The journey back to Redhaven had taken the better part of a week already, and the patrol still had another day of marching to endure before the city walls would be in sight. Taryn had not forgotten the screams of the villagers - of her sister - and dreaded what waited for her in her dreams. The soldiers in the patrol were clearly shaken as well at first, though for them, it seemed to pass much quicker than for Taryn. They were battle-hardened militiamen, after all, and she was new to the horrors of conflict. Taryn's train of thought was interrupted as Murphy directed a question to her.

"I mean, honestly, can you believe it? So anyway, I pissed in 'is boots, and he had to wear them for the rest of the march. Call me old fashioned, but I'd call that fair and square. It ain't proper to take another man's rations. Downright dastardly, that's what it is."

Taryn turned to the footsoldier and squinted at him, keeping her mouth shut with effort. Before she could think of a way to respond, Gershom informed the patrol. "Darkness approaches. We shall make camp here for the night. Who among you will venture into the woods to find kindling?"

The soldiers shifted uncomfortably, wary of the folktales that told of great horrors lurking in the woods. Taryn took the opportunity to get away from Murphy, who had been regaling her with stories of his exploits for the past few hours. "Yes, Father, gladly!"

She hurried to the front of the patrol where Gershom stood. He placed a hand on her shoulder and gave her a knowing look. She looked away, focusing on the dirt road. Gershom's face was solemn, and with a curt nod, he removed his hand from her shoulder, knowing all too well the pain she was still in. Gershom turned away from Taryn as she made her way to the treeline and proceeded to bark orders at the militiamen, instructing them to set up the camp.

Taryn foraged around the treeline, searching for suitable kindling for the fire. The militiamen and the common folk in general were eager to stay away from the woods near Redhaven. Although the city itself was generally regarded as safe, there were too many stories about children going missing in the woods, or monsters dragging folk off the road. Most of these stories were unsubstantiated as far as she knew, but chances are the woods were home to quite the gallery of undesirables. Astrador's dogmatic enforcement of their brand of Order had successfully driven many criminal elements out of Astrador and into Fonere. Criminals, and cults. Astrador's insistence that Aristeaus was the only god worth worshiping meant that many worshippers of lesser gods were persecuted, especially if their gods were deemed "dark" in nature. As a consequence, the woodlands had become home to many rival cults and covens, each one trying to get by and appease their gods.

As she gathered fuel for the fire, she could hear the soldiers singing by the road. Taryn let out a pronounced sigh "How do they do it? How can they torch a village and then sing like nothing happened?"

"A coping mechanism, I'd say" Murphy replied, unprompted.

Taryn dropped the sticks she had gathered and jumped in fright "By the gods Murphy, tryna' scare me to death?"

"Sorry, I thought you could use a hand." he apologized as he knelt down to gather the dropped sticks.

"I had it under control"

"I know... I just... I want you to know... We feel it too."

Taryn raised her eyebrow quizzically

"The despair. The sorrow. We ain't heartless, but what more can we do. Can't let it bring ya down... Or you'll be no good to anyone." Murphy reasoned, looking down solemnly.

The pair stood in silence at the treeline for a brief moment, the gentle rustling of the leaves, and the soldier's singing the only sounds that could be heard. It was almost peaceful.

"Right, well I'd better be getting these back to the lads." Murphy said, raising the bundle of sticks in his arms. "They'll be wanting to get a fire going soon I'd wager."

As Murphy made his way back to camp, Taryn took a moment to appreciate the solace. This would likely be the last time she would be alone for quite some time, especially once they got back to Redhaven.

Taryn returned to the camp shortly after Murphy. Throughout the night, the soldiers drank by the fire, exchanging stories and laughing. Taryn eyed Gershom who sat cross-legged by a tree, deep in meditation. She wondered how often he had dealt with situations like this. He had been a devotee of the Order for decades and seemed entirely unphased by the cleaning of Murkwater. She shuddered to think of the horrors he must have seen in his life, that he would be so desensitized to such a scene.

Tarryn lay in her bedroll, facing the fire. Her inability to keep her eyes open betrayed her fatigue. In her dreams, she saw the inn alight once more, and heard the screams.

---

The remainder of the journey to Redhaven was uneventful. Having left the campsite at first light, the patrol arrived at Copper Lane in the late morning. The mess of shacks hugged the city wall as if they were climbing over one another to get into the city. Along the muddied road leading to Redhaven's northwest, hungry merchants displayed tables full of pelts, vegetables, and crudely woven fabrics, hoping that travelers to the city would buy their wares so that they could feed their families for another precious few days.

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Taryn inspected the goods on one of the tables while Gershom debriefed the militiamen. With a blessing, he bade them farewell, thanking them for their service to Aleria. As the soldiers departed, Taryn stepped away from the table of roughspun cloth and rejoined Gershom as they made their way under the iron portcullis, and into the city proper.

Gershom and Taryn made their way to the Chapel, through winding streets of the Grey Orchard district, so named for the jungle buildings that had sprung up over the years. Calling it a Chapel was a somewhat conservative name, especially for visitors from smaller settlements. Although it had started as a traditional chapel long ago, a place where the everyman could go to be with their god, the gradual militarization of the Alerian order had turned it into something more akin to a small fortress, though the original chapel still remained at its heart, wooden frame rotted as it was.

