Konrad had no real way to defend himself from the shadowy figures who approached in the gloom.

“Can’t see a bloody thing in here,” a voice muttered with a cough.

“Rolo?” Konrad cried. “What are you doing here?”

“That’s a strange enough story, Konrad,” Rolo said, his deep voice booming out in the dungeon.

“What are you doing here is more to the point,” said another voice as a match flared and a torch spluttered into life

“Athir!”

Rolo approached the metal door and began to fiddle with the lock. “I was several miles out of the city heading north when Spirit came running, barking like mad, she was in a terrible state.”

“She’s with you?” Konrad asked looking around.

Rolo smiled when he heard a lock snap and stepped back pulling the door open. “She’s outside keeping an eye out while we came down to get you.”

“Quite the first quest champion,” Athir said holding the burning torch up so that she could see his face. Her expression was normally hard enough to cut stone but it softened slightly as she took in the state of him. “What happened?”

“I got offered a new job,” Konrad grinned. “But I didn’t like the terms.”

The ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. “I told you not to get involved in any of this. Lesser gods are always fighting amongst themselves and it’s us who pay the price. You could have died down here.”

Konrad accepted the rebuke. “Thank you both for coming to get me, I don’t know how I can repay you.”

“Well as we say up in the North, ’today you, tomorrow me’” Rolos said, finally clicking the lock to Konrads cell and pulling open the door. “Plus now I know two mighty champions who can lead me to dragon's treasure and riches yes?”

The three of them froze when they heard the soft patter of footsteps on the staircase.

“Hide,” Athir hissed, extinguishing the torch and covering the lamp.

The trio fled to the back of the dungeon and squatted down in the damp muck.

Partick appeared holding a small oil lamp in one hand and Konrad’s bundle in the other. He was clearly dressed for a long journey.

“No,” he said in a quiet voice as he took in the crumbled wall and Konrad's empty cell. “Who’s going to help me now?” he asked the darkness.

Athir uncovered her lamp and the young priest stared wide eyed at the group who included a fearsome looking northman and a woman who looked as sharp as a blade.

“Bad timing priest,” Athir said, and the sound of her blade hissed in the dungeon as she drew it.

“No,” Konrad called, placing a hand on her arm. “He’s coming with us, aren’t you Partick?”

Partick looked to Konrad who gave him a reassuring nod.

“Yes, I want to come with you.”

Rolo finished working on Konrad’s manacles and they fell clattering to the floor. He rubbed his sore wrists and Partick handed him his bundle back and returned his dagger.

“I’ll go first,” said Athir, and she set off silently into the darkness of the tunnel.

“She moves like a ghost that one,” Rolo whispered.

“Where does this lead?” Konrad asked.

“This whole city is a maze of cellars and underground store houses, it didn’t take much to hack through. We know something about mining in the north.”

They clambered through half a dozen filthy cellars until they finally climbed up through an abandoned house near the river. A blurred shape shot out from a nearby building and plowed into Konrad, nearly knocking him over.

“Spirit!” he cried embracing her as she licked his face. The wound on her flank had been carefully tended to and was covered in a thick paste.

Spirit approached Rolo and Athir more cordially letting them scratch her head, while watching Partick suspiciously the whole time.

“It’s okay Spirit, he’s on our side now,” Konrad said.

“I’m sorry Konrad,” Partick said.

“It’s okay, you were going to help me, that’s all that matters.”

“What do we do now?” Rolo said, and the was a silence in their small group.

“What’s everyone looking at me for?” Athir asked.

“You are sort of an expert on all of this,” Konrad replied.

“What you should do is go home, like I told you. But I know you won’t do that.” She looked at Konrad's earnest expression and sighed. “You need to replace Fela with your god, quickly before she has a chance to come back. Break up her statue and set another in its place. Clean up that disgusting temple and tell everyone it’s open for business with new management. It’ll need a priest, and it will be dangerous, she could come back before you’re done.”

The skinny priest shook his head. “Father Jacques, he’ll never let us.”

“Let us worry about him. Where is he?” Rolo asked.

Partick’s eyes were wide and he looked like he was about to be sick. “I didn’t want to tell him, but she told me to. He went straight there,” he said, his bottom lip trembling.

