The pagan bandit camp was a bustling two dozen of the wicked and flamboyant, encircling a large burning wicker man. With their pagan rituals in full display through dance and drunken overindulgence, there was a fever of joy and laughter, with equal parts playful insults, to self-deprecating cheer.

It was all on display for the amusement of one traveler, who was partaking in the festivities, so much as it allowed him to break down the cultural divide. Weddle’s interests laid more in people than piety, and he patiently sat, smiling gleefully with two hands steadying the hollowed bullhorn full of mead until crinkly leaves alluded him to an approaching animal shepherding another lost soul in need of salvation.

‘How are you, my girl?’ enquired Weddle as he scuffed the wolf’s ears like a loving owner to a pet.

The wolf then gave way to Anneliese’s cautious arrival.

‘Why did you summon me here?’ Anneliese asked. Her cross was buried deep within her brown weathered cloak that blended greyish black into the foreground.

‘Because I know who you are. What you are. The inner torment and the need to escape,’ said Weddle, like a scholar speaking in absolutions.

‘I saw you back at Rekinvale. Talking to Lascivious.’

‘Ah yes. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not a wizard. My father made sure of that.’ Weddle tremored regret through a placid smile, as though immune to all thoughts of distress and sadness, unfazed by the weighty depression that swelled inside him.

‘Is that why you converted to the cross?’ said Anneliese.

‘You’re most at ease when you’re driving the conversation.’

‘You’re a telepath? Reading my thoughts, manipulating theirs?’

‘My father knew the future, which made him a foreteller. With enough practice, he figured out how to change it and became a wizard. So, he made the world to his liking and achieved mastery. If only we listened, we could have turned the tides.’

‘What tides, you mean Arcadius? What did Burtrew say?’

Weddle’s eyes swelled as his chest depressed, yet he remained unwavering in his smile. ‘What does it matter. For every ounce of truth, Burtrew sowed his fair share of lies. Until his idiot son exposed him for what he was. A self-serving hypocrite.’

‘That’s why he went insane.’

‘Indeed. Either way, the son bore the brunt of his consequences. As the father started seeing double, the future and past blurred between imagination and reality, and his absence created a void not even Coble could fill.’

‘And you need me to fix it?’

‘I can’t see the future, but I can see intentions, desires, beliefs. Enough to anticipate the ending and know when it needs correction. You know that feeling of how, no matter what you do, you’re always wrong. That’s the demon inside you, but you are not alone. There are demons inside all of us. Some hold us down; others force us to grow.’

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‘I don’t think that’s a fair comparison.’

‘I’m not talking about Lascivious, and yes, that is a different demon entirely. I’m talking about the confusion of youth and the expectations that come with potential. But we’re all human; we all make mistakes,’ said Weddle. In his hand was a small sack full of Coble’s enchanted sands, which he offered to Annelise. One of the orange hue and roundish bulge, distinct from what Sir Bradfrey offered her at the battle for Pragian.

‘How?’ she asked as the emotional weight of the old heirloom churned up repressed memories of lost mentors, which was accompanied by the feeling of Lascivious caressing her hand, compelling her to embrace the pagan ways that had brought so much suffering.

‘Sir Bradfrey wants the best for you. He’s just out of his depth. And in some respects, so am I. But foresight is not a luxury we have. Yet every instinct tells me we are at the tipping point. The only question is, what side you’ll take? And I don’t mean pagans or the church. No, this is about the people in between. It is our duty to protect them.’

‘What about Sir Bradfrey … and Mother Simonet? If I leave, I’d fear the worst,’ said Anneliese, overwhelmed with the sickening feeling.

Lascivious’ image flashed in and out of the dancing crowd. ‘Accept who you are,’ he said, whispering from within her deepest thoughts.

‘They are two among countless others stuck between competing extremes, with nowhere else to turn. One way or another, they’ll have to choose. If you wish to be with them when they make that decision, I’ll understand. Otherwise, I will meet you at the Temple of the Last. There, you will find what’s worth defending.’

The black wolf returned to Anneliese’s side, having shaken its damp coat free of the late-night dew. Fizzled and mean, the wolf grunted and groaned, hasting Anneliese to decide while the night was young.

‘What about you?’ Anneliese asked Weddle.

‘I must try to mend what I have broken,’ said Weddle.

Suddenly, Kulum arrived. Shirtless and gleaming in the frigid mountain air, he snatched mead from the outstretched offering, and then he double-chugged vessels of frothing gold through nose, mouth, and across his chest. Next, he embraced his brethren in the spoils of his recent raids and plundering. Sacks of gold and jewel-encrusted heirlooms rained false glories among the banditry.

Except for two reclusive platinum blond twins, who discretely lounged against a resting mule. Both were wondering why a cross-worshiping friar was there and staring right at them. As though awaiting an invitation. More concerning was his relationship with what looked to be Anneliese and a bear-sized wolf. It all conveyed conflicting thoughts of friend or foe, which either way had them reaching to their boots to feel out their concealed daggers.

Weddle headed towards one of the twins. ‘How have I not met spritely young lads like yourselves?

‘I’m Gavin, and this is my brother Gaiden.’

‘Perhaps I can persuade you with some of my wears?’ said Weddle as he handed out string-tied wooden crosses from his front pouch.

‘Not interested,’ said Gavin, blunt and direct, showing too much malice to warrant anything less than suspicious.

‘Do you have anything of actual value?’ asked Gaiden, the more convincing of the two, given his conman charm and indifferent composure. He released his blade hand in substitute for a sack of gold pieces, which he twiddled around his fingers.

‘Oh no, no, no,’ said Weddle with a skittish laugh as he instead kneeled in close. Close enough for warm breath to brush the twins’ earlobes while he spoke with iron fist and velvet glove. ‘What would Amos do if he knew the battle mages were coming?’

‘Say what?’ said Gavin, about to pull his dagger before the level-headed Gaiden braced his brother’s arm to his side.

‘What’s your game?’ questioned Gaiden, with emphasis on reading what he could of Weddle’s body language.

‘I know you have orders, but Kulum is mine. That leaves both of you leaving now, before you get caught in the crossfire. You understand me?’

The message came off clear. And Gaven snatched the two crosses before kicking his mule into action, and they parted ways to Weddle’s unbroken smile.