Danadrian placed the book down beside his bed and began preparing himself for the day.

  Carathiliarian laws, it turned out, were hopelessly outdated, full of loopholes and undefined grey areas, and frankly, too hard for the average person to understand. Or even read. That it was the nature of laws to only be understood by a selective, educated few was his preconception, but theirs took it to such an extreme he felt the need to amend that statement.

  Still, it had been an informative read. It confirmed that, not to his surprise, the Talradian had been right. Demons were defined as intelligent monsters that were considered kill-on-sight within the borders of any settlement and, to an extent, the kingdom as a whole. They were not to be interacted with, bargained with, or protected in any way, shape, or form. Their presence was considered a threat on the level of a tuffhorn herd.

  The prospect of an entire herd of tuffhorns made his skin crawl.

  It also meant that, by defending Alleria, he could, in the law’s eyes, be charged for impeding lawful citizens’ actions and the murder of an innocent man. Should that be brought to light, there was a chance he was arrested, but just as high a chance he was killed. From what he could discern, there came a certain point where the context of the crime would ensure a death sentence, so guards would take it into their own hands.

  Reading that law had made him inexplicably angry, and he wasn’t sure why. But thankfully, it seemed that no wanted posters or guards asking with his description were going around, at least to his knowledge. He should have been glad, ecstatic even, at breaking the law and getting away with it. But in reality, it was more worrisome to him than not.

  Two days after declining her offer and he had yet to see either Demon or Talradian again. He had been worried to even leave his room at all the first day, but hiding in his room without warning was going to draw attention to him anyway. He still had jobs to do and a goal to meet. That much hadn’t changed.

  He left the room after making sure the sword was strapped to his back and his brooch properly pinned to his cloak. He would return the book this evening if he found the time. He’d been fascinated to find a library in Fordain, if only a small one, and run by a rather twitchy librarian who wasn’t really the talkative type. Still made her one of the friendlier Carathiliar he’d met.

  He was shifting the weight of the sword around a bit while he walked, full on a quick meal he’d grabbed in the common room. The feeling of it on his back was still something he was getting used to, even if it was unnaturally light. He figured that since an Angelica could summon weapons of pure Light, rather than lug around powerful swords or artefacts, the act of carrying a sword was a new experience for him. An actually new experience. If he had the coins, he would’ve definitely invested in a scabbard, but he wasn’t sure how well it would work considering its size and malformed shape.

  Despite Lethandirr’s assessment, he had gone to each of the three smiths worth their salt during his free time the day before. The first, Conchobar, had told him quite frankly that he didn’t have a clue what he was looking at and wasn’t even sure what type of metal it was, let alone how it was so light. The second hadn’t even bothered to meet him at all; he’d had to go through his apprentices, and as apprentices, they unfortunately admitted that there was little they could add to Conchobar’s assessment.

  His final option was Illanai, a smith in the northern district of Fordain, the wealthier part of town, apparently. He wasn’t sure he would call it that. Sure, the streets were cleaner, most cobbled with stone instead of dirt, and the houses were made of better materials, but he also saw that the alleyways were about the same, the people even worse, and the buildings might just look better when compared to the rest of Fordain.

  Granted, he wasn’t in a good mood for a town assessment anyway. He spent over an hour waiting in a queue outside the forge, getting dirty looks from the people behind him, and once he got inside had to pay her two whole selivara just to take a look at it.

  She told him that, as far as she could tell, the rust and blade length should have ruined the weight and balance of it. The fact that it hadn't meant it was made of a magical ore, or an ancient one that had been lost to time. He revealed where he’d found it when pestered, and that stoked her interest even further, and she leaned more towards the latter theory. Which was all well and good, but she had to unfortunately break the news to him that refurbishing or reforging it was well beyond her skill and would probably cost him a fortune.

  She had offered him gold, and lots of it, to give the sword to her. It was a more tempting offer than he cared to admit. If he had that much gold, he could buy the scarf, rent a nicer room, and indulge himself in delicious delicacies as much as he wanted. More time off would also be a much-appreciated boon.

  But he looked down at the rusted and ruined sword, well past its glory days, if it had ever had them. Though not a scar remained for him to see, he could still remember the pain and blood he had spilt to get it. He had overcome a spell beyond his memories that defied the magic he understood, only to find it guarding this blade.

  He politely declined her offer and kept it. There was more to it than met the eye, and one day he would go to Tandrias City, or someplace else, to have it restored. If they couldn’t find a smith with the skill to do so in Carathiliar, then there was Plan B. In his reading, he had found references to a race of Humans living in the mountains south of Floraine. These Tregonians were renowned as some of the greatest crafters and metalworkers of the Age, and if there was any place he could find with the skills he needed, it was there. He would make that trip if he had to, with the Light as witness to his oath.

  So he carried the sword, tying it up in a makeshift scabbard that was basically just strong leather and cloth that held it in place. He hadn’t used it again, and frankly hoped not to, but training was something he might need to consider. Did he need to train? That was yet another question that needed answering.

  When he got to the Company of the Gethanhol building, he found it in much the same state as every other day, though perhaps with a bit more chatter. In particular, a group of grim-faced Carathiliar seemed to be talking in private with a foreigner, which was significant in and of itself, and more groups seemed to be milling about the main room than usual. Most of the time, it was a constant flow of people coming in to look for work before going out just as quickly. Evenings were when most chose to take it slow, sit and talk with their peers.

