A week later the wind blew in from the north bringing with it a cold snap. This first sign of winter only served to increase Konrad's despair and he knew he needed to complete his quest and get back to the valleys before they were snowed in.

It had been another fruitless day asking questions in the Wind ward temples and Konrad found a quiet spot in the corner of the tavern and ate a bowl of hot stew. The wind rattled at the shutters, the fire roared in the hearth and the local adventurers were drinking and enjoying the evening. It was the very picture of adventuring life he had imagined, but he couldn’t enjoy it.

Athir had been an utter let down and he felt that he had fallen at the first hurdle. He hadn’t a single clue how to complete this quest.

He was about to return to the stables when the door to the tavern opened and two of the people he least expected shuffled into The Cloven Shield.

“Edna, Ron?”

“Hello dear, nice to see you again. Do you know there is a man crying his eyes out over there? Whatever’s the matter with him?”

“That’s Errol, he doesn’t know,” Konrad said absentmindedly, stunned by their sudden appearance.

Edna steered Ron into a seat and fussed over him, taking off his scarf and placing his ear trumpet on the table in front of him.

“We had a terrible time getting here you know, it’s colder than a witch's whatsits in a brass bra, s'cuse my northern. It’s nice for Ronald to be back here though.”

A dozen questions jumped up for attention in Konrad’s mind, but one forced it’s way to the front.

“Ron used to come here?”

“He certainly did, that’s his sword up there.”

Above the hearth were two of the largest swords that Konrad had ever seen. Ron looked like a retired school teacher, but each one of the swords was longer than Konrads entire body.

Any doubts in Konrads mind about Ron’s reputation were quickly laid to rest as word quickly got around that the old adventurer was there. A queue of grizzled patrons lined up to shake his hand and offer to buy him drinks, many give Edna respectful nods as well.

Konrad learned that Ronald Gaunt, formally known as Big Ron, had been the captain of one of the most successful adventuring crews in Tajar.

“Not many of the old group left now, poor lamb,” Edna said patting his hand tenderly.

Konrad had sat silently baffled for the last twenty minutes while most of the bar filed past, but he finally found his tongue. “Edna, it’s nice to see you. But what are you two doing here?”

“We came to find you, and it wasn’t easy I tell you.”

“No I mean why did you come to find me?”

“Oh yes. Well after you came to the service at the temple last week. I was sitting there with Ron and we were saying what a nice surprise it was to have two lovely young people with us and Ron suddenly starts talking about this Lyran of yours.”

After the last of the handshakes Ron had taken the opportunity to quietly doze off, his chin resting on his chest.

“He can be quite the chatterbox,” Edna said fondly.

Konrad’s heart was beating in his chest. “What did he say?”

“He said he didn’t know anything about any temples, but when he was young there used to be a shrine at the back of the Edge Ward with a Lyran tree carved on it. He said it had the cleanest water in the city, said that people would drink it if they were poorly.”

Konrad sat back in his chair with a wan smile on his face. He could feel Spirit shifting around excitedly under the table.

“Edna, can I get you a drink?”

“That would be lovely dear,” Edna said pulling out her knitting needles. “I’ll have a cup of tea.”

-

The next morning Konrad left the hayloft burning with excitement. He had almost made the journey out to the Edge Ward straight away, but he knew better than to try to cross the city at night. From what he had heard the Edge Ward was a dangerous place.

He had little such fear for Edna and Ron. They’d left The Cloven Shield last night with a bodyguard of twenty adventurers heavily armed with spears, swords, axes and clubs. If any thief tried to rob the elderly couple it would have been like running into a meat grinder.

The Edge Ward was the poorest district in the city walls. It was home to the potters, masons, carpenters and blacksmiths. All of the things that no-one else wanted to live next to, pushed together into a tumbledown hodgepodge of lean-to sheds, yards and workshops.

It wasn’t quite as bad as the Shambles district outside of the city. But as Konrad knew all too well, everyone needs someone to look down on.

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The alleyways were tight and gloomy and Konrad walked for what seemed like an age without seeing anything that looked like a shrine.

Finally he broke out of the slums onto a muddy lane that led along the city wall, sloping gently down to the sluggish river. Right at the end, built into the crevice between the city wall and the guard tower, was a small stone doorway. It was more like a deep alcove really with a tall, narrow iron gate that was rusted shut.

“This sounds like what Edna described, but I don’t think I can budge it,” Konrad said, heaving and straining his muscles.

The wall was covered with a thick layer of grime and he guessed that the doorway was only accessible now as the hot summer had lowered the water level of the river.

A section of stone at the top of the arch had an irregular pattern and Konrad fetched a wooden crate that had been washed up by the river and stood on it. He clawed at the muck and dirt and gradually uncovered an engraving of a Lyran tree in full bloom.

“This is it Spirit,” he said jumping down.

He peered into the dark gloomy space beyond and Spirit growled deeply, her eyes fixed on the interior.

“I don’t want to go in there either but champions have to be bold.”

The chamber inside was circular and small, only large enough for about three people to stand close together. In the middle was a fountain covered in creeping weeds. A tall dark shape stood at the back but he couldn’t make out what it was in the gloom.

“We’re going to need some tools,” Konrad murmured looking around. He didn’t have much money but even a simple crowbar would do the job.

“Excuse me, what are you doing?”

