Silence spread over the surrounding hills, broken on occasion by distant birdsong, and a brisk spring wind cutting across Greymoor’s muddy terrain.

“What’re y’serious?” Cedric looked at the Champion like his shoulders had suddenly sprung twelve heads.

“Yeah. There’s probably very few things in my life that I’ve been more serious about.” The Champion grunted.

Hope bloomed in Alex’s chest. “Hells ya, she’s taking new worshippers! All along she’s been Alric’s patron saint, but that didn’t stop her from fighting for all of Thameland…and a lot of other people too. I don’t think she’d say no to your prayers, Hart.”

“Good. Because she’s going to get ‘em.” Hart settled his cloak on his shoulders. “She got a holy symbol or something I need?”

Cedric stared at him. “You’re gonna start worshippin’ a goddess y’just heard of?”

“Hell yeah,” Hart said. “I worshipped a god that didn’t do a thing for me and probably made the war we’re fighting in. So why not?”

He pointed to Alex. “This one says his goddess hands out blessings and tries to fight that god. Let me put it this way, Cedric.” Hart looked down at the Chosen. “If there’s two women at a bar, and one of them ignores and curses you no matter what you do, while the other’s been buying rounds of drinks for the bar? You would go for the second one, right? I’m thinking the same thing applies to deities.”

“I…” Drestra paused. “That…makes some sense.”

“He jus’ said worshippin’ deities is the same as pickin’ up people at a bloody bar!” Cedric said.

“Yeah, but he’s kinda making sense.” Thundar said.

“You would say that.” Isolde rolled her eyes. “Then again, there is some reason in what he says, even if I do not approve of his example.”

“I’m certainly not going to argue with you!” Alex laughed. “Hannah would definitely buy drinks for everyone in a bar.Highly recommend. Would worship again.”

“Badass, consider me a convert. You said that worshipping her would grow her strength, right? Better to be powering her up than letting my prayers go nowhere. Or to bloody Uldar.”

“I can’t see myself doing the same,” Drestra said. “Not now. Maybe in time.”

“Aye, s’too much. I might’ve stopped prayin’ t’Uldar but that don’t mean I’m gonna start prayin’ to the next goddess I hear about. Still, s’good knowin’ someone’s lookin’ out for us.”

“Yes,” Drestra agreed. “That’s comforting. Maybe we’ll get some actual divine guidance while we’re looking for this secret church. And speaking of that…” She frowned, looking around the moors. “We might want to be careful. If they moved against Hannah like you said, then they’ll probably start moving against us.”

“I was just about to bring that up.” Alex glanced skyward, keeping his voice low, remembering flocks of innocent looking birds that blue annis hags called to spy on Greymoor. “If you start poking around and asking questions, then I bet you they’re going to start poking right back. We’ll have to be a little more subtle with our conversations.” He looked toward the hills. “Maybe it’s time we start taking precautions, like moving anything important we need to talk about into the Research Castle.”

“We could use the room we tutor Cedric and Drestra in,” Isolde suggested. “It is quiet and separate from most other rooms in the castle. We’d be safe from prying eyes and ears should anyone unwelcome steal their way into Greymoor.”

“Good idea,” Alex said. “We’ll keep our important conversations indoors and secret, but we’ll still practise outdoors. That sound reasonable?”

“Aye, sounds fair t’me,” Cedric said quietly. “Searchin’ for a bloody secret church’ll be hard enough as it is, we don’t need t’be announcin’ it: ‘like, hey, guess what everyone? The three of us are searchin’ for a secret bloody church!’”

“They might find out anyway,” Drestra warned. “We will have to see if Merzhin knows anything.” She looked to the north. “If he’ll talk to us.”

“What do you mean?” Theresa asked.

“He never really got along well with the rest of us,” Hart said. “And us disappearing to train with you every few weeks hasn’t been helping. Guy’s been getting even stranger…especially since we made friends with all of you.” Hart looked at Alex and his companions. “Hopefully, he’s made some friends too.”

“And let your light guide us when we are in the dark. Walk with us when we are alone. May our bonds be strong and may our enemies' bonds shatter,” Merzhin pronounced, channelling his god’s divine power.

The last dungeon chamber shook around him, dust raining from the cavernous ceiling in the face of Uldar’s power. Ravener-spawn—that had just been springing on the Generasian and Thameish forces with abandon—stopped their attacks.