“Where?” Konrad asked, but he already knew the answer.

“The temple of small gods, people there know Lyran. Fela can’t let her even be a memory.”

Konrad set off at a sprint, ignoring the pain in his leg and hoping he wasn’t too late.

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The group came to a halt outside the temple of the small gods and found the door hanging off of its hinges. Inside everything was silent.

“I’ll go first,” Konrad said, pulling out his dagger.

Athir hesitated for a second then nodded.

A fight had clearly taken place. The spindly wooden chairs had been broken to splinters and the font was cracked, leaking water onto the marble floor.

“There’s no bodies,” Rolo rumbled, hefting his axe.

A faint clicking sound came from the tea room and Konrad approached cautiously, pushing the door open.

“Konrad, how lovely to see you.”

Edna and Ron were sitting on two comfortable looking chairs. Edna was knitting and Ron was dozing quietly. A cup of tea steamed gently on a side table.

Athir, Rolo and Partick filed in and stared silently at the scene before them.

“Is he dead?” Partick whispered.

“It would be a neat trick to stay alive when you have a knitting needle sticking out of your eye,” Athir murmured.

The deceased Father Jacques lay face up on the floor, his one remaining one eye staring up at the ceiling. A pool of blood had seeped out of the back of his head forming a grotesque halo.

“Do you know this man Konrad? He was very rude, came barging in here asking all sorts of questions about that tree of yours. Not even so much as a ‘hello’,” Edna said.

“What tree?” Rolo whispered.

“But Ron, how could he…?” Konrad stammered.

“Oh Ronald slept through the whole thing dear.”

“You killed him?”

“Why yes dear, who do you think the other sword belonged to?”

With a flourish Edna set down her needles and displayed a new green woolen hat.

“This one’s for you dear, you’ll catch your death if you're not careful.”

-

When the doors of the old temple in the Edge ward opened the next morning, those who were seeking aid were still greeted by the tall pimply blond priest, but that was the only thing that was the same.

The mouldy fabric had been ripped from the windows, letting warm sunlight stream in. The huge filthy font had been scrubbed clean and now held fresh water and the black statue of Fela no longer sneered at the congregation; Rolo had broken it down into gravel sized pieces and scattered them into the river.

Konrad had returned to the small shrine of Lyran to find it had been destroyed. The marble font had been smashed and the pieces were covered in Partick’s blood where he had been injured by one of the sharper sections.

At the back Konrad found what he was looking for. A tall statue of Lyran, her branch like limbs gracefully captured in the carved stone. It now sat in the temple, her warm smile welcoming those who needed true healing.

“How do I know when the quest is done?” Konrad asked Athir.

“She’ll let you know, you have to get your reward remember?”

“Do you remember your first quest?”

“My path was a little different from yours,” she said and a dark cloud seemed to settle on her brow. “Anyway, I only came to say goodbye. This little escapade has drawn quite a lot of attention and I could do without that.”

“Rolo said he’d take me north with him, I could use some help if you want to come?”

Athir shook her head slowly. “I left that path a long time ago, and even if I wanted to get back on it now… I don’t know if it would be possible.”

They watched Partick speak to the first visitors about Lyran, helping them to take a little water and dab it onto the cheeks of their sick daughter. Konrad hoped that Lyran was watching and was able to help the child.

“Do you think she’ll come back?” Konrad asked.

“Fela? No, she’s lost and she knows it, her and Lyran are probably up there now. Lyran will be acting superior and Fela will be plotting how to get more power.”

“They know each other?”

Athir gave Konrad a level stare. “You have to understand something about the gods; the temples, worshipers, champions, it’s all a game to them. They don’t care about any of it, not really. They just want to be the biggest.”

“Lyran seems to care.”

“Some might, but you have to remember that we made them. They’re formed in our image. Some of them will be nice, some unkind, some greedy, some giving. But one thing they don’t have is mortality. They can’t understand it and for that reason they dismiss it. What’s death to them? We come and go in the blink of an eye, and there are always more of us.”

Konrad heard Athir’s words but he didn’t agree with her. Something had happened to make her so bitter and he resolved to keep his faith.

