Runa’s PoV - Cemna - Southern Canyons


    The noise starts when I pass by cracks in the building’s wall, and reversing lets me see a cluster of undead climbing to their feet. The Negative energy shifts in clouds that fight against the light emitted through my meshwork. A foulness that flinches back from Amdirlain’s symbol, shifting across the stonework whenever I turn. Yet the red glow in the creatures’ dried eyes echoes the movement of those black swirls.


    They aren’t rotting, or waterlogged despite the moisture-laden air from the canyon’s waterway; their carapaces look bone dry mummified—or at least transformed—by the energy. When the lead rank come eagerly out onto the walkway, another shows itself with weapons clutched in its multiple hands. Vile words hiss against the air from their gill-like mouths, and I focus on the closest whose mouth membrane is vibrating in its dry rasp.


    A burst of golden light punches through it and those directly behind, but it still finishes the dark Blessing. Red claws manifest as the Abyssal intonation falls silent and lash out towards the barrier protecting me, and I teleport away. My glow now directly above the black waters has bloated bodies stirring from the depths. A Spell sends a burst of lightning across the barrier, and I change position again, before sending a rapid fire of Ki-shrouded bolts in reply.


    The natives’ multiple eyes make it hard to get them to lose track of me. Still while their bolts and blasts leap towards me, I teleport about letting them waste their energy while my own attacks chew through their ranks. The press of their numbers helps me inflict damage on more than I’d hoped at once. With the host crowded on the walkway, most bolts burn holes clear through three or four at a time. The Cadaver Lord is last to fall and though I can’t strip the armour off, its curved blades get tucked into the storage band Mirage attached to my meshwork.


    As I work through the building''s interior, and far into the canyon''s wall, bolts and blessings leave mounds of broken bodies behind.


    When I’ve cleared out the interior, Teleport sets me back at the canyon’s junction, and I find scores of new bodies around the rest of the team. Hook, and Mirage are still busy updating the map with the memories they focus into it, while Pip and three fresh Lantern Archons keep a lookout.


    The bow Pip carries shines with inner energy against the canyon’s gloom. The string’s pure white light cast a shadow behind her with her fingers resting on it, ready to draw. Her new body is currently in a human shape that’s head and shoulders shorter than her Hound Archon form. But along with the green tinge in her ash-blond hair and dusky skin, the sharpness of her features and the bright mint green eyes hinting misleadingly at an Elven heritage. It’s odd seeing her practicing with that body while the other two are in their Hound Archon forms.


    “What was past the zag in that branch, Runa?” Hook asks, only looking up for a moment.


    “Lots of fun,” I giggle in delight. “Thanks for letting me play by myself. It was so much experience, and I levelled finally—everything since level 60 has been taking so many foes. It started with a bunch of the drowned zombies, but its end reaches into the start of the Negative energy clouds. Close to it, the foes got tougher with mummified wizards and priests, along with those Cadaver Lords.”


    “Why don’t you take that transformation you got offered at level sixty, Runa?” asked Mirage, looking up from the map’s image suspended in the crystal sphere she holds.


    “I enjoy being a Lantern Archon. At first I missed not having hands, but it’s not so bad. Just a touch annoying when I can’t get all the treasure without someone helping. There is a bunch of armour back there, but I got all the weapons and wands.”


    Hook snorts and draws my attention back. “How are you for reserves?”


    “I’m low on Ki and Mana after dealing with the amphitheatre,” I murmur.


    “Another amphitheatre?”


    “Yeah, not as big as the others today. I’ve got the crystal to give Ebusuku when we get back.”


    Mirage understandably winces and mutters in a low hiss of disgust. “That makes five in the last ten kilometres; they’re getting far too common. Anything different about this one?”


    Floating down towards the crystal, I touch it with Telepathy and see the images I project flicker within it. “All the undead inside it were mummy-types, but otherwise nothing major. Are we going to double back and check the branches on the other side?”


    “Another time, we’ll need to meet up shortly,” Pip says. Coming from her, the reminder of responsibility feels odd, her playfulness having become more selective with the transformation from Lantern to Hound. She’s still as quick to laugh when we’re not in dangerous places but entirely focused when on duty. I think I’ll hold off accepting that offer of a transformation, not like anyone is dying because of my lack of hands.


    “Are you all done?”


    “Yeah, we’ve captured all the details. Nothing we need to check on before we leave,” replies Hook, and signals for Mirage to move us.


