A pair of silent figures trod the woodland path, dark cloaks billowing gently behind them. They moved with smooth strides, gliding through the forest like wraiths cut from the fabric of night. Their uniforms – long, hooded coats of black and gray, with only the eyes visible above their masks – set them apart purposefully from the white and silver of the Watch, signaling to any and all citizens of the Triumvirate Empire that their word was law, their actions pre-ordained in furthering the good of the Triumvirate, and of the will of the Chancellor herself. 

Mage hunters. 

The shorter of the two – Moon-Bloom, the Chancellor had called her – raised her eyes toward the horizon. “We will pass through Kaldemere soon.” She said. 

“Indeed.” said Lancaster. 

“Shall we seek lodgings there?”

A subtle shake of the head. “It was not my intention. Are you weary?”

“Of course not.” 

A minute or so passed in silence. 

“I simply wonder how we can be sure we are headed in the right direction. I was given no instruction on how we are meant to track down these Villains.” 

Lancaster’s gaze kept straight ahead. “Our heading is true.” 

She glared at the back of his head for a moment. “If you mean to interrogate a bunch of miners, perhaps our time would be better spent-”

Slowing his pace, Lancaster turned a warning glance on his partner. “Her Ladyship placed me in charge of this mission. Is it your intent to question that decision?”

Khez’ eyes – crimson against black sclera – only looked straight ahead. “I would never.”

Strictly speaking, Lancaster was under no obligation to humor his partner’s insolence. He sighed, reaching into his coat to pull out a small glass orb, about the size of a human eye and ringed with interlocking silver bands. Inside the hollow sphere was a single, tiny bead of turquoise; it rolled freely as the hunter turned his hand this way and that, yet remained stuck to whichever side of the orb faced the path ahead. He tossed it to Khez, who snatched it out of the air and held it up to her eye.

“That,” Lancaster said, “is how we will find our thief. According to the head arcanist, that bead will point to our target, no matter the distance.”

“More magic.” Khez grumbled. She held the device up toward the sun, swirling it between two fingers and watching the little blue speck orbit a few times before coming to rest – still facing south, against the draw of gravity. “Unreliable and venomous. Must we truly allow a mission of such importance to hang on the whims of chaos?”

With a flick of her wrist, Khez popped the orb into the air to land with a plop in Lancaster’s open palm. 

“Until we know significantly more about the target, it will have to do.” He said. 

“The longer we rely on this corruption, the weaker it leaves us.” Khez muttered. 

Lancaster tucked the device gingerly back into his coat. “It is not our place to question the Edict’s use of the arcane, Khez. They are the only ones who can be trusted with harnessing it. Take care that your personal feelings do not become a distraction.”

She gave a single, curt nod, and the conversation was over. Up ahead, the tree line parted at last; across a short stretch of windswept prairie rose the pale walls of Kaldemere, the mountain range upon which the town relied for its principle craft stretching toward the sky in the west. A few thin trails of chimney-smoke hung above the walls, barely shifting in the still evening air.

“The gate is shut.” Khez said with an air of mild interest. 

Lancaster nodded. “Indeed. Unusual.”

The pair kept their pace, walking without hurry down the small gravel road leading to the sealed gate. A single guard’s head and shoulders could be seen above the lip of the wall. They watched as the man’s slightly bored, roving gaze passed over them – and as his entire demeanor changed to something approaching a state of panic. He looked quickly left and right as the hunters approached, and seemed to be weighing the pros and cons of simply ducking out of sight as they came to a stop just below. 

Lancaster crossed his arms at the small of his back and gave his partner a muted look. When several seconds passed without the guard moving to open the gate, he called out, “Greetings, sir. You seem a bit out of sorts – might I ask if there is something amiss?”

“Amiss? N-no, no sir, I…”

“Why is your gate closed, guardsman?” Khez said tersely, cutting him short. 

“Right! Yes, well, we had a bit of a…a bit of excitement a few days back, and, ah…”

“I believe what my partner means to ask, sir,” Lancaster said, “is why your gate remains closed with two officers of the Holy Edict standing without.”

