Magister Helmold had to be very careful.

He’d go in the dead of night, when no one was down in the kitchen. The castle undercroft should be entirely empty at that time, save for a peasant or two acting as temporary castle guards. Valtr and Vengarl and Letha had busied themselves the last three days giving all of the freed hostages from Midva Forest some manner of job around the castle and its grounds.

All except Flora.

There were seven of her, as of today. Going by the count of the buds, tomorrow there would be fifteen.

And the castle yard was becoming as green as a primeval forest out of myth. The peculiar verdigris-haired girl with seven bodies spent most of her day going around and asking everyone she came across what sorts of produce they enjoyed, and then using her Skill to make said tree or vine spring up from the earth.

So the yard was a lush garden now. All the better to provide cover.

Helmold busied himself in the keep until many hours after sundown. And then he walked, as casually as he could, from the keep toward the stairs to the undercroft.

If he should encounter Flora, he’d simply tell her he was feeling a bit peckish after a day’s work. That he was going down to the larder to have a look about.

It wasn’t entirely false.

He was going down to the larder and kitchen.

To see the young man they held in a cell down there. Aric Morholt, nephew of the late Abrahm Morholt.

The Magister took a torch off of a sconce at the bottom of the stairs, sparked it with a Skill, and proceeded.

The young Morholt saw the light of a torch coming around the corner, winced at the pain in his broken ankle as he crawled up to the bars. The restraint itself was broken, but Redmane had taken the chain and tied it tight around Aric’s ankle as if the iron were soft twine.

He opened his mouth to belt out, “Get me out of here—“ but Helmold put a finger to his lips, and drew closer to the bars.

“Have you ever seen this before,” said Helmold, as he drew the locked scroll case from his belt.

Aric’s eyes narrowed. He inspected it a moment, then shook his head. “No.”

Helmold looked left and right, to make sure no one had followed him, then he crouched down close to the bars, so he and Aric were nearly face to face.

“What do you know about the Ritual of Sealing?”

“The what?”

The Magister paused, to gather patience. “Do you know why they were holding the one called Redmane in this cell?”

Aric shrugged his shoulders. “He’s always been down here. Since the castle was built.”

“And I presume he wasn’t always in the physical state he’s in now, yes?”

Aric’s brows drew together, and he slowly nodded.

“And the day he broke free is the same day the Blight fell upon all of Volos, is that correct?”

Aric nodded again, looking increasingly worried.

“What happened that day,” said Helmold. “Was there a sign? Some clue that a change in Redmane was imminent?”

The young Morholt suddenly looked guilty. He averted his eyes, rubbed his arm.

“You could call it a sign, I suppose.”

Helmold’s eyes grew wide. “Tell me.”

“I was fishing with my uncle in the morning, down on the riverbank. Something washed up on the shore. Well, someone. It was a dead man. I don’t know where it came from. But it looked Numantian, so I thought it best if we just… Made it go away.”

Helmold’s eyebrow rose. Aric took it for confusion, and went on to explain that they sometimes used Redmane’s peculiar Skill to dispose of unwanted things.

“So we fed it to him,” said Aric.

Helmold’s face had gone white as a sheet. His mouth slack, eyes still wide. It took him several moments to compose himself. He blinked, shook his head, but he still felt the stun of the young Morholt’s words as if he’d been struck in the face with them.

After a long pause, Helmold asked, “Is there anything left of this man? Personal effects? Clothes?”

Aric frowned. His eyes looked guilty.

“Lad, you must tell me. If there’s any hope of getting you out of this mess, you have to give me all you’ve got.”

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He looked up at Helmold, and there was a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Youthful naivety. Helmold would exploit it to the utmost.

“I took his equipment off of him and stashed it,” said Aric.

“Where?”

Aric hesitated for another long moment. “My room,” he said. “There’s a chest under my bed. The key is in the top drawer of my desk.”

Not the smartest place to stash ill-gotten gains, but Helmold supposed young Aric Morholt couldn’t have anticipated any of this happening.

“Very well. I’m going to go have a look at them,” said Helmold. “I don’t think I need to say this, but just in case, if anyone asks you, we never spoke about this.”

Aric nodded. Then he swallowed hard, steeling himself. “So… You’re going to get me out of here?”

“As soon as I’m able,” said Helmold.

Before Aric could say anything else, the Magister turned and left the kitchen, hurried up the steps to the castle yard, hoping to cross it back to the keep as quickly and uneventfully as he had on his way here.

He would not be so fortunate.

He was, however, vigilant enough to notice Valtr and Vengarl Khazador loitering in the castle yard the instant he was about to turn the corner. He only caught a glimpse of them, leaning against a tree eating those blue Gnosis fruits that grew from the bushes Flora was born from.

Helmold stopped himself, pressed his back to the wall and sighed, eyes closed, trying to stifle his stress. He was fairly sure they hadn’t seen him.

With his eyes closed, and his breathing slowed, he took a few moments to counsel himself. No need to make yourself look suspicious. Just say you were down in the larder looking for a snack. Then change the subject as quickly as you can.

Helmold straightened, opened his eyes and casually walked out into the castle yard.

