Café de Nuit

Exculpation

The next day, they brought in various scriptures and songs and old texts from the Temple's libraries. They fought and argued and harangued over proper and improper attitudes for men and women to couple with each other. For supposedly chaste men, the priests seemed surprisingly well-versed in the scripture's apocryphal descriptions of marital exercises.

They were impassioned, too. Stalvan so incensed Rankwen and Fitbin that Fitbin grabbed ahold of an inkwell and threw it at him before the bailiff could restrain him. Stalvan, bellowing, rose to his not-inconsiderable full height and barrelled out his chest, then heaved a chair at the other two priests, clear over the prosecution's table.

Then the tribunal committee ordered everybody out of the room while they gave all three priests a very loud upbraiding.

I stood by the door as the muffled voices rose in anger and castigation. I turned back to Allie. "Poor Stalvan," I said. "I hope they're not giving him too much of a hard time."

Allie glared at the door angrily.

"Bugger the lot of them," she said. "How I pleasure my man in my own house is none of their business, the loveless swine."

At length, they let us back in. Some underpriests had been in with a mop and bucket to swab up the ink from the altercation.

"The Songs of the Ancient Kings are very clear on this," Stalvan said, carrying an ornate tome in his outstretched hand. "The King of the East boasts of the kisses he places on the navel of his concubine." He shut the tome and peered sternly at the tribunal. "One hardly needs to be a poet to see past the implications of what the word 'navel' could also refer to."

"Objection - baseless conjecture," Rankwen said. They fell to arguing again.

The afternoon passed in this bickering and production of texts. At one point, they even put Allie on the stand to ask her if she had had any divine visions while thus engaged with me. (She described that she saw something fairly transcendent, but couldn't be sure which god it was. Occasionally she would see it more than once a day, depending on how I was feeling.)

Finally, they called a halt to the proceedings.

They were willing to negate the penalty for keeping Allie in my bedchamber in the Undercroft. After all, I had been on guard against Drachlortan, and she had been in real danger.

They charged me with a fine and penance through labor for the wallside height-peeing competition. They charged Allie with the same, but understood that it would all redound to me anyway.

Regarding the altar top copulation, the tribunal commissioner looked at me with a mixture of regret and nostalgia.

"This is what we are reduced to," he said sadly. "Trying to observe the sordid world around us, and to scratch from it, signs of the divine. You made love to a woman now your wife, on the sacred altar of Mislaxa. Did She view it as a sin? Or did She reach forth and bless your wife's womb with issue?"

He pressed his thumbs into his eyes, tired and stooped with care.

"We are mere men. Bearers of their words. Decades ago, their signs and messages were plentiful. Their miracles were munificent and bountiful. Now, we have fallen from the branch and we no longer know their thoughts. We must instead look at the facts and try to see behind them what Plan the gods have for us. Your wife is pregnant. The child was conceived on the altar. And now I must look inside your minds and ask myself whether it was religious fervor that brought you to put that child into your wife on our god's altar."

He held up a finger, and his face adopted a sterner expression.

"I have heard evidence tending to suggest that you and your wife are not religious. I have heard evidence tending to suggest rather that you court pleasures and indulgences, and that the time, manner, and place of such matters little to you."

He was silent a moment. Then, when he continued, his voice was surprisingly gentle.

"Yet, you have both done good things for the Temple. Hawk, your service to us is uncontested. The noble houses owe us gratitude for our training and support for their guards. And Alinestra Covelia, your presses spread a serial story that exalts our deeds and brings our words closer to the common man. Though you may be unwitting tools of the gods, that does not invalidate the good works you have done in their mysterious hands."

I fought the urge to look at Stalvan. If they were talking about Allie's biography of me, then Stalvan must have done a fine job indeed of persuading them.

But the tribune was not yet done.

"We cannot divine the thoughts of the gods. But we can plumb the hearts of men. We have their rules, and we know what they might say of the Temple in such a case. I hereby rule that there is no excommunication warranted against Hawk or Alinestra Covelia for their actions. A child conceived on Mislaxa's altar does not call for its parents to leave the Temple."

He struck the gavel with a sharp rattat.

"However, neither does the altar of Mislaxa call for lewd behavior upon its auspices. There will be two seasons' penance for each of you, to be disbursed among you as you see fit, and all Temple bylaws remain in force. Alinestra Covelia, you are strictly forbidden from returning to the Undercroft. The Bursar will administer a nominal fine."

He struck the gavel one final time, and the tribunal rose and shuffled out.

We looked at each other, nonplussed. Then we looked at Stalvan.

He was smiling.

"You're off the hook," he said.
The aftermath of the trial was a businesslike affair.

I did penance for the wall incident, and my men joined me on Rest Days holystoning the courtyard with backbreaking work.

Allie went back to her presses and reinstated the old draft of the book about me. She never printed it, though. Stalvan made sure she understood clearly that if she deviated from the approved draft, she could be liable for a second separate lawsuit. But she kept a few copies for herself, up in the library on the second floor of her home.

As it turned out, Drasten, the guard leader, survived the arrow to his throat from Drachlortan's attack. He had even spent time recovering in the same hospice room as me. But, unable to speak now, and wounded as he was, there was no longer any room for him at the guard service.

He joined my men in training, as soon as he was able. Together with Lattoverdius, he trained my men to ride horses. By the time I got back to my men, Prasti and Lotal said he made a good sparring partner.

We took him on as a fellow Talon. When Lattoverdius heard, he asked to join as well. He gave his lord notice and then decamped with us. He brought several horses too.

Stalvan, obviously, got away with minimal damage to his reputation. Having cleared his protege of most of the serious charges, there was nothing left to reflect poorly on him. Later on, he was placed in charge of the First Temple's finances - an immensely influential position in Trandamere's home church.

And as for Lorisel, the hapless printing woman who had seen me carry on scandalously with Allie - she stayed on. Allie sat her down and talked with her, and Lorisel had been resigned to the prospect of being fired on the spot. But Allie had not fired her. Instead, she asked what Fitbin and Rankwen had said to her, and how they had interviewed her.

Bit by bit it came out that they had cajoled, wheedled, and threatened her with everything they could think of. Ultimately she had taken the stand on the understanding that she would just tell them what she had seen, and that it was a civic duty for her to do so. She had never intended to hurt Allie or me by her testimony.

Allie realized Lorisel had reacted then with confusion, embarrassment, and fright, precisely because of her sheltered bookish background. Allie even got her to confess that she was a virgin.

We set Lorisel up with Lellik-jir and he cured her of that pretty quickly though.




_

Knocking crowns off sticks

Spring was over and the real heat of summer had come in when Stalvan came to me in the training grounds. We had been training with the small but vigilant militia under Lord Aspadistris' command, and he came to us with a small retinue of guards.

He clasped hands with Lord Aspadistris and talked with him awhile, then came to me alone as I laved myself at the bathing trough, my hair plastered to my scalp with sweat.

"Hawk, my good captain, how goes it?" he asked, smiling.

I nodded to him, still catching my breath. We had put the Aspadistris men through a gruelling regimen of pike and shield formations designed to hold off a larger host with a small elite squad. The latest time, we Talons had been the attackers and there had been a very strenuous shoulder charge of shields.

I ran short of breath much faster than I remembered. This was troubling - it suggested that I'd taken some permanent harm when Drachlortan stabbed me.

Stalvan cast around while I finished bathing my head and back. I stood before him, waving my shirt against my chest to cool off.

"It's getting very warm out," he said. He carried a shade over his head and even so had to fan his face. Kindly creases formed around his eyes and a few beads of sweat stood out on his pate. "In summer, several things happen. The cattle will calf, the sheeps will lamb, and the Temple checks its coffers for the tithings."

I looked up. The last bit was not normally present in the childhood rhymes I'd heard. Stalvan walked with me to the shade of a lean-to and we sat, drinking cold water by the courtyard.

He gave me a roll of parchment, signed and elaborated. I read it slowly, stumbling over a few words, and then turned to him.

"You're going to Flex," he said. "To investigate the counsel of lords there. We believe that they have been shorting us on their tithes. Hoarding the gains of their mine at Forg to their own gains."

"Yeah?" I asked. My own trial for corruption was still fresh in my mind, and though the charges had been dropped, I still cringed a little whenever the topic of dereliction of duty came up. "Who do we suspect, exactly?"

He pointed to several of the names on the roll. "There are four lords who have contributed personnel to the city's standing army, and they take shares in the city's financing to an equal ratio," he said. "Casredan, Mellichar, Vost, and Dantor. In order of descending power."

He opened up another book, with numbers and charts.

"Casredan and Mellichar are the two houses that have contributed equal shares of financing to public funds - thirty percent each. Then Vost comes in with twenty-five percent, and finally Dantor with fifteen. The original agreement was that the Temple would repay them in bonds, which the Temple would buy back at five percent per annum. But given the purview of the steel mines at Forg, the Temple also gave them an option to sell iron and steel at a guaranteed price on the market."

Stalvan glanced at me. "How much of this do you follow?" he asked.

"Nothing," I said, honestly. "I'm no mathematician. What do I need to do?"

He sighed and rubbed his head ruefully.

"I don't blame you," he said. "I can hardly follow it myself. Here - I'm sending you out with one of my accountants. They need to check the files and records. There's a right messy tangle of bonds, options, and other sophisticated financial arrangements that the lord of Flex have put together, and I'm fairly sure they're not playing straight with the money."

He clapped his hands, and a plump priest came forward. His wavy hair framed a pale face that had seen a few meals too many and not enough fresh air. I glanced back at rotund Stalvan - perhaps this was his protege.

"This here is Torrem. He's our accountant, very good with numbers. He'll need to see records and files from the Flex lords. He may need to go to Forg too and take stock of the production output there. Your mission will be to accompany him and ensure his safety," Stalvan said.

"Pleased to meet you," Torrem said. His voice was surprisingly deep, coming from a boyish face. His eyes seemed a little abstracted, though. The didn't line up quite right when he looked at you.

I took his hand and shook it.

"Likewise," I said. "How many of my men shall I take?"

Stalvan looked down for a moment, then back up at me.

"All of them," he said. "We have reason to believe the lords of Flex have put away a very large sum of money. So large that treason charges may be forthcoming. If Torrem finds what we think he'll find, then he's going to need all the help he can get."

Stalvan's gaze wheeled around the courtyard a bit, then he turned back to me.

"Tell me, didn't you come from around there?" he asked.

I thought a moment before responding.

"I don't care to think on it, but yes - I did," I said.

He nodded. "Yes, I recall. I heard you met the old lord there once. At a tournament?"

I sighed and sat back. Very quickly, I summed up the two competitions I'd entered - the contest of spears and then the horseback joust. I mentioned in passing that they had taken the medal for the second one away from me.

Stalvan nodded. "That was a while ago," he said. "Since then, the world has changed. Belkrestar is dead. And so is his son Perringen - and I've heard you are to thank for that."

He massaged his head, sweating freely now in the heat.

"Well, the world turns and the world changes. Look at you now: the Temple's raptor. Our secret weapon. The day may well come when you'll find yourself looking down the blade of justice at the nobles who snubbed you so many years ago."

He rose.

"I'll be back in touch. Your company should prepare to leave within the next two weeks. We will count this against your penance," he said. "Make no mistake, it's likely to be dangerous going. But I think it beats holystoning the courtyard, don't you?"
I told my men the news that evening in the mess hall. This brought out a great cheer at the prospect of going out of Hawkbluff. Lattoverdius and Drasten, our two newest recruits, had been here most of their lives and my lads were happy to take them there.

I cautioned them to keep all familiarity to a minimum.

"Remember that Cob is dead," I said. "As are the Sons of Forg. We are the Talons now, and I am Hawk. Keep that in mind. This is a mission to root out corruption in the Temple, and we are not going to sightsee or to visit old friends."

"...if we even have any," interjected Prasti.

"...which I have been told is debatable," Lotal finished for him.

That brought a laugh, and we went to dinner with many smiles.
Allie didn't take it so well though.

"You're going to Flex?" she said, turning a lock of her hair in her hand. "When will you be back?"

I rolled over and propped myself up on an elbow.

"I don't know," I said. "I could hazard a guess if it'll make you feel better, but I'd have to ask Stalvan."

"What are you doing there?"

I told her about Torrem, going to Flex to check records.

"It's out of my hands. We'll be there as long as he is there."

She was silent for a while. Then, she looked at me.

"Well, when you find out from Stalvan, let me know." Then she turned away.

I nudged her.

"You're not mad, are you?"

She sighed.

"I keep reminding myself it's your work. So it's your work. So go, do what you have to do. Just don't forget you've got a wife and a baby on the way back home, and they both want to see you back in one piece," she said.
Stalvan gave me the summons a week after the meeting at Aspadistris' courtyard. I went to him.

"All right, you're leaving tomorrow," he said. "If you need horses, go talk to our requisitions office - they'll give you what you need. Take your weapons. Make sure Torrem gets there all right, and settle in at the noble's district temple. Do you know your way?"

I thought back, remembering. There was the temple where I'd hidden Sootri, when we were on the run as homeless refugee children. The memory gave me a momentary twinge. We'd been hungry and homeless then, but the thought of her welfare had sustained me. Even now, despite my home and my wife and Temple service, I found myself looking back at her trust and love with a sharp feeling of loss.

My men were quick to assemble, and Torrem came to our training grounds. We were mounted and off on the road to Flex by sunrise.

The ride was leisurely, and we passed caravans and traders along the way. We had heard news of the war effort - that Taric had penned Malarchus at his two towns and that Lothgren was safe for now. But they seemed very far away as we traversed the heartlands in our convoy.

Torrem sat in a covered wagon at the back, secured there with his papers. He had a great number of documents and records to compare, and they were just as valuable as he was. If anything should happen to him, I was to make sure his documents made it back intact for Stalvan to read.

Torrem was a personable, talkative person. Unlike Stalvan, the younger man did seem to have a good stomach for travel. We saw him carry some of his chests onto the wagon, and his size bespoke a decent amount of strength too.

We made good progress to Flex, though our swords were never far from our hands. Torrem noted this and called me on it in a conversation.

"When I travelled up to Flex last time, we were two men with six priests," I said. "There were bandits in the snows, and they did not hesitate to attack a Temple convoy."

I spat. "The swine," I added. "We hung a few of them from the trees by their arms. That seemed to stop them."