  He greeted the receptionist and made his way to the job board, where several groups were standing around in discussion, but not perusing the board as they usually did. When he got close, he heard snippets of what they were saying.

  “-think it was put up last night, definitely wasn’t there yesterday.”

  “-surprised. I thought it was a problem for the guards, but I guess they’re having trouble. That or they’ve decided it needed to be taken into their own hands.”

  “-what do you expect? It’s them. They were gonna put their hats in the ring sooner rather than later.”

  Getting past them was a nightmare if he wanted to avoid outright shoving them, but when he finally got a look at what they were talking about, he was initially confused. As was their profession, it was, of course, a job listing on the board. This one was open to any and all ranks, which was surprising.

  It read:

  Demon at large in Fordain. Responsible for the deaths of several members of the populace.

  The Demon, responsible for aggravated assault on a Talradian in the Eastside district and the deaths of several warriors and knights, remains at large. Any information that may lead to the capture and execution of the Demon will be rewarded based on its usefulness/relevance. Any person(s) who bring forward evidence proving the death of the Demon will be rewarded a sum of one hundred gold pieces.

  The Demon has been described as a young female, dark-haired, often wearing a hat to disguise their green horns. Known to be armed with a shortsword. Subject has a habit of disappearing in large crowds and is an expert at misdirection and disguising themselves.

  A warning to all who attempt to pursue the Demon. It is known to use a powerful form of mimicry, allowing it to copy the skills of anyone it comes across. Caution advised for any high-ranking or skilled warriors who attempt a pursuit. Magic is incredibly effective against its kind. If faced with enough of a threat, it will attempt to flee the engagement. Danger that may result in death and/or bodily harm should be noted.

  It went into a bit more detail after that. If someone brought forward any information on the whereabouts of ‘the Demon’, then they’d be contacted through the Company to meet with the interested party. Anonymously, of course.

  Danadrian was… unsettled. Patrols and independent Talradians searching for her were one thing, but opening it up to the Company was like lighting a fire beneath a wild animal. There was very little you couldn’t convince the men and women in this room to do if you paid them enough to do it. Already he could hear groups discussing who weren’t discussing if they were going to get involved, but when. The prospect of one hundred gold coins was worth the risk, especially to the lower ranks who had to live off of coppers. If lucky, it might even lead to their promotion, and danger and/or bodily harm could go shove it.

  While the job lister’s identity was anonymous, it was pretty obvious to everyone, including him, who it was. Or at least, which group it came from.

  Talradians.

  Or in his mind, one Talradian in particular. The woman that Alleria had clashed with, who seemed to have some form of leadership among the Talradians in Fordain, and enough influence and gold to sponsor a full raid of the town in search of her erstwhile foe. The same woman who had subtly and then unsubtly threatened him if he chose to further involve himself in their struggle.

  It’s honestly impressive that Alleria’s managed to remain here as long as she has.

  She needed to know about this, and if he knew how to contact her, he would make sure she did. Then again, she did have Velandus, and he was in some way connected to the Company, so he’d figure it out soon anyway. He probably had already, so there wasn’t much of a reason for him to run off.

  No.

  No, that was an excuse. An excuse to justify why he hadn’t tried to find them over the last couple days. And it could be broken down into one simple word. A simple yet powerful word.

  Slathir.

  The Demons worshipped a Derumani God. That put them, in the eyes of the Light, as no better than the Carathiliar and the UnOrder. Both were worshipping fundamentally antagonistic deities, dark deities that stood against his Goddess. Any association he had with them would be frowned upon were he in the Church of the Light.

  So why then did he hesitate?

  Maybe it was because he found Alleria personable, in her odd way.

  There is a certain charm to her cautionary and blunt attitude, and she’s on my shortlist of nice people I’ve met.

  Maybe it was the consequences of spending time surrounded by the Carathiliar. He might be getting desensitised to their nonsense talk of luck and chaos. Even if they worshipped Kraton, it was only a single fault in some otherwise okay Humans.

  But what if it was more?

  His affiliation with her could be seen as sacrilege, even heresy to the most zealous. That he found her company not entirely unpleasant, that he enjoyed talking to people like Lethandirr. Was his faith being compromised?

  And why, why was the name Slathir ripped from his memories? Why had he assumed there to be six Gods amongst the Second Generation? It had been so obvious to him there were seven the moment Alleria opened her mouth and said his name. But that was all he was to him. A name.

  Slathir, the God of Demons.

  Who are you? What does that have to do with me? What is it about your people that intrigues me so?

  It fell to a deeper issue, one that gnawed and held a death grip over his Soul. To become a Fallen Angelica was to break your oaths, forsake your Goddess, shatter all bonds and fellowships you held, and commit a great act of betrayal. Their oaths were sacrosanct, and you broke them all the same. A Fallen Angelica was a destroyer of faith. A harbinger only of sorrow and death and darkness.

  What did I do?

  That was the question that lingered at the core of his being. No matter how much he worked or tried in vain to ignore it, it was still there. It came like a wave of Panic in the crowds, like the rushing air as he fell to the earth. He had done something worthy of this punishment. What was it? Was he doing it again now?