    He’s still dropping his hand when we’re back on the forest’s edge with Mirage’s Spell fading around us. Only half the teams are present when we arrive but soon after another influx arrives in a scattering of Teleports. Among those present, I note the new strength showing in the first teams of Angels Farhad and Sidero finally declared ready to help here. Every time the Domain takes on the blue and golden glow, it seems more Angels emerge since this first company four moons ago.


    When the last team shows we do the usual shift through Gates that delivers us back within the Domain’s boundary. With Limbo’s chaos behind us, we emerge close to the newest training field in the third full valley the Domain’s expansion has now entirely consumed. Master Farhad is supervising the large-scale drills and didn’t even glance our way despite the Trumpet Archon’s racket sounding the all-clear at the Gate’s closure. The still training Angels are in their eleven companies—one for each of Amdirlain’s rest days since that first pattern meditation.


    It almost feels like it’s greeting our arrival, but it’s likely Amdirlain’s punctuality that has the blue and golden lights shine through the closest tree line. “Has it really been ten days already since her last cycling?”


    “We’ve been busy,” replies Mirage, and looks at me. “Come with me. We’ll pass off the crystal from the amphitheatres to Ebusuku outside the Domain."


    “O’Nai’s back,” Hook notes, gesturing across the training groups to the green-hued wings I’ve only seen him possess. “We’ll have to see if the three of them tracked down more of the materials.”


    “At least someone can stand working with Isa,” replies Mirage. “She’s so erratic.”


    Hook gives a Mirage a pat on the head that gains him a glare. “She’s no worse than the Eladrin that visited from the summer court, all focused on individuals rather than communities.”


    Floating down to Mirage, I waggled in front of her, drawing her attention to the storage band. “Just return it when you’re done. I will go look for those forming and guide them to the usual gathering spots.”


    “Okay, Runa. Drop by my workshop in an hour or two. I should be there by then—will save me hunting for you.”


    As soon as she retrieves the band, Teleport sets me in the tree line, and I start through the woodland glades looking for the usual signs of confusion. A burst of light shines from the first glade I approach and the grass parts to let a pillar of crystal rise from the earth. A trio of new Angels appears nearby, touching it curiously they only step away when its continued growth reaches above the trees. With the fluted curves along its edges above the canopy, they add their soft music to the Domain’s growing song.


    * * *


    The summons wasn’t a general call for help but via my Use name. Feeling Amdirlain’s power within the Blessing summoning me, I didn’t even hesitate to rush along the rainbow conduit that snapped into place around me. The light at the end parted to let me out into the Material Plane.


    I take the place I’ve arrived in instantly—being able to see in all directions at once never gets old. There isn’t even a summoning circle chalked on the varnished wooden floor beneath me. Nearby a twenty-something lady in a chain hauberk, sturdy brown clothing, and solid boots is smiling at me. She carries herself like a veteran; even standing still, it is obvious she’s ready to move instantly. Chestnut coloured hair and tanned skin with features finer than I’d expected from the Norse styling of the clothing and the room. Her grey gaze carries confidence and conviction within, borne of enduring things beyond what she’d thought she could.


    Satisfied that she means no harm, most of my attention goes outwards, taking in the carefully varnished floor without bubbling. The place has the faint feel of the Domain so it’s properly consecrated to Amdirlain with magical lights floating in the open rafters beneath a shingle ceiling. The light gives a sense of comfort and warmth to the sparse wooden furnishing, carved with Norse knots and runes, obviously crafted to match the edging along Amdirlain’s altar.


    The only stone about the place is at the foyer end of the Temple. The carefully crafted stone floor, walls, and even the stone benches that sit along its walls is completely lacking the decorations of the rest of the Temple. With the wear they show, they’ve either salvaged them from an earlier structure or perhaps they’d built this place on the remains of another. The foyer’s roof, and that of the rest of the Temple, is simple wood construction, though all freshly varnished. It’s about the size of a log cabin, maybe seven metres from the foyer’s edge to the wall behind the altar decorated with wildflowers in vases.


    “Hi. Did you need some help?”


    The woman’s smile broadens at my question, and she gives a brisk nod.


    “Perhaps some introductions and background first. My name is Brina, a veteran of the cadre, and I came here once released from service. I met my old platoon leader when I passed through Utgard—despite her having died to the Sahuagin. We spoke for a time, and she gave me a few Use names if I ever needed an Archon to help watch my back. I know not to utilise your real Use name outside of the summoning. But what should I call you?” asks Brina.