“Yes.” The guard cleared his throat uncomfortably. “And, er. There isn’t an easy way to say this, sir, but I’ve been instructed to open the gate to no one without the sheriff’s say-so. Sir.”

“…The sheriff.”

The guard’s head bobbed. “Yessir.”

“Are you aware of the punishment for impeding a mage hunter’s investigation, citizen?” Khez called out. 

“Uh…no.” The guard replied, paling. “No ma’am.”

Khez tilted her head to one side. “Execution, at the discretion of the officers in question. Open the gate, citizen. Now.”

Lancaster raised a palm. “I am sure there is a simple misunderstanding here.” He turned back to the guard. “It seems as though the situation in Kaldemere has changed quite significantly since last we received news. You mentioned a sheriff – what of your appointed Delegate? Or your Watch contingent? Perhaps we might speak with the captain?”

The man atop the wall looked away pointedly in the manner that people who were bad at hiding things tended to do. “Ah…the captain is…indisposed at the moment, sir. As is Delegate Gilveer.”

Lancaster took a deep breath. “Cryptic. Very well, then, will you summon this sheriff of yours for us, or shall my partner and I simply begin scaling your wall?”

“N-no! No, of course not, I’ll – I’ll send for him immediately. Just wait there, and…”

The guard’s head dipped out of sight, and a moment later they heard the man’s hushed, urgent voice delivering instructions to an unseen third party. Suddenly Khez was much closer at Lancaster’s side, leaning to whisper harshly into his ear. 

“What are you doing?”

Lancaster’s placid golden eyes slid toward her.

“Why are we allowing this farce to continue when there is obviously treason afoot?” she went on. “We ought to start climbing now, while we have the advantage.”

Lancaster’s gaze returned to the top of the wall. “We do not have the first idea of what happened here. Until gathering more information, we cannot afford to act rashly.”

“Rashly?” Khez hissed. “Chapter two, sequence four of the Codex of Silence states clearly that-”

“Do not quote the Codex to me, Khez.” Lancaster said curtly, the slightest hint of impatience surfacing in his tone. “I know it as well as you do. And you, in turn, know that sequence eleven permits a hunter to act in whatever manner they see fit in furtherance of the mission. Kaldemere is not the mission. Stand down.”

The space between Khez’ eyes crinkled – but she pushed no further. 

Eight minutes passed wherein the Hunters stood motionless, only the gentle breeze through the long grass disturbing the silence. At last the muted sound of footfalls on scaffolding reached their ears, followed shortly after by a new face appearing over the wall; a severely weary-looking elven man, streaks of gray showing in his dirty blonde hair. Besides a tightening of the lips, he did not visibly react to the sight of them, which was somewhat impressive in itself – the reputation of the mage hunter brotherhood usually provoked fear in even the most innocent of Triumvirate citizens. Something strange had definitely happened here. 

“Well met, sir.” Lancaster called out. “You must be the sheriff?”

The elf’s gaze flicked to the middle distance for a moment. “I suppose I am. Soren Morrelath, at your service.”

“You may refer to me as L,” Lancaster said, turning a palm toward Khez, “this is my partner, K. We were refused entry by your guard, did you know that?”

The elf took a deep breath. “Suppose I did.”

Lancaster made a small shrugging gesture with his hands. “Then you are aware there must be questions. Perhaps, if we might speak face to face, you could answer in detail.”

Soren nodded thoughtfully for a moment. “I’m not sure if that would be wise, L.”

Gravel crunched at Khez’ feet. “How dare you-”

Lancaster held up a hand, cutting her short. “You are remarkably calm for one who is brazenly breaking Triumvirate law, Mr. Morrelath. You must understand the consequences of whatever it is you are doing here – not just for yourself, but for the people I am sure you mean to protect. It is in your best interest to speak with us.”

“No, L, you’re right.” Soren said, running a hand through his hair. “But I’m in a hard spot. Listen, before anything else I want you to know that Kaldemere remains faithful.”

