“Of course, please, follow me,” Verdan said, turning to lead the way back to the mansion.

“I’ll leave you to it. I’ve got some stuff to take care of,” Cullan said, not trying particularly hard to make his excuse sound believable.

Lorcan chuckled softly but said nothing, while Bastian simply rolled his eyes and followed Verdan into the building.

A few minutes later, the three of them each had some coffee and were sitting at what had become Verdan’s informal meeting spot.

“So, what can I do for you both?” Verdan asked once they were settled in.

“First, I believe you have a means of silencing the room, please could you do so?” Bastian asked calmly, as though asking for a simple refill of his drink.

“Gward tawel,” Verdan said, casting the spell to ward the room. He doubted this was some sort of elaborate ploy to kill him, but he had a shield spell ready, just in case. “So, what now?”

“Well, I’ve spoken with Branwen and Zhalia about you, and they said that you would be open to my warning,” Bastian said, setting down his mug and fixing Verdan with an intent look. “I have given this warning to every Sect leader and as many people of power as I can. Please take it seriously.”

Verdan set down his own mug carefully, relaxing slightly as he realised the request for silence was genuine. “You have my full attention.”

“Good. As you may be aware, the gods are less present in this world than they used to be. Hundreds of years ago, each god would have had dozens of Clerics. In ancient times, perhaps even hundreds of thousands of them.”

Verdan kept his expression neutral but his interest sharpened. He’d been very much aware of this drastic change since the days of the Imperium, but it sounded even worse than he’d thought.

If a god having several dozen Clerics was a thing of the past, they truly were shadows of themselves.

“I see that you are aware of the issue, that is good,” Bastian said with a nod, “What you likely don’t know is that this is due to a shift in the balance between them and the Annwae.”

“What do you mean, a shift in the balance?” Verdan asked, but his mind was already conjuring the memories of Cyth, Gormagyr and Darjee. There were many more practitioners of Malfease, and they seemed far more established than in times gone by.

“I mean that there are more worshippers of the Annwae alive than ever before, and that is giving their dark masters the power to restrict the influence of the gods. Rather than reduce the power of their Clerics and make them vulnerable, the gods instead chose to have less of us active.”

“But if you know the cause, how have you not simply dealt with it?”

“When it first began to happen, the world was going through a violent upheaval. The last Imperium had crumbled, and bloody wars were waged on all fronts. Dark creatures gained a foothold in that time, and by the time things had settled, the gods had lost much of their influence.”

“But surely it would be possible to gather other Clerics and burn out the Cyth wherever they are found?” Verdan asked, not quite understanding how it could have happened. Clerics were powerful, and a group of them working in concert could take on anything up to a full Cyth Host.

“It has been tried, many times, in fact. However, no matter how much the Darjee and Cyth are hunted, we never reach the place we were in the past. As our numbers have dwindled, those efforts have become harder to organise, and the last Rising has left us in a bad position.”

“I see.” Verdan could sympathise with the Clerics, especially now that their numbers were so heavily reduced, but there was one key question here. “And are your numbers still declining?”

“Yes,” Bastian said, meeting Verdan’s eyes steadily. “We are now at the point that if this Host breaks free and ravages these lands, it could cause irreparable damage. Wherever the Cyth go, they spread Malfease like a plague, and there are few of us left who can combat it.”

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“Trust me, that I understand,” Verdan said with a mirthless chuckle. “Wait, is that why the Witches lost their connection with Ceravwen?”

“In part,” Bastian said with a nod. “There was a time when Witches were hunted almost to extinction. As I understand it, we Clerics tried to help, but many of the Sects refused to aid us, so all we could do was ensure that not all of them were killed. Many of the children from that time never became Witches, and a lot of their knowledge was lost through the following generations.”

“Short sighted fools,” Verdan said, cursing the Sorcerers who had stood aside. No doubt it was some stupid decision to further their own power, while it actually weakened them all.

“Indeed, but now the Witches are rising again. Many of us Clerics hope that their renewed faith in Ceravwen will help slow the decline of the gods.”

“I should think it will, but it will take more than that if what you’ve said is true,” Verdan said, rubbing his face as he tried to comprehend how bad things truly were. “Why have I not heard of this before?”

