Darvi gave them his unwavering attention as Takan rehashed the tale of his experience at one of the famed taverns near the first tower of the realm.

One year, Ezril thought. The mandatory pastoral year required of all priests in their first year of priesthood, regardless of their class.

The shock had been palpable on all their faces when they had been told where they would be posted. For the past year they had lived on the outskirts of the realm in the west tower, near the outskirts of the Arlyn forest, combating the Merdendi savages, curtailing their growing horde; preventing a war.

Six months into their stay, they had lost all hope of going to the lives required of their class when the year was over. In the last week they had confirmed one thing: the threat of war was no more a rumor.

Lord commander Oddor had sent word to the king of recent observations of the horde. In it he requested the king take action before the horde did. It was a knowledge Darvi had been privy to, a knowledge he had chosen to disclose it to them.

In truth, the lord commander was over reaching his title. Such suggestions were not his place to make. Ezril was fairly certain that the king would disregard it. The men that would determine the king’s decision was an aging man who didn’t like him, called Lord Edavi Antari, grand advisor to the king, and Lord Alvek, first blade of the realm.

In Takan’s report, he had been unlucky on his part. The taverns he had visited, for some reason, had proved very reluctant to speak of anything related to the Tainted. Perhaps this was due to the knowledge of the arrival of the King’s guard. For a military tower, it was surprising how news travelled far. It was as if the men were incapable of keeping information confidential.

Being the only one of his brothers to have ever met soldiers of the King’s guard, Ezril found the memory that came with them one he would rather not remember. However, Takan seemed more annoyed by the attention the people he met gave to the news of their arrival. They had had nothing good to say. But Takan didn’t believe in bad attention. All he knew was attention. And he’d had none.

Salem had more luck. He told of the people he had met; how a mother had claimed her son was a heathen, beckoning on him to deal with him. It was a favor he had been certain to dissuade.

“Why didn’t you look into it?” Darvi asked. “Heathens are against the Credo, and should be brought to justice. As an exorcist you should know this more than the rest of us.”

Salem shrugged, not bothered. “We have more pressing matters at hand, brother. If we ever do leave this tower, I’ll think about it.”

Darvi frowned but let whatever offence their brother had just been guilty of slide. It didn’t really matter to either of them. But he was in charge of them, an authority bestowed upon him by the Monsignor, and all the information they received from the seminary came through him.

Suffice to say, Salem knew where the Tainted lived.

“Do we know his magic?” Darvi asked.

Everyone remained silent. When no answer seemed in sight, Takan spoke.

“They say he calls upon the wind and knows things he shouldn’t. Perhaps the wind whispers to him.” The second part had been intended as a joke but none of them were laughing. As usual, their brother’s jokes remained in poor taste.

“Truth or speculation?” Salem asked.

Takan shrugged awkwardly. “That’s what they all say.”

“So, speculation,” Salem concluded.

Takan frowned. “Rumor,” he disagreed. “There must be a truth to it.”

“Even speculations have a form of truth to them, brother.” Salem made a dismissive gesture. “It doesn’t make them viable.”

Darvi turned his attention to Ezril. “What do you think, brother?”

Ezril pondered on it for a moment. “We don’t know enough,” he answered, finally. “Speculation or rumor, one thing remains true: in normal circumstances it would not be viable. But, rumors have led us to where we are now.” He blinked twice, slow, thoughtful, and he chose his next words carefully. “We know what this Tainted looks like, we know where he lays his head. What’s the verdict on him?”

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“We are required to bring him to the pyre to face Truth’s judgement,” Darvi answered. “But we are permitted to bring Truth’s wrath to him if we see it fit.”

Ezril sighed. “So there is no hope for him.”

“None.”

“Then we should take him when we can.”

Darvi nodded and his attention swiveled to the others. “Any objections?”

No one spoke.

The room the Lord Commander had allotted them upon their arrival for their collective use was a simple squared space with a table in the middle. A single door led in and out, and one window open to the outside world over ten flights of stairs up the tower. Their individual rooms, on the other hand, were luxurious, to their surprise, never having believed a fort intended for the defense of the realm would possess luxurious living space.

With their discussion done, Darvi released them into the busy morning of the tower. Often rising at the fourth hour, the end of their meetings, whenever they had one, often met the rise of the rest of the tower.