“And yet your gate remains closed.” Lancaster said flatly. “And you will not tell us why. A fact I find difficult to reconcile with your claim of loyalty.”

The elf turned his back in a sudden, frustrated motion, scratching at the back of his head. “Rrrgh. Damn it all.” He spun to face them once again, gripping the outer edge of the wall with both hands. “Are you a just man, L?”

At his side, Khez scoffed. Lancaster’s eyebrows went up fractionally. “…I serve the Triumvirate, sir. Justice is the very heart of our Lady’s empire. Insofar as I succeed in serving her,” he gave a small nod, “yes, I endeavor to be.”

Soren nodded, scrubbing at his stubbled chin. “Alright. Alright. A few days ago, a couple of girls came through town. Villains, though we didn’t know that ’til…well, ’til it was too late. Everything that happened here was because of them, and…”

“Villains?” Khez said with sudden eagerness. “You are certain of this?”

“Oh, believe me, ma’am, I’m certain.”

The hunters exchanged a glance. 

“Sir,” Lancaster said after a moment’s consideration, “whatever the situation behind your walls, I believe I may be able to offer a…mutually beneficial proposition.

Soren’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I’m listening.”

“Lyonel,” Khez hissed, “what are you doing?”

“Several days ago, a shipment of great importance to the Triumvirate was raided by Villains.” Lyonel went on. “These criminals derailed a train, left a host of bodies in their wake, and made off with a relic that cannot be allowed to remain in their possession. That is our mission, and whatever happened here is relevant to K and I only insofar as it expedites the retrieval of that item.”

Soren looked genuinely surprised. “So you aren’t here about the…” They watched as the elf tried to find a better word and failed. “…rebellion?”

“If we were, I hope her Ladyship would see fit to send a slightly larger show of force.” Lyonel glanced at Khez. “Is that what happened here, Morrelath? A rebellion?”

“No.” Soren’s answer came forcefully, with more conviction than anything the elf had said thus far. His hand landed on the lip of the wall with a thump. “No, we did everything we could to honor our contract. We were deceived, we-” 

Soren stopped speaking abruptly, staring bitterly toward the ground. 

“Then there may be a way for us to help one another.” Lyonel said. “If the Villains that attacked your town are the same as those we seek, your assistance could be invaluable in bringing them to justice.” He held out an entreating palm. “And if you are innocent, as you say, assisting our investigation can only benefit you.”

The elf looked down, peering searchingly into Lyonel’s eyes as if he might discern the truth of his words. After a few seconds of silence, his head dipped out of sight – and a heavy clunk sounded behind the gate, followed immediately by the grinding of stone against gravel as it began at last to swing inward. Out of the corner of his eye, Lyonel saw Khez’ hand move to hover near the weapon hanging at her belt. 

Soren was not alone on the other side of the wall – far from it, in fact. The gate opened, revealing the elf standing among a crowd of several dozen townspeople, all of whom carried some form of weapon; Lyonel spotted mining tools, walking sticks and farming implements clutched in ruddy hands. What truly grabbed his attention, however, was the fact that many of them held swords. Standard-issue Watch blades, to be exact. 

“Quite the welcoming committee.” Lyonel called out. He put one hand out toward Khez, two fingers making a signal motion toward the ground. Hold. 

“Folks around here aren’t feeling too trusting lately.” Soren said. “And we’ve all heard about what you hunters can do. Just a precaution.”

“Those swords you’re carrying.” Lyonel swept his gaze over the crowd, locking eyes with several of the townsfolk. Most looked away quickly. “Your sheriff insists upon your innocence, and yet I see many standing here holding stolen Triumvirate weaponry.”

A clamor of protesting voices exploded around the duo, seemingly everyone in the crowd shouting over one another in an indecipherable babble. After a few seconds, as the voices began to die down, a thick-set woman with a mop of red hair stepped out to stand beside Soren. She made an unsavory sound deep in her throat and spat a wad of phlegm at Lyonel’s feet. 