“I wanted to give you this before I left.” Athir handed over a short sword in a battered leather sheath. “It’s not much, but it’s good steel. If you can find a decent blacksmith they’ll have it looking like new.”

Konrad drew the sword. The steel was rusted and slightly pitted, and the edge was full of notches.

“It’s perfect,” Konrad said, admiring it.

“Who ever heard of a champion without a sword? Goodbye Konrad and good luck.”

They walked to the door and Athir gave Rolo a respectful nod as she passed.

“She’s a fine fighter, it’s a shame we couldn’t keep her,” said Rolo as they watched her leave.

“I’m sure I’ll see her again.”

“It’s getting dark, we should head to the tavern. Time for a hot meal and a bath before we leave for the north. Gods know there will be few comforts on the road.”

“I think I’m going to stay here for a little while. I’ll meet you there.”

“Just remember to hide your thumbs when you pass back through the graveyard, we don’t need bad luck following us north,” Rolo said.

Konrad waited for the big northman to crack a smile but his expression was deadly serious.

“Oh, okay. I will.”

Partick ushered the last of the worshipers out and gave Konrad a nod as he left, pulling the door closed quietly.

The temple was cool and quiet inside and the air was fresh and wholesome. He felt more at home than any place he had been since he had left Fallow Vale. He tentatively approached the font and lightly touched his finger tips to the cool water.

“Did it work?” he whispered to the statue.

In reply the statue shimmered and the face of Lyran smiled warmly down on him.

“Well done my champion, well done indeed. A temple, a priest and followers. It’s more than I could have ever dreamed of.”

Her words were so warm and genuine that Konrad felt a burst of pride that brought a tear to his eye.

“Thank you,” he said.

“It is I who must thank you Konrad. My power has grown and I have new gifts for you, if you are ready.”

“Yes, I’m ready.”

He felt the pain from the wounds on his leg and head fade away in a warm glow.

“You’ll find some gold in the offering box below this statue, take what you need from there. I also have enough power to give you some more ability to protect yourself and others. Each day, once a day, you may give yourself, or someone you choose my blessing. For a short time it will help them to master their fears.”

Konrad thought of the fear that Fela had struck into his heart and knew that this was the perfect gift to take into the wild north.

“You have also grown as a champion. Over the next few days you will become stronger and you will not tire so easily.”

“Thank you,” he replied. “Can you tell me, who is Fela?”

The Lyran grimaced. “She is a lesser god of misery and decay, the opposite of everything I am. She took my most devoted priests from me one by one, over the years reducing me to an old wives tale, a superstition. She promised healing but what she really brought was sadness.”

“Will she come back?”

“She told me she would, but I’ll keep an eye on her, and now I have you.”

Konrad hesitated before the next question, but he needed to know. “If Partick hadn’t have cut himself, then I couldn’t have healed him and he wouldn’t have trusted me. Did you have anything to do with that?”

Lyran pursed her lips. “He was trying to break my fountain,”

“He could have died!”

Lyran sniffed. “The fates are unpredictable, especially at my level, but I was reasonably confident he would survive and I was proven correct. If you want to be sure next time then make me stronger so that I can see more clearly.”

The statue returned to hard stone and Konrad left the temple, closing the door quietly.

Back at The Cloven Shield he used some of his coin to pay for a room for the night and a hot bath. He soaked in the warm water and listened to the rumble of music and laughter from the tavern below. Occasionally Rolo’s voice could be heard above the rest laughing heartily. Outside the window the first few flakes of snow fluttered down and his heart felt heavy. He would never make it back to Fallow Vale now before the snows came and sealed off the valleys. His mother and father would worry for him, and poor Alice Reed would be in Talen Vale planning her wedding to Franklin Tate.

Even if he did go back now, what did he have to offer her? A short sword and a small purse full of coins. He needed to go on, fulfilling quests until the snows melted and he could go back a real hero.

The next morning he hopped onto Rolo’s wagon with his bundle, Spirit was already lounging in the furs in the back.

“Ready?” Rolo asked.

Konrad thought of Casovan, the Cold Bite and the boons that he would grant for completing his quest, then rested his hand on the sword at his hip, which still felt unusual.

“I’m ready,” he said.