    Her careful reference to Solveiga almost has me giggling, but I give a nod that I know looks like I’m simply bouncing.


    “Call me Tove.” I offered readily, having already discussed name safety with Hook moons ago, I’d picked my mother’s name for the purpose. “What’s the situation, Brina?”


    “There have been traces found in nearby woods that I find concerning. However, it’s the wrong time of year for the Gnarls or Gobs,” Brina replies, her words tight at mentioning the Gnarls, and I re-assess her age.


    The memory of the late-spring raid where I’d died has my light dimming. “Slavers don’t have a time of year they care about sticking to for raiding, other than deciding people are vulnerable.”


    Brina reaches up and lays a hand on the closest of Amdirlain’s symbols, making it obvious I’d given things away.


    “Exactly, but the village council only agreed to pass warnings. I’d prefer to be a bit more proactive. It might sound silly asking you to patrol at night, but I know Lantern Archons can dim their lights way down to barely a wick’s glow. If you’d watch over the Temple during the day, sometimes I have to go out to the farms at the community’s edge. They call it a village but it’s more a hamlet, only just under a hundred, including children.”


    “Anyone seeing a dim glow in the woods might take me for a Will-o’-Wisp,” I cautioned.


    “I’ve not heard of any local sightings of those. But honestly, that might not be a bad thing; if anything is lurking in the woods, it could scare them off or at least make them more cautious. The village militia are proud folk, but they’ve no real training,” advises Brina.


    “Alright, sounds like a plan. Do you have a map of the local area?”


    “It’s the first thing I did when I arrived,” Brina replies with a chuckle. “All the locals give directions based on folks who lived on farms three generations ago.”


    “If you don’t know the area, why did you come here after mustering out?”


    Brina’s laughter fades with a rueful snort and I see a spark of fire in her eyes when she answers. “Do you want the long story or the short?”


    “The short is fine, unless you prefer to tell me the long story.”


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    The recital seems to be one Brina has given more than a few times with the way the words rattle off her tongue. “I believed honeyed words of a soldier far from home. When I showed up later at Utgard, I found he already had a wife. After I punched him out, I stayed only long enough to repay him in other ways. I’d been heading toward Darius, it’s only another twenty leagues north of here. Stopped during a storm and helped the innkeeper’s wife deliver a baby. Found they didn’t have anyone to provide healing beyond badly splinting broken limbs and catching babies, so I stayed.”


    “Were you a Priest in the cadres?”


    “Priest and Wizard, with more than a touch of soldiering thrown in. We can’t all rely on being able to stay clear of the battle lines.” replies Brina, and her expression hardens momentarily.


    Taking a scroll of parchment from a case at her belt, she lays it out across a wooden bench and starts from the village centre and moving outwards. She provides a concise report of who lives where and her evaluation of their combat capabilities as well as the most vulnerable families. As the briefing continues, I use the Message token Mirage made me to let her know I’m helping a priestess on the Material Plane, maybe I won’t get scolded again.


    * * *


    The village looks peaceful, floating a half kilometre above, night having settled a blanket of darkness across the landscape. A half-score of buildings forms the village’s centre, the Temple lies a stone’s throw to the North from the closest one—a simple blacksmith’s half-covered forge set by a slope ceilinged cottage. Further away from the centre the farms become spread out. Most farms have a house and barn surrounded by a low wall, with their fields empty of livestock at night.


    The darkness is only broken up by the occasional light leaking when a farmer goes to check a barn, and a late traveller’s arrival at the inn. The concealment Blessing settled over me will keep anyone from noticing me—or my glow—and I wonder again if I should have mentioned it to Brina. Drifting towards the woods to the east Brina had shown on her map, I find the tracks. Listening more for the absence of animal sounds than for folks stalking about.


    The initial traces I find at the most recent location match Brina’s description, broken branches and subtle trail markers, and I hope they’re only humans. But scouting through the woods I find enough to know they’re not as the first print I find turns into nearly a half-dozen differently sized. Each footprint showing their misshaped feet and, despite how their claws dig into the ground, they’ve placed their weight to minimise the chance of breaking twigs underfoot. True Sight separates them out from animals with ease, but they’re careful in their fieldcraft and tracing them back to the tunnel heading downwards takes me a few hours. Right season or not, Gnarls have moved into the neighbourhood and are scouting carefully.