  Had he sided with Derumani priests or warlocks? Had he openly denounced the Light and fallen to Void or Darkness? Which was it? What was it? What had he done?

  He breathed in deep and rested his back against a wall. Only a few people were paying attention to him, and even then, he was getting better at hiding any inward panic or stress. He honestly envied Alleria’s ability to do it so succinctly, so naturally. Then he immediately worried if it was okay to be thinking that. He wasn’t really sure if he could trust his own thoughts anymore.

  I don’t know enough.

  That was his conclusion.

  There is too much going on between them for me to come to a decision, too much I do not understand. If it were murder that determined who was in the right, then neither of them would be.

  He understood a bit about the Demons from Alleria, but the Talradians were a fog of mystery to him, and an unsettling one at that. He’d passed one in the streets, memorised the face of the woman who’d come to bargain, and even now their skin made his own crawl.

  Shambling corpses…

  “Good morning, sir. What can I help you with today?” The receptionist asked with a smile.

  “Are there any job listings or contracts from Talradians? Excluding the Demon-hunting one.”

  She frowned, and he prayed her professionalism would win out over any curiosity or suspicion. At the very least, he hoped she wouldn’t ask him any questions about it.

  How many Talradians come here anyway? And for that matter, how many are there?

  More questions that needed answers. Eventually, she pulled out a clipboard and began to read through it, “Well, there’re a few, mostly too high rank for you, sorry. But I swore there was… AHA!” She tapped it with her quill, “A request that came in yesterday. They want help moving an undisclosed package, nothing dangerous. Nobody's taken the job yet.”

  “May I take it?”

  “Why of course, although I must warn, it seems like pure manual labour, and the pay isn’t great.” She was looking over his shoulder, likely at the sword that hung there.

  Probably thinking it isn’t worth my time.

  “That’s no problem. I’d like a more relaxed day anyway.” He took the job and a scrap of parchment telling him where to go after she marked his name down. He forced a polite smile and left the hall, praying not too many eyes were looking at him.

  .   .   .

  His thoughts and dilemma did not cease as he walked, nor did the chattering of Carathiliar or the ambient sounds of the town drown it out. It was still there, bugging him to no end. Sometimes it would relent enough that he could remember to look normal. Other times, it felt like he was walking through a haze, and the air became like mud he had to wade through.

  He was so consumed by them that, if not for the uncomfortable worry that Alleria had begun to instil in him, he might not have noticed the creeping feeling running down his back. When he turned, he saw nothing, nobody in the crowds or pedestrians who were looking at him.

  But after a few minutes, he felt it again, and he was pulled back into reality. When he looked again, it was more subtle, only a slight tilt of his head. Then he noticed the figure following his footsteps. Cloaked, though he could barely make them out. They might’ve been hugging close to the walls of nearby buildings.

  He caught his breath, and his feet sped up. Caution of looking suspicious fell to the wind as he turned into a random alleyway, vaguely keeping an idea of where he was meant to go in mind. He brushed past a group of kids playing with pieces of metal. When he turned onto the next street, which only a few people trudged along, he was just about ready to break into a sprint when-

  “Danadrian!”

  The figure behind him raised his hand and waved to him. He skidded to a halt. That was a familiar voice. When his pursuer came into the light, he blinked.

  “Lethandirr?”

  The lean man smiled, wiping sweat back from behind his hair, “Were you really about to make me run?”

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t recognise you.”

  “Yeah well, I don’t know why your default was to make a break for it.” He stopped in front of him, panting, “Sorry. Are you working right now?”

  “A Talradian asking for assistance moving a package of some sort. Saw the listing and thought, might as well.”

  The Carathiliar looked up with a frown, “A Talradian? Is the pay good?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “Oh. Why bother then?”

  He rubbed the back of his head, “I was… curious. There’s been a lot of talk around town about them recently, as I’m sure you know.”

  “Right. I saw the contract about the Demon this morning.” He fell into step beside him as he continued walking, “Do you have any information worth telling them?”

  “Unfortunately not. They’re paying quite a sum for whatever they can get, aren’t they?”

  “Outlandish, really. And I saw more than a few regulars checking to make sure it was real. But then again, it was definitely posted by a Talradian, so it makes sense.”

  He didn’t respond for a moment as he considered whether he could ask his next question. To any other Carathiliar, the answer was no, definitely not. But Lethandirr was probably the most open and friendly of their race he’d met so far, besides Innkeeper Heldreth, and he seemed to be quite knowledgeable.

  “Lethandirr, who are the Talradians, really?”

  He gave him an odd look, his eyes growing a little wider, “Don’t tell me you don’t know?”

  “I have been… somewhat out of the loop recently. New to the area and all.”

  “Out of the loop your entire life, then. I’m sure that everyone, from peasants in the Royal Domain to Lords and Ladies in the Far-South, surely even travellers from the distant East, know about the Destruction of Talradius.”

  “The Destruction…”

  He nodded, “The Talradians are, were, our neighbours, so to speak. They lived across the river next to Tandrias City. That was when this Domain was a lot wealthier, at least by comparison. We still had access to the Northern Roads, and a lot of trade went between us, the Talradians, and the Moren. At least that’s what I’ve been told, it was before my time.”

