When the temple of the Mother had burned down, there had been some civic reaction; bucket chains had formed to quench the flames. Now that the temple of the Father was aflame, most inhabitants of the city chose to throw additional pieces of furniture into the blaze.

The brown robes and bald heads of the followers of the Priory watched the inferno, and the fresh paint of their slogans flashed a dull red in the reflection of the flames.

The firelight also glinted on the surface of the water as Konrad and Partick made their way towards the river boat that would take Partick back to Tajar. Most of the bleary-eyed passengers were already installed, and several heavy-set horses stood on the tow path, ready to haul the barge up the river to Tajar.

"When you get back, you should stay in Tajar, Partick."

"Oh, I can’t do that; you have quests; I have missions," the young priest replied, and Konrad wondered how many times in the future he would be called on to go and rescue Partick from some far flung corner of the continent.

The men who cared for the horses were in a small group chatting, and one of them slipped away from the group while another pulled off his cloth cap to scratch at his freshly shaved head.

"Partick, I think they are coming, get on the boat now," Konrad hissed.

"What about you?" Partick said.

"Go," Konrad said, shoving the priest onto the barge as a large group rounded the corner.

They held torches and wore the thick brown robes of the Priory. Issie stalked at the head of their group, and as she passed a pile of hay, she seized the pitchfork and brandished it to the cheers of her followers.

Spirit snapped at the heels of the horses, and they were sufficiently spooked that they reared up and started off down the tow path, pulling the barge along with them. As relieved as he was that Patrick had escaped, Konrad caught Issie’s glare and realized that it was him she was really after.

As much as he was hesitant to use it, Konrad summoned the Cold Bite. He waited for a moment with his hand outstretched, and a single snowflake settled on the end of his finger and melted. The Cold Bite had always been a hungry, raging force inside him, but it had not had time to replenish since his fight with the champion of the Father, and now it lay on its side, stretching lazily like a house cat.

The crowd was close now, and Konrad willed his shadow armor and sword into his hands, but like the power of Casovan, Avram's gifts had apparently been used up. It made sense; if he could only heal once per day, why would the other gifts be unlimited?

Konrad waved at the murderous mob with his outstretched hand and gave a smile he hoped was friendly. "Perhaps we can talk about this?" he suggested.

The pitchfork sailed through the air and stabbed into the dirt, shuddering next to his foot, and Konrad ran.

Buildings blurred past him as he pounded through the unfamiliar streets. Each time he made it out to a larger thoroughfare, he spotted the Priory followers standing at the entrances to alleyways and streets, gazing out.

The mob seemed to know exactly where he would go, and they hounded him through the city, slowly hemming him in. The followers of the Priory were people from Portia, teachers, blacksmiths, and clerks, and they knew the city far better than he ever could.

Konrad took the only route open to him and burst out directly in front of the burning temple of the Father. The heat from the flames seared his skin, and he turned to find a circle of Priory followers closing in on him, each with shaved heads and grim expressions. The huge woman with the rolling pin slapped it into her open palm.

"I told you I would find a new patron, Konrad," Issie said, stepping out to face him.

The flames at his back were so hot that he could feel his jacket start to burn. Spirit was by his side, down low and growling.

Konrad raised his hands. "I’m not here to fight you, any of you."

"Champions of the gods are all the same. You want power, and you’ll do anything to get it," Issie said, without a hint of irony.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

"The Prior cleanses!" Someone shouted, and the cry was taken up by the crowd.

Before, the improvised weapon of the priory followers had looked vaguely amusing to Konrad, but once you encounter an angry washerwoman wielding a rusty boathook, you realize how upset the average citizen can get.

"The Father—" the baker began, but his words were cut off in a strangled sound as the champion of the Father stepped calmly out of the flames of the burning temple and stood next to Konrad, his black sword in his hand.

The champion glared directly at the portly baker, and his voice was a deadly hiss. "The Father, what?"

The baker looked as though he were about to faint, and Konrad felt a nervous ripple pass through the crowd.

"I will take the one who calls herself the first priest of the prior; she is blasphemous and will pay with her life. Rebuild the temples you have destroyed, and the Father will forgive you all for your actions today," the champion called aloud.

There was a shuffling of uncertainly in the crowd as the glare of the champion passed over them.

"Now you see how the gods use their champions as tools of oppression!" Issie cried.