Stepping into the grand stone structure, Gershom pulled Taryn aside. "You have done well, Taryn. You need to know that. Our calling is not an easy one. I know you have your doubts, but understand - what we do... we do it because it is right, and it is right because we are the ones to do it."

Taryn cocked her head to the side, pondering the implications of his words.

"Now, you will likely be needed in the square. Delvin will already be there by this hour, but you know how the boy is. Could barely tie his own robe that one. Keep an eye on him, child. Make sure he gives the people what they need."

"Yes Father, of course."

Gershom turned and began his slow ascent of the wide stone steps that framed the entryway, his staff clinking against each step as he made his way toward the Chapel's Sanctum. Taryn stepped back outside and headed to the street, cutting through the garden to once again avoid the muddied ground. As she made her way down the street toward the square, she could already see the writhing crowd that had gathered, eager to be alleviated of their woes.

"Let me see then..." Delvin adjusted his spectacles and ran his hand through his mess of dark hair as he scrutinized the pages of his tome. Looking up from the leatherbound volume, he leaned closer to the sickly woman, squinting at the scarlet blotches on her neck. "Seems like.... seems like something we can deal with."

Delvin took the woman's hands in his as he looked down at the book on the table, committing the page to memory before closing his eyes, and steadying his breathing. Taryn entered the pavilion and stood to the side, careful not to interrupt his communion. Delvin exhaled as he released the woman's hands and opened his eyes. The marks on her neck were gone, and he leaned in close for a proper examination, his nose wrinkled. "That should do it then. Nothing too dire this time, though I would advise giving the swamp ivy a... rather wide berth from now on."

"Bless you, dear boy" the lady cried as she clasped Delvin's face in her hands, squeezing his cheeks.

Delvin noticed Taryn standing in the corner of the pavilion, and his eyes lit up with excitement as he gently removed the lady's hands from his face. "Blessed be, Mallory."

As the old lady left the pavilion, Delvin approached Taryn, shuffling bashfully with his hands clasped behind his back. He kept his gaze downward, avoiding eye contact. He fidgeted with his fingers nervously, as if unsure how to proceed.

Taryn stood with crossed arms, her lips pursed slightly in an expectant expression. She shook her head slightly, prompting Delvin to speak. "Hello to you too, Delvin."

"You're dirty..." he bumbled, mouth curled upward in an awkward smile. Delvin's expression changed to one of mortified realization as he tried to correct himself. "That's... not to say that you are dirty. Just your clothes. They're filthy..."

Taryn stared at him, waiting for him to finish.

"Caked in... mud... from your travels." he trailed off as he lowered his gaze.

"Nice to see you too, Delvin"

He looked up slightly, head still downturned. "Yes... you too..." he mumbled, before Taryn stepped forward and hugged him, patting him on the back. "How do you survive without me?" she teased, as his face flushed.

As she released him, he stepped back suddenly, adjusting his glasses and trying in vain to brush the dried mud from his robe. "Quite adequately, for the most part." he shot back.

Taryn rolled her eyes as Delvin turned away and signaled for the next patient to enter the pavilion. She watched as he listened to the man's ailments. The man wasn't old, not like Gershom, but it was clear that the 40-odd years of his life had been hard, his face marked by deep crags from too long spent in the sun, his hands rough and calloused. The patient held out his arm and drew Delvin's attention to the black mark that was spreading across it, flesh necrotized. Delvin frowned and quickly turned to his book, rapidly flicking through pages until he slowed to a stop. He studied the pages intently, head craned over the desk, adjusting his glasses as they slid down his nose. Delvin turned the page, again, and again, before looking up at the man with a solemn gaze. "This is not something we have the means to handle, I'm afraid."

"What do ya' mean?" spat the man. "Just cast ya' spells and let me be rid of it."

"That's not how this works I'm afraid. This magic... the rites... it only works for ailments that we've studied... that we've devised cures for." Delvin gestured at the man's arm. "This is not something we have the means to cure. Not right now. Not without time to study it... time to understand how it works, and how it can be reversed."

"What bloody good are you lot then?" The man shouted, looking to Taryn, and back to Delvin.

"I'm sorry, sir. At the rate you say the infection has been spreading... your best course of action is... uh... amputation..."

"Amputation?" The man shouted. "You're meant to be a healer, not a bloody butcher!"

"Oh!" exclaimed Delvin, straightening his posture and gesturing to himself, flashing his awkward smile. "I wouldn't be doing it, goodness no. We have specialists for that!"

The man turned away from Delvin cursing, cradling his blackened arm as he shoved past the other waiting patients.

Delvin looked at Taryn and gave her a little shrug. "He'll be back, I'm sure. He won't last long if it keeps spreading..."

Taryn watched that man in the distance as he crossed the square. Before reaching the road, he turned to another patient and started gesticulating wildly toward the pavilion, occasionally shooting frustrated looks toward Delvin, who had already started treating the next patient. After a short moment, the man's demeanor calmed, as he listened intently to the stranger's words. Taryn looked to Delvin as he performed another healing rite, this time closing a gaping wound on a laborer's leg. Taryn turned back to the man at the end of the courtyard, but he and the stranger he had been speaking with had departed already.