  “What happened?”

  He tilted his head, “Must’ve been thirty-five, maybe forty years ago. Again, before my time. News began to filter in around the same time they did. Talradians, or at least what was left of them. The mathematicians in Floraine estimate a near ninety percent loss of their population.”

  “They were… changed, too. They say they used to be beautiful, skin as pure as the fairest maiden, faces tattooed in the brightest colours. Bards wrote poems about their appearances alone. Supposedly, they made us look like animals trying to imitate them.” He tried to smile, but it waned quickly, “You’ve seen them now, haven’t you? They’re husks of a people now. White and pale as paper, glass eyes. If you look long enough, they almost look… Soulless. At least that’s what I’ve found.”

  The world was going dark. He felt Darkness encroaching around him, slithering across the ground, blocking out the sky. The Sun was lost, distant. His heart raced, and a single, slow bead of sweat slid down his forehead. Then he heard screaming.

  Is this real? What is this?

  The screams of men, women, and children. The cries of the dying. The end of an entire race in brimstone and flame.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Danadrian?”

  His throat was clenching up again. Panic? The street was empty. He felt the same, and yet different. He couldn’t focus. What was-

  “Danadrian!”

  He gasped. There was no Darkness, no screams. The subtle ambience of the town returned as he looked into Lethandirr’s concerned face.

  “Yes, I… sorry I w-was just a little out of it there.”

  He nodded, “I get it. When I first heard about what happened to the Talradians, I felt sick to the stomach. Most of us don’t want to talk about it at all, think it’s bad luck to even mention it in passing.”

  “I think I see why now.” He shook his head. He needed to focus. “To say I feel bad for them would be a gross understatement, but that doesn’t explain to me-”

  The rest of his sentence was cut off as Lethandirr placed a hand over his mouth. His eyes were glancing around, “I regret to say that our conversation is at its end. I wouldn’t bring up any of it from here on out.”

  For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was talking about. Then he noticed a change in the street around him, and those inhabiting it, and he understood what he was saying and agreed wholeheartedly.

  Carathiliarian design had been drilled into his mind over the last week, to the point where he no longer batted an eye at their appearance or variations. They did quite a lot with crimson bricks, or simply bricks painted crimson, and the curved and low-hanging roofs had honestly grown on him. So it was startling then to notice that the dirt path beneath him had been changing into a strange, darker tone from several meters back. More abruptly, the buildings flanking him squeezed in, narrowing the road, and their crimson and red stone was replaced by wood.

  The buildings around him were entirely different to what he was used to. They were rigid, incorporating angled slabs and squares as opposed to the Carathiliarian curves. The edges were built with wood that was definitely not from the Crynmon Forest. It was dark, almost burnt in complexion. Where there were bricks, they were made of a dark-silver or grey stone. Based purely on what he’d seen, he could make the calculated guess that this rock might be native to the region.

  As he took a step forward, it grew dark. Hanging from the buildings, all of which had at least two stories, was cloth. Banners and towels, and carpets by the looks of it, cutting off the entire street from the sky. That made him shiver a little, but it seemed that most people were unfazed by it. A fixed feature, then.

  And then there were the people. Save for a few grey-faced citizens walking through or stopping to speak, the entire street was filled with Talradians. They sat on rocking chairs or benches placed beside the street or talked to their neighbours out of windows. Most seemed to be indoors, or they’d left to do work elsewhere, that was his guess. A few were even watering plants, which baffled him because there was no way there was enough consistent light here for that.

  Against his better judgment, when they turned to look at him, his hair stood on end.

  Corpses.

  They stared at him, thoughts hidden behind glass eyes. Some pointed or nudged the fellow next to them, but just as many only spared him a single look before they returned to what they’d been doing. Quite a few were shambling, he realised, using walking sticks to support them. That was when he noticed that a disproportionate number of the Talradians were old. Seeing the elderly around Fordain was one thing, but there were more white and grey-haired Talradians here, right now, than all the old Carathiliar he’d seen in total.

  And there weren’t any children, at least none he could see. The telltale, ambient noises of squabbling and playing boys and girls in the streets were gone now. Save for the quiet talk of the Talradians, in fact, the street was almost silent.

  “I take my leave then.” Lethandirr said, patting him on the back, “Nothing personal, I just…” He looked uncomfortable, feeling the weight of the Talradian stares on his back. With nothing more than a nod, he left, leaving Danadrian alone again. And now he could feel it.

  It didn’t take him long to find the building he was looking for, the street wasn’t very long. It was one of the larger buildings, and when he knocked on the door, he noticed a sigil above it. A circle of stars, all rotating around a visage of Murlan and Cerelain, the twin moons.

  When the door opened, he greeted the Talradian man, “Good morning, sir. My name is Danadrian, and I work with the Fordain Company of the Gethanhol, here to take your request.” He attempted a smile but gave up after a second.

  It was an old man who greeted him, his white hair almost the same colour as his skin. His eyes reflected what little light there was as he looked Danadrian over. But unlike the Carathiliar, however, he was relieved not to see outright hostility or distrust in his gaze. Instead, he barely saw anything.

  The inside of the building was pitch dark, not a candle or lantern in sight, and if they were, they certainly weren’t lit.