“Don’t expect some highborn city boy to understand, but we gotta take care of ourselves out here. Never know when a pack of beasties or brigands might roll through.” She tilted her head to one side. “Or a couple hoods. Ain’t gonna leave good steel lying around, but we ain’t laid a finger on those boys, either. It was those zyv girls that put ‘em in the dirt.”

Khez snorted. “You expect us to believe that two women slaughtered the entire platoon?”

“No, I don’t.” Soren said, shaking his head wearily. “Not without seeing for yourselves, at least. Come with me.”

***

The narrow street had seen some attempt at cleaning – bodies dragged away, blood scrubbed from the stonework – but there was only so much that could be done in the face of the carnage the Villains had left behind. Large scorch marks still decorated sections of the walls and gravel street, dark splashes of blood hanging in places too high to reach without a ladder. About a third of a suit of Watch armor stuck out of the side of one of the buildings as if the wall had been carved around it, flaking crimson seeping from every joint. A cloud of flies had made their home there, buzzing laconically in the still morning air.

Khez stood slightly back, looking over the massacre’s aftermath in horror. A dark rage had begun to flow into her eyes like oil.  “Such savagery…” She whispered.

Lyonel clasped his wrist behind his back, working to keep his tone smooth and even. “Your visitors did this? You saw this with your own eyes?”

“I was there, yes.” Soren stood with his back to the scene, apparently unwilling to look upon it any more than he had to. “But… no, they didn’t. Not directly.”

He turned to the townsfolk. “Vonne. Did you bring one of them, like I asked?”

A young drow man stepped to the front of the crowd, a long wooden object cradled carefully in his hands. It was covered in metal pipes and protuberances; a thick bundle of cloth had been wrapped tightly around part of its lower edge and secured in place with twine. Lyonel’s eyes widened a fraction as he reached out to run his fingers over the runes carved into the stock.

“Don’t!” Soren snapped. The crowd bristled, some beginning to raise their improvised weaponry. “Don’t touch it. That thing, that… whatever it is, that’s what did all of this. That and two dozen more just like it.”

“This is false.” Khez said flatly, turning to Lyonel. “Some outlandish attempt at deception. They’ve created this little… art project to turn us aside from whatever actually happened here.”

Soren sighed with frustration. “I’ll show you the rest if you want. There’s nobody in Kaldemere that could manufacture something like this, I swear to you.”

“One moment.” Lyonel reached into his coat, pulling out a small, pale stone carved with a rune. He glanced toward Soren. “I would like to test this object for traces of magic – with your permission, of course. I will have no need to touch it.”

The elf’s jaw worked thoughtfully for a moment, then he nodded. “Fine. But be careful, I’m telling you, the things I’ve seen-“

“You will find few more careful, I assure you.” Lyonel said, pressing a thumb against the rune as he swept his hand just over the surface of the weapon. After a few seconds he nodded and tucked the stone away once more. “He’s right, K. Enchanted, at the very least, and strongly so.” Turning back to Soren, he said, “You said that this device caused what happened here. Explain, please.”

“As best I can.” Soren said, scratching thoughtfully at his chin before launching into an abridged description of the events leading to the massacre. He told the hunters of how the Watch assigned to Kaldemere had suddenly begun carrying these strange devices in place of their swords one day without explanation, how that morning outside of the Delegate’s estate was the first time anyone had seen their true function. He told them of how the soldiers attacked, insisting that they had done so randomly and without cause – and of the sudden appearance of an extremely loud emberling mage and her goblin handler.

“And you allowed these zyvir to convince you that they were members of the Travelers’ Guild?” Khez said, disbelieving. “What sort of fool are you?”

Soren shrugged wearily. “The hopeful sort, I suppose. They appeared just when it seemed as if things couldn’t get any worse, like…” He shook his head. “…like a miracle. They even carried badges of the Trine Light! I thought they must have been a blessing, sent to us when we needed them most.” The elf grimaced and massaged his brow, shoulders drooping. “In hindsight, though…”

As they spoke, Lyonel stepped toward a section of wall that had been scorched with particular violence – a splash of soot reached well over the top of his head, the stonework underneath rough and pitted. He reached out to draw two fingers across the surface, rubbing a bit of ash between his thumb and forefinger. Sunlight caught unusually against the grains, hues of purple and blue surfacing within the dark grit. Lyonel brought the ash near his mask, sniffing.