    Ebusuku says the worst monsters are the smart ones. Backing up a distance I cast a stronger concealment Blessing and start my explorations, within the tunnel staying near the ceiling with my light restrained my utmost in case the concealment fails.


    * * *


    In the morning, with news it was Gnarls that are now all dead, her expression goes tight with concern and perhaps rage. An energy that shows in the sharp movements when she tends the fire.


    “I wasn’t expecting you to deal with the problem without help,” admits Brina, forcefully stuffing an excessive number of twigs between branches she’d stacked in the fireplace.


    “They looked like the leftovers from a destroyed tribe. Some of them had wounds with traces of Mana, tight spells, nothing sloppy. I don’t know if they were planning a raid soon as their larder had a few deer, rabbits, and other easy-to-catch prey.”


    The report has her nod and tension eases from her shoulders beneath the hauberk she’s already wearing. “Did you find their arrival point?”


    “Their lair connected to deeper caves, but it had lots of branches not far beneath the surface.”


    Even as I explain, I project the appearance of the lair entrance into her mind, along with the deepest portions that had connected to limestone caves.


    “Would you like me to stay awhile? I don’t eat much, and I can make light meals.”


    As she gets my joke, Brina stops at my offer and then gives an almost huffing snort of constrained laughter.


    “Can they spare you from other duties?”


    “I should let the newer Lantern Archons get some experience, it’s been a pretty full-on year for me. My first adventure was helping a priestess escape a trap that pulled her into a Ghoul lair.”


    Brina fixes me with a look at the mention of Ghouls and turns back to the fireplace. “Why don’t you tell me about it after I have breakfast?”


    “Oh, it wasn’t gruesome, not for the most part,” I assure her quickly, and she goes back to setting kindling on the fireplace’s edge. “She’d ended up in an old catacomb, nothing fresh in there.”


    “What level are you now?” asks Brina curiously. Using flint-and-steel she sets the kindling alight and slides the bark it’s sitting on under smaller twigs to get the fire started.


    “Only sixty-one, in my four classes, and Lantern Archon,” I admit glumly and Brina coughs.


    “But…”


    “I know, a bit slow, right?” I ask, trying to keep a dry tone, and when Brina goes wide-eyed, I mess up giggling. “Daily hunting through ruins filled with undead helps, but so slowly. We’ve been working to free a world from a demonic influence.”


    “I guess I should have only called you if a horde of Ogres had shown up.”


    “Oh, do you know where some are I can fight?” I ask excitedly. “But seriously, I’m glad to nip that problem in the bud and happy to stay on for a time. Any potential apprentices or novices in the village?”


    “What classes do you have if you don’t mind me asking?”


    “Scout, Archer, Zen Archer, and Priest. Zen Archer is a Monk variation that focuses on ranged combat.”


    Brina’s hand rests on the kettle’s handle for a long moment before she hooks it above the fireplace and stands ups. “I think I should be taking orders from you.”


    “Nah, that sounds like too much work for me,” I say, lightening my tone. “Just let me know what I can do to help.”


    * * *


    Wherever Brina goes she’s fully armoured with something to use as a weapon close at hand. But my low-key stay lasts only a couple of days, before I get busted talking to Brina while she’s working in the Temple garden. Two of the local children, dropping by to deliver some cheese in payment for healing, go still when they see me teasing Brina about her sun-wilted plants. The flurry of visitors over the days that follow continue until I think everyone’s come by to greet me, sometimes three or four times.


    “You’re part of this place’s folk-lore now,” Brina remarks, when the village elder leaves after yet another visit to bring a loaf of bread from his wife.


    A pulse of light is the only way I can express my frustration and my lack of hands actually tempts me now to take that transformation. “I’m only a Lantern Archon. They should see the Angels—much more impressive.”


    “You’re a Celestial with a Norse name, in service to what many consider a minor—or even annoying—influence,” Brina says smugly.


    “How did you annoy them?”


    Brina laughs and waves a finger in a mock-scolding. “Who says it was me?”


    “You were far too smug about being annoying,” I say quickly.


    “It wasn’t here, but in Utgard I was so annoyed I paid out for every Thralls’ freedom from my supposed suitors’ family. Left them short-handed to work their farm, since not one Thrall wanted to stay on as a hired hand. I don’t know about you, but to me that says his deceitful ways didn’t end with him.”


