John reached for his dagger. He only had one, and there were two targets. Not that he was confident of landing a killing strike at this distance.

“I suppose you are responsible for the commotion up at the castle,” the older of the two White Cloaks ventured.

“Brother Simon, this is Udoriol the Excommunicated!” the other White Cloak exclaimed as he drew his sword, “We must apprehend him at once!”

“Stay your hand, Brother Keith,” Simon said, placing a hand on his younger companion’s arm. “We have bigger concerns.”

Keith’s eyes bulged as he looked at the grey haired man in disbelief. “Udoriol has been declared one of the Church’s most heinous traitors!”

“I was at Ursholme, Brother Keith,” Simon announced, looking straight at Udoriol who was still lying in a tangled heap with the others, “And I am well aware of what really happened there. We know about the troubling things going on in this kingdom, and an unlikely ally has fallen into our lap.”

“But,” Keith protested.

There were shouts and the sounds of men running from a nearby street and Simon looked at Udoriol. “Perhaps we should go somewhere more… private and discuss this further.”

“I don’t see what choice we have,” Udoriol remarked as he untangled himself from the others and gingerly got to his feet. “Brother Simon, was it?”

The older White Cloak nodded.

John pulled the elf back and hissed, “Are you sure about this?”

The elf nodded as he pulled his hood over his head. “I do vaguely remember him. Besides, he could give us some insight into what’s going on here.”

“Or hand us all over to the Inquisition,” John pointed out.

Grimald frowned. “If you trust them, they could give us a valuable leg up in our job here.”

He paused as they heard more people go running past. “Jord knows we could use a turn of good fortune.”

“Good fortune isn’t going to fall into our lap just because we wish it,” John warned.

Grimald flicked his eyes up at Udoriol. “It’s your call. We’ll follow them if you think we can trust them.”

Brother Simon sighed. “We haven’t time for this.”

He muttered a brief prayer and a Circle of Truth shimmered into being. The old White Cloak stepped into it and declared, “I Brother Simon Teller promise I will not hand you over to the Inquisition.”

“Brother!” the younger White Cloak cried.

Udoriol turned to John and grinned. “There, that’s sorted.”

The White Cloaks led them hurriedly through the quieter back streets and came to a stop at the church’s back door. It was a small church, considering the size of the town, and John wondered if Treto wasn’t as widely worshipped here compared to Mithia.

Brother Simon opened the door and ushered the others in where they found themselves in the church’s tiny kitchen.

“Take them to my office, Brother Keith,” Simon said, “I shall be along shortly.”

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Keith led them into the nave, which John saw was empty. That was unusual. There was always someone seeking divine intervention or guidance back in the church in Woodhop, no matter the time of day.

“How large is your flock here?” Udoriol asked, noticing the same thing.

“That is none of your business,” Keith said coldly. He led them into a small room off to a corner. It was small and bare, furnished only with a table and simple chairs and a window offering a view of the church’s small vegetable garden.

“You live modestly here,” Udoriol observed as he helped Grimald onto one of the chairs.

“This is a kingdom of humble means,” Simon declared as he entered the room with an elderly man who wore a threadbare white robe. A simple wooden cross hung from his belt, and he studied the three newcomers from under a pair of bushy eyebrows. “This is Father Alan, and he has been ministering to this town for the last thirty years.”

“I hear that all the baron’s men are looking for you,” the priest remarked.

“They are,” Grimald admitted, “Though we do not know why.”

Alan nodded and studied them each in turn before asking, “Who sent you?”

Grimald produced a rolled up scroll from his pocket and handed it to the elderly priest. Alan unfurled it and raised an eyebrow in surprise as he read it. “You have friends in high places.”

“Aye,” Grimald nodded, “and our friend wants to know what’s going on in his neighbour’s kingdom.”

“Perhaps we can help shed some light on the situation,” Alan offered as he took a seat opposite the dwarf. “We suspect that he is colluding with Prince Matthew.”

“And who is Prince Matthew?” Grimald ventured.

A wry smile crept across Alan’s face. “Prince Matthew is King Frederick Casterlin’s third son, and as fortune would have it, heir apparent to the throne.”

“Do you suspect he had a hand in the death of his brothers?” Grimald asked.

Alan looked out the window at the garden before shrugging his frail shoulders. “Anything I say would be conjecture.”

The priest let his words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “What I do know is that he recently denounced his faith in Treto.”

Udoriol inhaled sharply and Grimald raised an eyebrow. “In favour of?”

“He has not said,” Alan replied.

“That is dangerous,” Udoriol breathed.

“Indeed,” Alan agreed, “And our good friend the baron has never been a friend of the Treton Church. Interloping outsiders, he calls us.”

Grimald nodded. “Aye, that sounds suspicious indeed, but as you say, all this is conjecture. The young prince could be a victim in all this.”

“Perhaps,” Alan allowed.

“Does the king suspect him?” the dwarf asked.

Alan shook his head. “Our King Frederick doted on his boys. The death of his first two sons hit him hard and now, Prince Matthew is under constant guard for his own protection.”

The priest’s tone turned hard. “I’m afraid this matter is of great concern to the Treton Church. I fear that if Prince Matthew comes to power, it could spell the end of the Church in Darnos.”

“The other kingdoms in the alliance won’t stand for that,” Udoriol blurted.

“Indeed,” Alan agreed, “I fear that it could lead to the disbandment of the five hundred year old Alliance of Four Kings.”

Grimald’s eyes widened. “Do you think it will come to that?”

Alan leaned forward and placed both hands on the table. “I fear something sinister is happening in this kingdom. The Night Goddess’ worshippers are allowed to spread their heresy unchecked while the baron and those who back the prince’s bid to be named successor keep the Treton Church under their thumb.”

Alan paused and studied Udoriol. “You still have not turned your face away from Treto, have you?”

The elf held his gaze and shook his head. “I have not, nor has he turned His face from me.”

“Good,” Alan nodded, “Then perhaps He has sent you here to help.”

“How?” Grimald asked.

“That letter you have is powerful,” Alan said, “You could use it to gain an audience with King Frederick.”

“To what end?” Grimald pressed, “You can’t expect the three of us to waltz into his court and accuse the prince, his sole surviving heir, and his backers of being heretics who plotted the deaths of his brothers. And without proof, to boot.”

“Perhaps not,” Alan conceded, “But I could write a letter of introduction to the Bishop of Balstat. You can trust him. That, together with the letter could get you into the king’s inner circle where you would keep your eyes and ears open. Perhaps the prince and his conspirators will impeach themselves.”

“Why aren’t you sending these two chaps, if you have an in with the royal court?” John asked.

Alan set his eyes on the young man and replied bluntly, “As we said, the prince is distrustful of the Treton Church. We still have a measure of support from King Frederick, but they will be very cautious if we sent White Cloaks to the royal court.”

Grimald exchanged looks with Udoriol while John took a deep breath.

“We’ll do it,” Grimald agreed at length.