“What sort of revelation, First Apostle?” Izas asked, unable to hide the thrill within his soul. He had not imagined that—today—he would grow closer to his god.

What wondrous secrets would be placed upon his shoulders?

What holy knowledge would be poured into his mind?

“There are covert enemies that we must seek out,” the First Apostle said. “And to do this, we must work with servants of Uldar that bear a foul guise. You remember well the Parable of Cullen, do you not?”

“Yes, of course,” the Third Apostle said.

“Recite it for me. I enjoy hearing Uldar’s servants speak on our god’s holy works.”

Izas lowered his head, drawing upon deeply seated memories from lessons he’d had as a boy. “Cullen was walking home from the nearby pond, for he fished for his suppers. He was a fine fisherman, but the fisherman must depend on the fish and—on that day—the fish did not bite. And so he walked home empty handed and hungry.”

He looked up, imagining a forest path in his mind with Cullen the fisherman walking down it in dejection. “And at the nearby crossroads, he came upon a foul man. The man had few teeth. He was dirty. He smelled. And his habits were that of a vermin. And this man asked for aid.”

Izas imagined the foul man with his hands out, grinning through blackened stumps. “Most had turned the man away, but Cullen knew that one must help another Thameishman. For we are all Uldar’s children. But this man tried Cullen’s patience. He went home with Cullen and insulted his dwelling. He leered at his wife and ignored his children. He made a mess at the table. Altogether, he was a deeply unpleasant guest.”

Izas imagined the beggar defiling the fisherman’s home. “But Cullen met his foulness with the quiet patience of one who waits for fish to bite. He assured his wife that the man might appear foul, but had done no harm, for he had noticed the good the man had done. For while he made a mess, he cleaned his dishes. While insulting the dwelling, he pointed out flaws in its construction that might have led its roof to collapse in winter. While he ignored the children, he also did not curse them and collected their plates. And so Cullen knew he was a good man.”

He took a breath. “That night the moon rose high, and bandits came to Cullen’s dwelling. But—as the fisherman climbed out of bed to find his spear—a light arose from the cottage. And who did stride out to meet the bandits? The beggar, transformed into who he really was. Uldar himself.”

Izas smiled like a young child. “And with terrible anger, our god smote the bandits and rewarded Cullen for his hospitality by pronouncing that he would find as many fish in his pond as he needed every day until the day of his death. And from this we know that fair and holy things can take on foul guises, and not to be seduced by empty beauty.”

“I do love that story,” the First Apostle’s voice was warm. “And now you will be tested by the moral of that parable.”

“Many of our number come from pasts most would find foul,” Izas said. “I am ready for any servant of Uldar.”

“Not these, I think,” the First Apostle’s tone was grave. “In dire times of the past, we have been called to work with servants of Uldar who wear forms that even we would find foul: the forms of our greatest enemies.”

Izas thought carefully. “Do you mean that these servants wear the forms of Ravener-spawn?”

“I do,” the First Apostle said grimly. “And the time for such dire circumstances will come upon us soon, I fear.”

“What sort of circumstances?” Izas asked. “Is it the foreigners? Have their experiments triggered something disastrous?”

“I do not know,” the First Apostle said. “The enemy remains cloaked. But our lord’s servants will guide us to them.”

Izas’ fists closed on his robe. “What must I do?”

“First you are to send some of our agents to a place called the Cave of the Traveller. They are to inspect it and all goings on there. The Saint of that time came under our suspicion in the past, and it is time to investigate her sanctum. We must see if she plotted against us. You will also send a team to Greymoor, one without priests among them for now. They are to observe the actions of these foreigners and determine if they have become a threat.”

“Yes, First Apostle,” Izas pledged. “I will craft these teams myself. What can I tell them?”

“To trust that Uldar’s servants wear foul forms. That is all I can say, for now, until another revelation comes,” the First Apostle pronounced. “Within the coming seasons, the servants will appear before us. Soon, you will meet them and they will guide you to our enemies.”

“Yes, I understand, First Apostle.” Izas bowed his head. “I will be ready for our god’s servants, no matter their forms. I will begin building the teams. They will seek out the Cave of the Traveller as you have instructed, and we will again see if our enemies gather in Greymoor.”

Drestra’s laughter boomed over the moors of Greymoor.

Alex froze in horror, wondering if the pressures from the Hells had caught up with him and he’d cracked. Slowly, he turned, catching the confused and stunned expressions of Cedric, Isolde, Claygon, Hart and Theresa. They were looking at the spot where Thundar was teaching the Sage a new illusionary spell.

The minotaur was chuckling as the Hero of Uldar bent at the waist, laughing so hard that tears were dripping from her draconic eyes. Thundar’s face straddled the line between amused and completely bewildered.

“What the hell did he say to her?” Alex murmured.

“I’ve never seen ‘er laugh like that,” Cedric added, watching Drestra as though he’d seen a ghost.

“Her laughing like a maniac is actually more freaky than when she turned into a dragon,” Hart agreed, taking a large step away from the Sage and the minotaur as though they were chaos bombs ready to detonate.

“We’ve got to find out what he said.” Theresa watched, her expression amused.

As Drestra stood, supporting herself on Thundar’s arm, something struck Alex like a thunderbolt. He exchanged a look with the huntress, whose eyes had grown wide with her own realisation. She glanced at him.

“We’ve got to talk later,” he mouthed, a sly look on his face.

“Right, then, back t’practise, I suppose,” the Chosen said. “Now that we’ve gone an’ shaved a dozen years off m’life.”

“All our lives,” Isolde said, turning her attention back to Cedric, while squinting against the sunlight framing him.