    Every night without fail I check the Gnarls’ empty lair for her, even that simple mention of them setting a darkness in her gaze that’s not dispelled by any light. Her being constantly armed and armoured paints a clear picture, and I can’t help but wonder how long she survived captivity. I just wish there was something more I could do to help, other than keeping watch for her now.


    * * *


    The rafters’ magical lights provide me with a place to blend in and let me peer out the smoke hole above the foyer. It’s late in the day when I see the figures approaching along the dusty road. By far the most interesting pair I’d seen come by in the weeks I’d been here, battle stained and with a weary look in the fading sunlight. They’re a muscular couple in their matching deep green leather armour, set with discs of silvery metal. It seems an odd choice, but when I focus I can see the inactive enchantments that would let them blend into almost any landscape and dull the metal’s gleam.


    The woman leads the way with sure strides despite the bandages wrapping her right leg being dark with blood. I hear a few low hisses of pain, and each time the man reaches out to provide support, she pats his arm and they continue. She pauses only when crossing the threshold, not from concern but to nod respectfully towards the altar Brina had freshly decorated with wildflowers this morning.


    Gesturing towards the bench to the left of the entry, she rests the short fighting spear she was carrying against the wall. Once settled with her wounded leg outstretched, she pulls the open-faced helm free to reveal it was resting on a braid coiled atop her head. Her rich brown hair and eyes are a few tones deeper than the olive hue of her skin that is drenched with sweat. After stripping off her sturdy gloves, she set them in her helm and lays the short fighting spear on the ground beneath her feet.


    The man doesn’t take his helm off, but tuffs of black locks poke out from beneath it. With him still standing, his head and shoulders advantage over her seems greater still. At an insistent gesture, he moves to the other end of the bench she picked, and he leans his sword and battered shield against the wall. His dark gaze never leaves her; his rough, blocky features, set with grim concern, are quite the contrast to her beautiful oval face. He has taken many a battering, including a broken nose.


    “Are you sure you’ll find a healer here?”


    “Yes, the signs from Hestia were clear, and the lights among the ceiling beams match the vision.”


    “This place is barely more than a roadside shrine. The wood looks new, and there isn’t even an attendant,” the man observes.


    “Hush, Stelios. If nothing else, it’s a peaceful place to die,” she says, and pain shows in the man’s gaze at her words.


    Teleport puts me at eye level a few spear lengths away, but I still startle her. “Is the problem only your leg, or something else?”


    Her hand releases her spear and easing her leg back straight she gives me a polite nod. “It was a curse that stabbed into my leg, and I can feel it chewing its heat through my flesh. Is there a Priest about?”


    “I’ll see what I can do about your leg if that’s alright with you before I try to find her. Brina is delivering a baby at present,” I reply and float closer to her. “I’ll start by determining the curse so I know what I’m trying to break. You mentioned Hestia?”


    “My husband and I are both in her service, but neither of us are priests. I’m a Ranger and cast a guiding Blessing that led me here. Just let us know what offerings or services we can provide to Amdirlain for your help. Our Goddess wouldn’t have led me here if that wouldn’t be acceptable to her.”


    A quick Blessing sets the Temple proper aglow, and I can make out sickening colours twisting within her leg. A strong Dark Channels Curse is slowly progressing to spread rot through her body, the curse itself intended to wound and then extend the suffering of its target.


    Moving closer causes its edges to recoil back from the light I shed. “How did you get cursed?”


    “We’d been leading a group of faithful out west clear from persecution, but a band following Hecate continued to pursue. The others went ahead, and we ambushed the hunters a distance north of here.”


    “You’ll need to unwrap the wound so the filth can leave you,” I state, remembering my lessons.


    Stelios puts a hand on her arm the moment she leans forward. “Galyna, please let me do that; just rest back against the wall. You don’t want to be throwing up on the wound.”


    “I’m the one that bandaged it,” grumbles Galyna. Despite her words, she leans back against the stonework as Stelios undoes the bandage pouring water over it so it comes easily free.


    As the bandage comes away, the swollen bite oozing dark blood and foul pus looks as if it pierced deep into the meat of her thigh. The torn legging, no longer covered by the bandage, shows a greenish supernatural mould crusting the edges and black lines radiate in all directions away from the wound.


    The curse tries to fight back against the Blessing as it starts, but Willpower gained from battling the undead steadily forces it to retreat. However, when the serpents at last dissolve, the swollen wound is still horrendous to look at, so I start another to purge the tainted blood.