  “Good day. The package is in the back. I need it delivered to the other side of Fordain, the Eastside. Can you do that? Not to doubt your competency, but I’ve had more than a few decline to do so, because it’s a slum and all that.”

  He nodded his head, “It won’t be a problem, I can manage myself well enough there.” He’d only briefly skirted the edge of the Eastside when visiting the blacksmith there, but he figured an armed man was less likely to attract trouble.

  “Follow me then.” The man turned and began to amble his way into the dark. Danadrian tried to follow him for a minute before he accidentally hit his head on a wall. At least, he assumed it was a wall.

  “Uh, excuse me, but you wouldn’t happen to have a light or anything.”

  The shuffling of feet paused, and he heard a sigh, “Right, of course. Foreigners.” He said, “Wait one moment.”

  After a minute of waiting in the darkness, and only a few moments before he was about to start uttering a prayer, a dim glow broke through, illuminating part of the hallway for him to see. The Talradian gave the candle to him and continued on without a word.

  “If I may ask, you don’t have any trouble seeing in the dark?”

  He knew that your eyes acclimatised the longer you were in it, but this was a bit extreme even for that. He thought he saw the man nod.

  “Talradians can see in the dark. You don’t know this?”

  That stumped him, but in retrospect, explained the pitch-black interior and even the darker-than-usual street outside. He shook his head, “I’m, uh, new around these parts. There weren’t many books where I could read up on such things.”

  He’d initially hoped that, with the dark room, the obvious lies on his face would be less noticeable. Now, however, they could probably notice them more easily than the average person.

  “Ah, well, you might’ve heard that we’re distantly related to the Moren. The history books like to call us ‘cousin races’ or something similar. You come from around there?”

  “Uh, a little farther south.”

  There was a sniff, “Florainian then, or maybe Krindorin… no, you don’t have the right build for it. Heard any news from your homeland?”

  Once again, he tried to smile, “Not recently, no. I’ve been out of contact.”

  “Hmph, you should try to get in contact then. I wonder if King Florance is still alive, mark my words, it’ll be a nightmare when he kicks the bucket.”

  I assume that’s the Florainian king. This man is… startlingly well informed.

  “And you?” He continued, “Where’re you from? North or South?”

  He wasn’t sure what he was talking about, so he instinctively replied, “South.”

  There was yet another pause, and now he realised he was the one being questioned. Finally, the old man barked out a laugh, “Ha! For a second, I thought you were a spitting image of a Northern Florainian, but now that I get a closer look… you’ve survived in the wild before, haven’t you?”

  “I had to survive a day in a tuffhorn’s territory, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Oh, nothing easy like that.” He scoffed, “I mean you’ve survived, thrived even. I can see it on your face, in your hands.”

  He continued walking, opening a door and disappearing inside, and then Danadrian was stumped. What did he mean by that? Was there something he could see in him that he himself could not find? And of course, of course it had to be a Talradian.

  When he entered the room he found he found the old man sitting at a table, shuffling through what seemed to be parchment. He eventually pulled out a leather file and carefully slid the documents into it. “This is the package.” He slid it across the table to him, then began writing something on another scrap piece.

  Danadrian picked up the file and saw that the front of it had the same star and moons design that was above the door.

  “If I may ask, what does this mean?” He pointed at it with the thumb of his hand that still held the candle aloft, “I saw it outside and I don’t recognise it.”

  “Wasn’t my idea, trust me. Some of the younger folk decided I should use it.” He didn’t even look up. “It’s a symbol of religion, same as the one you have on your chest.” Danadrian stiffened a little, but the Talradian just chuckled, “I couldn’t care less about your faith, but I recognise bravery when I see it. And you are a braver man than I to walk on Carathiliarian soil with that on your chest.”

  “When you say faith, what sort of faith? Talradian?”

  “Who else?” He finished scribbling and handed him the note, “That’s the address you need to take it to. Anyway, it’s a symbol of our old religion, even if it fell out of favour long before our land was blasted into pieces. It’s called the Celestial Path. They venerate Neloxia.”

  Neloxia?

  Neloxia, Goddess of the Night. Neloxia, Goddess of the Murlan and Cerelain, she who walks beneath the moons. Neloxia… the daughter of Frandwil.

  That struck home. Frandwil, the God of the Abyss, the God of Darkness. Equal and opposite to Mayare, her erstwhile foe and enemy. He who came only with destruction and consorted with Death itself.

  Fragmented. He almost cursed aloud his Light-forsaken broken memories. He could see it, see the pieces that didn’t quite fit, the holes in the image he was creating. He’d ask why, but there was no point in it. But what he did understand was this: the Talradians had worshipped another Derumani God, this one in direct contradiction and defiance of the Light.

  “You said it was the old religion.” He choked, “Did something change recently?”

  “It was hardly recent, began well before I was born. The Karatinian UnOrder began to encroach and hold more and more sway over the citizens. When it finally got into the ears of the royal family, it was as good as done. The old ways remain, even if they’re greatly diminished.”

  Of course. It almost made him laugh. Derumani, Deeplords, as far as the eye could see. Was it supposed to be poetic that he ended up here? He wondered how quickly and costly it would be to walk to the Kingdom of Moren.

  With my luck, the entire coast will be maniacal followers of Melgos.