Chitterers lost reason, clawing at the air, their own bodies, and their fellows.

“Let the weight of the path alone fall upon your heads,” Merzhin’s voice boomed.

The monsters screeched.

“And let the weight of your loneliness seal your fate. In Uldar’s name, I pray.”

Merzhin’s divinity froze Ravener-spawn as still as statues, every muscle tensing like strings pulled too tight. The creatures remained in place, shuddering, choking, mumbling, until one by one, they imploded.

Carey stared at the sight from the midst of the column while every last monster collapsed on itself, melting into crumpled bits of flesh. With a single prayer, Uldar’s enemy was eliminated.

It was an awesome display of Merzhin’s power.

Of Uldar’s might.

Of the god of Thameland’s divine majesty.

And yet, she felt nothing.

It was as though she wasn’t present, like she was far away, watching the battle through a distant lens. As vesuvius roared and bathed the dungeon core in flame, she watched the orb of darkness shatter then burn to dust.

‘It’s my faith that’s burning,’ she thought as cheers of victory erupted around her. ‘With every passing day it’s crumbling, and the only thing I’m left with is dust and ash.’

Her voice was hollow as she raised it in her own cry of ‘victory’, shouting her anger at the Ravener, and all the lies she’d been told. In her mind, a private prayer began, asking that whoever was responsible for those lies would be given justice.

But she stopped.

After all, who was actually listening?

“And now I shall lead us in a prayer of victory,” Merzhin called, his body outlined in white light. The Saint spread his hands, calling the Thameish knights and priests to service. “We will give thanks to Uldar for our triumph, and beseech him for many more.”

Like children called to sermon, the Thameish gathered around him while the Generasians respectfully moved aside, preparing to get to work harvesting dungeon core remains and monster parts.

Watcher Hill called them to order as Tyris patted Vesuvius’ shell and joined the other expedition members as they began their work. For a long while Carey looked between the two groups, then slowly joined the Thameish in their prayer.

She bowed her head.

She repeated the words, but could not close her eyes, and could not force her heart into those words.

Merzhin’s eyes fell on her as he led the prayer.

And they did not leave her for a long time.

“Are you troubled?” the Saint’s voice asked from behind her.

Carey looked up from the chitterer organs she was collecting; Merzhin was near, his face a mask of concern. Holy light still bled from him, illuminating the cavern in a ten foot circle around his slight form.

“I am a tad troubled,” she sighed, placing a spleen in a jar. “The Ravener-spawn are an unnerving lot, after all.”

“They are plague in both the world and in our thoughts,” he said, nodding sagely. Something about his expression grated on her nerves. “I understand finding them unholy.”

‘How unholy can they be if only those who worship Uldar can control them?’ Carey wondered, biting back the words.

She turned back to her work. “It would be ever so helpful of our god if he would show himself and destroy these foul creatures, as he did when the Ravener first attacked. Many lives would be spared.” Carey gave the Saint a pointed look. “One sometimes wonders why he doesn’t.”

Her voice held more heat than she’d intended.

She looked away again, hoping that Merzhin would leave. Instead, she heard the slender young man approaching with gentle steps. His holy light grew stronger as he knelt beside her, reaching for a chitterer’s crushed organ.

Carey was about to snap at him, but caught herself. He was simply trying to help her, after all, and—up until recently—she had been so much like him. Instead of snapping, she caught his hand with hers. “I wouldn’t touch that, not without gloves.”

Merzhin stared at the hand touching his, and kept looking at his hand after she let go.

It took her clearing her throat to get his attention. She held out a pair of gloves. “Here, have my spares. They should be of a similar size.”

“Oh…I don’t need them,” he said, seeming to finally come out of his shock. “My divinity cloaks and protects me from contamination.”

“But you could contaminate the samples, so if you would be ever so kind, put on the gloves and follow my instructions. I’ll tell you what to pick up,” she said, forcing some softness into her voice.

Merzhin stared at the gloves before finally taking them. Carey and the Saint gathered chitterer organs quietly, with Merzhin following her instructions carefully and dutifully.

As he learned the work, she needed to direct him less and less until the point came where they both could work in silence. For a time, they simply knelt by each other, collecting Ravener-spawn parts and listening to the sounds of the expedition around them.

Carey found her thoughts finally calming.