The young man behind him had a nervous warble to his voice. He was several years older than Konrad with a pimpled face and unruly blond hair and reminded Konrad of Jasper; someone who no matter much they aged would always look like an awkward adolescent.

Konrad looked around but didn’t see anyone else with the boy and Spirit moved forward and sniffed him, returning to Konrads side without a hint of a growl.

“I was looking for this old shrine.”

“I didn’t think anyone remembered the shrine of Lyran any more,” the boy said with a smile. “I’m Partick.”

The boy had a peculiar way of speaking in a hushed tone that made everything said sound reverential. He held out his hand and Konrad shook it.

“My names Konrad, are you a priest?”

Partick brushed at his grey wooden cassock. “Not yet, I’m in training.”

“How do you know about Lyran?”

“My grandma told me about this place. She used to live around here and I thought she was the last person that knew what it was,” Partick said, peering into the gloom of the shrine. “How about you?”

“An old adventurer called Ron and his wife told me about it. Do you know what happened to it? Why is it locked up?”

“I couldn’t tell you sorry, but if anyone does know it would be Father Jacques, he’s the priest at my church.”

Konrad felt a flash of exhilaration. This trail of discovery is what adventuring was all about.

“Can you take me to him?”

“Certainly, we’re in the temple of Fela, it’s not far from here.”

Partick lead them back into the maze-like Edge Ward away from the river. The workshops disappeared and all he saw were dilapidated houses and boarded up store fronts. The people on the streets looked as run-down as the buildings and watched them suspiciously as they passed.

“Why isn’t the temple in the Wind Ward with the others?” Konrad asked as they walked.

“The Wind Ward temples are relatively new in Tajar, still hundreds of years old of course. But the temple of Fela is even older. One of the oldest in fact.”

“Who is Fela?”

“She’s a god of healing and wellbeing.”

“Just like Lyran,” Konrad said, feeling that it was definitely a good sign.

The temple squatted at the back of a small open square. Broken shutters hung off of the windows of the surrounding houses and weeds had pushed up through the cobblestones. The high walls of the city reared up next to them blocking out light.

“Where is everyone?” Konrad asked.

“We have a loyal congregation,” Partick assured him, pushing open the wooden doors.

The tall windows were covered with heavy worn fabric and the only light shone in here and there through the various rips and holes. A large font was raised on a stone pedestal at the back and a small queue of people lined up at the far end, taking turns to approach and scoop some of the liquid out.

Konrad tried desperately not to gag, the water in the font was stagnant and ringed with black mould.

“People drink that?”

“It can cure powerful ailments, some people have been at deaths door and this saved them,” Partick replied with a tone of quiet wonder.

Konrad thought that someone would have to be well past deaths door to try to drink that, they’d have to be practically in deaths kitchen sitting at the table.

“The service is ending now, perhaps you can wait here,” Partick said, indicating a wooden pew.

Some of the visitors looked weak and sickly and one man was tenderly carrying his small child who coughed painfully. Partick moved among the visitors speaking in his soft voice and escorting them out of the main door.

At the back of the temple there was a darkened alcove with a statue inside and Konrad got up and stepped closer for a better look. The tall thin woman depicted in black stone was beautiful, but her high cheekbones and the way she held her head suggested an aloofness.

There was also something strange about the color, the black was too textured. Looking closer he saw that the stone was actually grey, but it was covered in a thick layer of mould.

Lyran would never have a filthy temple like this. The small god could be a little brash, and strangely ruthless, but she was a healer.

“What god of healing and wellness would let their statue get covered like that?” he said quietly.

In response Spirit growled and he turned around.

Standing beside Partick was the largest priest Konrad had ever seen.

“This is Father Jacques,” Partick gibbered.

Father Jacques was a square slab of muscle. His shoulders so thick that they engulfed his neck and left his small round head perched on top. He held a heavy ancient looking crossbow by his side.

Konrad didn’t need Spirits warning growl to tell him he needed to get out of there.

“I think I’m going to leave now, thank you for, you know, the tour.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Father Jacques rumbled, moving to block his escape.

“Partick, what’s going on?” Konrad shouted, but the skinny priest in training was backing away slowly, his eyes wide with fright.

Spirit growled again and darted forwards. The shadows of the church answered her call and surged towards her, enveloping her in darkness.

Father Jacques waved the crossbow around frantically searching for her before aiming the bolt at the only foe he could see. The priests finger tensed on the trigger and Spirit surged out of the darkness biting into his shoulder and spinning him around. The crossbow bolt released with a sharp twang and embedded itself in a wooden post next to Konrad's head.

A surge of fear and adrenaline drove Konrad through the church and as he pushed at the door another bolt thudded into the wood next to his hand. Spirit darted outside and Konrad managed two steps before an explosion of pain blossomed in his thigh. He hit the ground hard, dirt and filth filling his mouth.

“Go Spirit, just go,” he murmured though the pain as she bit at his shirt and tried to drag him away.

She yelped and stumbled backwards from the force of a crossbow bolt that had narrowly missed impaling her, instead ripping through the soft muscle of her back.

“Spirit run,” Konrad yelled, his vision blurring as he watched her scamper away into the maze of tumbledown houses.

Konrad was tossed over onto his back and he stared up into the brutal face of Father Jaques.

“Throw him downstairs,” he rumbled and punched Konrad in the face, knocking him unconscious.