  That was such a terrifying thought that the chance of it made this place almost seem pleasant.

  The Talradian seemed to notice his expression, because he let out a dry chuckle, “Ah, one of the more zealous Light folk. I always did like your type, very opinionated.”

  He tried to regain his composure, but found it difficult given the company, “You aren’t a practising worshipper, sir?”

  “I’m no Pathwalker or UnOrder lacky, thank the Gods, though more than a few of us turned to faith. Especially after…” He trailed off, and though the darkness obscured his face from view, Danadrian didn’t need it to know what his expression looked like. He chanced a question.

  “Were you… there that day? During the Destruction?”

  What he got was a sigh, “I’m no bard or storyteller, boy. If you want to hear a lengthy description of what it looked like that day, go talk to them.”

  “I just… wanted to know how it happened.”

  The shadow of his head turned to look at him, and he swore that even in the dark, he could see the reflection of the candle’s flame in those glass eyes, “You really don’t know, do you?”

  When he didn’t respond, the old man slammed his hand against the desk. Danadrian jumped, desperately trying to keep the candle from slipping. The flame wavered, and he saw the look of anger and rage take over the otherwise calm old man. He decided then that that was an expression no Human should have to wear.

  “I will give you one word. One.”

  He leaned forward and spat.

  “Demons.”

  .   .   .

  The word still hung in Danadrian’s head as he got closer to the Eastside slums. He’d left quickly after that, unashamed to admit that he had been afraid in that moment. Afraid of the frail old man who needed to hire someone to do deliveries for them. Afraid of the Talradian who had seen it all and spoke the name of their bitter enemy like it was a cursed word none should ever utter. That had scared him more than any beast, thug, or magic had before.

  Demons. Characterised by everyone around him as monsters and destroyers, who brought the Talradian race to their knees and executed them there. And the Carathiliar feared they may be next on the chopping block. Did that justify their hatred? Could he look at them and say, with the utmost certainty, that he thought they were in the wrong to kill each and every Demon they came across, to hunt them like dogs in the street until the last was gutted.

  He believed they had reason to want vengeance, but something held him back from supporting their decision outright.

  Maybe it was the way they spoke of Demons, like they were mindless monsters whose intelligence only included the mind and ability to kill. And he had met a Demon, spoke with her, shared jokes with her and spoke of topics he hadn’t even considered before. They were a people, a race deserving of the same respect and dignity.

  Could he judge the entirety of the Demon race by virtue of one of their kind? No.

  But in the same way, could he condemn her to death for the acts of her own people?

  She was forty-one years old, which meant her birth closely aligned with the Destruction of Talradius. She couldn’t have been involved. So did she deserve to bear their sins of wrath?

  No.

  But there was more here than the Talradians were telling him. They had reason to demand and seek vengeance; that much was true. But the Demons? For what reason did their silent war continue?

  The Talradians wanted to avenge their fallen country and people, but what had led them to such a fate? Demons had laid waste, but why? And why did they still pursue them with a ferocity and fervour to match? There was a picture here not yet complete.

  So, where did he find himself standing in this?

  I’m not sure.

  Both sides stood in opposition to his religious values. If he were to remain clear of Derumani influence, be as pure as the Light demanded, he would do well to distance himself from both parties entirely. And yet this was the land he had been cast down upon. Chosen out of countless others, it had been this sky he had fallen out of.

  I Fell here for a reason.

  The Talradians had been wronged, that much he was sure of. So why then did he find himself continuing to lean towards the Demons, towards Alleria? Was it because of her specifically, or was there more than that? What was it he saw in their species that few others did?

  What sort of con-

  White. Hot. Pain. A stab into his skull so sharp that for a split second, he thought it had been real. Searing throughout his mind, burning the mental land and bridges that remained of his memories stood upon. Once it stopped, he realised he’d stumbled and was bracing himself against a wall, hand to his head. Bystanders were looking askance at him.

  What was that?

  He hadn’t ever felt that before. It had been sharp and swift, like all the power of a splitting headache condensed into one single moment.

  He shook himself and continued walking, the slums fully coming into view around him. It was like the rest of Fordain, but with the disrepair increased tenfold. More bricks with flaking paint, more metal and clutter covering the dirt paths. The alleyways smelled of foul stenches he wanted absolutely nothing to do with.

  And the homeless were there, staring at him with vacant expressions. Though he would hardly call himself well-dressed, to them, he must have looked high-class, and some approached him, begging for coins.

  It broke his heart to turn them away. Nobody deserved this fate, not even the Carathiliar. Perhaps not even those who worshipped the God of Chaos.

  He paused, his lips turning to a frown, “What was I thinking about?” He backtracked his thoughts and nodded. Right, of course. Talradians and Demons. And which side he was finding himself on. The Talradians had been wronged, that much he was sure of. So why then did he find himself continuing to lean towards the Demons, towards Alleria? Was it because of her specifically? It seemed so. When he saw her being attacked on the streets, he didn’t consider the grand schemes of who was at fault and who deserved it, simply who he saw being dealt violence and needed protection.

  Huh. Protection.

  It had been a strangely natural state to find himself in, even if he didn’t know why. When he was an Angelica, had that been his designated station? A protector of the Land of Clatharia? He sort of liked the sound of that.