Until Merzhin suddenly spoke.

“Many have asked why Uldar does not return,” he said quietly, almost apologetically. “But I have learned that Uldar’s mysteries strengthen faith in him, which strengthens him. And that in turn, strengthens us.”

Carey fought a pulse of outrage. “And what if we are in need of him here and now?”

“We are his shepherds: the inheritors of his earthly kingdom,” Merzhin answered. “And it is the shepherd’s duty to protect the flock from the wolf.”

Her anger grew. “And is it the shepherd’s duty to protect the flock from another farmer’s hounds?” She could not say what she was actually thinking; that the hounds might belong to the very farmer in question, though she so very much wanted to.

Badly.

“Yes. The hounds are the Ravener-spawn and the other farmer is the Ravener. We must protect the flock either way.”

“And what if the hounds belong to the sheep farmer himself?” She couldn’t bite it back any longer. “What then?”

He paused, looking at her in surprise.

“If the sheep farmer doesn’t come and shoot the hounds with a crossbow, even after they kill the sheep and the shepherds, then he’s protecting the beasts, isn’t he?” She frowned. “It’s basically the same result.”

Merzhin looked at her for a long time, then sighed. “It is understandable, your anger. I have heard many cry out against our circumstances. To them, I always say the same: Uldar watches. He protects us. He grants us Heroes and divinity to save us. He is wielding the crossbow, Carey, just in ways we cannot understand.”

She looked into his eyes—so filled with earnest sincerity—and in that moment, she could not find it in herself to be angry with him. In the end, he was only using the tools he’d been given…the same tools she’d used, until recently.

The same tools that—if she was honest—she dreadfully missed.

Suddenly, his eyes went wide. “Carey…I…if I misspoke…” Something like panic filled his voice.

It took a tear wetting the ground before her for her to realise that she’d started crying.

Her lips tightened, forming a flat line. “I…excuse me.” She collected the sample bottles and stood. “I should really get these to our forcedisks.”

Before he could say anything else, she walked away.

Merzhin watched Carey as she rejoined the Generasians, his heart aching. Even in his short life, he had seen others in her exact state: questioning, lost, their faith shaking in the face of life’s cruelty.

He hated that.

‘The world should be kinder,’ he stood, his holy light shining across the bodies of dead Ravener-spawn. ‘There should be no Ravener. No monsters to plague us. Anyone would search for something to blame in times like these…and not everyone has faith as strong as mine.’

He looked up to the dungeon’s ceiling. ‘I still feel your embrace, Uldar, even in your silence. I pray to you that your lost shepherd—Carey London—regains her faith. I pray that you bless her, for the world is lonely enough without you. And after all—’

Merzhin, the Saint’s, eyes fell on Carey’s back again. “Everyone deserves the blessing of a kind deity,” he whispered.

Carey turned over on the low bunk in her tent, trying to force herself to sleep.

Every night for as long as she could remember, she had prayed to Uldar. But now the words did nothing for her.

And it was wreaking havoc on her ability to sleep.

“St. Avelyn of Wrexiff,” she whispered, trying to guide her prayers elsewhere. “I ask that you bless me and heal my soul. I ask that you protect me and my family…”

She paused.

St. Avelyn was a servant of Uldar but even prayers to him felt hollow.

Suddenly, she remembered something: a conversation with Alex in the castle, just before the invisible, petrifying Ravener-spawn had attacked the encampment.

He’d talked of praying to his hometown’s patron saint…one that the holy books only called the Traveller. Alex had spoken so fondly of her.

“Well, it’s worth a try,” she whispered, closing her eyes. “Traveller. Patron Saint of Alric. I pray to you. I ask that you bless me and heal my soul. I ask that you protect me and my family in these dark times. And for all our days.”

She paused.

Somehow…somehow the words felt significant, like they had weight. Maybe it was her memory of Alex’s enthusiasm. Maybe it was something else.

But for a moment, after her prayer was done?

She felt warm.

And that warmth carried her to sleep.

Alex nearly caught hold of the Traveller’s power within his soul.

He’d been struggling with it for half the night when it suddenly flared with new life. It startled him, and by the time he reached for it, it had slipped away.

But, at least, he’d touched it.

Only for a moment, but it was a start.

And it felt stronger…even warmer.

He smiled to himself, “I wonder if Hart was praying.”