Ezril walked down the stairs. His feet treaded a path to his room.

All five spacious rooms with the most comfortable beds they had ever had the luxury of lying upon, clad in the finest silk, were dealt with by the maids of the tower whenever they were not around and, sometimes, when they were. It made the tower seem less of a military fort and more of a palace to the Lord Commander. Peace has made them complacent.

Ezril reflexes triggered pathway down the stairs. He moved to the side with a single step. A simple shift of his weight cleared the way as a maid passed him in a hurry. Hurrying down the stairs she almost stumbled over her own feet but aught herself before she hit the ground. The sheets she carried weren’t so lucky, splaying themselves on the tower floor.

“Father Antari!” she gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

Ezril surveyed Loren a moment. Her mud brown dress with a short white apron tied around her waist was the regalia of the maids in the tower. Her brown hair was held up in a pristine bun that pulled every strand together, revealing a slightly long face. She wasn’t aesthetically pleasing as far as the women Ezril had met went. But no one could say she was ugly.

The girl had come under the employ of the tower three months after Ezril and his brothers had arrived. Then, Melly, a maid at least ten years older than Ezril was in charge of his chamber, cleaning and pruning as was required.

The maids had a certain disposition towards the brothers. But Ezril couldn’t help but notice they acted with more caution around him. It would’ve taken a blind man not to notice it.

However, when Loren arrived she didn’t seem too cautious around him. In truth, she had seemed odd, even to the maids. They weren’t so free with her, and in a month it was an established part of their routine. She grew to be an outsider among them.

In the second month of her stay, she slowly became friendly with Ezril. Their association grew from simple greetings to small talks she always initiated. He had seen no objection to it. After all, the reason he talked only with his brothers was simply because the rest of the tower did little to talk to him. The soldiers were no different.

In her third month in the tower, Loren replaced Melly in the care of Ezril’s room, and in any general service that pertained to his brothers. This came to the obvious relief of the maids. Loren always seemed more than eager to gain his attention, perhaps even his acknowledgement. It always left him slightly perturbed. On further inquiry from the staff he came to an understanding when he learned she was an orphan.

“Father Antari.”

Loren’s voice woke him from his thoughts. He looked at her. She had picked herself up, dusting off the sheets in her hand. Her eyes fixed on him in an effort not to stare at the part of his bow that poked above his shoulder from behind him.

“Would you please not go to your room for the next hour?” she requested, timid. “I would need more time than usual today.”

Ezril’s brows furrowed in thought. Darvi required his presence at the morning meeting with the Lord Commander. He thought of the possibility of it. The meeting would begin in less than an hour. If he went to his room now he didn’t see himself being there for more than thirty minutes.

“As you wish,” he consented, then continued on his way down the steps.

“Father Antari,” Loren blurted.

Ezril turned. “Yes?”

“The maids think you’re scarier than the other priests. It’s why they don’t talk much with you.” She tried for a smile but it came out awkward. “I’m sure if they get to know you they’ll see you’re not so scary.” Ezril noted her fingers fidgeting beneath the sheets she held as she spoke. “Maybe you can smile more?”

They don’t talk to my brothers either, I doubt a smile will fix it… Ezril left the words unsaid. “I see,” he replied, instead, almost seeming thoughtful.

Loren offered him a cheerful smile. This one came out better. “I don’t think you’re scary, Father Antari.”

She bounded past him, down the stairs. Ezril stood a while longer.

Loren was prone to offering what Ezril was certain she thought were compliments every once in a while. Though they did naught to gain his favor, he found them a tad disconcerting. He had decided long ago that he should say something to her about it but hadn’t been certain of what he should say. He still wasn’t.

Ezril chose to keep himself busy while waiting for the hour he was to meet with the Lord Commander. His decision led him on a stroll through the fort.

There was only one tower in the fort, and it housed him and his brothers, as well as the Lord Commander and a few high ranking officials. It had vacant rooms set aside for important guests whenever they had one.

In the year he had been in it, the fort had seen four important guests, amongst whom were the first prince of the realm, prince Mardin, who had stayed for over a week. Everybody had loved the man. But it hadn’t taken Ezril’s brothers long to note his dislike for the prince. Gladly, no questions were asked.