Droughton-on-the-Water — thirty years ago.

Daine had noticed the increasing sparseness of houses and stalls the further they walked. She sensed they were approaching a less reputable part of Town.

Her understanding had been that Droughton-on-the-Water was one of the more prosperous places in this part of the world. However, she was learning it was not uncommon for the most beautiful lights to cast the darkest shadows.

As Daine and Bayran walked, the dilapidated houses appeared to swallow them in a hungry embrace.

Humble dwellings, their wooden frames groaning under the weight of years, huddled together in desperate solidarity. Once proudly whitewashed walls were now adorned with layers of grime, the graffiti of destitution etched in their decaying facades.

“It would seem that your Order should be more present in this part of Town, Priestess. Do not the followers of the Lords preach that everyone should have the chance to improve their lot? Where are your Hostels? Your Lower Priests ministering on these streets?”

“There is more than enough to occupy us in Droughton, my Lady. We do what we can to alleviate suffering. Some people . . .” Bayran indicated shadows peering at them from windows. “Well, there are those you can save from everything but themselves.”

They had been walking for several bells before they reached a solitary inn, its sign weathered and faded, standing at the heart of the desolate district.

Bayran, with a rolling of the eyes that amused Daine, accepted a pause in their journey. The inn was called “The Broken Tankard,” a fitting name for an establishment that had seen better days. Its windows had been colourful stained glass, once upon a time, but were now shattered and patched with ragged boards.

The door, once sturdy and welcoming, creaked on its hinges as it swung open, a haunting dirge that greeted those brave enough to enter. The air within was thick with the mingling scents of stale ale and despair, the sounds of muted conversations buzzing against the peeling wallpaper.

“Two ales, Barkeep.” Daine’s voice boomed out in the dark room.

“One ale and one water,” Bayran corrected. “One of us should keep a clear head.”

“Priestess, the ale will be cleaner than the water in such a place. No one needs a sharp mind whilst experiencing dysentery.”

When the drinks came, Bayran dipped a finger in her mug and muttered a few words, then grimaced at whatever was the outcome of the spell. She pushed it away from her. "My gods may approve of gambling — I will bank my Luck for now.”

Daine guffawed and looked around her. The other occupants of the inn were a motley crew of lost souls slumped over their drinks, eyes haunted by the trials of existence. Men, their faces rough and lined with worry, nursed mugs of watered-down ale, seeking solace in the fleeting embrace of forgetfulness. Women wearing gowns tattered and threadbare whispered secrets to one another, their laughter laced with bitterness and longing. Their faces told tales of shattered dreams and broken promises, etched with the lines of disappointment and defeat.

“Cheerful place.”

Bayran laid her hands on the counter and stared ahead. “My Lady. Life has been hard for many years for the poor in Droughton. And that was before the coming of the mirror and all it has wrought. These people do not deserve your scorn.”

She gasped as Daine took hold of her arm and pulled her roughly to face her. “It is not these people I scorn, Priestess. You sit in your perfumed, beautiful robes, with slippers that cost more than the building, and make pronouncements on a ‘hard life for the poor.’ I say again, I am shocked at the indifference of your Order to the suffering I see here. I well know where my scorn is directed.”

They sat in silence as Daine finished her drink. Each fostering growing resentment for the other.

*

Towards the back of the inn, unseen by either Knight or Priestess, engaged as they were in their own private bickering, a solitary figure slipped outside and began moving with purpose. Clad in rags, his weathered face hidden beneath a tattered hood, he moved through the streets with determination.

He knew every nook and cranny of this forsaken place, every hidden crevice that held the whispered secrets of a bygone era.

In the fading light of dusk, as the last vestiges of daylight cast long shadows upon the crumbling walls, the figure came to a halt before an ancient, vine-covered structure. The remnants of a grand cathedral stood before him, its once-towering spires reduced to crumbling stone. He stepped through the shattered doorway, his footsteps echoing in the cavernous space. The air was heavy with the weight of the past, and he could almost hear the ghostly chants of forgotten prayers.

Here, in the heart of the derelict Town, he sought solace and purpose amidst the ruins.

He brought his master great news.

*

They had left the tavern shortly after Daine’s third drink. She did not especially like the ale — her Class ensured alcohol had no impact on her — but she enjoyed annoying the Priestess.

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Daine recognised there was something she was missing about Bayran’s attitude towards the mirror. The Priestess acted as if their mission were exceptionally time-critical, but the mirror had been active for several months, if she believed the woman. There seemed little need for such urgency in their pursuit of it.

“Remember, boys and girls, only stupid people set traps. So stands to reason only stupider people get caught in them,” was one of Old Gant’s favoured maxims. She was all but certain the Priestess was leading her into some sort of deception. She just did not understand why — tangling with a Knight of the Road was a shortcut to a beheading.

And then she sensed a group of people loitering up ahead.

“Can you fight?”

Bayran stopped in her tracks and wrinkled her nose at the Knight’s terse tone. “Can I what?”

“Fight. You know” — she drew her longsword from its sheath on her back — “with a sword.”

“Why on earth would I …” Bayran frowned up at her companion. “Are you challenging me to a duel, my Lady?”