Torrem looked about. There were twelve of us, all on horseback, escorting his wagon and a small coach of other Temple personnel on unrelated business.

"Well, this time I've got a dozen men," he said. "I shouldn't think they'd chance anything with you lot around." He shifted a little in his seat and then leaned against the windowsill as I trotted alongside him. "Besides, the winter was harsh, and defectors were not only outlaws - they were starving. Now it's summer and they can probably find a good amount of work if they want."

He looked around. "Also, it's possible the lords have more steel in their coffers to pay them with," he said. "Which is why we're headed to Flex to make sure the flow of taxes is going smoothly. All it takes is for one lord to be corrupt, and then you've got militia going foodless for a season. Time to put a stop to this."
We stayed in a camp on our own, away from inns and any other tavern where our convoy might be noticed. We didn't want to give the lords in Flex any warning of our arrival.

On the first night, we got to a flat hilltop and made camp there. The evenings were still cool, and we huddled in blankets for sleep. We set up a watch rotation, and drank warmed wine around the fire. All of us slept with our swords - specially sharpened only on one side, like my own - by our sides.

The next morning, it was raining, and we covered up. The road grew soft, but did not churn into mud yet. A few straggling merchants' mules came up alongside us and fell in with us for a while, but we parted ways at a fork in the road and sheltered beneath some trees when the rain came down really hard.

Prasti got a fire going and we smoked some pheasants we shot in the woods. Torrem had a recipe where he bound them in leaves, feathers and all, and put them over a low fire. The stench of burning feathers was truly revolting, but when the birds were done, their skin and charred feathers peeled right off smoothly, revealing very tender meat underneath.

"This is the life, eh?" Lotal said. "See, when we chose to follow you, we weren't wrong, were we Hawk?"

I studied my pheasant's thigh in my hands, smiling despite myself.

"Nope, you weren't wrong," I said. "But you were still damn fools to come with me."

Lotal looked setwards. "Somewhere out there is Forg. The wall. Old Carrustin's forge." He looked down. "It's weird to think they're still there."

I gulped the flesh off the bone and then threw it into the bushes.

"Don't get your hopes up," I said. "Forg's been under the rule of Lord Nanje for nearly two years now since we left. I seriously doubt there's anything left going home to."
We pulled into Flex after a few more days, and made our way under cover of night to the noble district temple.

We were not recognized, not least because I now kept my hair short and my beard tidy. The rooms they showed us were tidy but small, and I had to bunk in a two-bed room with Lotal, Prasti, and Lellik-jir.

Lellik-jir's snoring kept us up and Prasti was on pillow detail to jolt the oaf's pillow whenever it got too bad. Eventually we shook him awake and made him lie on his belly. The snoring stopped after that, but Prasti still had to deal with Lellik-jir's bulk turfing him out of bed every so often.

In the end, we turned up to breakfast hollow-eyed and yawning. The other men had slept a little better and we met up with Torrem, who was in fine fettle and wide awake.
We set off in the morning to the Flex town hall. We requested, and got, the records of the taxes for the past few years, which Torrem placed into his carriage immediately. Then we turned around and went to the house of Lord Casredan.

I showed the guards the seal from Father Stalvan at Hawkbluff, and we brought Torrem forward. There was some hurried consultation, but we made it very clear that our business was with Lord Casredan himself and that any delay would feature poorly in any future equity case in court.

Casredan came to us.

He was an expansive, well-dressed man with a sword at his side. I instantly saw it was not ceremonial, and that he was a man of strong arm as well as a polished face. Casredan apologized for the delay at the door and listened politely while Torrem spoke to him. When the priest had finished, Casredan held his gaze for a heartbeat, and then broke out into smiles.

"Certainly, certainly," he said. "You are welcome to examine my records. I certainly have nothing to hide. However, I will say there have been troubling... discrepancies among the other records. I have worked to reconcile the public records with what the others have presented, but the accounting is a mess."

He led us into a library, and Torrem was given plenty of paper and pens.

"You may copy whatever you wish," Casredan said. "These records are yours for perusal."

Torrem looked at us. "That will take days," he said.

Casredan held his hands out in a gesture of helpless concern. "Perhaps, but you will understand that I cannot allow my private financial records to leave this room," he said. "You are welcome to make copies, as I have said."

Torrem looked at me, and I sensed a wry amusement in his gaze. I gave him a slight nod.

"I'm sorry, Lord Casredan," he said. "I have no time to make copies. I aim to take your records with me and study them as part of the evidence in our Temple investigation. If you will not let me take them, I shall return with a warrant for your deposition and the seizure of your records. It would be a pity to have to do this, especially if you have nothing to hide."

Casredan's face remained impassive a moment longer, as his trained eye took us all in - and then he gave a rueful smile.

"But of course," he said. "You may take my records. For reasons you can imagine, I would be indebted if you could return them at your earliest possible convenience."

We left the house and went to the Temple, dropping everything off at Torrem's locked quarters there. It took us a while, moving the chests of documents one by one up the stairs, and by the time we were done, we were ready for lunch.

Much to our surprise, Torrem shooed us back to our horses.

"We must go to Mellichar next," he said. "Casredan's men will probably be warning Mellichar even now. Our only hope is to get their records now, before they can move them."

We went to a different place in the nobles' district. At first we couldn't find it, because there was a cart of men moving furniture and the like out front.

Then we realized the movers were actually servicing the Mellichar household.

"Hold on there," I said, clapping my hand on one the foreman's shoulder. "Let us have a look at that."

One of the men looked at my beardless chin and eyed me up and down. He spat.

"Piss off, boy," he said, and reached up to brush my hand off.

I grabbed his wrist with one hand and his shoulder with the other and had him doubled over in pain, his arm twisted behind his back. Lotal, Lellik-jir, and the others all had their swords out and up in an eyeblink. We definitely had their attention now.

"I'm only going to say this once," I said. "We're going to look through your cart. Tell your men to back off and give our priest the keys."

He gasped out an order. Torrem came up with a Templar writ, striding to the cart and opening chests.

"Papers, yes," he said. "They were in the middle of moving them."

He turned around. "Were there any others?"

The foreman bit his lip. Torrem gave me a nod, and I pressed the man's wrist even tighter. He suppressed a cry of agony and staggered.

"There was another cart," he said. "Headed up to the summer retreat."

I pulled his head back by the hair and Lotal stood by with his sword.

"Where is it?" I asked. "Like you couldn't see that question coming, you swine."

"Top of Jutton Hill," he said. I knew the place - it was a mile out of the city.

I turned to Torrem. "Do the papers match what you need?" I asked.

He pored through a few and then shook his head. "Can't say for sure. We'll impound them anyway."

We split the company into two groups. Kash, Jaydo, and Gram would seize the Mellichar cart back to the Temple. The rest of us would continue on with Torrem to the Jutton Hill property, hopefully outpacing the documents there.

I handed over the Temple warrant, and Lotal and Prasti sped up ahead to intercept the documents cart. Meanwhile, Torrem's carriage set its own quick pace towards the hill, with me and the rest of the men in attendance.

Torrem mused on this development.

"This certainly does not look good for Mellichar," he said. "Casredan at least had the presence of mind to just produce the documents we requested. For Mellichar to hide the documents - that just reeks of guilt."

"How did he know?" I asked.

Torrem smiled. "Y'know, I'd be half tempted to say that Casredan told him. Even though it's clear the two houses have no affection for each other, Casredan knew his documents were seized. He has nowhere to hide anything - that's a given. But what he can do is to make his rival look bad. And what better way than to make his rival panic and try to hide his papers?"

I marvelled at this.

"Politics is all about this sort of doublethink," Torrem said. "Stalvan has had to put up with plenty of it himself."

The hill came into sight and the carriage jolted along as the horse set a fast pace. We got to the summer retreat with Lotal and Prasti barring the way and stopping the cart from entering. They were outnumbered by Mellichar's guards, but they were on horseback, and they had the sense to show Temple seal. Nobody wanted to be the first to strike a blow against horsemen serving the Temple. Fortunately, this standoff had held until we got there.

Torrem got out of the carriage, and he spoke to the guard captain, who plainly didn't like what he heard. But, powerless to refuse, he gave over the key to the cart's chests and Torrem set about opening them.

That was when one of the guards struck. He had been standing off to one side, but he gave the brake level a kick. The cart, resting on a slight incline, bucked backwards and would have run Torrem over had Lellik-jir not been on hand to grab it. Prasti joined him in holding it back as I grabbed Torrem out of the way.

Lotal was up and after the guard in a flash, and he feinted for the guard's chest once before flicking his blade around and up. There was a distinct crack as the blunt edge of his blade smote the man's skull.

Lotal looked around, his bloodied blade in his hand, and the unconscious guard in the dust.

"Are we getting started?!" he shouted, his face locked in a terrible sneer. "Any more of you nonces fancy baiting the Temple?"

The only answer was silence, as Torrem turned the cart around and took the reins of the draft horse.

I waited till he was safely back on the road with my men, before nudging my horse around. I pointed at the guard captain with my sword.

"Let this be a reminder that the Temple looks after its own," I said.

And then I rode off.




_

The Bee in the Butterfly's Bonnet

We turned our Flex Temple quarters into a research room overnight. Piles of papers, notes, and books crowded the oversized table in Torrem's bedroom, and we even moved his fixed bed out of the room so he could bring in a light folding cot for less space.

He stayed up until well past midnight, poring through folders and files and making notes in his precise handwriting. Most of them were numbers, but I could not make any sense of them. This was clearly nothing like buying a few steels' worth of ale in a tavern.

The second day, he came out with us to turf up the papers for the smaller two noble houses - Vost and Dantor. They would likely already have heard warning of the raid on Casredan's and Mellichar's, but this time we had the Flex Templar's seal of investigation and we could enter their homes.

"Either way," Torrem said, "we have the two fattest pheasants already in hand."

Vost kept us at the gate for an hour, but then they finally let us in. We went room-to-room, eyed by silent servants and noble family members, searching for papers, documents, anything that might point to a flow of money. It wasn't until we got to the master bedroom that we found the lord of the house there, standing defiantly in front of a smoldering bonfire in the fireplace. The burning of the papers had been a stiff task for him - his greying hair stood out in strands against his wrinkled brow.

"You can prove nothing," he said.

Torrem shook his head. "You have placed yourself in the path of justice," he said. "Already you stand guilty - we will add that to your costs. Captain Hawk." He motioned for me.

I stepped forward, hand on my pommel, the other hand outstretched to detain him. But my eyes flickered to his left hand, which held an unusual tightness. I was ready when he brought the penknife up, and with two sharp cracks to his elbow and shoulder, he fell to the floor, weaponless.

I put my foot on his throat, but Torrem snapped his fingers at me and I relented.

Torrem called out. "This house is now formally charged with destruction of the king's property in the tax records," he said. "All staff and family members are ordered to submit to the Temple and the Company of the Talons. Resistance will be met with force."

I leaned down and looked the nobleman in the eyes. He was jowly and his eyes were bleary. Exactly the sort of court milksop who had fattened on the earnings of the common folk while men like me had plowed and marched and died for him.

"You may wish to collect some robes," I said. "The King's prisons are not known for their heating."

We had gotten downstairs and were frisking the staff and family members before taking them to custody, when there was a shout at the gate. Members of the Flex guard had arrived.

Lotal went out with the Templar writ and talked to them. He came back tight-lipped.

"They're not being very helpful," he said. Torrem tapped my arm and we went out together.

The guard leader, an officious looking man with a sharp beard, gestured inside.

"There is a report of a disturbance," he said. "The Temple is not permitted to breach the peace in its collections and tax investigations. You will release all members of the residents."

Torrem held up a charred accounts book that he'd pulled from the fire.

"Obstruction of justice is a crime," he said. "Subsequently resisting arrest is ipso facto a breach of the peace. I'm glad you came. You can help us arrest the lot of them."

The guardsman shook his head.

"I have my orders," he said. "Release these men or we will release them from you."

I had my hand on my sword, but Torrem shot me a warning glance.

"Orders?" he said, stroking his chin. "Interesting. Orders from whom? We'll need to investigate. For the Temple's records."

The guard captain was silent.

Torrem pressed his point home.

"And your name is...?" he said, taking out a pencil and paper.

The guard captain spat on the ground, then wheeled around and ordered his men back. As they left, I let my sword slide back into its scabbard.

"Nicely done," I said.

Torrem waved this away. "Once they resist arrest, it's King's jurisdiction - and the guards here know it. You become an agent of the King as well, Hawk."

I thought about this but said nothing. It was an intriguing idea.

We went back to the house. Torrem gathered the servants and the noblemen together in the atrium and proceeded to describe their rights. Servants would be ordered to remain on the premises and would be paid a daily stipend by the Temple to keep the property in good repair. They were still charged with aiding and abetting, but such charge could be lifted upon adequate cooperation with the investigation. Then he ordered the servants about, asking them where the documents were generally stored and so forth.

The noblemen were too closely tied to the matter under investigation and could not be allowed to remain in the property. They were taken to a waiting cart and removed like so much cattle. Not a few broke down in tears as a crowd formed outside to watch their conveyance.
Torrem got confirmation to put the most important noblemen into the Temple's seclusion wing, with locks on the outside of their doors. They were given decent quarters and sufficient food and water. But they'd have to put up with the silence and scriptures day in, day out. Torrem thought about the scriptural basis for holding noble violators, and put it at about a week's time without approval from the higher authorities, or much longer with their approval. He sent off a runner with a message for Trandamere.

By the time we got to the Dantor house, they opened up before us and invited us in and made all their documents freely available. Torrem poked around a little more but couldn't uncover anything hidden, and we came back to his research room, plonking the heavy files down on the floor.

Then I got an evening off, and I left the Temple to go to a different one, in search of a priest with a scarred face.
Torrem spent the next few days poring over the books in his room and taking notes. We helped, with the most illiterate of us flipping through the pages and folding corners wherever we saw numbers. Then we handed those over to the Talons who could read - Gram, Lattoverdius, and Drasten - and they checked to make sure it was about taxes and tithes. Then it all went to Torrem, who put markings on it and copied it out.

By the end of the week, he had made his findings and was ready to report back to Stalvan at Hawkbluff. He told me this under strict confidence, and I did not even let my own men know.

“It is almost certain that the noble houses have men at the highway,” he said. “Let us hope that they are only there to watch my passage. If they interfere, we’ll need a strong sword arm to stop them.”