He straightened. “Mr. Morrelath.” 

“Sir?”

“K is correct. The tale you have woven for us beggars belief to a remarkable extent.” Lyonel moved to stand directly in front of Soren, displaying the significant difference in their height. The hunter loomed over him, golden eyes cold and unreadable. “And yet you do not appear to be attempting deceit. Meaning either that you actually believe all of what you’ve told us, or that you are one of the more skilled liars I have encountered.”

“It ain’t the second one, tell ya that!” Marlisse called out. 

“Everything I have told you is true.” Soren said. “On my life, on the Trine Light I swear it.”

Lyonel nodded thoughtfully. “One last thing. Delegate Gilveer. Is it your claim that he was killed here as well?”

Soren’s eyes widened slightly. “No, no, he – when the Villains left, we…” The elf’s eyes flicked nervously from one hunter to the other – he took a breath, setting his jaw and standing up a little straighter. “We took Gilveer into custody. And searched his estate.”

“Treason.” Khez snarled, stepping up beside Lyonel. “Take us to the Delegate immediately. You will release him, and each and every one of you will submit yourselves to detainment.”

A murmur of uncertainty ran through the crowd; Lyonel held up a calming hand.

“Peace, K. Remember our purpose.” He turned to Soren. “My partner speaks out of turn, but not incorrectly. Regardless of motivation, the crimes you have orchestrated here will see a reckoning visited upon Kaldemere. K and I are simply not the instruments of that reckoning. I hope for your sake that you have taken the time to consider that.”

The elf nodded grimly. “Aye, I have.”

“Very well. In that case I ask only for an audience with the Delegate, and we shall leave you in peace.”

“Yeah,” Soren said, running a hand along his unshaven jaw, “Yeah, you should talk to him. Come on, it isn’t far. 

***

Lyonel and Khez were led to the very same cells that had been used to detain Marlisse and the others just days before – through the barracks and down the stairs into the chill of the dungeon. No sooner had the hunters began their descent when a sound began to drift up from below – a guttural snarling, soft at first but rising rapidly in intensity, as if some animal chained below had heard their footsteps approaching. The hunters exchanged a glance. 

“You said you were taking us to Gilveer.” Khez said. 

Soren looked over his shoulder with an expression of chagrin. “I may have forgotten to mention, but the attack had…one survivor. We’ve been keeping her down here, for safety.”

Before either could inquire further, the elf pushed through a severely scorched wooden door and into the cramped hall that made up the entirety of Kaldemere’s dungeons. A small table set with a single lantern had been placed against the left wall, keeping the space from dropping into pitch blackness when the door closed; to their right, two barred cell doors had been hastily repaired and equipped with large padlocks.

Each cell contained a single occupant. On the right, a pale middle-aged human sat in a luxuriant reading chair quite at odds with the slightly damp stone surrounding him. In fact, the cell had been crammed almost wall to wall with expensive comforts – another compact table laden with books, papers and writing implements sat by his chair, while a mattress piled with thick blankets and satin pillows took up the rest of the floorspace. He looked up as the door opened.

Before the prisoner in the first cell could utter a word, the gate of the second rang with the impact of its occupant throwing themselves against the bars. An orcish woman with wild, unkempt hair struggled against the gate, sticking her arms out toward them in an attempt to – well, it wasn’t clear exactly, but from the look of abject murder in her bloodshot eyes it couldn’t have been anything pleasant. 

“Gods!” Khez exclaimed, taking an involuntary step back, “Control yourself, woman! What is wrong with her?”

“She was there.” Soren said heavily. “In the…the massacre. Something happened to her,” he shook his head, “no one knows what or how. But she’s been like this ever since.”