Not for the first time, Daine was reminded that not everyone was blessed with her enhanced senses. “There’s a group of six or seven people waiting for us around the next bend in the road. It might be more. It’s hard to tell. There’s something strange about the way they smell. I’m asking because I need to know if you can hold your own or if I need to protect you whilst fighting them.”

It had been a long and frustrating evening for Bayran. She knew her gambit with the curtsey had been childish, but she had not expected that the Knight was equally capable of such juvenile behaviour. Daine had, somewhat vindictively to the Priestess’s mind, continued to answer any and all petitions that came her way for three hours afterward. She was surprised she could still walk.

And now, far later than she had planned, they were making their way through the dark streets of Droughton.

She was disappointed in how she had handled the awkwardness in the tavern. Bayran felt she had, in some way, failed a test with the Knight. And now this insane child-barbarian was talking about engaging in some light swordplay.

“My Lady, I don’t know how they do things where you are from, but here in the Town, we do not assume every group approaching us has nefarious intent. In the civilised world, we try discourse before swinging the sword.” To underscore her words, Bayran swept past the Knight, calves screaming at the extra speed demanded of them, and turned the corner.

This would have made for quite the exit had she not instantly reappeared, running as fast as her sore legs could carry her. Daine stepped forward into the middle of the street to cover the Priestess’s retreat as several figures lumbered round the corner after her. The Knight’s eyes flickered in excitement as a horde of undead shuffled forward, their decaying limbs creaking like rusted iron.

“That’s more like it,” Daine grinned, taking up a classic guard position.

Catching her breath a short distance beyond Daine and drawing two wickedly sharp daggers, Bayran muttered vicious curses. “Yes. I can fight, my Lady. Just give me room to work when you are floundering around with that great heap of metal.”

“Any idea what they are?” Daine used the length of her longsword to mark a semicircle in the air through which she intended nothing to pass.

“Soulless. Mirror-taken. You remember the mirror, right? Or did that slip your mind with all that serious business of corn boundaries and fence heights?”

As a putrid stench of death wafted through the air, Daine twirled her blade, catching the dim light of flickering torches. It gleamed with a polished sheen, starkly contrasting with the murky darkness surrounding them. “You spoke of a mirror that ate people. I mayhap would have led with the existence in the Town of groups of Soulless waylaying people on the street. I would have stopped at two drinks if you’d been clearer as to the danger.”

Bayran shot her a withering glance. “My Lady, if you had taken your duty seriously at the time and followed my suggestion, we wouldn’t be here in the darkness, knee-deep in undead.”

Daine lunged forward, her sword slashing through the air with little precision. There was no need against a foe that took no evasive action. The movements of Soulless were clumsy, but their numbers could be overwhelming if the Knight let them bunch up. As she had suspected, there were far more than the seven or eight Daine had initially expected. Was there something about the undead that made them more difficult for her to sense? That could be troubling.

As she thought through the implications, Daine dodged and hacked at hands and arms seeking to entrap her, her large form moving with surprising, agile grace. “Do not fret, Priestess. Nothing I cannot handle. No need to risk ruffling your dress with such things.”

Bayran’s lips tightened into a thin line as she watched the Knight hold the centre of the street against such high odds. No matter how many times you heard about the efficacy of these warriors, seeing them in action was, annoyingly, impressive.

Mindful of the criticisms back in the tavern about the inaction of her Order, she was not content to hide behind the Knight’s sword. She channelled divine energy through her daggers and started casting spells to protect her erstwhile companion. Her voice was heavy with scorn as she muttered incantations, the holy symbols around her neck glowing with a gentle radiance. “You can jest all you want, my Lady, but remember, my prayers are the only reason you’re still standing!”

Daine chuckled, her laughter mingling with the cacophony of groans and hisses from the Soulless. “Sad as I am to deprive you of the chance to show off your miraculous powers, Priestess, you will find your charms don’t work on me. If you wish to be helpful, you will need to get your hands dirty. Or, which would be my preference, stay back and let me finish my work.”

As the battle raged on, Daine’s blade cleaved through rotten flesh, sending limbs flying and bodies crumpling to the ground. Anxious not to be left out, Bayran abandoned her spells — she had known the Knights were resistant to all forms of magic and was frustrated to have misstepped — throwing herself into the middle of the mindless assault. With each swing of their weapons, their bickering intensified.

“Your aim is as off as your faith, Bayran!” Daine shouted as she lopped off the head of a skeletal creature.

“At least my aim doesn’t rely solely on arrogance!” Bayran shot back.

The clash of metal against bone, the cracking of skulls, and the desperate moans of the undead filled the night air, drowning out their verbal sparring. For a moment, as they fought back-to-back, their quarrels became a mere backdrop to the chaos surrounding them.

As the last of the Soulless fell, Daine wiped the sweat from her brow, a weary smile playing on her face. “Not bad, Priestess. Not bad at all. There might even be a thing or two you could teach me with those daggers of yours.”

Bayran replaced the blades in their sheaths. “My Lady, these creatures did not find their way to us unaided. Someone must be alert to our direction. We need to keep moving before something you cannot defeat is sent in their stead. From my information, the house containing the mirror should be just ahead.”

If Daine saw the final incantation Bayran cast on the Soulless as they turned to keep moving, she did not mention it. She would come to regret not doing so.