of the church. He stood up and walked among them. A few weeks ago there was a crowd of children gathered here for a tedious lesson; now there was a crowd of abandoned peasants and grieving merchants. The contrast was so striking that even a child couldn’t miss it. Why was evil winning? Why did Count Monet let the real monsters live in Beaucourt all this time? Where were the heroes of the Federal Guild? Where was Amirani?

Peter stopped walking and stood facing the altar. He couldn’t pray anymore: prayer carried hope; hope became onerous. But he wanted to hear the voice of God. God would tell him why his mother had to go all of a sudden, and what he should do, now that the world seemed so alien. He closed his eyes and listened, with more reverence for the words that would come than he had had for any priestly teachings. A gentle breeze traveled over his head and put out one of the candles in the corner. Then he heard a faint sound. It was coming from beneath the altar—murmurs that could be easily lost to the wind.

“... spea … for God … to b … creet.”

Was God speaking? Was God whispering secrets?

Peter crawled under the altar and put his ear against the ground. The faint murmurs became more defined, and a pair of voices became recognizable. The first belonged to Priest Alphonse; the other to the unknown.

“I will be discreet, but by Amirani … Your Excellency, I have to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why did Your Excellency send the Seraph to Earthgate Forest? She could have cleared the mines for us and resolved this entire dilemma. Are the gold shipments really more important than the mines themselves?”

“They are, Alphonse … The shipments keep the Prince in Cromsville and the orcs at the border. Besides, I can’t let anyone interfere or get anywhere near the mines … not until we get to that girl.”

“Satchel’s daughter?”

“Yes, that good-for-nothing whore Elise.”

“If I may, Your Excellency, we are still in a church.”

“She’s a whore; that’s what she is. And she couldn’t even do her job properly. She had to go out of her way to complicate everything for me.”

“If we get past the dwarves … perhaps her father could talk sense into her.”

“The bastard can’t even keep his thugs in check.”

“Well … Your Excellency may have depended on the wrong people, but it is not too late to correct this oversight. I recommended the Seraph for a reason. She owes the Church for her powers, and she is the daughter of the late Samuel Ackard. You can trust her. If you ask her to clear the mines, she will hardly ask a question. She might even rid us of Satchel’s daughter while she is at it.”

“And then report back to the Federal Guild and the Prince.”

“The Seraph would not do such a thing. Her loyalty is with His Holiness the Pope, and His Holiness is on our side. Instead of sending her to the forest, bring her here, and make use of her powers before the chaos gets out of hand.”

“I’ll consider it … If she proves herself useful in the forest …”

“She will. After all, she was consecrated by none other than His Holiness.”

“We’ll see, Alphonse … In the meantime, I want you to start giving more sermons. Gather the women and children. Scare them a bit. Then talk about the virtues of patience and perseverance. Once you’re done, blame the dwarves for all the burning and looting. The town guards will bring you a couple of thieves who will confess they were hired by the dwarves. Put on a nice show. And while you’re at it, you might as well start talking about salvation and deliverance. Tell the people that God has heard their pleas and is sending them … an angel, yes, an angel from the heavens. If I end up hiring the Seraph, it will all fit together into a nice narrative, and the people will be pleased.”

“I will do my best.”

“I’m counting on you. I’ll continue negotiating with the dwarves. Perhaps they’ll hand over the whore if we put enough pressure on them.”

“May Amirani bless you and your efforts.”