Vian crept through the shadowed alleyways, his heart pounding in his throat. Ahead, the cloaked figure moved with purpose, head swiveling side to side as if scanning for pursuit. Vian exchanged a glance with Ulric, the older Inquisitor's face a grim mask in the darkness.

They trailed their quarry through the twisting warren of side streets and narrow passages, keeping a safe distance. The figure's cloak billowed as it turned a corner. Vian quickened his pace, not wanting to lose sight of their target.

As they rounded the bend, Vian spotted the cloaked form ahead, huddled in close conversation with another shadowy silhouette. He squinted, trying to make out details in the gloom. The two figures seemed to be exchanging something - small packets passed from hand to hand.

Ulric held up a clenched fist: the signal to hold. Vian froze, hardly daring to breathe. They watched the transaction for a tense moment, then Ulric gestured forward. As one, they broke from the shadows.

"Halt! In the name of the Conclave!" Ulric's bellow shattered the hush of the night.

The figures startled like spooked rabbits. The cloaked one made as if to bolt, but Ulric was faster. He lunged, catching the figure by the shoulder and whirling it around.

"Not so fast, friend," the Inquisitor growled. "What's your business out here at this hour?"

The hood fell back, revealing a shock of dirty blond hair and wide, panicked eyes. Vian blinked in recognition. It really was the apprentice from the apothecary!

The young man quailed under Ulric's iron grip, his free hand clutching a leather satchel to his chest. "P-please, masters, I meant no harm! I was just - just making a d-delivery for my master, I swear it!"

Ulric's eyes narrowed. He seized the satchel and upended it. Small cloth-wrapped bundles tumbled out, along with a scatter of glinting silver coins. The Inquisitor scooped up one of the parcels and sniffed it, his nose wrinkling.

"Bitterwort. Devilsroot. Essence of poppy." He fixed the apprentice with a piercing stare. "Poisons and narcotics. Your master trades in illicit goods, boy."

The apprentice trembled like a leaf in a gale. "N-no, master, it's not like that! They're m-medicinal, I swear! For pain, and sleep, and -"

"Quiet!" Ulric snapped. He glanced at the other figure, who had remained frozen in place. "You. Unless you want to share a cell with this one, I suggest you leave. Now."

The shadowed form needed no further prompting. It turned tail and fled, vanishing into the night. Ulric snorted in disgust.

Vian stared at the scattered bundles, his stomach roiling. Poisons! Sold in the dead of night like some back-alley thug. How could a supposed healer peddle such filth? It was everything the Conclave stood against.

Ulric hauled the apprentice up by his collar, giving him a rough shake. "What's your name, boy? Speak."

"K-Kiel, master. Kiel Wexler." The words tumbled out in a frightened rush. "A-apprentice [Pharmacist]. I meant no offense!"

"Meant no offense?" Vian spluttered, finding his voice. "You're caught red-handed with a bag of contraband, and you have the gall to claim innocence? You're no better than a street dealer!"

Ulric silenced him with a look. He turned his stony gaze back to the cringing apprentice. "It's an old story, lad. The 'respectable' apothecary, selling poisons and quack remedies out the back door to line his purse. Scum like you give honest tradesmen a bad name."

He released his grip on Kiel's collar, sending the boy staggering. "Empty your pockets. Everything out, now."

With shaking hands, Kiel complied. More bundles joined the scatter at their feet, along with a pitifully small handful of coins and a folded scrap of parchment. Ulric snatched up the latter, scanning the hastily scrawled lines.

"A list of buyers. Noble houses, by the look of it." His lip curled. "Seems your master has some lofty clientele. They won't be happy to hear of this, I wager."

The young man looked stricken. "P-please, master Inquisitor, I'm just an apprentice! I only d-did as I was told! Please, I'll do anything, just don't -"

"Enough." Ulric's voice was cold. He crumpled the parchment in his fist. "I should haul you in irons to the Conclave this instant. But our business tonight is more pressing than one sniveling pharmacist's assistant."

He fixed Kiel with a narrowed eye. "Answer me plainly, and perhaps I'll forget this encounter. Have you seen or heard anything strange of late? Odd behavior, unexplained disappearances?"

Kiel blinked, confusion overtaking fear for a moment. "D-disappearances? No, master, I...I don't know of any. What do you mean?"