    Foul yellowish-green pus oozes out and Stelios grows pale but keeps using his undiminished waterskin to clean the wound. The swelling slowly eases, but it takes a second casting before the green flesh is pink and appears clean enough to seal.


    “Hold out your hand, please,” I ask, and when she does, I surprise her by landing in her palm.


    Universal Life causes the light glowing from me to shift to a blue hue, contact allowing me to let it flow into her. The beading sweat has eased off when I shut the wound, but I let the Ki flow until her breathing is properly relaxed. “I didn’t think you’d want me touching the wound, and I would have gotten grubby.”


    “You’re a Lantern Archon and you’re this strong?” Galyna asks, and I bounce into the air. “I thought you and your fellows are merely guides and scouts. You broke a curse a High Priest set in place with her death when I gutted her.”


    “A low-rent High Priest. I hear you can pick them up easier than diseased whores.”


    Stelios snorts in surprise and glances between the altar and me, expecting Lady Amdirlain to take offense. “You’ve got an interesting turn of phrase for a Lantern Archon.”


    “You can call me Tove,” I say, considering the messy floor. “I don’t suppose you’d clean up the floor? I’m sure it smells gross.”


    “Is there a bucket and rags about?” Stelios asks, rising to his feet.


    “If you head around the left-hand side past the flowering bushes, you’ll find a bucket and a rag mop near the side door to Brina’s cottage,” I say, and turn my attention to Galyna when he moves off. “Would you tell me more about the situation? How long had they been chasing you for?”


    “We evacuated a refugee camp of Hestia’s faithful from the Kingdom of Crete. The plan was to get them resettled on Egypt’s western edge, but the priestess with our group got a feeling we needed to keep going. We’d crossed the midpoint of the Norse lands when we spotted signs we were being pursued,” Galyna says, almost casually. “No idea how long they’d been back there, if they’d started from the gathering point or simply crossed our path and learnt of us.”


    “That doesn’t sound good.”


    “Many of the Pantheon’s priests have made it clear those that continue to follow Hestia are to be persecuted. We’ve fought those we’d once considered allies with more frequency than I’d like to think about in the last months, may Hades keep them forever.”


    “When did this start?” I ask, and catch her glimpse of surprise. “We Celestials knew things were getting tense in the Planes, but I hadn’t heard it extended to the Material Plane.”


    “For over a year we’ve had to lie low. People have moved townships to places where their allegiances weren’t known, cleared new fields in the wilds away from settlements controlled by other faithful, or joined the camps for mutual protection. But news came moons ago that the High Priestess of Hestia was killed in Thebes rescuing captives the priests of Apollo planned to burn. We packed all the camps, and they ordered groups to scatter between the west and north. Before this trouble none of us would have thought twice about making offering to others in our Goddess’ family—now I think those times will never return.”


    “You should get back to the rest of those escorting evacuees as soon as you’ve rested.”


    “We will, but we should repay your help first,” insists Galyna.


    “Help someone else in need, especially someone whose choices are limited, and I’ll call it even,” I reply so fast it has Galyna taken aback. “And if they’re a slave, try to get them free.”


    “Is that all you need?” asks Galyna, wide-eyed at my request.


    I try to think of anything else but nothing comes to mind before I give up. “That and a clean floor. Brina won’t be happy about the puddle.”


    “It’s pretty foul,” admits Galyna and slid carefully along the bench to avoid the mess. “Let us at least leave some coin. Maybe Brina can hire a builder to improve things? Stelios can be rather blunt, but this building does seem only a shrine.”


    “That’s fine, but you’ve got a distance to travel, so don’t leave yourselves short.”


    “Tove, we looted those we dealt with,” states Galyna, wearing a grim smile. “While I’m not comfortable handing over items I’ve not gotten identified, we got plenty of valuables and coin from them.”


    “Really?” I ask and try to poke a hole in her logic. “How many people are you escorting? How much will it cost to get them set up again somewhere new?”


    “We’ve funds for that,” Galyna insists. Her deft movements set three fist-sized pouches on the bench, the first two producing a sound like rustling gemstones before she adds a third that clinks on the stone.


    “Thanks. That will help the villagers and we can improve the Temple.”


    “We’ll still look to follow your request to help others,” says Galyna. “You saved my life; this is but a down payment. There is no way the priestess we were travelling with could have helped me, she was a Novice before we started west.”