“We keep things quiet to avoid panic or encouraging worshippers of the Annwae. We keep in touch with each other about potential allies, though, and Zhalia brought you to my attention last year.”

Verdan sat back in his chair and took a moment to process everything before responding. “This is troubling. I’m assuming you have a plan beyond simply dealing with the Cyth?”

“I do,” Bastian said with a wintry smile. “I believe the reason the purges of the Cyth and Darjee didn’t work is that they’re only part of the issue. Lorcan and I have been hunting down everything we can all over the south, and we’ve been using that as a pretext to search for sources of Malfease.”

Verdan arched a brow in surprise at the answer. “This is a lot to share with someone you don’t know. Especially because it sounds like you’re trying to do something covert.”

“Communication with the gods is difficult, but with how many new things and changes are occurring here, Lorcan and I both reached out to our patrons before meeting with you. You should be pleased to know that Gwyll and Rharth both approve of you, if for different reasons.”

“I’m glad to hear it, if somewhat terrified that they know who I am,” Verdan admitted, trying to shake the feeling that the gods were watching this very conversation. “And what of Brannoc?”

Lorcan sat forward, his scale armour creaking as his big frame shifted for the first time since Bastian had begun talking. “The Lord of Giants remembers you and thanks you for your aid to his children. He also told me that his son sat in witness as you rose to the challenge of your curse.”

Verdan felt his heart skip a beat as he looked from the impassive Lorcan to Bastian’s intrigued expression. Few people knew about the curse or his true origin, even now.

Brannoc’s son was Govannon, the God of Crafts and Will and patron to the Kranjir. The idea that Govannon had watched as Verdan struggled with his curse all that time ago sent a chill through his veins.

“You see why I thought you worthy of some additional trust, I hope?” Bastian asked, the corner of his mouth curling up into a slight smile. “But our problems with Malfease are for another time. The priority now is the Cyth Host and its utter destruction. If we can agree on that, then I’ll back you with the Sects, and you can do the same with me.”

“Agreed,” Verdan said, not hesitating in the slightest.

“Alright then, looks like we’re on the same side,” Bastian said, flashing Verdan a brief smile. “Now, is there anything you need from us before we leave for the mustering point?”

“I don’t suppose you have any Aethite, or know where I can get some?” Verdan asked, deciding it was worth chancing the question.

Bastian paused and gave Verdan a considering look for a long moment. “I might do, but it would be difficult. How badly do you need it?”

“Enough that I’m willing to owe you a favour for it, as well as put some temporary enchantments on your gear,” Verdan said, trying not to look too desperate.

“I see,” Bastian said, looking over at Lorcan questioningly. “What do you think?”

“He will need a Clan to vouch for him,” Lorcan said, the slight emphasis on the word ‘clan’ telling Verdan who they were discussing.

“Clan Mhorgain or Clan Thrain,” Verdan said, cutting in before Bastian could respond. “I saved the life of the Thane of Thrain, and the only Chosen of Mhorgain is my apprentice.”

“You really have been busy,” Bastian said, giving Verdan an appraising look before nodding to Lorcan. “Can you send the message tonight?”

Lorcan nodded but said nothing, which Verdan took as his assent. It also struck him how Lorcan was the one sending the message. “Do the Clerics of Brannoc send all your messages?”

“I was hoping you wouldn’t catch that,” Bastian said, sighing slightly. “In short, yes. Idrisyr live quite a long time, so there are more Clerics of Brannoc than almost any other god. While I could communicate with a Cleric of Gwyll, that does us little good in this situation.”

“Are there truly so few Clerics left?” Verdan asked in little more than a whisper.

Bastian gave him a sad smile. “There are less than a hundred of us across the whole continent, and that’s split between the entire pantheon.”

Verdan shook his head in a mixture of disbelief and horror, struggling for what to say, but Bastian held out a hand to stop him.

“It’s alright, the number of Clerics and the influence of the gods is our business. You focus on doing what you need to.”

Verdan nodded, reminding himself that he wasn’t the sole answer to all of the problems they were facing. Once this was done, though, he’d help Bastian as best he could.

It was one thing to rely on someone to deal with it, and another entirely to leave them without support.