“Never mind her!” The small man cried out, gripping the bars of his own cell. His gray eyes were large and slightly watery, flicking back and forth between the hunters. “The Edict sent you two to release me, yes? These traitorous peasants have been torturing me for days!”

Lyonel’s eyes skimmed over the cell’s oddly exorbitant accommodations; there was even a dish on the table scattered with the leftovers of what looked to be a sumptuous meal. “Lord Dirmoth Gilveer, I assume?”

“Lord Delegate, thank you, and yes. Admittedly I had hoped for a…” Gilveer looked from Lyonel to Khez and back, “…perhaps slightly larger rescue contingent, but you’re here at least. Now, get me out of this godsforsaken hole. The Chancellor must be informed immediately of what happened here.”

Lyonel did not move – his gaze lingered on the woman in the next cell, still growling wordlessly and straining against the bars. “And what was that, exactly?”

The excitement on Gilveer’s face dimmed just a touch. “Well, it’s…It’s obvious, isn’t it?” He crooked an accusing finger at Soren. “This elf and his band of miscreants have spent months trying to undermine my authority! Sneaking around at all hours of the night, shirking quotas, spreading seditious lies to any ear fool enough to listen!”

The hunter nodded slowly. “What sorts of lies, my Lord? Accusations, perhaps?”

Frustration crept into Gilveer’s expression. “I do not understand why I am the one being interrogated here. At least get me out of this abominable pit first!”

“I am sorry to say that will not be possible, my lord.” Lyonel said, inclining his head apologetically. “You see, K and I were not sent here on a rescue mission – or sent to Kaldemere at all, in fact. It is likely that the Edict in Dianophon has yet to even receive news of your predicament.”

The Delegate’s face fell. “But…you…”

“That said, my lord,” Lyonel continued, “in order to untangle this knot it is imperative that we are able to build an accurate picture of what happened here. Mr. Morrelath here seems to believe the evidence will exonerate him,” he tilted his head toward Soren, “and what we have seen thus far paints a disturbing picture indeed, my Lord Delegate. And a confusing one. As a loyal servant of the Triumvirate, your account is vital to execution of the empire’s justice, so please – explain exactly how it is that you managed to lose control of not only your delegated township, but the lives of an entire Watch platoon besides?”

“No, no, you…you cannot do this.” Gilveer said, face darkening with rage. He turned to Khez with a start, gripping the bars desperately. “You there, drow, listen to me. I hereby rescind this man’s command and endow it upon you, now open this damned cage and get me out of here!”

What little could be seen of Khez’ face displayed befuddlement, then disappointment. She stepped close to the gate, speaking in hushed tones. “Compose yourself, my lord. Your station demands greater dignity than this.”

“You don’t understand!” Gilveer whined, attempting ineffectually to shake the bars. “I can’t stay here! You can’t leave me like this! Did you not hear me, they are torturing me!”

Lyonel raised an eyebrow, looking conspicuously over the luxuries packed into the cell. Gilveer himself did not even sport a bruise. “I am not sure that is accurate, my lord.”

“He wouldn’t quiet down until we brought his essentials.” Soren said as Gilveer continued to sputter, stepping behind them to retrieve a slim leatherbound ledger from the table. “And I doubt he’ll answer your questions. But we found this in his office.”

“You… broke into a Delegate’s estate?” Lyonel said with a note of disbelief. “You are admitting to this?”

Soren shook his head like it took every ounce of energy he possessed. “I’ve already earned execution a few times over, haven’t I? No sense quailing now. You’ll want to read this, I’m telling you.”

“You have no idea how right you are!” Gilveer spat, suddenly slamming a palm against one of the bars. He grimaced, massaging his wrist for a moment before continuing. “The Edict will see you hang, but it won’t just be you, Morrelath. The Watch will find every member of your family who knew anything about your little plans, every co-conspirator, every member of your little gang. You have betrayed that to which you owe your every breath, and there will be nothing left of you or yours when the debt is paid.”