“Hail,” said Valtr, waving.

Helmold smiled and waved back, approaching the Hunter brothers. “Hail and good evening.”

Vengarl glanced at the stairs he came from. “Bit late to be sniffin around the pantry, aye?”

Helmold smirked at him. “I see you too found a late night snack, haven’t you?”

Vengarl looked down at the fruits in his hand, shrugged sheepishly.

“I’m glad I ran into you two, actually,” said Helmold. “With Gnosis aplenty, we three ought to be able to upgrade the Sanctuary’s communications beacon fairly quickly, yes? Perhaps in only one day’s effort? Presuming we ate a steady diet of Flora’s blue fruits all day.”

Valtr scratched his moustache, thinking about it. “Aye, I suppose we could.”

“Be good to know how many other factions are about,” said Vengarl. “It’s only been a few days, but still. If anyone besides us already has a Sanctuary, they’d be the ones to coordinate with.”

“On that we are agreed,” said Helmold. “Tomorrow we’ll dine on blue fruits and feed the Faction account, then.”

With that said, the Magister bowed and turned toward the keep.

He made it two steps before Valtr called out, “Back into the Lord’s apartments? Whatcha lookin for in there anyway?”

Helmold didn’t turn around. He kept walking. “Anything that may be of interest to ser Redmane! You never know what lies hidden in these sorts of places.”

He didn’t hear what Valtr said to his brother, but the two of them had a chuckle about whatever it was.

Hunters. Uncouth brutes, the lot of them.

They didn’t even seem to mind that the leader of their Faction was an abomination.

Helmold reminded himself that it was his Faction as well. But only for the moment. He’d joined and left Coteries and Factions many times before. Helmold Brecht was the sort of man for whom allegiances were best given when convenient, and quickly discarded afterwards.

And what he’d learned about Redmane made him most keen to discard this one as soon as possible.

That’s why he had to get the Pharos activated. So he could send an urgent message to Taracon. Preferably to the office of the colonial governor himself.

Helmold was utterly certain the System had acted in error. The office of the Governess Mecia Porsena could remedy the mistake.

He hurried back into the keep, up the stairs into the quarters of the knights, the Lord and others of consequence. Aric’s rooms adjoined the Lord’s apartments, and it didn’t take long to locate the locked chest under the bed, nor the key in the desk.

The Magister closed the door to Aric’s room before opening the chest, to be sure no one would barge in without giving him at least a moment’s warning.

Then he took a deep breath, slid the key into the lock and clicked it open.

One by one, Helmold pulled items out of the chest. On top lay a curved sword and dagger, both in white scabbards. Their silvered hilts and handles were polished to a mirror shine, and immediately Helmold noticed the sigil of Taracon upon them both.

So, it was as Aric thought. A Numantian. An especially well-acquitted one, at that.

This was confirmed by the cloak and garments he pulled out next. The tunic was shredded by a huge claw, but everything else was intact. The cloth was fine quality, as were the soft leather boots and belt. There was a coinpurse full of Numantian silver dinars, and an amulet on a slender chain.

—

Sicarius Sword

Curved Sword (Melee Weapon)

Weapon Profile:

Damage +30

Evasion Negation 10 (Fast 5)

Spirit Touch (Godslayer 1)

Vorpal (Godslayer 1)

Elegant curved sword with an opalescent color. Wielded by the Sicarius.

The blades of the Sicarius are forged from Numantian Star-Steel, an alloy that can slay Divine Flesh.

Sicarius Dagger

Curved Dagger (Light Melee Weapon)

Weapon Profile:

Damage +30

Evasion Negation 10 (Fast 5)

Spirit Touch (Godslayer 1)

Vorpal (Godslayer 1)

Elegant curved dagger with an opalescent color. Wielded by the Sicarius.

No enemy is safe from the blade of a God Slayer.

Pearl Phantom Cloak

Vestment (Cloak)

Passive

When the wearer dons the hood of this cloak, they become temporarily invisible and incorporeal. This invisibility effect lasts for one hour per day and night, and the effect is broken if the wearer deliberately acts in an overt manner, such as attacking a creature, throwing an object or speaking in a loud voice.

White silken cloak, with a clasp made of Star-Steel.

Worn by Numantian officials who perform clandestine tasks.

God Slayer’s Oculus

Talisman (Neck)

Passive

Allows the wearer to perceive incorporeal beings.

Silver medallion inlaid with nine gems, symbolizing the eyes of the Nine.

The Nine brook no insubordination from lesser gods. Their loyal blades find any recusant, no matter where they hide.

—

Helmold sat back and stared at the items for a while.

Sicarius, eh.

So… Such things truly existed. He’d heard tell of them once or twice, but nothing beyond rumors. Here and now he beheld proof.

Which meant that somewhere in the area, a divine being recently met its end. Or perhaps it hadn’t, and this was all that was left of the assassin. But they never sent a lone man to do anything, always a team. Always a Coterie, at the very least.

If Aric Morholt only saw one body that morning, perhaps the rest of the team had completed their task.

Ignorant to the possibility that they slew one foe, only to cause the revival of something worse.

Something ancient.

Something terrifying…