  He nodded his head to a group of passing patrolmen, receiving nothing more than a glance and a glare. Sometimes it did pay to be simply another lightskinned foreigner. He wasn’t far from the drop-off point, which was a small house deep within the district, so he checked the ‘package’ just to be safe.

  He’d honestly expected a lot more heavy-lifting, perhaps some sort of crate of goods or merchandise that needed cheap transportation. Not that he was going to complain, mind you, and the fools who’d declined the job based purely on the location would never know the easy job they’d passed up.

  “Now what sort of documents would that old Talradian need delivered?” He wondered aloud.

  The Light only knew how a Talradian too old to make his own deliveries knew was so well informed. He met well be the most informed person he had met so far, if only because Velandus hadn’t told him much about what he knew. He felt that, if his lies were often bad enough to be noticed by the common man, then that astute mind must have looked through him in a heartbeat.

  He wasn’t antagonistic to the Talradians… as of right now. He’d made it clear that his decision, whatever it may be, would be his and his alone to make. Ignoring his previous altercations with her hired muscle, it meant his description was likely being kept by the women he’d met, until such a time came that she decided to use it. That theory was the only reason he’d been comfortable enough to take a Talradian job this morning, seeing it as a chance for information rather than walking into his own grave.

  So, what then did his documents pertain to? Information that needed spreading, or just a series of letter deliveries? Why he’d not asked another Talradian to take it was obvious, at least, Danadrian privately thought that the youngest person he had seen would still be in his mid-forties.

  Why choose the Company instead of another Carathiliar runner or delivery boy that would probably cost him less? That was what didn’t really line up.

  “There is something about the Company that makes it a better option for him, and it can’t have been simply convenience.” His fingers lingered on the edges of the file as his walking slowed, “Maybe… could it be…” His mind was flirting with an idea when a quiet voice beside him completed the sentence.

  “It’s your professionalism.”

  He spun around and saw a figure leaning against a nearby wall. Their face was smeared with dirt and dust to the point where it was a whole shade darker, and their clothing made them look like a basic labourer.

  Alleria nodded to him from beneath her small hat, “The Company has spent decades building their reputation as reliable and impartial. Do you remember the rules you signed onto?”

  He squinted at her, “A little. I believe the one you’re referring to is to respect the privacy and security of a customer, and in regard to deliveries such as this, to ensure it is brought to the desired destination without interference from a third party. How did you find me?”

  She nodded, “Impartiality. The Company of the Gethanhol can’t be seen getting too involved with politics or whatnot, so they work strictly by the book. And to answer your question, I never lost you.”

  “You’ve been following me the whole time?”

  “Excluding your visit to the Talradians. I wasn’t about to risk that.” She took a swig from her water flask. “Who was the Carathiliar? Friend of yours?”

  “Something like that. Why were you following me?”

  She shrugged, “Velandus was worried you might be targeted, and we heard about that Talradian coming to meet you. That’s why he wanted me to keep an eye on you.”

  “And you?”

  She fixed him with a stare, “I had to make sure you weren’t going to rat me out, no matter what you said.”

  He sighed, “You are not a very trusting person, are you?”

  “I’m not in the business to be trusting, but I appreciate that you didn’t.” She looked around her, “At least, I assume there aren’t twenty armed guards waiting to jump me when I walk around the corner, right?”

  “If there are, it certainly wasn’t by my design. Why’re you revealing yourself now, then?”

  She took a step closer and lowered her voice, “I have a request I would like you to consider.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “I want you, after you’ve finished your delivery, to go back and report a robbery to the Company. You were threatened by the Demon running rampant in town into giving away documents that were part of your delivery.”

  He gave her a long stare, “When you said that the Company values their impartiality…”

  “This will allow them to keep it, and you not to lose your job. We couldn’t have members of their ranks giving away important information to known threats, but being threatened into it is a whole different matter. Any reasonable man would be afraid of the murderous Demon that’s chalking up quite the body count this week.”

  “This… will not fool the Talradians, you know that as well as I. I don’t know why that woman didn’t spread my description to them already, but after this, she definitely will.” He pointed a finger at her, “And you told me yourself not to get involved in all this. Why the change of heart?”

  Her determined expression didn’t change. “I meant it when I said you should try to get your feet out of this, and I assume that Talradian wench told you much the same. Non-interference was a decision you could have easily made.” Then she spread her arms and looked around them. Thankfully, it seemed most of the homeless or impoverished weren’t paying attention to them. Maybe this was a common occurrence, “Then what are you doing here, Lightbringer? After all that, taking a job for a Talradian?”

  Something clicked. “You were going to steal these documents anyway, weren’t you?”

  She nodded with a small smile, “Of course, what I need in there is life or death for me, simple as that. I certainly didn’t expect to see you, of all people, taking it. So answer me this, if you will. Why?”

  He broke his gaze with her. His hands were fiercely gripping the leather file in his hand as he replied, “Curiosity, maybe? No, I could have just found and read books on it, asked around. Why did I…?” His voice was low, quieter than hers, and he felt he was more reciting his own thoughts to himself than replying to her question, “Why you ask?”

  He looked back at her, “I’ve been asking myself the same question all day. When I eventually find an answer, I’ll let you know first.” He thrust the file at her.

  Take it, before I have more time to reconsider what it is I’m doing.