Ulric studied him for a long, tense moment. Then he turned abruptly to Vian. "Boy. You know what to do."

Vian startled, his eyes widening. "Me, master? But I -"

"I didn't bring you along for your pretty face, lad." Ulric's tone allowed no argument. "This is why you're here. Use those fancy skills of yours. See if he's telling the truth."

Vian swallowed hard, sudden understanding dawning. His [Crusader] skills - of course. He should have realized. His master was testing him.

He faced the trembling apprentice, reaching for the Light within himself. He let it surge through him, feeling the familiar warmth spread beneath his skin. He focused on the herbalist’s face, murmuring the words of invocation.

"[Light's Judgment: Truth]."

For an instant, the apprentice was limned in a soft golden glow. Kiel blinked, startled, as the light seemed to pierce him, illuminating the hidden recesses of his mind. Vian felt the skill take hold, the Light whispering its revelation.

No shadows stirred in the depths of Kiel's thoughts. No taint of deception marred the quivering surface of his consciousness. The boy was telling the truth. He knew nothing of the disappearances.

Vian let out a slow breath, the golden aura fading. He met Ulric's expectant gaze and shook his head. "He's clean, master. Doesn't know anything."

Ulric grunted. "As I thought." He waved a dismissive hand at Kiel. "Get out of my sight, boy, before I change my mind about arresting you. And tell your master to ply his trade more carefully. The Conclave won't turn a blind eye forever."

The apprentice stammered a stream of feverish thanks, stumbling over himself in his haste to comply. He was halfway down the alley before Ulric's voice cracked out again.

"And boy! If you do hear anything about these disappearances...you'll inform the Conclave at once. If you value your skin."

Kiel bobbed his head frantically, already scurrying away. "Y-yes, master Inquisitor! At once! Th-thank you!"

And then he was gone, vanished into the night like a rat down a drain.

"Master, why did you let him go?" Vian demanded. "He was breaking the law, selling poisons and intoxicants! He should face judgment!"

Ulric sighed, tucking the confiscated vials and packets into his belt pouch. "Vian, if we clapped every small-time peddler and back alley herbalist in irons, the Conclave's cells would be full to bursting within a week."

He gave his apprentice a level look. "Such petty crimes are beneath our notice. We're here for heretics and demon-binders, not purse-pluckers and potion-pushers. You'd do well to learn the difference."

Vian flushed, stung by the gentle rebuke. "I...I understand, Master. Forgive my outburst."

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Ulric waved a dismissive hand. "Think nothing of it, lad. You're still learning the nuances of our duty." He cocked an eyebrow at Vian. "Now, as an exercise, what did your senses tell you about our friend there?"

Vian blinked, casting his mind back over the encounter. In truth, he'd been so caught up in his own outrage, he'd barely spared a thought for the trembling herbalist beyond noting his contraband.

"He's just a small-time criminal," he said, unable to keep a note of disappointment from his voice. "Greedy and weak-willed, but no heretic."

Ulric nodded approvingly. "Well said," he said. "You're correct, of course - our trembling friend back there is no more a servant of the dark than my boot-heel. Just a fool who thought he could make a few easy coins and hang the consequences."

Vian frowned. "Then...then he's not our quarry? This was a dead end?"

"Not entirely," Ulric corrected. "Think about it, lad - what does the presence of a two-bit peddler like that tell us about this district, about the character of its denizens?"

Vian thought for a moment. "That...that there's a demand for illicit goods here? That lawlessness and vice are common enough that Kiel thought he could get away with hawking his contraband?"

"Exactly!" Ulric looked pleased. "Where petty crime flourishes, darker deeds may hide in its shadow. Our man may not be the one we seek, but his presence here is an indicator that we're on the right track."

Vian nodded slowly as understanding dawned. Kiel was a symptom, not the disease itself. Like a pustule hinting at a deeper infection.

"The Conclave doesn't have time to swat every gnat and pinch every purse in Christendom. We're after the true corruptors, those who threaten the very soul of the faithful. The lad will go back and do some digging of his own, he’ll have contacts that we could never hope to have in these parts."

"I think I see now, Master," he said. "We'll use the small fish to lead us to the big ones."