He indicated that we would likely move out the evening of the next day, under cover of darkness. For the following day we would have freedom to do as we pleased during sunlight hours.

I took Lotal and Prasti and Lellik-jir on a special mission. We put on our breastplates from Carrustin, over our Temple tunics. Swords clearly displayed at our belts.

We went to the Temple and got ourselves a cart and hitched it to a pair of horses. Then we saddled up and took four horses with us. Shortly after breakfast, we rode the cart across the bridge and into the lower quarters of the Nobles’ District.

People gave us a wide berth – the memories of the disgrace of Vost still fresh in their minds. Those who tarried, we gave a shout of “King’s Business” or “Temple’s Business” and they let us pass.

We came to a certain noble’s house and banged on the door. They kept us at length for a while, and Lellik-jir took a hammer from the cart and smashed the lock in. We kicked the doors open and trotted in, the iron of our horses’ hooves echoing as servants scattered.

“Bring the lady of the house to us!” I shouted. “By order of the Temple’s Raptor!”

Several men came from their quarters and drew clubs. Lotal set his horse in a lazy loping pace across them and sank the point of his sword into the man’s shoulder, knocking him to the ground.

“That’s your warning,” he said. “Next time it’s your throat, dog.”

The servants peered at us from around the corners. I cleared my throat.

“Emissaries from the Temple, empowered by the King’s business, are here to meet with Lady Varadis, head of the household,” I called. “We have serious business to discuss. Business vital to the good name and safekeeping of her title.”

One stooped senior servant came forward. “Don’t hurt us, good sir,” he said, his voice wavering. “Whatever we’ve done, we did at her behest. Have pity on the servants, who are just following orders.”

I trotted gently over to him.

“Bring Varadis to me,” I said clearly. Then, quietly, I said to him: “Tell her I want to return her generosity to her cousin, Bela of Forg.”

He nodded and bowed as he backed away, uncertain whether to turn his back. He got to the door and then turned around, his panicked footsteps echoing in the hallway beyond.

The servants muttered among themselves as we waited. Our horses champed and blew at the bits, but we didn’t have to wait long.

The elderly manservant was back, his face pale and visibly shaken. He fixed me with rheumy eyes and shook his head in despair.

“She will not come?” I asked, letting just a hint of menace into my voice.

The man bowed immediately and came over.

“She cannot come, good sir,” he said. Then he came to my horse’s side and held my stirrup beseechingly.

“Poison,” he said simply.


Lotal came downstairs and confirmed it. Varadis had seen me coming from her balcony, and she knew she was next for investigation. At first she had hoped to burn her records and flee with her jewelry. But then she heard Bela’s name, and she knew who I was.

And she realized I was the young boy she had mocked and pressed into a thug’s service under Sardricor in the Company of the Scimitar. That same boy, grown up now and on the wrong end of the sword.

The poison was a sleeping venom that brought comfort when dissolved in wine. She had pushed the table against the door from inside to make sure the draught had time to work, and then she had drained the glass.

She lay down on the couch, the drug relaxing the muscles of her face, which caused it to collapse in a mass of wrinkles. Lotal said that when he saw her, lying on the floor with her eyes folded back into her head and the vomit staining her collar and the bun of her hair, she looked like a beggar woman, dressed in the anomalous blue skirts of a noblewoman.

He had taken the liberty of covering the body, and bringing the rest of her books downstairs. I waved them away.

“We’re not going to investigate her?” he asked.

I shook my head, and reached into my vest.

“I just came here to give her this,” I said. I opened my hand and let the yellow scarf – Bela’s last sign of kinship to this woman – fall to the ground.

I looked up at the stairwell. Somewhere up there, the cooling corpse of Varadis lay, dead by her own hand.

“It’s tragic, when you think about it,” I said. Lotal and the others looked at me, but I shrugged and we left.




_

An Underhanded Undertaking

We got back to the Temple that night in time for dinner. We finished up our millet soup and bread, and then went to see Torrem to see if he had anything else he needed help with.

He shook his head. The last few copies were coming along well, he said. We should be all done by tomorrow.

After my men left, I stayed with him. The sky outside faded to darkness. When we were quite alone, I asked him if our departure plan was still on track.

He gave me a quick nod. "Midnight we leave," he said. "Get some rest. The Temple father will send a novice to wake you when the time is right."

I went to bed, kicking off my boots and doffing my jerkin, but sleeping in my leggings and undercoat.
There was a knock at the door, and I was up immediately. The shorn novice seemed surprised to see me so quick.

"Torrem asks if you are ready to go," he said. I nodded, and sent him away.

My men were not so obliging. With a few muffled curses and oaths, they strapped to and clambered out of their cots, putting on their boots and armor. There was no need to put on their swords. Like me, all the Talons had begun to wear them by their sides constantly, even while sleeping.

I pegged down the hall to the next room across. Lattoverdius, the horse-riding veteran, was already up, roused by the novice. He splashed water into his face and then got the rest of his bunkmates up.

We were ready to go in twenty minutes, proofed and primed and swinging up onto our horses in the Temple courtyard. A cart stood by to one side, with Torrem securing a wrap over several heavy chests.

"May I help?" I said, coming to his side. We tied the wrap over the entire wagon, fastening it down on the sides with rope threaded through iron-ringed holes in the fabric. His breath misted in the air as he put his foot up against the wagon side and pulled it to.

"Thank you, Hawk," he said. "See to the other wagon, and put those two chests into my personal carriage."

The two he mentioned were massive, oaken things, with a steel loop at either end for lifting. I snapped to them with Lellik-jir, and we hefted them into his carriage. The sedan had room for only two passengers, and the chests took up almost all the floor space for his legs.

"It doesn't matter," Torrem said cheerfully. "I can prop myself up on the chests. The important thing is getting these documents to Stalvan. Are your horses watered and ready?"

Lellik-jir nodded. He and Lattoverdius had seen to it personally.

"Then let's be off."
It was a full moon, which meant we could still set a decent pace despite the darkness. We travelled out of the nobles' district in a convoy, the carriage with Torrem ahead, flanked by four outriders and a pair of scoutriders. The remaining six Talons served escort for the cart of chests in the back.

We had gotten an hour's trot out of Flex, when the attack came. Lotal and Prasti, up in the front with me, heard the hoofbeats at the same time as I did.

"Guard up, men," I said, drawing ahead a short ways to meet the danger.

There were four of them, that much was clear. There were no more that I could see.

Four against twelve.

They were hiding something.

"Back to the wagon," I said, and Prasti and Lotal wheeled back, a trifle annoyed.

"There's only four of them," Prasti said.

"Aye, that's what I don't like," I said. "We'll stay close to the wagons. If they keep coming, we'll take them here."

A commotion reached us from behind. Sounds of sudden curses, frenzied hoofbeats.

"Find out what's going on," I said to Gram, who set off towards Lellik-jir in the rear. "We stay here." Then I called "Keep moving!"

Gram made his way back to Lellik-jir, who reported taking a volley of arrows. One had lodged in the side of the wagon, and one had grazed Kash's mount in the haunch. But the rest had gone wide, as firing into the darkness would be firing blind.

When I learned of this, I gave the order to pick up the pace.

"Stay with the convoy, but speed it up," I called. "Foreguard, ready to engage."

The four horsemen that had approached us from the front had slowed as they neared, and they held off a distance. Another series of thuds came from behind - arrows hitting the dirt track and the convoy. We were going to have to head up and take out the horsemen.

"Swords up," I said, raising my sword.

Lotal chuckled at my side. "You already said that, Captain."

Prasti snorted. "He said 'Guard up', you dunce. Now he's saying 'swords up'."

"Swords up!" I shouted, this time loud enough for the Talons behind us and the challengers ahead of us to hear.

We heard the sound of rival swords coming up into the darkness ahead. They were preparing to attack.

"Stick close by, but once we're within three lopes' distance, charge and scatter them," I said.

"Aye."

We cantered up, then broke into a charge as I had instructed. The men were not wearing any metal proof, as far as I could tell. I decided it would be all right to give them a nick or two in the arms on our first pass.

"Take their swords!" I yelled, and then we were among them.

Blade met blade and metal sang in the moonlight. Prasti almost forced his man from the saddle, but they exchanged a few half-hearted blows and then turned tail and fled.

"Shall we go?" Lotal asked.

I bit my lip. That had been suspiciously easy.

"Stay with the convoy," I said. "I'm not taking any chances."

Prasti came up, laughing quietly.

"Got a present for you," he said. He handed me a bloody glove. "One of them ponces dropped it. Busy fleeing like a lass after I prodded his wrist."

Lotal snorted.

"They probably weren't expecting a dozen of us," he said. "Raiders like all the scum."

I brought the glove to Torrem, who had been thrown about a bit inside his carriage as they picked up the pace, but who was otherwise in good spirits.

"We found this," I said, handing him the heavy leather piece.

He peered at it. His eyebrows went up.

"Something wrong?" I asked.

He seemed about to say something, then tucked it away and shook his head.

"Nothing that needs concern you now," he said. "Let us first get back to Hawkbluff safely."

We made the rest of the night's journey into day, and then went at a slower pace during sunlight. We rested up at an inn for the evening and completed the trip in about five days.
Stalvan called me into his office.

"There was an incident at the Varadis House," he said. "Care to elaborate?"

I told him honestly what had happened. We had gone with a scarf I intended to return to her. She had decided, for reasons of her own, to take poison. I had never even gotten to lay eyes on her.

Stalvan eyed me shrewdly.

"Varadis was your aunt?" he said. "Your employer too, if I recall correctly."

He motioned towards a cabinet where he kept the papers dealing with my recent trial.

"Don't forget, I've read 'The Bladeforge'. I'm not entirely clueless about your very checkered past, Master Hawk."

I waved this away.

"I never got round to giving it back to her," I said airily. "I can't be blamed if she gets it into her head that she should kill herself."

Stalvan shook his head.

"There's a legal theory called negligence, which is doing something that a reasonable person wouldn't do," he said. "You came with a group of men, days after a well-publicized raid on noble houses. You went into Varadis' mansion demanding to see her. A reasonable person in your situation would arguably know the impression you'd make on her - that you had gone to investigate her of wrongdoing or just to arrest and harass her. You can't plead innocence just on pretext alone, Hawk. You're clearly not that stupid."

I said nothing.

"You made a lot of enemies in this sweep," he said. "You did a good job of dirty work. The Temple is behind you, all the way. Don't ruin it by overstepping your bounds, raptor."

He dropped something on the desk.

"What's that?" I asked.

He held it up.

"The glove your men found," he said. "Look here."

I looked at where he was pointing. A depression in the glove, near a hole on the back of the thumb knuckle. I'd seen things like it before, when the gloves fastened with a brooch or decorative pin.

Stalvan held it up to the light. "They took out the pins before they raided you. But the pin left its imprint."

I could make out a small filigree. Something like a flower.

"Unless I am much mistaken, that would be the House of Vost," Stalvan said.

I stared at him. "Vost sent horsemen after us?"

Stalvan shrugged. "They did. Or somebody else wanted us to think they did."

He sat down and nursed his tumbler of gin.

"Like I said, you're doing important work. But powerful men have a lot to lose with your actions, Hawk. I hope you're aware of that."
After a debriefing, I left my men and went back to Allie's place. Lorisel was downstairs, and she looked down awkwardly and returned my greeting only quietly.

I left my cloak on the stand and went to the parlor, where Allie was poring over books.

She smiled to see me and accepted a kiss on the cheek. There was a businesslike air about her that stayed any greater show of affection.

"Welcome back, my Captain," she said cheerfully. "What was the business this time?"

I sat down, putting my boots side by side near the fire.

"Escort run. Up to Flex," I said. "May have ruffled a few feathers, though. The Temple had some unpleasant business to attend to."

She quirked an eyebrow.

"Unpleasant business? What sort?"

"Taxes," I said simply. "Also, I dropped by on a relative."

Allie looked at me. "You have a relative in Flex?"

"Don't tell me you've forgotten about Varadis," I said.

She rolled her eyes. "Her," she said distastefully. "How is she doing?"

I pondered this. "I don't think she'll be in any tax trouble, at least," I said. "She took poison when she heard we were coming. And I'd only gone back to return her scarf."

Allie looked at me. "That was official Temple business, was it?"

I shrugged. "It felt right," was all I said.
The next morning, Allie got out of bed early and went to check on something high up in the attic.

I was awake when she came back, and she was wearing a heavy glove.

It startled me.

"What's that?" I asked. At first it reminded me of the Vost gauntlet. But it was not.

She gave it to me.

"You'll need it soon enough," she said, and took me upstairs.

She had moved the hatchery up to the attic, where Remigerius used to live. There, she could afford to keep a small fire going in the chimney all the time. From that, she kept the hatchery warm at a careful constant temperature.

I came up next to her and looked into the hatchery. There were several speckled eggs there, about a handful. Black patterns on white, and about the same size as chicken's eggs.

"One of the aviary sages gave them to me, as a wedding gift," she said. "I've taken notes so I can train them myself if I need to. But I'm hoping to get a trainer as well."

I peered closer. The eggs rested in a thatch arrangement, with wood chips and leaves padding between them. The glint of the candle light shone off the glass cover.

"What are they?" I asked.

Allie looked at me, a wry sweetness in her expression.

"Hawk's eggs," she said - and held me close.




_

New Developments

Throughout the burgeoning summer, Allie grew bigger and bigger in the middle with the gentle stowaway inside her womb. The little impish creature had fits and tumbles as well, and Allie would call to me to put my hand on her stomach and feel the frolics within.

"It must be a boy," she mused. "I've never heard of a girl so lively."

Allie's limbs took on a charming plumpness, and more than once I caught myself staring at her, transfixed by her beauty. Her skin, normally pale, had turned a glowing shade of rose-peach. Often, I would just hold her arm, between elbow and wrist, savoring the feel of the smoothness of her filling flesh.

One night, in the sweating midsummer heat, I rolled over on my side and Allie nestled up behind me, laying her head on my shoulder. Then I felt an erratic jumping in the small of my back.

We both sat up and marvelled. She lit a lamp and bared her belly. I put my ear against her. There was a commotion going on - circles and loops as the baby turned within. Whatever it was, the little one calmed down after a few minutes and was placid once more. I heard two heartbeats - the impatient tattoo of the infant, against the sedate breath and pulse of its mother.