The power of Issie’s words shattered the fear that the champion of the Father held over the crowd, and the angry shouting began anew.

"Are you going to help me this time?" The champion of the Father murmured to Konrad, his lips barely moving.

"I’ll help if you promise not to kill anyone," Konrad replied, and the champion of the Father growled and sheathed his sword.

"Get them!" Issie cried, and the crowd surged forward as one. Such was the power of Issie’s command that, for a fleeting moment, Konrad considered attacking himself.

Konrad and the champion of the Father met the attack head-on. The champion moved like he was a part of the haze of heat and smoke from the fire behind him, slipping past the sharp edges and blunt strikes of weapons and dealing damage with his fists, knees, and elbows. In contrast, Konrad was pushed and battered and berely managed to stay on his feet as he fought to defend himself.

Someone expertly tackled Konrad, knocking the wind out of him, and he fell to the floor with his assailant on top of him.

"I told you I would pay you back for what you did," Issie hissed in his face.

Konrad caught a movement in the corner of his eye and grabbed a handful of Issie’s robes.

"Get off me, what are you doing?" Issie snarled.

Konrad yanked the girl to the left and a descending rolling pin that had been destined for him instead cracked onto the back of Issie’s head. Her eyes crossed and she flopped down onto his chest unconscious.

"Issie, wake up," Konrad hissed, slapping her on the cheek. He could see the back of the champion of the Father now, and the press of bodies in front of him was lessening.

"Well done, keep hold of her," the champion of the Father called as he held off the attack.

No matter what she had done, there was no way Konrad was going to let the champion of the Father take Issie and kill her. He took a deep breath and healed Issie and she gasped as her eyes opened.

"You need to get out of here now," Konrad hissed.

Issie looked back at the champion of the Father, who was putting down the last of the brown-robed fighters.

"Don’t think this makes us even," she hissed, and she scrambled to her feet and fled into the maze of ramshackle buildings towards the river.

The champion of the Father limped past the groaning bodies, leaned against a wall, and gently slid down. Spirit materialized out of the shadows and nudged him with her snout.

"Are you hurt?" Konrad asked.

The champion pulled a blood covered chisel out of his stomach with a groan and tossed it aside. "The carpenter," he hissed by way of explanation.

"I can heal you," Konrad said.

He knelt down and touched the champions hand, but the warmth of healing didn’t come. What little he had he had used to heal Issie.

"Small gods and small power. I will live, but you know that there will be a price for letting her go," the champion hissed.

"Why did you help me?" Konrad asked.

"We are both champions, are we not?"

"But you attacked me before?"

"You stopped me from my duty," the champion countered.

"They told me that the champions of the Father are the ones that stop the other gods from getting power. They told me to avoid you."

"Don’t believe everything you hear; we protect people from dangers that you couldn’t even comprehend."

Konrad hesitated, but he might not get a better opportunity.

"My brother was a champion of the Father. His name was Otto."

The champion of the Father met Konrad's gaze. "And you thought that I was him?"

Konrad instantly felt foolish. "I thought you might know him."

"The champions of the Father leave their old lives behind. If your brother is one of my peers, then I wouldn’t know," the champion said. He pulled a silken scarf from his neck and stuffed it into his shirt to stop the bleeding, and Konrad noticed a vicious, rutted scar on his neck.

A tearing sound split the silence, and a window in the air ripped open next to Konrad and the Champion. Stars in the night sky wheeled past, and a figure with short blond hair barreled out and landed sprawled on the cobblestones.

"Athir!" Konrad shouted.

"Get away from him," Athir yelled, struggling to her feet and staggering around like a drunkard.

Konrad rushed forward and caught Athir as she almost tripped over her own feet. "Athir, it’s fine; we’ve been working together, he’s a friend,"

"He’s not a friend," Athir replied, slurring her words.

Konrad turned and saw that the champion of the Father was getting to his feet. There was a hard look in his eye as he watched Athir leaning on Konrad. "It was good to work with you, champion; I hope we cross paths again."

Konrad reached out to stop him from leaving but had to catch Athir as she collapsed on the floor. When he looked up, the champion of the Father was gone.

"Athir, where have you been?"

But Athir couldn’t answer; turning away from him, she retched and vomited on to the road.

"What’s wrong with you?"

"Space sickness," she replied, wiping her mouth with her sleeve.