"Now you're thinking like an Inquisitor," Ulric said approvingly as he started off down the alley, Vian falling into step beside him.

As they walked, Vian couldn't help feeling a twinge of embarrassment for his earlier outburst. In his zeal to chase down wrongdoing, he'd almost lost sight of the true goal.

I still have so much to learn, he thought ruefully. About being an Inquisitor, and about myself.

Out loud, he asked, "Master, the herbalist...could you glean his level of Advancement? I didn't think to check."

Ulric nodded. "As it happens, I did. Our friend Kiel is probably [Herbalist] of...oh, about Level 3, I'd say." A hint of amusement colored his voice. "Hardly the stuff of legend."

Vian blinked in surprise. "Level 3? But he looked to be at least twenty summers!"

Ulric shrugged. "Not everyone Advances quickly, lad. For most, it's a slow climb - a level here, a level there, over the course of a lifetime. Only those with the drive and talent to push themselves will rise far."

The Inquisitor gave Vian a glance. "Like you, for instance. You may be young, but you've already reached Level 4 as a [Crusader]. That's no easy feat."

Vian ducked his head, feeling a flush of mingled pride and embarrassment. "I...I've had excellent teachers. Yourself not least among them, Master."

But Ulric waved this away. "Instruction only takes you so far, lad. In the end, it's up to the individual to put in the blood, sweat, and tears. To constantly strive and struggle. That's what separates the truly adept from the rest."

Vian thought again of the cringing Kiel, so desperate to make a handful of coins that he'd risk the Conclave's wrath. What must it be like, to be so limited? To know that no matter how hard you tried, you'd never rise above the common herd?

Thank the Light for my gifts, he thought fervently. And for the chance to put them to righteous use.

Ulric was still musing aloud as they walked. "Our quarry, now...a [Heretic] or [Diabolist] of their caliber, depraved enough to snatch skilled citizens from their very beds...I'd say Level 7, at the very least. Maybe higher."

Vian nearly missed a step. "Level 7?" he squeaked, his voice cracking in a most un-Inquisitorial manner. "But Master, I thought...I mean, I assumed..." He trailed off, feeling foolish. In truth, he realized, he hadn't devoted much thought to the magnitude of the threat they faced. He'd simply assumed the heretic would be someone like himself - a minor Adept, skilled but still mortal.

The idea that they might be hunting a magic-wielder of such power and depravity made his blood run cold. Unbidden, his hand crept back to his sword-hilt, as if the rune-etched steel could ward against the sudden dread rising in his gorge.

Ulric glanced at him sidelong, a faint smile quirking his grizzled features. "Daunting, isn't it?" he asked gently. "The thought of facing such a foe?"

Vian swallowed hard and managed a nod. Ulric clapped him on the shoulder, the gauntleted hand a comforting weight.

"Courage, lad," the older Inquisitor said. "You're not in this hunt alone. The Light stands with us...and so do I."

Vian took a deep, steadying breath. His master was right. He wasn't some untried acolyte, to quail at the first hint of danger. He was a [Crusader] of the Conclave, sworn to root out heresy and corruption wherever it might lurk. And he would not be facing this evil by himself.

"Thank you, Master," he said quietly. "I will try to be worthy of your trust...and the Light's."

They walked on in silence for a time, each lost in their own thoughts. Vian found his mind circling back to Kiel, and the peddler's parting shot.

Fancy-class busybodies, the herbalist had muttered, with surprising venom for one so cowed. What do they know of real life? It's all the same to them, [Herbalist], [Alchemist], [Pharmacist]...

Vian frowned, troubled. Was there truth to the little man's words? Did he see the common folk as all the same, interchangeable in their lowliness? He liked to think he wasn't so high-handed, but the nagging doubt lingered.

When he couldn't bear the silence any longer, he cleared his throat. "Master, about what the herbalist said..."

"You mean about the subtle distinctions of Class and profession?" Ulric finished for him. "Aye, he had a point there, bitter though it may have been."

The Inquisitor rubbed his chin, his eyes distant. "It's easy for we who stand in the Light to look down on the lowly, to dismiss their struggles and spit on their compromises. But we'd do well to remember that circumstances can make even good men stoop to base deeds. And the highest, most rarefied Classes are not immune to corruption. I couldn’t care less whether he was a [Herbalist] or a [Pharmacist], the boy isn’t doing any good regardless."