Later in the darkness, I nudged Allie.

"What do you think it was?" I asked.

I felt her shrug. "Maybe," she yawned, "it had the hiccups."
About a week later, I saw her rising from her bath and stopped abruptly in my tracks. My mouth fell open and I gawped unashamedly.

"What?" she said, noticing me at length. Then she looked down. "Oh, these. Yes, they're rather impressive aren't they? That, or rather disquieting. I can't explain it myself, really."

But it didn't trouble her and I later learned it was perfectly natural.
Roundabout this time, Lorisel became a crucial help. Allie often had to lie down, and Lorisel would scurry about, fetching her cold drinks and bringing damp towels. Through it all, Allie kept at her work. Even when she was flat on her back in the living room, she would shave off a pencil stub and arrange a stack of papers and get reading.

Lorisel was taciturn around me in Alicov's Book Publishing. I couldn't blame her. She'd seen me and Allie at our raucous pleasures, and then the Temple had forced her to divulge everything at an intimidating testimony and trial. But Allie had made it clear to her that the lawsuit would not change their professional relationship. By degrees, she came to relax in my presence and to understand that I didn't hold anything against her either.

One thing still held, however. Allie's will was supreme inside her publishing house. And Lorisel, as her intermediary, spoke for her when Allie was convalescing. More than once Lorisel removed me from the shopfront when the business was busy, moving me up to the archives on the second floor.

Lellik-jir continued to spend time with her, discreetly, but he never came to Alicov's. Lorisel had a small apartment she rented elsewhere in the Market District, and Lellik-jir sometimes stayed with her there. He said there were several excellent inns nearby, and so for him the return to the Undercroft and its humble meals was especially taxing.

At one point, Prasti pointed out that Lorisel barely came up to Lellik-jir's collarbone when she stood next to him. Also, she was about half his weight. Prasti and the other lads needled Lellik-jir about details of their bedroom relations.

Lellik-jir laughed it off. "A ship at sea does not mind the passenger moving about on deck," he said, cryptically.
Stalvan had good news for me. He was done with the accounting, and the nobles at Flex had indeed turned up short.

"The accounting is so tortuous I can't really allocate responsibility individually from house to house," he said. "But we have identified overspending on several fronts. We will hold the four noble houses jointly and severally responsible for the full measure of payment."

"What about Vost?" I asked. "Their holdings are still held in the name of the Temple. Can't we put their lord on trial and then sell off all of his property?"

Stalvan tapped a finger against his lips. "That does have a certain neatness to it, but it won't do. He's to stand trial for obstruction of justice, and if he's guilty, they'll put him in prison for a while and then release him. It's completely separate from the tithe shortfall issue."

Stalvan poured himself a small measure of sweet wine. "There's a justice issue here. True, of all the houses, we have Vost at our mercy - their major property is in our custody. But from what you told me, it looks like Vost was set up."

He sat down and propped his sandalled feet up on the pew, running a hand through his thinning hair wistfully. "Torrem says it's likely that Casredan gave notice of your visit to Mellichar," he said. "They were in the process of moving their papers to a safe house before you interfered. And then there's that thing with Vost house, burning their papers. And then the attack in the middle of the night."

"You think Vost was framed?" I asked, disbelieving.

Stalvan nodded. "Yes, think about it," he said. "They burned their papers. That was a megalithically foolish thing to do, and the Temple rightly seized all their property as collateral pending the outcome of the lord's trial for obstruction of justice. The other noble houses must know this. So, it makes perfect sense for them to blame Vost for all the deficits and shortfalls. Vost is already fallen from grace. One or two more calumnies to their name won't make any difference."

He held the glove, thinking.

"And there's this. So you're attacked the night you leave, by horsemen you can't identify. The horsemen skirmish with you just long enough to drop this valuable piece of evidence, then they flee," he said. "Why bother to ambush you if they're not going to try to stop you?"

I nodded. That had been troubling me. The attack had been four riders out front, and an unknown number of archers at our rear. None had seriously threatened the convoy, but all the same we had been on tenterhooks the rest of the night's trip.

Stalvan dropped the glove on the table again. "But that's not what really bothers me," he said. "I'm more worried about a leak in the Temple. A spy."

"How so?" I asked.

He wiped his face and looked up at me. "Torrem and you kept your departure time secret, right up until the evening you left. Only you, him, and the Temple's highest ranking priest knew you were heading out that night, under cover of darkness."

Stalvan made a casting gesture with his hand.

"So... how did your assailants know to attack you?"

I had no answer for him. He put his glasses back on and continued reading.

"I don't know the ranking priest in the Flex Temple personally," Stalvan said. "The nobles at Flex probably do, however. If you ever go to Flex again, we'll have to keep an eye on your safety."
They sent me down to New Aurim when the summer sun was in full force, to testify against Vost's noble lord. The trial lasted two days and was over very quickly, thanks to the prosecutor - a bland middle-aged priest named Solapar. His name reminded me of my own trial, not least because he was the one who investigated Allie for libel against the Temple.

In the end, because the Vost property was under custody for the tax lawsuit, the lord had no choice but to go to prison. He was sentenced to a month in the King's Gaol in New Aurim. From what I gather, he avoided the worst of it because he was put in his own cell, away from the violent convicts. But when he came out, his face was a ghastly yellow shade and he had lost a lot of weight. There was something wrong with his liver, too.

He went back to Flex a broken man. Then he had to respond to a second lawsuit, accusing all four noble houses of tax evasion and fraud against the king.

And every noble house in the kingdom saw that the Temple had grown teeth. Tithes and taxes were no longer trifles - there was a raptor that would come for them.




_

Stalvan's Sidestep

"The lords can't agree on how to apportion the blame," Stalvan said. It was a scorching day, and we stood in the shade next to the curtains, catching as much of the breeze as possible. "They've all but admitted their guilt. They just can't agree on how to disgorge the monies they've withheld."

"How many columns of men do they have?" I asked.

Stalvan raised an eyebrow. "More than a dozen men," he said flatly. "The Talons aren't on a battlefield anymore, Hawk. You'd do well to remember that. You're an elite guard, that's true. But anybody who sends the twelve of you into battle is angling to get twelve corpses in return for their troubles."

"We should levy a force there and seize their assets," I said.

Stalvan shook his head. "There are solutions more effective than outright war. Flex's main boon in recent years was the mine at Forg. Cut off that supply, and Flex's nobles will be forced to the bargaining table. We're going to re-route the iron and tax convoys from Forg to Hawkbluff. We will continue to appropriate Flex's income until such time as they return all the rightful money. Possibly with interest."

He drained his mug. This time it was a honey mead.

"You think your Talons can guard the convoy?" he asked.

I shot him a sour glance. "As long as the convoy's not going into battle. If it is, you'd best have twelve coffins ready, eh?"

Stalvan smiled broadly and clapped my shoulder. "Good man - thinking with your head already!"
Allie was lying on her back, reading a sheaf of papers, when I came into her publishing house. An errant fly buzzed around the rafters above her, large enough that it clicked when it tapped against the wood. Allie had a damp towel over her forehead.

"Hello, husband," she said distractedly as I walked in. Her feet were in a tub of water, balanced on the couch.

I tilted my head at her. She peered over the papers at me. Her auburn hair was a glorious, scandalous mess across the pillows and she had perched her reading lectern against her swollen belly, almost comically. Her eyes held me in a cool aloof gaze - like a magistrate seen catching fish at a pond.

"Yes?" she asked, with a quirky hint of a smile.

"I'm going out setwards again," I said. "We're to protect some metal coming in a shipment from Forg."

She set down her papers.

"If I could get up, I'd give you a goodbye kiss. As it is, you'll have to come over here for it."

I knelt down beside her and she put an arm around my neck and her lips to my cheek.

"Keep your head about you," she said, with mock sagacity. Then, with more gentleness: "You'll be all right, won't you?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" I asked.

She bit her lip and then smiled back at me. But I knew what she was thinking. Bela, Sootri, and Wilmar were still there - mere ghosts while I was in Hawkbluff, but coming back to lives of their own.

I took her hand. "This isn't like the tax records job. The convoy will set out, it'll get here at a set time, and I'll be back. Don't you worry."

She traced my jaw with her finger and then smiled bravely. But I caught the bravely part. Allie was frightened.

For the first time, she seemed to doubt I would return.
Before we left, I had the barber come to us and give us all shaves and haircuts, so that the people of Forg wouldn't trouble us with any inconvenient familiarity.

We saddled up and rode out, taking a circuitous route. Instead of the broad road to Flex, we took a minor road to the leewards side, skirting through hilly territories to make it round to the road to Forg.

Once again, we brought Torrem with us. Ever since the Flex visit, he had recommended us heartily to Stalvan, praising our bravery and our effectiveness in the courtyards and on the road. Outside the Temple, Torrem was a good drinking partner - able to hold his liquor like Stalvan, and we all grew to like him.

The easy weather made it pleasant for us to camp on the open grounds. We had brought some rations, but we added the spoils of the hunt over the fire, and had ourselves quail and pigeons and wild fruit. Stretching out on our camp furs, we watched the sun go down amid the fiery brilliance of the setwards horizon.

It took us two weeks to get to Forg, and we put on Templar robes that obscured our faces. Before we got to the city walls, I warned the men once more that we were not to speak to anybody or show our faces.

"For all intents and purposes, we vanished. The pardon is only as good as Trandamere can make it - and it's possible that Taric or Nanje may still want to complete what they left unfinished," I said.

I must admit, though, there was a pang as we passed the setwards side of the wall. There, I had watched helpless as Wilmar cut the ropes and let my few allies fall to the ground. We passed under the gate, newly expanded and higher than I remembered it, and into the town.

And then I kept my gaze down, fearful that I might accidentally see something - or somebody - who would make my resolve waver.
The iron ore shipment was ready and we hopped on with the wagon that same night. I had specifically requested that our stay be brief, as we were politically dead to the Forg leaders, and staying anywhere near the town was a tactically and emotionally dangerous undertaking. The Temple elders agreed with me, not least because the entire convoy itself was a lodestone for Flex's retribution and they were keen to get it safely to Hawkbluff as soon as possible. We stayed only as long as needed for Torrem to check the quantities of ore involved and for the teamsters to give us a meal and a fresh team of horses.

I stood on the balcony of the Temple building as my men ate up. My heart was aching, unexpectedly so. This was the building where Dartoraigh and the priests had tried to give safety to Anveran during the first raid. That had ended in a spate of gory executions. At the periphery of the old town was the city wall, high and proud. I had helped build that, as a boy. Just down the road was Himlak's manse, where Prent and I had said our farewells at the end of childhood - and where later the entire town had huddled during the second raid, waiting for Perringen's treacherous relief force.

My mind churned with these recollections, calling to me as a familiar childhood friend, or a scent from the hearthside suddenly remembered. I turned away and sat down, putting my ale mug to my lips. I heard, far off, the sounds of frivolity at a tavern. Songs coming from drunken lips.

I buried into myself, forcing myself to remember the contempt I felt for Forg when Perringen was brought to ground, and they celebrated with feasts while the rest of the nation stood locked in war. These were the fools who would turn to any quick tongue and honeyed words during times of trouble. Then when the crisis had passed, they would turn like sheep back to their grazing, with no thought for the future.

I went down to the halls and heard a children's choir off somewhere, singing a song of quite a different character. I paused. It was like I was back in Flex once again, a penniless laborer, resting for an hour at lunch while Sootri and her young friends sang Temple songs. I strained to catch the words.

Villager work! and reap the fields of grain,
Villager come! and guard us at the gates.
Villager build! we raise the wall once more,
Villager stand! as proudest Son of Forg.

I stood, lost in the song, for about a minute, and then I went on my way. My men would be finishing up their meal, and I had no time to waste on children's ditties.
We hitched the new team of horses to the ore shipment, and exchanged our mounts for fresh ones. I noticed these were descendants of the half-dozen or so mounts that Belkrestar gave us, a long time ago.

On the way out, I heard a voice from the guards - that of a strong man, who had trained in the Himlak manse while I watched from the blasted tree - that was unmistakable. But I pushed it to the corner of my mind like a bruise, or the smart from a training wound, like the hollowed feeling of a kick to the vitals. I buried it beneath the cold sand of my blank resolve, and I kept my gaze lowered as we proceeded out below the gate and out from the town that we had left once before. And it troubled me no more.

Lotal tapped me on the shoulder. I turned to him with an upraised finger, to forestall the comment. He saw my eyes, and I nodded slowly.

He let it drop.



_

The Temple's Steel

We had to take a different route back to Hawkbluff, as the hilly roads we'd taken the first time were too much for the heavy iron carts. We cut through pastures and near huddled thorpes, moving in a further arc away from Flex.

It clearly didn't work though. Our enemies at Flex had eyes and ears further than we could have guessed, and it stood to reason that they too might have plotted out the roads we had to take, and the difficult terrain we had to avoid. Within two days of our departure, countermotions were in the making.
The day had been a sultry one, with flies buzzing about the horses and a few stings here and there from the mosquitoes. The heat made it uncomfortable for us to push the convoy any faster, and beasts protested it constantly. Not the men, though. One time, Vakil - a young man, not used to the chafe of the saddle for days on end - muttered a complaint, asking if the gods wouldn't grant us a few moments' rest. Lotal quickly rounded on him.

"Hold your tongue, Talon," he said. "The gods grant us nothing, without our Captain's consent."

I heard this and wheeled back, deciding that a word of explanation was necessary. It might be quicker to order a man into obedience. But that risked breeding resentment. Better to show him the logic behind the order.

"We'll rest up when the sun goes down, when it's safer," I said. "As long as we're guarding this hunk of metal, there's all manner of men who'd gladly relieve us of the burden. In the meantime, Talon, mop your brow... and be thankful it's still on your shoulders where you can find it."

We made decent progress, all things considering, and we marched towards the sunset until the twilight filled the sky with a band of ponderous vermillions. Then we arranged the carts as we had done the night before, in a square around our campfire. We set watches, and went to sleep in our bedrolls.
I woke up to shouts, screams. I was out of my furs and my sword was bare in my hand when the dull thudding came - arrows.

Once again, they had archers peppering us. The horses were nickering and grizzling, skittish now, and I made out Lellik-jir and Lattoverdius going among them, leading them inside the campfire side of the carts for protection.

