Chapter 1

Two men rode through muddy streets under the watchful gaze of the locals.

“I don’t like the way they’re staring at me,” the one on the left muttered.

“You shouldn’t have worn your armor,” Conley replied to his traveling companion. His own armor and weapons, and his black priest robes, were stashed away on their shared pack mule.

“I’m not riding into barbarian territory without armor!” Sir Osbert retorted, a little too loudly. A nearby townswoman, taking a break from beating a rug outside her cottage, overheard him. She scowled and turned her back, refusing to look their way.

Lone Rock, a small town eighty miles north of Larso, wasn’t truly barbarian territory. After the North Border War, one of the clans had settled down there, taking land for themselves rather than raiding it. The town and surrounding ranches had lost much of their population during the war, and the people had grudgingly accepted their new neighbors out of necessity more than anything else. That acceptance had become more genuine when the freeholders—as the former barbarians called themselves—took on the role of defending the area from clans raiding out of the Carved Basin or from farther north.

“It makes you look like a knight,” Conley said. “They seem to have long memories here.”

“Let’s just find your friend and get out of here,” Osbert said, then raised his voice. “Hey, you!” he called out to a group of workers hauling casks. “Where’s the temple of Pallisur?”

They ignored him, but the next man didn’t. “Temple is outside of town,” the fellow said in his heavy accent. “West, past those trees. Priest is already gone, though.”

“Gone?” Conley asked. “Do you mean Priest Delvin? Where did he go?”

“Yes, Delvin. Joined army.”

Osbert furrowed his brow. “Why would he do that?”

The man shrugged. “Why not? Is your army. Are up near Ashwood now.” He strode away, evidently done answering questions.

According to the map, Ashwood was ten miles northwest. What was the army doing so far outside Larso’s borders? Had Rusol launched attacks at others besides Corec?

And how had they gotten there without leaving behind any sign? Conley and Osbert had taken the same route the army would have used, except for skirting around Northtower to avoid the demon-controlled troops. They hadn’t seen any indication of a large force passing through.

From the look on Osbert’s face, it was clear he felt the same confusion. “So we came all this way for nothing?”

“Let’s head to Ashwood,” Conley said. “If we can just talk to Delvin, he’ll help.” Rusol’s soldiers wouldn’t have a reason to prevent the other priest from leaving, but did any of the officers know the truth? “We should stop at the temple first. There might be someone there who knows more.”

“Fine,” Osbert said, “but we’d better not get stuck riding to the other end of the kingdom after all this.”

Delvin wasn’t their only lead, but he was the only one Conley knew personally. The next best choice was a man Sir Loris had encountered two decades earlier, and who’d lived in Westport at the time ... if Loris’s memory was accurate.

Priests with the blessing of banishment were rare, but the lectors back in seminary had suggested Delvin was strong enough to fight a demonic curse. That had to be similar to a compulsion spell, Conley figured.

Even as one of Pallisur’s own priests, it had been strange to discuss the details of divine magic with unblessed members of the Order after the battle at Hilltop Village. The dislike of magic had deep roots within the Church.

Osbert hated it more than most, but that hate had made him the first to offer himself up as a bodyguard when Conley volunteered to go on this journey. While the two of them had been on different sides during the battle, they’d faced the dragon together, and that counted for something. Conley had accepted the offer before Sir Loris could foist someone else on him instead.

For now they needed more information, so they headed for the temple. The building wasn’t fancy—more of a wooden lodge than a temple—but it was larger than Conley had expected. Much larger than his own little temple back at Warden’s Keep. It seemed Pallisur did actually have some followers here.

It had become common practice in the Church to assign blessed priests to serve rural locations, away from the cities, but this had to be one of the most remote assignments of all. Conley had trained with the understanding that he’d return home to the free lands afterward, but Delvin was Larsonian born and bred, and had begun his career in Telfort before being transferred to minister to the barbarians. Conley had privately wondered whether the change was punishment for some transgression, but perhaps the position was needed after all.