Vian nodded slowly. "So...we must judge the deed, not the doer?"

"Rightly so," Ulric agreed. "Although in practice, 'tis a fine line to walk. After all, if we grow too forgiving of transgressions, the law has no teeth." He chuckled dryly. "A [Priest] will tell you that all are equal in the Light's sight. An [Inquisitor] will say that we are the Light's stern mercy, and must therefore be harsh. You'll need to find the balance for yourself, in time."

Vian sighed. It seemed that every lesson only led to deeper questions. But then, he supposed that was what it meant to truly pursue wisdom - to accept that the more you learned, the less you knew.

***

Kiel slumped against the chilly stone of his shop's back wall, letting out a shuddering breath. That had been far, far too close. Luckily, he had decided to do some deliveries before he went to meet the noble for the Advancement. If the young Inquisitor had pressed harder, dug deeper...

He shook his head. No, he'd played his part well. The trembling apprentice, the submissive bowing and scraping. Let them think him a nobody, just another petty peddler of minor vices. Beneath their notice. His acting skills had grown considerably since he started this dangerous game, and today they had allowed him to trick the [Crusader]’s skill.

[Acting] levelled up to Level 5

[Disguise] levelled up to Level 5

Kiel straightened, brushing off his simple apprentice robes. With a thought, his posture changed, his face shifting into a mask of wide-eyed innocence. Gone was the confident, calculating [Skill Trainer], replaced by a stuttering, underconfident boy. He practiced a few phrases, pitching his voice higher, adding a slight tremble.

"Y-yes, Inquisitor, of c-course. I'm just a simple apprentice, I d-don't know anything about that..."

His voice was perfect, his body language submissive and unthreatening. Even his scent changed, taking on the acrid tang of fear. To any observer, he was just another cowed citizen, eager to please and desperate to avoid the Inquisition's ire.

Satisfied, Kiel let the disguise drop, his face hardening into its usual calculating lines. This close call had been a valuable lesson. He needed to be even more careful, to hone his acting and disguise skills to perfection.

In this world, appearance was everything. To survive, he needed to be a master of masks.

Still, the encounter had rattled him. He had seen them this morning but he had dismissed their appearance as another exercise of Conclave power, a showy flexing of their authority's muscle. A bit of theater to keep the masses cowed and compliant.

But he should have known better. The Conclave did nothing without purpose, their every move calculated and precise. If they had sent a senior Inquisitor and his apprentice here, it was for a reason.

A reason which, if tonight was any indication, had to do with the recent disappearances.

Kiel felt a cold finger of dread trace his spine. The Inquisitors spoke of missing people, vanished without a trace. Skilled tradesmen, minor nobles. But that wasn't his doing.

Oh, he'd made a few bodies disappear over the years - an inevitable necessity in his line of work. But never more than half a dozen, spread out carefully to avoid drawing attention. And certainly not in the last few months, with the exception being the old soldier...

His eyes narrowed. If the Inquisitors were to be believed, there was another player on the board. A dangerous heretic, likely Level 7 or higher. Someone brazen enough to snatch people from their beds and leave no trace.

Kiel felt a flicker of unease. He was used to being the hunter, not the prey. But if this mystery heretic got wind of his own activities... He'd need to be careful. Very careful.

His thoughts turned to the young Inquisitor, Vian. So earnest, so clearly green. But with the potential for great power, if his [Light's Judgment: Truth] Skill was any indication. If Kiel could get close to him, gain his trust, perhaps he could [Extract] a few of those delectable [Crusader] Skills...

He shook his head sharply. No. Too dangerous. The boy was already suspicious, and he had that wily old mentor watching his every move. Trying to ply his trade on an Inquisitor, even an apprentice, was a recipe for disaster.

Still, the thought lingered like a burr in the back of his mind. What secrets did the Crusader harbor? What light-blessed Skills lay ripe for the taking? The temptation was like an itch beneath his skin.

No. Focus. One threat at a time.

The little noble’s Advancement will need to be delayed. He needed to find out more about these disappearances, and quickly. If there was another [Skill Trainer] out there, or Light forbid, something worse...he needed to know.

Before it was too late.