One arrow took a horse in the flank, and the creature bucked in the darkness, its shrillness steaming out into the night air. My men were about it, comforting it and seeing to the arrow.

“Circle the wagons, horses on the inside,” I said. “They may harry us, but they won’t be getting the shipment with archers.”

We jumped out in teams, shields raised, and turned the carts inwards. Then we unhitched the team horses and brought them behind the protective cover of the wrapped chests.

“Talons, sound off!” I called. They called their names back. All present and correct – no casualties. Yet.

Lellik-jir skidded next to me, brushing away an arrow stuck in his breastplate.

“What do we do?” he hissed.

I looked about. The night air was silent, for the moment. Our assailants had ceased their volleys.

I hefted my helmet over my head and hurriedly buckled my breastplate to. It hung loosely and swung against my stomach when I walked, but it was better than nothing.

“You stay by Torrem,” I said. “They might not be able to move the shipment, so they may try to take a hostage.” He scooted off.

I peered around. There was nothing in the darkness. Another figure came up. This time, it was young Kash, our scout.

“Get down,” I hissed. He hunkered down, shielded by the broad side of the cart.

“What do we do now?” he asked. He strung his bow as he said this, and peered through a space between the wagons.

I had an idea. I doffed my helmet again, and threw a leather glove into it. Setting the point of my sword in, I cautiously raised it over the side of the cart.

Nothing happened. I turned it slightly, as a man might turn his head. Still nothing.

I caught it back down.

“I don’t think they can see us,” I said. “They’re loosing blind into our carts. That explains why nobody’s been hurt.”

At the other side of our little encirclement, an injured horse scrabbled and screamed as Lellik-jir comforted it and pulled the arrow free with a sickening glopping noise.

“…well, almost nobody,” I amended.

I threw the basinet back on over my head.

“We’ll stay here. They can’t get us unless they come closer,” I said. “And if they do, we’ll be ready.”

Kash peeked out quickly. “We just wait till sunrise?” he asked.

I shrugged. “We’re safe here, seems to me. I can’t tell whether they’re coming or going, but they could put us in a world of hurt if they lame or kill our horses.”

He nodded at this.

“Gather the men,” I said.

The priest, Torrem, came with us, huddling as I discussed this. It was a moonless night, but by his reckoning we’d camped for at least five hours before the attack. In another three hours, the sun would rise. We would have to hold out for that time before we could see our attackers to return volleys.

“”Every man stays alert,” I said. “They could come over the wagons, or crawl under the wheels to get to us. It’s not worth any sleep duties for just a handful of hours. You’ll get your rest when the convoy’s back on track tomorrow. For now, keep your wits sharp and your bows strung.”

We split up, three men to each wagon, and waited.

But all was silence as we waited there, jumping at shadows and muscles aching in the watchful dark. I shifted from cover to cover, checking regularly with all my men, as we paced the heartbeats until dawn.

It was a necessary duty, but ultimately a vain one. Our assailants had long melted away into the night, and the only things stalking us in the fields were our own demons, in the stilted pensive hours before light.
The following day, we made good time with the horses, rotating the injured horse out to carry only a rider. When sunset came at our backs, we decided that we would travel all throughout the night as well, taking it in shifts to sleep on the wagons. Gram and Kash circled far ahead of us and far behind, keeping an eye out for a forward ambush or a tracker.

Each time, it wasn’t clear. Other travelers used the roads, and it was hard to tell if they were just making their way, or following us. We kept our guards up the whole way.

The third night, we stopped at an inn and locked the carts into the stables. Torrem crawled underneath them and clicked some mechanisms into place, then came back up, brushing hay from his knees.

He showed me a key.

“Without this, the cart wheels won’t turn,” he said. “The only way they’re getting the shipment out is if they take the chests off one by one. Where do you want the key?”

I put it on a chain around my neck and wore it under my leather jerkin. I wore that to sleep, as I rested in a room with Lotal, Lellik-jir, and Prasti.

Halfway through the night, something woke me. I looked up and saw the handle of the door, wriggling stealthily in the moonlight. Somebody was trying to pick the lock.

My hand was around my sword pommel immediately, and I padded out of bed and stood by the door, my feet gentle on the floorboards. I found a corner away from the moonlight, in the shadows of the armoire, and held my sword firmly.

The turning continued, with the handle shuddering as the last few teeth of the lock engaged, and gave way.

There was utter stillness for a moment, then the door moved inward, swinging by me with vegetable stillness. Somebody came into the room, and at that moment I stepped forward and brought my sword down in an arc, dull edge first, to land squarely on their head with a brief, flat crack.

The figure jack-knifed and fell heavily. Outside, I heard footsteps moving further away from us, down the hallway.

I tapped Lotal on the shoulder – he was already awake, roused by the falling body – and he muttered a grunt, sitting up. But then I was out the door and pounding down the hallway, in pursuit of any accomplices.

I made it down two flights of stairs when I realized I had lost them. And that there were more important things besides.

Cursing, I ran back up, sword up, and almost speared Lellik-jir as he came round a corner.

“Hawk!” he said hoarsely, his head averted and his hands outstretched. “It’s me.”

“Find Torrem, make sure he’s safe. I’m going to check on the shipment,” I said. Unconsciously, I fingered the chain around my neck. The key was still there. “Get Lotal to gather the others and bring them to the stables.”

He went, and I made my way to the back of the inn and down the stairs there. There was nobody about at this hour, and I made my way carefully to the side door and pushed it open abruptly, standing back.

No response. Beyond, I could just make out the stable door, shut.

I turned my sword sharp-edge forward, and made a run for it. There might have been a flit of an arrow, I don’t know. With the wind in my ears and my own breath, sleep-heavy, it was hard to tell. But I made it to the main gate and found myself unable to budge them – locked.

The side door was open, though. I crept up and peered in.

It was dark inside. That was unusual. I’d told my men specifically to keep a lantern up, though dimmed, in case of just such a situation – so that we could regroup at the stables and be off quickly if needed. I coughed slightly, my throat tingling. There was a strange odor, musky-sweet, in the air, and I did not care for it.

Somebody from the outside had managed to get in here. The three Talons on shift would be subdued or dead.

I withdrew from the dark doorway and looked back at the inn, across an ominous exposed courtyard. I had pelted across that open space moments before, but there didn’t seem to be any arrows or bolts lying about the yard. Maybe there wasn’t a hidden bowman.

I grit my teeth. But why take chances?

I ran for the far wall again, and made it back under the eave without incident. Inside, I found Kash ready at the corridor, sword up.

“Nothing,” he said.

I gave him a quick nod and brushed past him. I’d need proven swords for this. Lotal and Prasti. The old gang.

Upstairs, Lotal was armed and armored. Prasti was armed but still in his bedclothes, busy with our one hostage.

“How’s the cargo?” he asked, tying the man’s hands.

“Leave him with one of the boys,” I said. “I need you and Lotal to come with me. They’ve been in the stables.”

He tied off and then gave the man a kick in the ribs for good measure, then got his sword and came along. In the flickering lamplight, his puckered face looked especially disconcerting, eyes blearing out from scarred and melted flesh. Lotal joined us, waving down the innkeeper’s urgent hissing whispers, and threw my helmet to me. In his other hand he held a lantern.

Helmed and armored, I decided to chance a simple walk across the courtyard, with my men keeping watch. All quiet, just like before – if somebody was watching me, they were being sly enough about it. My men came up at a run, and we brought up the lantern and shone it into the room beyond.

Past the haybales, the horses had sunk to the ground in their stalls. There was a wooden partition blocking my view of the wagons, and I stayed by the inner wall where the hay on the floor muffled my steps.

A grey material, spilling onto the ground, came into view as I rounded the corner. The lantern’s light revealed it to be the heavy tarpaulin cover of the cart, cut loose from its lashings over the chests. Whoever had done this knew what they were looking for.

I motioned the others up, and peered around the stalls. A horse lay here, sunken onto its haunched limbs and tumbled to one side. It was unconscious, its breath coming in labored gasps. Then, my lantern revealed a pair of boots propped up on a haybale, and the scabbard of a sword further up. One of my men.

On my mark, the three of us rounded the corner, swords out. We saw a slumped man there - arms splayed against his sides, lying propped up against the wall, a curious cloth muffling his face. His sword was out but fallen from his open hand, and blood stained the nearby hay. Prasti flashed the lantern in his face and I recognized Lattoverdius, the horse rider. I coughed, despite myself. The odor was very strong here.

"Oh, we've got Gram here," Lotal said from the next stall across. "Looks like he's still breathing."

I knelt down and put a hand to Lattoverdius' neck. His pulse was strong and steady under my thumb. If he had received any injury, he was safe from death for now. I straightened up.

"Get them out of here," I said. "Whoever did this is probably long gone. All the men are to come down to the stables and we set out immediately with fresh steeds."

Prasti headed back, as Lotal and I unearthed Jaydo from his resting place, slumped behind the wagon. He was breathing still, and I played the lantern over him, looking for any bloodstains. He seemed unharmed.

Retching slightly from the sickly stench in the stables, I opened a few of the side shutters and let in some fresh air. Outside, my men were already assembling in the courtyard, carrying their travelling packs with them.

Lotal came back with Kash and Pejri.

"Get us new horses," I said. "We'll take the carts out into the courtyard by manpower and then hitch the new horses to them. Throw these three men on and try to wake them. As for our prisoner, keep him tied up and under guard. We're taking him with us."

My men set to work, as I looked out the window at the velvety stillness of the night. Somebody out there was plotting against us. What would I do, if I were in their position?
My men woke up on the way, and this was what they recalled: they had been in a game of cards when somebody had forced the door of the stables open. As my Talons were standing up, a handful of strange men came in, carrying pots of something. They threw them down over the stall partitions, and smoke filled the air. Before my men could react, the intruders had gone, closing the door behind them. Lattoverdius was the last to pass out, a hasty neckerchief thrown over his mouth to allow him to breathe more easily. He propped himself up against the corner and waited, sword in hand, for a chance to kill or maim one of his attackers.

Three men came back into the stables, their own faces masked against the fumes. They prepared to remove the wagons, but then discovered the lock on the underside. They had attempted to break the lock, and then one of them had stayed behind to search the bodies of the men while the other two left. When he got close enough, Lattoverdius suddenly righted himself and stabbed the man, gouging him in the thigh. That done, he fell back to the ground, overcome with the fumes. He remembered seeing the man run out from the stables.

Which brings us to the prisoner. A middle-aged man in well-fitted clothes for burglary – not a single buckle loose to jink in the breeze, his few blades strapped against his body. He had been part of the robbers sent up to my room to get the key from my neck. He was the leader of the group, which originally numbered six men. When we pressed him about who had put him up to this job, he spoke of an informant in a Flex tavern.

I tapped my teeth. It would be tempting to go to Flex, find the tavern, and hang the informer by his bootstraps to get him to talk. But as it was, we were already pressed for time. My men had suffered three nights' broken sleep, and Hawkbluff needed our steel shipment.

I left the captive in the tender care of Jaydo, Gram, and Lattoverdius, who had their own opinions to give him of their treatment. I sat down with Torrem in his coach and discussed our next move as we rolled out from the inn.

"They didn't know about the wheel locks," I said. "That was the only reason they didn't make off with the steel."

Torrem nodded. "They knew where we were, and what we were doing," he said. "I'm going to have to tell Stalvan about this. We need to find who in the Temple is leaking this information... when we get back to Hawkbluff." He passed a hand over his face and suddenly he looked very tired.

"Well, it's likely we scared them off for good this time," I said. "Their primary plan was to hijack our shipment. That fell through and they didn't have reinforcements. I propose we stick to the highway all the way back. We can outrun them in the time it takes them to regroup."

Torrem looked blankly out at me. Then he rubbed his eyes blearily. "All right, whatever you think is wisest, Hawk. We are in your hands."



_

Expungement

"You did well," Stalvan said, clapping me on the shoulder. "You did well."

He plodded back around to the other side of his massive desk, flipping through the manifest lists of the iron ore cargo.

"This is a rare haul. The lords at Flex will be smarting over this, for sure. Wonder how they'll do with Nanje now."

I said nothing. Lately I had noticed that Stalvan's grasp of the circles within circles of politics and plotting went far beyond anything I could muster. Sometimes it was easier just to let the man talk.

He sat down, his chair creaking beneath his placid weight, and crossed his hands across his generous waistline. A thoughtful expression crossed his face.

"So, Captain Hawk. How did your hometown seem to you, this time round?"

I told him what I knew. The entire place was still under the rule of Nanje, and the Temple seemed strong under the new Pastor Kenian. The people seemed resigned to Nanje's military rule, and the Temple seemed to be doing a lot of explaining and apologetics for it.

I told him about the Villager song that I'd heard the children singing in my one night in Forg.

He chuckled. "Yes, sadly enough, sometimes the Temple's mission is to help you put up with what you've got, if it can't quite deliver you from evil," he said. He rubbed his scalp. "My contacts in that temple tell me that the lords of Flex have sent a substantial garrison to Forg now, thanks to your successful seizure of the ore. What do we make of that?"

This was news to me.

"Well," I said, carefully, "I don't think Nanje will like that. He was always very jealous of his position as big cheese in Forg."

Stalvan grunted. For a while longer, he flipped through the manifest, and then he closed it with a snap and leaned forwards to me.

"We learned something else," he said quietly. "Do you want to know what it is?"

I nodded. His eyes sparkled and he gave me a crafty smile. When he spoke, it was a childlike mix of secret glee and conspiratorial urgency.

"When you went to Forg, bypassing Flex, there was nobody there to stop you, was there? No raiders, no soldiers, no thugs," he said. He chucked me on the chin with a plump hand. "You caught them with their pants down!"

He sat back.

"And then you get the ore and come back, and then they attack you. What does that tell you?" he said.

My mind thought this one over. "That we have a leak in Forg?"

"Yes!" he smiled. "Forg, and Flex both. Remember your first mission, with the papers and Torrem. They attacked you coming back, even though you kept your exact departure time a closely-guarded secret from your own men."

His smile faded. "Of course, we now know that there is a leak in the Flex temple. I cannot trust their leader any more - Pastor Parovel. We may have a leak in the Forg temple as well - Pastor Kenian, but I'm not sure about that. It's possible Kenian had nothing to do with the raid, and Parovel compromised you only after reading Kenian's standard reports."