The elf glanced sharply toward the cell, a moment of rage sparking in his eyes. He looked away bitterly as Lyonel thumbed open the leather folder. It did not take long to ascertain the nature of the information displayed in neat columns page after page – after all, Gilveer had been fastidious in his notation, labeling every row with perfect clarity.

Lovely handwriting, Lyonel thought.

“Wait!” Gilveer all but screamed. “Hunter, I command that you look away this instant, that is…that is private property! You have no right-!”

“I have every right, in fact,” Lyonel said, looking up smoothly, “to inspect and evaluate to the fullest each and every servant of the Triumvirate save the heads of the Trine themselves. A question, my Lord Delegate.”

“Wh…what?” Gilveer said, shrinking back a little.

The hunter made a small gesture with the ledger. “Your recordings. They are inaccurate, mathematically speaking. On just about every tithe for at least the last year.”

“What?” Gilveer said, growing audibly more nervous, “No. No, you’re wrong. I keep a perfect accounting of all-“

“You don’t.” Lyonel cut him off, the hunter’s perfectly flat tone serving to shut Gilveer’s mouth like a command. Golden eyes slid toward him, empty of mercy. “And you’re lying. Why are you lying to us, my Lord?”

“I’m… I’m…”

“I knew it!” Soren said, stabbing a finger triumphantly toward the ledger. He took a step toward Lyonel, a feverish look on his face. “I let you into Kaldemere because I knew if a faithful servant could see what really happened here, you would understand why we had to do what we did. That, right there, that proves Gilveer has been skimming our harvests. Stealing not just from us, but from the Triumvirate itself!”

“It proves that his numbers are faulty.” Lyonel said, snapping the ledger shut. “Your interpretation is not required. What have you to say for yourself, Lord Gilveer?”

The Delegate had released the bars and slumped bonelessly into his chair. “Surrounded by traitors.” He mumbled. “No. I have nothing more to say to you.”

“Noted.” Lyonel turned to Soren. “In that case I believe our investigation is concluded. Will my partner and I be permitted to leave Kaldemere, as was agreed?”

“Of course, sir. Of course.” Soren looked almost offended by the question. “But you’ll tell them, won’t you? You’ll tell the Edict that us common folk had nothing to do with all this.”

“I will report everything that I have seen and heard here directly to the Chancellor, yes. But you have presented us with a difficult puzzle to piece together.” He gave Gilveer’s cell a sidelong look. “Releasing the Lord Delegate into our custody could make your case an easier one to plead.”

Soren pulled a pained expression and shook his head. “I remain loyal to the Triumvirate. I do. But I am not a fool. We need as much to bargain with as we can.” He shrugged. “Besides, the folks outside wouldn’t let me give him up. Most of them aren’t quite so…optimistic about our chances.”

Lyonel gave a single nod. “Regrettable. Only one last question, then. These Villains, the ones you claim rampaged through your town and murdered an entire platoon of Watch soldiers. We require a full physical description, and we will be on our way.”

“Right, yeah.” Soren scratched the back of his head. “So they called themselves Dahlia and Jezel, and…”

***

Once again the hunters found themselves escorted by a slightly nervous crowd of armed townsfolk to the southern gate and quickly ejected from Kaldemere before any of the involved parties could change their minds. They turned to watch as the gate ground unceremoniously shut behind them. Lyonel’s gaze lingered for a moment on the walls of the township – then he turned without a word to venture out into the rolling prairie lands beyond, leaving Khez to follow after.

“Surely you didn’t believe any of that.” Khez said after several minutes. 

He took a long, heavy breath. “It does not matter what I believe. I will render my report as soon as we have access to a mage’s window – soldiers will march on Kaldemere regardless. The rebellion leader and everyone who assisted him will hang.” The hunter shrugged. “Based on the contents of what I saw in that ledger, the Lord Delegate may hang with them.”

Khez was silent for a time. 

“…Good.” She finally grunted. 

“It has no relevance to our mission.” Lyonel said softly. “What matters is that we may have a physical description of our target. Let us waste no more time.”