It was a rare sunny morning in Greymoor a few weeks after Alex had returned from Cretalikon. At last, the Heroes were there to exchange information and train up their skills at the Generasians’ Research Castle. The place was a bustle of activity.

Spring had begun in Thameland, with winter’s chill making way for the wet, damp weather heralding the return of life. Icicles thawed on nearby trees, dripping onto mounds of snow shrinking on the moors, melting into the sea of mud that the realm became with the coming of spring.

With winter’s end, the research expedition had entered a new stage of activity. There would be more teams sent out to harvest dungeon cores, more fortifications and defences built across Greymoor, and more research into new applications for dungeon core substance.

Time was ticking on Alex’s monopoly on dungeon core development, and he planned to take advantage of it before others gained access. A rush was coming, even if it would only be from the nobles of Thameland, and those tied to the expedition coming to stake their claims.

It was a rush he planned to beat.

“Looks like we’ll be gettin’ a bit of a break.” Cedric looked on as a band of heavily armed warriors left to survey the moors for the season. From a distance, Alex could see the tiny form of Ripp among them.

The swiftling had healed well from his injuries, and was back to his alert self.

Alex would have to speak to him soon.

“Wit’ all o’ yous headin’ out in big groups now, there’s gonna be lots o’ dungeons smashed before we gots t’step in.” Cedric nodded approvingly. “We was talkin’ about it an’ we think the best thing for us t’do would be t’start goin’ for the biggest, nastiest dungeons. Old ones with lotsa monsters n’strong cores.”

“Yup,” Hart agreed, swinging his sword over his head. The man was even faster than when Alex last saw him: he could imagine the Champion of Uldar in a fight against Ezerak, Ripp and Kyembe at the same time, but he couldn't begin to guess who would win. But, one thing he knew for sure was that it’d be a contest for the ages. “We’ll knock out the toughest and leave the easier ones for you. You get more core stuff, we’re not as worked to the bone, and dungeons still get dead.”

“Yes.” Drestra stretched her arms; her fingers flexing like claws. “We’ll tear them to pieces, even if they come after us with everything they have. It’ll also free us for…” She gave the others a meaningful look, her voice dropping low. “Othertasks.”

“Yeah.” Alex glanced at the column of surveyors. “Yeah, and speaking of that.” He caught the Heroes’ eyes. “We should chat a bit. Catch up, since there’s lots to talk about. We could go out for a bit of a walk into the moors, someplace quiet.”

The Heroes caught his meaning.

“Aye, wouldn’t mind a nice wee walk through the mud. Spring air always gets m’soul happy.”

“Mine too,” Alex said, touching his chest. “And I think that what we have to talk about will make your soul even happier. Either that, or drive you to the afterworld.”

“I feel like m’brain’s about t’ melt outta m’ears,” Cedric leaned against a tree, squinting up at Alex in disbelief. “Secret church—”

“Not so loud,” Hart’s large eyes were scanning the surrounding hills.

Alex and his friends had taken a walk deep into the moors with the Heroes, far from the Research Castle’s survey teams and fortifications.

“How can y’be so calm?” the Chosen’s voice dropped to a hiss. “Y’hear what he just tol’ us? Secret church…makin’ a bloody goddess…strange powers…places of ascension…people comin’ back from th’dead, it’s mind-blastin’.”

“I’m not calm,” Hart grunted. “But I’m professional.”

“We’re going to need ‘professional’.” Drestra’s crackling voice laughed behind her veil. “Because this feels like it just got much trickier…but it also explains some things. When the witches went to war against the church, they’d sometimes hit us quietly and vanish into the night. If they have an entire secret arm…”

“...then that would make sense,” Thundar added.

“An’ ya’ sure we should b’lookin’ for the place where Uldar ascended?” Cedric asked Alex. “That’s where this secret church’ll be?”

“Maybe,” the young wizard said. “But I do know that it’ll be easier to find Uldar’s realm if we find the place where he left the world from. I can’t look for it as easily as you can.”

“Aye, ‘easily’s a bit relative there, wouldn’t ya say?” Cedric said. “It’s still gonna be hard for us…though we’ll definitely do it. We have to.”

“And I want to,” Anger turned Drestra's voice hard. “If we have the chance to find the head of the snake and cut it off, we should.”

“But we might be fighting a god,” Hart grunted. “If Uldar’s behind this whole thing—and it kinda feels like he is—then he won’t be too happy with us. Kinda weird he hasn’t already shown up to smite us like he smote those bandits in that fisherman story.”

“Well, better we don’t give him the chance to,” Theresa said. “And we’ll just need to find him when Baelin’s around.”

“Wait, the old goat’s not about?” Cedric asked.

“He'll be tied up with his cabal for months,” Alex said.

“Well, damn, this jus’ keeps gettin’ better an’ better, don’t it?” the Chosen shook his head. “Well, I gotta say, I wouldn’t mind rippin’ a piece outta anyone who set all this up. There’s lots they’ve gotta pay for. Even if it’s Uldar.”

“I agree,” Drestra’s voice crackled. “This has to stop, and I don’t care if our deity’s in front of us or behind us.”

The Sage and Chosen nodded at each other, looking at the third member of the Heroes.

But the Champion didn’t say a word. The towering warrior had paused, deep in thought. Then he looked at Alex.

“You said that the Traveller’s becoming a goddess?” he asked him.

“Ya. The reasons are hypothetical and complicated, but it seems that’s what’s happening.”

“She’s the one that blessed you and she’s the one that fought against all this garbage three hundred years ago.”

His words were less a question and more of a statement, but Alex answered anyway. “Yes.”

“Good.” The Champion stood a little taller, his gaze meeting Alex’s. “You think she’s taking new worshippers?”