Stalvan sighed. "I can imagine his distress at hearing that you had swiped the ore shipment before his masters in Flex had time to get it."

I interrupted him. "Wouldn't you have to clear out the entire Flex Temple?" I asked.

Stalvan winced. "I'm hoping I don't have to. How many people knew your secret departure time from Flex?"

I stopped. The number had been a surpassingly small number of people. Myself, the Temple head, and the acolyte who had woken us. It gave me pause.

"See?" Stalvan asked. "It's not like they're even very good at disguising it. That's your next mission. Go to Flex. Officially, you're there to audit the Temple books. Stop by at every Temple in every district, but save the Nobles District Temple for last. Arrive there late at night, and engage Parovel in discussion about a discrepancy in the books."

He leaned in. "Your duty this time is to put Parovel on a carriage and bring him back to me here. I have several questions that I want to ask him. And don't forget to bring the acolyte with you. I have a feeling Parovel's going to want him handy too."

I blinked. This was surprisingly devious, even for Stalvan. We were going on a kidnapping mission.

"Sit down and talk with the top priests at the other temple posts in Flex before you go to Parovel, too. We'll need to figure out who's on the take and who's trustworthy," Stalvan said. He drew a bowl closer to him and began washing grapes in the water. "It looks like we may be... reassigning Parovel soon, and we'll need a successor."
Allie was in a good mood that day, having finished the last draft of two major books and sent them to the printer's. She took my news of departure in stride.

"How much longer will the penance last?" she asked.

"Four seasons total, so that makes a whole year from the sentence," I said. "Give or take a few months for services already rendered."

"What's the mission this time?" she asked.

I hesitated. I didn't like to have to hide anything from her, but this entire mission was specifically about secrecy and its compromise.

She noted my pause, and arched a fine eyebrow, quirking her tongue into her cheek wryly.

"You don't have to answer that question," she said. She turned to face me, her belly enormous now, forcing her to sit with her thighs apart in her editor's chair. "Before you go on your secret mission as a Templar knight errant, maybe you can spare a kiss for your poor homebound wife."

She gave me her lips, but then threaded her fingers through my hair and her other her hand strayed mischievously lower. She buried her hot kisses in my throat, and my response was immediate.

A sudden thought of her belly, and the little one within, made me freeze.

"What's wrong?" she asked, drawing back.

"The baby..." I said.

She gave a dismissive snort and came at me again, all sighs and caresses and kisses. "Don't worry about the baby," she said breathily into my ear. "It'll know its mother was well-loved, that's all."

And that settled it.
In the morning, we saddled up and took the road back to Flex again. We fell in with a miller's caravan for part of the way, then with a cloth merchant. My men rode without heraldry or Templar symbols - a mere dozen horsemen on their way to a distant walled city. We brought with us a small carriage, and while we rode with other travellers, Prasti and I stayed hidden in it.

We feared that our faces might be known - mine because of my leadership, and Prasti's from his old burn scars.

We made good time, now that the warm rains of summer were over, and arrived in Flex after a leisurely pace. Our first Temple was outside the wall, at a new part that I remembered I'd helped build, as a boy refugee long ago.

We came in with all due respect and quiet patience, showing them Stalvan's writ, and asking to speak with the administrator. I sat down with him and talked of the tithes and records and the Temple's immediate goals in the area. I studied his face carefully - although it was a long time ago, I do believe he was one of the panel of priests who expelled me from the refugee encampment for my crimes.

If he even remembered the incident, he clearly did not remember me. We talked for an hour or so, and then I thanked him and took the records with me.
Three stops later, the first priest to recognize me was at the Bridge District Temple. He was a man with a broken nose and a scar across his face, and he was the priest who would go bring Temple's word to dangerous places. One such place had been a riverside brothel, where I'd saved his life from Sardricor's men.

He hailed me sadly, remembering my sorrow over Sootri - the girl he'd protected for me, treachery notwithstanding.

We talked awhile and he told me of the Temple's work to help other children like myself. I finally gave him an offering that I had intended since my first trip through Flex, but he turned it down.

"Your money comes from the Temple anyway," he said simply. "If you would truly help us, talk to your masters in Hawkbluff and ask them to increase our funding. So that other waifs may grow up to become good men like you."

We parted with a firm handshake and a sanctity blessing before his altar. Before I left, he came back to me, a rueful smile on his ugly face.

"I'm sorry, my good man, but I have never learned your name," he said. I smiled and told him.

He said it again. "Hawk. A good, strong name. I am Father Trovell."

And that was how I finally learned his name, after all this time.
The final meeting was with Parovel, at the Nobles' District temple, after we'd washed up and thrown our kit bags into our dormitory. At my command, we all left our swords there too. We went over some of the findings with him, leaving the papers at his desk to break for dinner. During this time, I passed my glance over the acolytes, and noted the one who had woken us on our fateful departure from Flex before. A glance to Lellik-jir told him what he had to do.

After dinner was over, we continued the discussions into the evening. I dismissed all my men except Lotal, and we continued our talk. Prasti was the only other one I'd tipped off, and he went back ready to wake his bunkmates at our notice.

We talked late into the night, and at Parovel's first yawn, Lotal and I exchanged glances. It was time to act.

"Gentlemen, if you would excuse me for the night," Parovel said, a touch apologetically. "I'm afraid my mind isn't what it used to be, and an aging man needs his sleep."

Lotal was packing up the rest of the books as I produced the last item: a scroll-case.

"Father, if you would only glance at this last item," I said. "Stalvan needs your response tonight."

His face hardened as I slowly unfurled the writ, top end first. His lips twitched as he read the writ lettering, ordering him to report to Hawkbluff for questioning in Stalvan's investigation. I continued unfurling, past the signature of Stalvan, past his Temple seal, and finally revealing the sharp knife at the bottom of the scroll, which glinted in the candlelight for a split second before it was in my right hand - blade out.

I made sure he met my eyes, then slowly offered my open left hand to him.

"I have been sent to deliver you," I said evenly. "Stalvan wishes to speak to you as soon as possible. We are to leave tonight."

Parovel looked at the writ, then at my knife, then to Lotal. There was a moment when he seemed like he might call for help. It passed.

"I've heard of your reputation," he said. There was a slight quaver in his voice that suggested rigorous self-control. "Lead on."

Bound and gagged, he only made a thump and muffled gurglings when we threw him into the carriage with the acolyte.
The journey back was a rushed affair, with my men sleeping in the saddle in rote so we could keep going as much as possible. We dropped Lattoverdius off at a waystop when we exchanged fresh horses, to keep up the pace. He would make his own way back with our steeds once they had rested up, but we had no time to waste.

We kept our wits sharp and our swords close at hand, but no attacks came. Evidently whatever chain of information had fed our assailants earlier was now disrupted.

After days of travel, bleary-eyed and sore-arsed from the saddles, we arrived in Hawkbluff and made straight for the Temple. Parovel and his acolyte were duly disgorged and I made my report before Stalvan.

He received me with all due urgency, and pushed me impatiently for details. We talked, me fumbling and straining to recall details in my mission even as my arse chafed against the seat and my leathers reeked of my days'-old saddle sweat. After a bit, I hardly knew who Stalvan was interrogating: me, or the priest.

At length, he finished, with the last questions focussing on the other priests in Flex's satellite temples.

"Were there any that struck you as honest men? Or are we to throw the lot of them to the birds?" he asked.

I nodded. "Big man. Broken nose. Ugly, but honest and knows what the Temple's about. Father Trovell."

Stalvan frowned. "Don't know him. But I'll look into it." He handed me a cup of mead. "I think we're done here - thanks again for the good work."

I drank it, and then rose to leave.

Stalvan turned again, fishing around in his desk.

"There was a woman here to see you while you were out. The small mousy one. Seemed important, too."

He tipped over a candlestick and muttered a mild oath. Then he found the letter and handed it to me.

I opened it.

It was Allie's writing - the plain, unfiligreed script she used to teach me to read. It said:
I was sprinting out of the Temple and down towards the Overlook District, when the thought occurred to me: Stalvan probably knew full well what the note was about - and yet he had spent hours pumping me for information before letting me go home to my newborn.

My lungs and old shoulder wound began to ache with the exertion of running, but even so I managed a quick oath before rounding the corner to Falcon's Way:

Stalvan, you wily old bastard.

A New Charge

Things passed in a daze for me. I recall the clatter of my heels on the cobblestones in front of her house at Falcon's Way. Faintly familiar faces greeting me at the doorway - Allie's literary colleagues, dimly-recalled from the wedding. Frazzled Lorisel coming to meet me in the antechamber with a finger to her lips. The sweat standing out on my brow cooling, as my eyes adjusted to the weighty dark silence of her home.

A grey-haired woman, her face all wrinkles and strange to me, came out with a basin for me to wash and soap my face and hands. The water cool against my skin as I stripped off my road-dusty clothes and towelled myself clean.

Whispered instructions and a quiet rousing of the lady of the house. A faintly sweet smell in the bedroom. Her voice, sleep-heavy but warm in welcome to me - the faraway father.

The infant was nursing at her mother's breast when I first saw her in the darkened room. A tiny clot of humanity, small and pink and quiet, nestling among the unruly auburn curls of the mother. Tiny fingers clenched in plump fists, miniature and fine as carved ivory. Eyes impossibly large above the tiny nub of a nose and the full cheeks of the newborn.

The child grizzled, its bald cry echoing in the stillness, as it turned away from the proffered breast and hiccupped. I let out the breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. The spell broken, Allie rearranged her ripe nakedness and swaddled the baby again, shushing and humming gently.

She had to say it twice before I heard her.

"Come, Hawk. Come and hold your child," she said.

I stepped forward, bemused and wondering. The baby felt meek in my arms - a helpless, silent creature from the woods. She was no longer than my forearm. When she opened her eyes and looked at me, there was a quirky arch to the fine lines of her eyebrows that gave her a strangely skeptical expression.

Amazement gave way to amusement. The smile leapt unbidden to my lips, at this strangely wise child in my arms. Perhaps she had heard from her mother what a scamp her father was?

The baby's interest faded and she just yawned and turned away. She gave an oddly beseeching gurgle, and I turned instinctively back to Allie.

"No, you can hold her awhile yet," my wife said. "It is fitting she should know you."

I thought about this, and a wave of strange emotion gripped my heart. That she should know her father. In a sudden rush, I was no longer a man, come from the road to a house in Hawkbluff. Leagues away and a lifetime distant, I was once again a boy, blinking in the sunlight, unsteady on my feet as I toddled towards the man I would not remember. A gentle calling, urging me forwards across the blur of speckled green in the shady fields. Warm, strong hands holding me up in the air as I laughed at the whirling world around me.

Hands that were dust now. A voice forever silenced. The last legacy of a man who was gone before I was fit to know him. Dead, and still worse than dead - forgotten.

That she should know her father.

I swallowed and choked down a sob, and rocked the child in my arms a little closer. I turned my face to the side a little, so I could still see her face, now turned back to me and regarding me once more with exacting inquisition. Even through the tears that coursed down my cheeks and wet my jaw with their warmth, calling as wordless as a courtyard breeze from across the years.
Through broken parts of the nights, and also mostly through the days, the baby slept tightly swaddled in a basket. Jana, the grey-haired midwife, was a cautious caretaker, and between her, Lorisel, and Allie, there was little left for me to do.

Allie shared my fascination with the little one, and for a spell we even forgot much about each other. I walked through the house as one in a dream, dazed - yet strangely proud - from sleepless nights. During the days, I would sit awhile in a chair and jolt awake later, unaware that I had slipped into a nap.

The first time I laid the baby on my chest, her breathing was so calming I fell asleep myself - though it was largely up to her to decide when the nap was over for both of us. While changing and cleaning her, I held her up to my face. Her deep eyes took in my gaze without any hint of fear. Perhaps confused or hungry, the baby leaned forward and clamped her toothless mouth across the tip of my nose.

The first few nights, I slept on the couch in Allie's apartments. Returning to the marital bed was a strange and gradual process, now that there was a little one between us. The basket lay at chest height, where a protective arm could nook around it. Occasionally, my arm would touch Allie's. The touch felt unfamiliar, as if I was with somebody changed.
I had a nightmare on the third night back. I dreamed I was in an orchard, at the time of year that the best fruits had already gone and all that was left were the overripe ones left to seed.

My child was there with me, older now, and walking beside me. Her hand was slim as a stirrup strap in my hand, as I pointed out the trees and called them by their names. Then she pulled her hand free of mine and bolted ahead, far ahead of me. She was picking fallen fruit, and running so fast I could hardly see her among the trees.

Horses were coming - I could hear their hoofbeats growing closer and urgent, and I had to find her and hold her safe. But the more I ran to her, the faster she ran away, the branches whipping behind her as she passed them. I could not remember her face: the most terrifying thing about the dream was that she never once looked back.

Awake and sweating, it took me a moment to recognize Allie's face as she locked eyes with me, asking what was wrong. I nodded, my heart stammering, unable to speak for a moment. Then I rasped out that I needed a drink of water.

In the bathroom, I towelled my face and cooled down. My stomach calmed slightly, as my breathing subsided into a troubled trembling. The dream had really unsettled me, it seemed. I bent over the wash basin and tried to collect my thoughts.

Then, as if by some diabolic trick, my mind's eye raised a momentary flicker of atrocity.

...melting snows higher on the hills... ...winter's last days as dawn stretched the woodland shadows...

...rumor of hoofbeats in the distance... ...commotion in the temple...


...blood - and worse than blood - in the dirty snow of the courtyard...

I teetered, as if from a physical blow, as my vision swam. Then, the scene leapt with profane clarity before me: Soldiers with hands, steaming in crimson. Anveran's futile prayers as they carved her belly. The twitching bundle on the offal-ground. And it was hopeless to resist.

My body swayed and jacked like a tree in a storm as I heaved myself dry.
Allie and I first resumed our marital relations about a week after my return. Though the spark of my desire was just as immediate as ever, this time it was tempered with a gentleness for her - the mother of my child. We tenderly learned each other's embrace again in the sacrosanct afternoon stillness of her bedroom, and dozed together lightly with warm chuckles, as if at a shared joke together. The baby woke up after it was all over, and I rose to bear her back to the bed to Allie's breast.

"Have you thought about a name?" Allie asked, as the infant quietened in her arms.