Osbert tried the door, which was locked, then peered through the nearest window. “I don’t see anyone.”

“Delvin’s been here for years now—he must have helpers. Maybe a student. Let’s check around back to see if he’s got separate living quarters.”

A new voice spoke up from behind them. “He does, and he wonders why you’re asking. Turn around and keep your hands off your weapons.”

They spun around to find a man in black priest robes, flanked by two soldiers wearing padded gambesons and holding loaded crossbows.

“Delvin!” Conley said. “We were looking for you.”

Delvin squinted. “Conley? Is that you? Since when have you been able to grow a beard?” He motioned to his companions to point their crossbows down. “He’s from the free lands, not Larso.”

“Someone in town said you’d joined the army,” Conley told him.

“So I have,” Delvin agreed. He indicated his companions. “I’m showing our scouts the area before we come any farther south. The people here are my flock, such as they are, and I don’t want any problems.”

“Come south?”

Delvin cocked his head to the side for a moment, then chuckled. “Ahh, I see. You thought I meant Larso’s army. No, my friend. I’m with the Army of the Order.”

“The what?”

“It’s a long story, but it turns out that most of the Carved Basin is beholden to our Lord Pallisur. I take it you didn’t receive the Vision of the Herald? It was a few years back, but I don’t think it spread much farther south than here.”

“I’ve never had any sort of vision.”

“To be brief, Pallisur chose a herald to spread his word. A bit odd, her being a woman and all, but she served the local ruler in Blue Vale—Leonis—until he died, and now his people follow her. I can tell you all about that later. For now, what brings you so far from home?”

Conley did his best to explain the demonic compulsion at Fort Northtower without accusing Rusol.

“That’s quite the tale,” Delvin said. “And as it happens, I know just who can help.”

For a brief moment, Conley thought Ephrenia was Ariadne. The two women had similar builds and brown hair, similar pointed ears, but most obvious of all, Ephrenia’s armor was made of the same reflective metal as Ariadne’s, and was nearly identical in style.

He got his surprise under control as Delvin made introductions. The other person in the command tent, General Calum, appeared to be one of Ariadne’s people as well, though he didn’t wear the armor. The rumor in Hilltop Village was that Ariadne was seaborn, though to Conley’s knowledge, she’d never made that claim herself. He’d been under the impression she was from somewhere in Cordaea, but why would two Cordaeans be leading an army of the Order in Aravor? The coincidence made him wary.

“Sir, my Lady, these two say there’s demonic magic in Northtower,” Delvin was saying. “They’ve come to ask for our aid.”

Ephrenia raised an eyebrow. “Demonic magic?” she asked.

Osbert nodded. “Compulsion, some people called it. It made them do things against their will. We’ve heard testimony from the knights and priests who were freed, and they all said the same thing—it was King Rusol that did it. He’s a mage and a false king. The knights of Hightower intend to force the Church to renounce him.”

Conley grimaced. After all his care in not mentioning Rusol’s role in front of anyone else, Osbert had come right out and said it. How would the others react? Were they loyal to Larso, or to the Order?

General Calum laughed, though there was no humor in his tone when he spoke. “Well, Ephrenia, you wanted to reunite the Order. It seems we’ve just been given a way in.”

“Perhaps,” she said, “though I’m curious about a few things, Sir Osbert.” She drew closer and tapped his cuirass. “To start with, where did you manage to obtain High Guard infantry armor?”

Osbert wrinkled his brow. “This?” he asked. “It came from Corec Tarwen—payment for helping to slay the dragon that was attacking the free lands.”

Ephrenia and the general shared a glance. “Corec Tarwen?” Calum said. “And he got the armor from...?”

“I don’t know,” Osbert said. “But—”

Conley nudged him before he could mention Ariadne. Not that Conley owed Corec any loyalty—the man certainly hadn’t shown much toward him—but Ariadne wasn’t Corec, and Conley still wasn’t certain where Ephrenia’s loyalties lay.