  Without another word, she took it from him and began flipping through the parchment. She was muttering to herself, disregarding a lot of the pages before finally settling on one. “This one.” She pulled it out before handing the file back to him.

  He watched her quickly read through it, then pause, and read through it once more. Then she neatly folded it up, put it into her pocket, turned back to him, and smiled.

  Before letting off a flurry of curses so crass and vulgar that he wished he could censor some of them out of his mind forever.

  “Gods damn it all.” She kicked a scrap piece of metal down the street, “When will I ever be given a slight, just a little, reprieve?”

  He coughed into his fist, “Uh, what exactly was-”

  She shoved the document into his hands without a response. He saw, to his surprise, that it was much shorter than he’d expected, and thankfully, it was written in Common Tongue. The first part seemed to be a greeting, and the last wishes of good health and fortune. The middle, however, seemed to be the cause of her mood change.

  Arrived via raven yesterday. The Company moves to our position with great haste and will arrive within the week. Lord Brakenus expresses that if you should deal with the Demon, do so quickly so that he may return to their usual routes.

  He frowned, “Lord Brakenus? You know him?”

  When he looked up, Alleria seemed to have controlled herself, though her cheeks were still quite red. She shook her head, “I’ll tell you later. I need… I need time to think. Thank you, Danadrian.” She took the document back and turned to leave.

  “How will I contact you?” He asked.

  “We’ll come to you.” Was the last thing she said before she slipped into the shadows, and he lost sight of her. He sighed and tried to reorganise the file. Then, after a moment’s contemplation, left it as it was and even roughed up his own appearance a little. Might as well look the part of a man who’d just been robbed in broad daylight.

  What have I got myself into?

  .   .   .

  He handed the file off to a Talradian waiting outside a small and rather rundown building, deep within the slum district. He wasn’t much of a talker, even when asked for assurances of his identity. The receiver was supposed to be a woman named Keleiva, and the Company policy was strict on those sorts of things. When he was provided with ample proof of his employment to her and payment for his work, Danadrian gave him one last nod, asked him to send his regards to the fine lady, and then departed.

  Next came the harder part.

  He stumbled into the hall, ragged and sweaty from running. A startled receptionist asked him what was wrong, and, through his pants, he told her to call the guards and report a robbery. When they arrived, he gave what he hoped to be his best sob story yet, telling them how he’d been accosted and held at knife point by the Demon. She’d demanded he give away part of his delivery and live, or she’d take it from his gutted corpse.

  They seemed quite understanding, reassuring him that he was safe now, and asking him for any description he could give them, as well as a location. The receptionist even brought him some tea, which made him feel slightly guilty, but if that showed in his face, they might assume it was for his failure to protect his charge.

  And that was how, after finishing their extensive and troubling search of the Eastside, groaning patrols were once again sent back into the dirt and squalor in search of the Demon by order of the Tiana. Multiple sightings and incidents in the area now made him certain they could find it. At this point, the guards’ fears were giving way to frustration, and more than one of them hoped that the Demon would just leave, so it could stop being their problem.

  All this was the least of the concerns of the Talradian woman, sitting in her dark home in the slums, going through the incomplete file of documents in front of her while a guard, another Talradian, stood to attention across from her.

  “He matched the description, then?”

  He nodded, “Yes. A bronze-rank of the Company of the Gethanhol, tanned skin, brown hair, his complexion and disposition. It matches. There is no chance it was a coincidence, then?”

  “Not one bit.” She leaned back in her chair, “So be it then. Danadrian-of-unclear-origins has made his decision. I shall add him to the list and send all those not actively in pursuit of the Demon to pivot towards him. If we find him, we could find it as well. And if not, well, it’s one more name we strike out.”

  “I will personally see to it.”

  Keleiva shook her head and lifted the pipe to her mouth. She continued speaking between smokes, “He is nowhere near as hard to find as his accomplice, and I need you elsewhere. Go to Lord Eledakus immediately and ask him what was on that document. It seems we have lost the need for security or secrecy.”

  The guard nodded, “Do you think he knew who he was? Our descriptions might have been too vague.”

  She watched a ring of smoke trail through the air, slowly dissipating the farther away it got, “We wouldn’t be in this mess if he did. Perhaps his mind truly is beginning to slip, as the best always do. Then again, he was probably too blinded by the novelty of a Light worshipper in Carathiliar.”

  “Is it really that much of a novelty? The missionaries are still well-remembered, if not in a pleasant light.”

  “Maybe to him it was. He has long since lost the physique for wandering, I doubt he even met them.” She nodded to the door, “Go now, and be quick about it.”

  He bowed his head and left, leaving behind two more guards outside the building. Before that would’ve been overkill and drawn to herself that she’d rather avoid. Now? Now it was necessary, even if she knew the Demon could never kill her. They would hear no objections from her.

  So instead, she sat there, watching the plumes of smoke spread throughout the room. Even whilst hundreds of her thoughts and plans came to fruition or died in their infancy, she found time to smile.

  “Pray to the True Chaos, Danadrian. The hill you have chosen to stand on shall house your tomb. And the Demon will leave you there, as all her people do. You should ask her how well they keep to their word.”

  The Talradian’s laugh was bitter as she put the pipe back in her mouth.