I gave a short laugh. "Are you serious?" I asked. "I've had enough of a time keeping my own names straight." I shifted uncomfortably. "Even my own mother just called me 'Boy'. It wasn't till Wilmar mocked me that I got a name of any sort: 'Cob'. "

"What about 'Bela-jir'?" she asked.

I reminded her it just meant "of Bela". She nodded. "That's right, you told me. A matronymic."

"Yes - one of those. I was about to say that," I said.

Allie shushed the baby's grizzling and carefully wiped away some snivel from its nose and mouth with a damp cloth.

"Well, I've been thinking," she said. "There are a few names common to my family, and I'd like her to have one of them. How do you feel about an 'Arianna'?"

I shrugged. "A name is as good as any," I said. Then I saw Allie's expression - clearly, something more was expected of me. "It's nice," I said. "Lyrical. Like a poetic heroine. Also, we could shorten it to 'Anna' until she can say it properly."

Allie's face smoothed. "It was the name of one of my ancestors. Probably a grandmother - we've lost so many of the records now."

The baby chirped at this. The entirely of her brief attention focussed on the end of Allie's nose, and she waved out a fat hand.

"Well, she seems to like it well enough," I said, smiling. "I suppose that's all that matters, in the end."
About five days after I'd returned to Allie, I received word that Stalvan wanted to meet me. His messenger arrived just as I was changing the child's bedclothes, and it took me a while to clean myself off. Allie helped me get ready too.

"Oh, there's more where that came from," she said, hurrying for another sponge.

I muttered a mild oath. "How do you know when you're about to get a new one?" I asked the baby. She crinkled her eyes at me conspiratorially as her bowels continued to void.

Allie came back. "Just be glad we don't have a boy," she said. "They're projectile."

"Yes, but don't forget her mother is a height-peeing champion."

Soaped, scrubbed, and with a hint of scented oil to dispel the odors, I followed the messenger's summons and met Stalvan outside the Setting Sun Tavern. Much to my surprise, he hurried me back out into the street.

"Let's go somewhere quieter," he said.

Striding over the cobblestones, he brushed crumbs from his robes. He'd evidently had a snack or two while waiting for me. We passed one or two alleyways and then he stopped impulsively at a small tavern. We got a table inside.

"So, we've started cleaning out the wavering Templars at Flex," he said. "It's going to take a while to put it back in order, but I'm working on it. I did some digging around, and it looks like Parovel's been doing some extra-curricular investigations of his own. He was working on something pretty serious, too. If he weren't so close to the Flex lords, I might have kept him on."

He sucked the meat off a chicken drumstick and gulped it down at this juncture.

"What's going to happen to him?" I asked.

Stalvan waved abstractedly. "Well, Parovel can't go back to Flex, that's for sure. Politically, he's an obstacle to the First Temple's link to Forg and the steel tithings. He's also guilty by association to the book-fiddling going on down there." Stalvan steepled his fingers thoughtfully over his round tummy. "But he's done some good snooping work, after his own fashion, and I may have some use for him here in Hawkbluff. We'll have to keep an eye on him, but I think we have an even more pressing affair on our hands if his information turns out to be good."

"And what's that?" I asked.

Stalvan's eyes rotated in his expansive face to hold my gaze. The smile left his lips and he tidied up the food particles around his mouth before leaning in to speak.

"Hawk, I believe we have a few cultists in the cities," he said. "At least, I hope it's only a few." He sat back, watching my expression.

This meant nothing to me, and it must have shown. He leaned forward again.

"Parovel's a cheat and a swindler and he'd fawn over any noble to gain standing in the Temple, but he fears Mislaxa like all the rest of us," he said, his voice quick and urgent and low. "So we know it's the real deal, when he's channelling his own ill-gotten gains into ferreting out cultists of Hiteh in Flex."

"Hiteh?" I echoed, skeptically. "Since when was that a concern?" It seemed implausible. The name meant nothing to me, outside of an all-inclusive curse or oath. Attributing actual powers to the name seemed the province of ignorant foreigners or possibly doddering grandparents.

Stalvan shushed me down. "Not so loud, remember who you're talking to," he said, crossly. He straightened up and looked around, then motioned for another pitcher of weak ale. "We thought the cult was gone from Thenolian lands. Indeed, there was a mighty purge of them in the reign of Caropalix the First, before I was born. Around the time when my grandfather was a boy. We thought we'd stamped them out for good, but I suppose the cockroaches will find any way they can to return."

I shrugged. "So promise them redemption if they convert, or whatever it is the Temple grants these days," I said. "A few miracles should prove Mislaxa's power."

Stalvan's face showed me that was the wrong thing to say. He sighed and sat lower in his chair, an angry set to his shoulders that I hadn't seen before.

"It's more complicated than that. Caropalix the First ruled us not long after the Shattering, when New Aurim really was new. Some of our mysteries and miracles still worked, back then - although the scrolls said they were notoriously unreliable. Now, however..." he made a vague gesture.

"It's damned inconvenient, Hawk," he said bluntly. "You've seen what Malarchus can do on the battlefield. The unnatural tricks he can pull. Where does that come from? You saw his priests and their orange cloaks. His rotting armies, defying nature. We're lucky that word of this didn't get out. If our Temples are reduced to binding wounds and amputating limbs for our miracles, and the enemy is pulling soldiers out of the graveyards..."

The same thoughts had occurred to me before, but there had always seemed to be some convoluted Temple rationale behind it. I strained to remember them.

"You said it yourself though," I said, not entirely sure why I was defending the faith to Stalvan. "The path of the righteous man leads up the mountainside to Mislaxa's grace at the summit. Hiteh's temptation lies in the valley below. To fall is easy - to climb is arduous. Isn't that the pith, or something like it?"

Stalvan made a sour face. "I need a mercenary captain, Hawk. I don't need a born-again crusader. What we're facing now is a number of people in our cities who are working to who-knows-what ends, in the name of Hiteh's faith. I don't know who set them up to it, and I don't know what the worst they can do is, but I do know it's a troubling sign. Imagine seeing rust on your bladehilt, and you've got my feelings right now."

I pondered this. He had a point.

"So people occasionally lose faith in hard times," I said. "That's natural. Punish the doubters to frighten the faithful. Or reward the faithful as an incentive. So maybe Malarchus is setting a bad example. That's simple too, even if it'll take a little longer. Crush Malarchus and all the doubters will see the error of their ways."

Stalvan perked his eyebrows matter-of-factly. "Well, I wasn't going to say it, but you've speared the apple." He tapped a finger against his chin. "Are they just misguided heathens? Or are they taking orders from Malarchus' camp? If they're just an embarrassment to the Temple, that's one thing. But if they're relaying information to our enemies, working to undermine our king, then that's another. Do you see now?"

I saw his point, clearly. During our campaign of the First Malarchan Reclamation, even during my own stint as a forest outlaw at Forg, I had learned the importance of intelligence from scouts and spies. Without that, all the manpower in the world wouldn't help your cause. Even the strongest warrior was in trouble if you put him into a duel, blindfolded.

Stalvan sighed again. "This is a damned nuisance. I had hoped to focus on the lords at Flex, but it turns out I must divert more time and attention to this cultist nonsense. As if I weren't busy enough!"

"Make a deal with the Flex lords," I said. "You've punished Lord Vost and his family. Assign a penalty against the other houses, on paper, and then allow them to discharge or plead down some of them by giving logistical help to the Temple."

Stalvan blinked. "And if they refuse?"

"...then clearly they've got more than just money on the line," I said. "Assuming you couch the terms neutrally, there should be no reason for them to suspect this has anything to do with Hiteh cultists - unless they're somehow involved on their own. And even if they somehow guess at your investigation's purpose, what lord would turn down a penalty reduction just to lend aid to some crazed zealots... unless they were sympathizers themselves?"

Stalvan rolled his head side to side, to loosen his neck muscles. "Torrem advocated something similar. I let him in on the information - he's trustworthy. I'll have to think about this. But for now, you're going to have to prepare to shift your actions. I'm going to put the Flex Temple in order, then I'm going to finesse the lords to trade some of their penalties for an investigation. Then we find the cultists and stamp them out."

He finished up his meal and paid for the both of us, swearing me to confidence about this matter.

"I'll be sending you out again," he said. "You can tell your men that you'll be looking into matters at Flex. But let me brief them about the particulars. We don't want to tip our hand too soon."

I nodded. "How about my wife?" I asked.

Stalvan shrugged. "How about her?"

"We need to tell her something," I said. "She's too smart to deceive and too important to dismiss. As you yourself learned with the whole book censorship case."

Stalvan nodded. "That's true. I'll brief her myself. You should sit in. We can tell her some things about what you're doing, so she'll understand your welfare. But these next moves require confidence."

He downed his drink and got up.

"Looks like we've got fleshrot in the Temple, Hawk," he pronounced grimly. "We'll need something pure to clean it out. That means you."

I took the compliment in stride. It was a good thing for a father to be.

It was only afterwards that I remembered something Allie had said: for fleshrot, some healers liked to use maggots.
Stalvan was good to his word. The next morning, he came to Allie's house in person to talk to her, explaining to her that there was a concern about heretics of Hiteh, and that he would be sending me to collect evidence. He repeated the need for absolute secrecy, as the Temple was already looking into leaks like Parovel.

Allie was courteous enough, thanking Stalvan for his consideration of her spousal concern. But after he was gone, she asked me if he was serious.

"Hiteh? In a cult?" she asked. "Who worships Hiteh these days anyway?"

She grimaced.

"You might as well erect an altar to Damn, Hell, or Ah-Crap."

Intrigues behind the walls

I made the next journey to Flex alone. A band of men travelling together was noisy and chatty at best. At worst, it hinted at a shared purpose.

The summer was already leavening into a cool chillwards breeze, and the musky dampness of the air was gone as I saddled up. I had papers with me, and some steel for payment of small tolls. My sole purpose would be to meet with Trovell, the priest with the scarred face, and to deliver and receive certain messages.

Stalvan had been adamant that I stay out of the affairs of the nobles as much as possible.

The morning of my departure, Allie and I fixed flatcakes with almonds and honey, which filled me up. She finished her tea and she and Arianna came to see me off at the doorway, the baby still sleeping soundly.

She waved at me, and then I hitched the cowl of my cloak up, and spurred the horse on our way.
Trovell was busy but happy to see me at Flex's temple. He came out to the courtyard to meet with me and to receive the papers from Stalvan. All the seals were still virgin - I had never been the sort to go reading others' papers and I wasn't going to start now. When we were done, he nodded and sat down and talked with me.

There was a certain hardness in him that I had not seen before. Perhaps there was something to be said for the old adage, that power toughens men like the sunlight toughens leather.

"Have your men left you?" he asked, not unkindly. "It must be a blessing of sorts to operate alone now."

I took this as a joke and chuckled appreciatively.

Trovell scratched his crooked nose absently.

"You probably know we're starting an investigation into cults," he said. "You'll be helping us with that. I need to you take up lodgings on the Waterfront. There might be a few cases of investigating premises."

He wrote something down and added it to a growing pile of papers on his desk.

"...somebody else will be dealing with the old business," he finished.

This surprised me.

"The old business?" I asked. "You mean the lords of Flex?"

He didn't look up. "Don't worry yourself with it. Out of mind, out of trouble. Here," he handed me a map. "There should be some lodgings along this street. The bursar will give you a stipend. Choose your own place, that's probably safest."

I echoed his last word, with a question. "Safest?"

Trovell looked at me.

"We still aren't entirely sure the Temple people here can be trusted. I'm working on it. Give me time."

I left the Temple with thirty pieces of steel, more than enough for a week's stay at the slums. At my left thigh hung the one-sided blade, hidden under my cloaks. At my right boot hung a small dagger, which I stowed under my pillow in the fleabitten digs I secured for myself. The rest of the day was left to myself, and I was to report to the Temple that evening for sealed instructions.

I wandered around the shambolic tradesmen's stalls up and down the Waterfront. Children watched as toothless grandparents hawked goods and foodstuffs. Flies hovered around listless dogs, twitching in the sunlight napping.

On a whim I went to the tall building that Varadis, my worthless aunt, had once called home. The building had been repainted and a new aspiring wealthy lived there now.

It occurred to me that people faded quickly from the world. Belkrestar, then Perringen, had called this place home. Forever gone, now, resting in the soil like all the other bones of men. Sadricor likewise, gone after finally meeting his match in my company of men, his body scattered in the wind like broken matchsticks. Varadis, dead by her own hand, her proud pretensions all lost as new butterflies and peacocks roosted in her house.

Abruptly I stopped, and turned back. There had been somebody else. Maybe somebody who even remembered Cob.

I went down the slippery worn steps to the water level, and sought out a rickety house of sin.
"There was a girl who worked here," I said. "Thin. Light colored hair. Called herself Leera."

The house proprietor shook his head. "Don't remember her. We have others like her."

I thought back. "This was maybe three years ago. The Company of the Scimitar came here, under Sadricor."

The proprietor gave me a sour look, but I quenched it with a steel piece.

"Go ask our guard, Otto. He was here back then."

Otto did remember Sardricor and his men, but he didn't remember Leera. "If she didn't die in the autumn fever that year, she would have left. We let go a lot of the old girls then and they went elsewhere."

I asked him where she might have gone. Whether the house sold their girls to another place. He gave me a name, and I handed him a coin.

I tried a few other brothels nearby, and the trail came back to life after the third one. One of the managers remembered her and his description matched mine. Apparently she'd had a child, but the child had died an infant. She had gotten sick and left for the Temple for help and then come back briefly. Although she looked better, she was afraid of having another child. She started coming in much later than usual, and he learned that she had been seeking to work in the warehouses and taverns.

One day she came in with a strange fire in her speech. She had given the other girls a coin or two and haughtily told them she was going to work at the hempcloth weaver's. She had berated a customer, and then laughed at his distress. Then she'd left.

At this point, I considered dropping the search. A hempcloth weaver doesn't get to talk much, and it would hardly matter if she did recall me. But emerging from the brothel, I stood in the pale sunlight and saw the workhouse itself over the other side of the river.

It was an ugly building, with narrow windows and several floors of anonymous brickwork. It looked more like a jail than a workhouse. But Leera had evidently counted it an escape from her previous work. Good enough to brag about, even.

The foreman didn't recall anybody of her name, but when I described her, he did remember that there had been a scandal when one of the girls had broken out in sores one day. The other women had thrown down their shuttles and refused to work until she was removed. It was an especially bad blow because she'd been a relatively new girl - they'd finished training her and she'd been a good learner. They'd boiled all the cloth she'd touched to make sure her whore's disease didn't spread, and the foreman had regretted the short time she'd worked before being dismissed.

"How long ago would this be?" I asked.

The foreman thought. Maybe a year ago.

"And where would she go?" I asked.

He looked at me. "Well, where would you go?"

I stepped out of the workhouse and into the street. I turned my steps to the humblest Temple, but she wasn't there and nobody had heard of her.

That left only the hospices, where the poor went to breathe their last and leave the world behind.
It was already dark outside when I found her, in a hospice so grimly hopeless that I hesitated before going in. On the second floor, I saw a wizened man sharing a cot with two others. The one on the end had died, and the middle man was quickly robbing him of his shoes before the third man noticed. The thief had a feral look in his eye. The dead man just looked tired.

Leera did not look much better. She'd been bundled up in foul-smelling rags, and it was hard to recognize her beyond the boils and pustules. But her hair was the same, and the more I looked at her the more I became convinced it was the right person. Her eyes were weeping an ichor and she couldn't see me clearly when I brought her some water.

She looked ancient.

I said her name. It took her a while to realize I was talking to her.

"You called yourself Leera, down at the brothel," I said.

When she spoke, it was with difficulty. She had trouble breathing smoothly - maybe that was why they wrapped her tightly in cloths against the evening chill, even as she fouled herself.

"So I... did," she gasped. Her breathing came weak and scratchy. "And... what... of it?"

"Years ago. I'd come visit you every few weeks. Each time, you helped me climb out the window. When I got back, you'd help me climb back in," I said.

She was silent for a while, reaching back in her memory. Then she made a noise in her cracked lips and nodded. "You went... to Temple..." she said. "...a girl... I thought... you were a rum one."

The effort of speaking exhausted her and she was silent again. There was a ragged cough or two, and then nothing else. Her breath rattled in her dry lungs. I sat down next to her. I spoke slowly and clearly, so she would understand.

"After I left you, they tried to execute me. The Company leader betrayed me to the headsman. Then my General let them court-martial me. My own sire came after me to arrest me. And a creature in the woods nursed me back to health and then abandoned me. And I'm still here," I said.

She said nothing. Waiting on the whims of the world.

"I tortured and killed my company leader. I slaughtered men in the fields. And the world gave me a new name and a new duty, and here I am," I said. "Cleaning up the mistakes of the past."

I passed my gloved hand across my knee, brushing away a louse there.

"On a purely personal level, I'm glad you remember me," I said. "You helped me, and that counts for something. But it's still not enough. I do apologize. For you, I'm sorry, and I wish there could be another way."

I reached across the bed and picked up her pillow and brought it over her face and laid it down firmly. She did not struggle, but her hands tensed. All the while, the coughs and hacks and moans of the dying surrounded us as her feeble movements guttered, and then slowly subsided. Somewhere above me, a squabble broke out between inmates. Thumps echoed on the floorboards.

When the pillow came away, it was covered in fresh matter from the cavernous sores of her nose and cheeks. But her eyes were closed and it was hard to tell from her face how she'd felt about it all. Possibly, she was finally at peace.

I rose from her bed, but before I turned and went back into the city again, I left two coins over her eyes for the hospice. It was the least I could do.

Slatterns and slums

On the second day, I went to the Temple for orders, and Trovell met with me again. He seemed like he had not slept much at all, but there was a faint sense of relief when he laid eyes on me.

We walked together in the small, claustrophobic courtyard that counted as a garden in the Temple grounds.

"I'm finding it hard to establish trustworthy men here," he said. "Especially as I'm juggling three batons in the air at once. The lords of Flex. The purge of the Temple. And the elimination of this cult."

He took out a map and sat down with me at an ornamental table.

"Here, this is what I put together from my predecessor's notes," he said, smoothing out the folds. The map itself was relatively new. Numerous notes were scrawled in margins and taped onto the map.

He pointed at the brothels along the waterfront. "These are the same sort of dreadful place where you first met me," he said. "All sorts of crime and contagion here. Apparently, Parovel had documented several sites of interest - places where there appeared to be blasphemous icons and the like."

He marked a few of these out using chalk.

"They're the sort of place who call out a priest to help with a case of pox, or a brawlroom injury," he said. "The worst thing is, sometimes you'll find diseased children and infants there too. That's the hardest to deal with, because you know they didn't ask to be there. Yet there they are all the same."

He pocketed the chalk and blinked rapidly. A glazed look came over his face, as though he was about to sneeze. I leaned forwards, a little concerned.

"Father? Are you all right?" I asked.

The spell passed and he looked at me again. "My apologies," he said at length. "Obviously I haven't been sleeping very well recently. Where were we?"

"...the brothels," I prompted him.

"Yes, those. We need somebody to go in to these places and do a thorough sweep. Attics, basements, the like. You'll have help later on, but you'll need to take a visit first - find out what level of opposition you'll be dealing with. Here, take this-" he said, handing me a necklace.

I took it from him. It was a fairly heavy disc with the sideways figure eight, and the sun of Mislaxa in the background. A thin wire loop allowed it to be worn around the neck.

"What does this do?" I asked doubtfully.

He humphed. "Legend has it that it's a ward against the profane," he said. "Although it's been years since I've seen any of these working properly. Apparently it's supposed to feel warm on the skin when you are in danger or unsanctified ground or unholy relics - that sort of thing."

I said nothing. If this medallion was the same as their priestly magic, it would have been dead for who-knows-how-long. Still, it didn't do to refuse Temple gifts of equipment. I put it on. The heavy disc was cool on the skin of my chest, under my clothing.

"Check these places out today, just to get a sense of their guards," he said. "I'll try to find somebody to accompany you there tomorrow, for the actual raids."

I nodded.

"How familiar are you with these places?" he asked. "When I was an underpriest, I got brothel duty. A terrible chore, trying to bring salvation to the worst of people. This Father position is an awful headache, but I think the chances of coming down with some loathsome venereal disease is far less."

I decided to tell him about Leera.

"The girl, Leera, who used to help me sneak out of the brothel to visit my sister at Temple," I said. "I went to look for her - just to see how she's doing and if I could help her. As it turns out, she managed to find work as a seamstress for a while, but then she died a sick and abandoned woman." I paused. "I guess sometimes the past is the past."

Trovell looked at me and then nodded.

"Yes, you do what you can. The rest is up to the gods," he said.
I took the map with me and sat down in my lodgings. There were three target buildings along this street, and I quickly traced out the best way to get from one to the other. Then I put on my cloak, disguising my sword, and sheathed my knife in my boot.

It took me about three hours to cover them. First, I lounged around outside awhile, taking in the number of storeys in the building and any attic spaces. Then I went in as an interested patron, counting the number of heavies they had. At none of the places did they ask me to remove my cloak, although the last place got sick of my visit very shortly and I had to part with a coin just to stay.

I talked with the owners when I could, pretending to be in search of buying cheap slave-girls for a master. My clothes were dusty and a little grubby from the travel, and I think I passed convincingly for a captain of a minor noble house, possibly one on the decline financially, still looking for its supply of depravity.

It was early in the afternoon, and work was scarce, so one of the women was happy to keep up a conversation with me even though she probably knew I wasn't a standard customer. She told me, in an unguarded moment, that they had something special in the evenings, downstairs, well past midnight.

"What would that be?" I asked, but she couldn't tell me. She didn't know herself. All that she knew was a group often rented the room and hosted their activities there until the early morning.

I conveyed my interest clearly.

"Come back on the twentieth," she said. "Talk to the prop' about it, he'll let you know how much to bring."

It turned out the entrance fee was thirty pieces of steel. Whatever it was, it must have been in high demand.
I relayed my findings back to Trovell, who had a few people look into it. Nothing seemed immediately violent about these locations, and I was beginning to think I was wasting my time. A few days went by, and I chafed at my small rooms - and the lack of any training to occupy my sword arm.

Out of sheer boredom, I volunteered to help stack books at the Temple. I took advantage of this time to browse through some titles, and found the words coming more readily to my mind. I still stumbled frequently, but Allie's lessons were taking root. Slowly but surely, I was climbing out of the trench of illiteracy and into the broad world of the written word.

About a week after my first arrival, Trovell came to me.

"Secrecy requires that I do not assign any more priests to you," he said gloomily. "And in any case, they're all very busy already. So I'm going to refer you to some outside help... from my days ministering to the less-reputable parts of town."

As it turned out, the "outside help" were all youths in their teens, who each owed Trovell a debt of gratitude. There were three of them, and I had to pick them each up from some tavern. They were boisterous and crude, in a harmless sort of way, but they seemed to hold Trovell in high regard and thankfully this extended to me.

I bought them each a drink and a bite to eat, and then we went to meet with Trovell at one of the lesser Temples.

He had a copy of the reports from Parovel, forwarded from higher-ups in the Temple interior. There was a Temple interior tome he referred to as well, cracked with age.

"I need you boys to follow this man here," he said, motioning to me, "and search out for any hint of the following things." He opened a book carefully, fingering his Mislaxa necklace for protection. A series of eloquent illustrations came into view. "First, Hiteh is the opposite of Mislaxa's healing - so anything to do with death. Markings with a skull, or a bone, or a gravestone. Stick figures walking - could be signs of a Death-Rondo."

Trovell pursed his lips. "I suppose that explains why they're gaining ground in the brothels," he said. "Plenty of pox to go round. Plenty of death, too." He seemed about to say something else, then decided against it.

He turned the page after a muttered invocation for Mislaxa's grace. "Secondly, Hiteh is the deceiver - a trickster - a perverter of words and agreements. Look for anything that suggests a breaking of justice. This broken scale was one of the more popular old carvings, but they may have come up with different graven images."

Trovell turned the page. Another prayer to fortify us.

"A morningstar," he said. "The original item was a dispenser of holy water in the Temple - a force for good and redemption. Then Hiteh, the perverter, took this symbol and made it into a weapon on the battlefield. Something to maim and kill. Something vicious and cruel."

He looked at the next page, and grimaced. Then sighed and let the book shut again. He closed his eyes and murmured a prayer of thanks to Mislaxa.

"That is all for now," he said. "Go as far as you can with your current investigations. Right now we're not trying to make any arrests. Find evidence and we'll bring in some experts later."

He got up and left us. The boys as one turned to me. It was time to go to work.
We were to keep things confidential - Trovell had specifically gone outside of the Temple for this. I gave them names of my own devising. For simplicity's sake, I called them Pike, Blade, and Bow. Myself they referred to as Cape. I recalled that the brothels had all seen my face awhile before, as I stayed and chatted with the proprietors and madames. I decided to use this to my advantage again as we staked out the first place, sitting in the antechambers and keeping them occupied with a stream of smalltalk and low-denomination currency.

Two of the boys came in at different times. One asked to spend some time with the highest-ranking woman they had. The other came in awhile later and asked to be shown around the occupied rooms, where he could discreetly observe. He said he liked to watch.

The third one waited until both were in place and then snuck onto the premises through a window and into the attic. He had to make his search very quietly, even though the building was noisily occupied very late into the night. My two boys inside the house returned relatively early with nothing to report. One went back to try his luck in the basements. The one who had met with the madame had located their main office, but had not reported anything out of the ordinary.

Eventually I was the last man left of our group of plotters, and I flicked the wine-bearer a last brass coin and rose to go. A man who had been sitting to my side called out.

"Leerer! Find what you were after?"

I looked at him, smiling with what I took to be a good-natured joke. "Too late in the day, drunk too much," I said. "Tis the nature of the spirit, it gives the will but saps the ability."

He shook his head. "Nonono," he said, mildly irritated. "Leera. Did you find her?"

I looked at him and suddenly realized I'd spoken to him before, during my earlier investigation. I regained my composure somewhat, and gave a chuckle. "What's one girl out of a whole city?" I asked.

I left after that and sat in my room. Presently, there was a knock at my door. I opened it and let Bow in. Our meeting was brief and businesslike - he had not found anything of interest in his quick glancing tour of the commercial rooms. Obviously, he couldn't make a thorough search. I told him to stay awhile and nap if he needed to. He kicked off his boots and lay down on my couch and was quickly asleep.

Afterwards, Pike and Blade came up separately but in relatively quick succession. Pike had found the main office, where there were books but nothing unusual. If we needed, he could go back when everybody was asleep and leaf through the books.

I hemmed at this. Trovell had said the items, not drawings of the items. Unless, there was some sort of evil book that the Hiteh cultists wrote these things down. I wasn't sure - the Tribals had their own heathen religions about spirits and ghosts, but they passed those on purely by word of mouth. Or so Allie had told me.

"What of the attics?" I asked. Blade shrugged. He'd managed to find something in one of several locked chests that might be worth reporting. It was a small shroud, like something you might clothe a dead child or baby in. It seemed like something related to death, he said, but then again it could easily have been there for more practical uses: dead infants were not unheard-of in brothels, and shrouds could be used more than once.

The rest were mostly filled with letters and snatches of clothing and other such items, each carefully labelled. He said he suspected they were collected by the house, possibly for blackmailing purposes.

I sniffed. As though the patrons of this house would have anything worth blackmailing!

Blade also found a few locked rooms in the basement that he couldn't get into, given the time he had. If the Temple was sending specialists, they could knock down the doors and search through them.

Bow woke up and blinked, sitting up on my ratty old couch. I looked around.

"Thank you for your work," I said. "Come back tomorrow and we'll continue."

They left with their payment. I sat down on my bed and took off my boots, leaving the dagger in its sheath, and lay down. My sword was cool beside me under my cloak. I stared up at the ceiling in the darkness for a while.

It struck me, with wry amusement, how poorly we'd been briefed about this. Almost anything, it seemed, could be a tool of Hiteh. Why, even my weapons back at the Undercroft and training grounds could be symbols of Hiteh. Were they not made to inflict horrors and suffering on men in battle? I looked at my uncleaned plate. Chicken bones lay on the side, where I'd spat them out among the caked grease. A symbol for death? Could I be a Hiteh cultist without knowing it?

I rolled over onto my side. It hardly mattered, I decided. The priests clearly wanted something from this investigation - I was just the enforcer. Who was I to pass judgment? Far easier to round them all up and let Mislaxa sort them out in the end.