Sea of Death

CHAPTER NINE

Diran, are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Ghaji asked. "You know a lot more about hiring ships than I do."

Dusk was approaching, and the inner courtyard of the palace was cloaked in shadow. Baroness Calida and Taran had gone inside a while ago. The boy had been eager to have his mother show him his bedroom; tonight would be the first night he'd ever slept in it. Their other companions had already left the courtyard for Kolbyr's docks. Only Ghaji and Diran remained behind-and Leontis. The cloaked priest still sat on the edge of the fountain and stared into the water, as unmoving as any of the animal statues that ringed the fountain.

"Asenka and Hinto know just as much as I, if not more," Diran said. "And thanks to Calida's generosity, we'll be able to hire the fastest ship in port, no matter how much the captain charges. You'll have no difficulty finding a suitable vessel with or without me."

After Solus had identified a destination for them, Diran had told the Baroness that he'd changed his mind about accepting a reward from her. Calida had been only too happy to fund their expedition to Trebaz Sinara.

Diran glanced at Leontis then lowered his voice. "There's a reason my old friend has sought me out, and if I'm to discover what it is, I'll need to speak with him alone."

Ghaji scowled-which didn't surprise Diran since the half-orc scowled all the time, even when he was happy-then nodded once. "Very well. I'll be down at the docks with the others… if you need me."

Diran smiled and clasped his friend's shoulder. "When have I ever not needed you?"

Ghaji grinned. "Truer words were never spoken." Then with a last suspicious look at Leontis, the half-orc turned and left the courtyard.

After Ghaji had departed, Diran stood for a moment regarding Leontis, whose attention was still fixed on the water within the fountain's basin. It hadn't been that many years since Diran had last seen Leontis, and the man looked almost untouched by the passage of time. Oh, there was some gray in his beard, but not much… a few more lines around the eyes, perhaps. But the greatest change in Leontis wasn't physical. He seemed weary, as if he were weighed down by a heavy burden. Depression and spiritual malaise were hardly uncommon among the Purified, especially in those who took the most active role in combating the evils that plagued the world. There was a saying in the Church: "Gaze into the Darkness long enough, and you'll see that the shadows you find there are your own."

And never had that bit of wisdom been driven home for Diran like that night many years ago by the banks of the Thrane River…

"Do you see it?" Diran whispered. "There, up ahead."

There were enough moons in the sky to provide sufficient illumination to allow even someone without an assassin's training for night-work to see. At least, there should have been.

"Where?" Leontis whispered back, sounding vexed.

Diran tried not to sigh. He was fond of Leontis, and they got along well, but he sometimes found it difficult to have patience with his fellow acolyte's lack of experience. "Ahead of us on the riverbank, about a hundred yards away. A mill, I think. That's where the evil is located."

Leontis's teeth flashed white in the moonlight as he smiled. "How much are you willing to wager that Tusya knew about the mill long before we came to the area, and that's why he chose to make camp here?"

Diran smiled in response, but he didn't draw his lips away from his teeth. Emon Gorsedd had taught him to be more cautious than that. A bit of moonlight reflected off one's teeth at the wrong time could well mean the difference between success and failure for an assassin. And failure too often meant death, and not for one's intended target.

"Not a single coin," he said.

The river burbled on their left, its gentle sound accompanied by the soft whisper of the wind. Despite the lateness of the hour, birds sang to one another, perhaps stirred by the blue-white light of the moons, and their trills added notes of beauty to the night's symphony. During his years as an assassin, Diran had learned not to be taken in by false appearances, and this lesson had only been reinforced during his time with Tusya. Just because all seemed peaceful here didn't mean they weren't in danger. Evil all too often disguised itself as innocence and beauty, a sweet-smelling poison waiting for someone foolish enough to drink it, as Aldarik Cathmore might have said.

The two young acolytes approached the mill warily, walking side by side, their footfalls making no sound on the grass as they drew closer to the shadowy structure. Diran hadn't had any formal training in sensing evil. Those sorts of priestly skills-assuming one had an aptitude for them-were taught in seminary. But he had a natural ability, Tusya said, honed by his previous life as a hired killer, and that sense was screaming now. He felt a tingle on the back of his neck, as if burrowing insects had dug their way beneath the skin and were crawling around. Diran had never sensed evil this strong before, and he paused, his gorge rising, and feared he was about to vomit.

Leontis stopped and look at him with concern, but Diran focused his mind just as Emon Gorsedd had taught.

Forget everything, boy. Forget where you are and what you're doing. Forget even who you are, and just breathe. In and out, in and out… until your mind becomes clear.

Diran did as his old teacher had instructed, and after several moments he felt better. He gave Leontis a reassuring nod, and the two of them continued approaching the mill.

When Diran had first begun studying the ways of the Silver Flame with Tusya, he had been reluctant to make use of his assassin's training in any way.

I used those skills in the service of evil, Teacher, Diran had once asked. Doesn't that make the skills themselves evil?

Tusya, as always, had possessed a ready answer for Diran's question.

Skills are simply tools, the priest had said. It's what we do with them that results in good or evil. It would be wasteful for you to abandon skills you already possessed just because you once misused them. Far better to redeem those skills by employing them for good.

"Should we go in together or separately?" Leontis asked. He was well aware of Diran's practical experience as an assassin and, just like Tusya, he didn't hold it against Diran.

Diran considered for a moment. His experience didn't extend to entering lairs of evil without Tusya's guidance.

"Together, I think. If we were facing a mortal foe, it might make sense to approach from different directions. But as our foe is a spiritual creature of some sort, we will be stronger if we remain together and combine our faith against it." Diran frowned. "Besides, I have a feeling that whatever evil lairs within the mill is already well aware of our presence."

"So much the better," Leontis said. "Evil should be confronted head on."

Diran knew that life was never that simple. Sometimes the direct approach got you killed. But he saw no benefit to sharing this information with Leontis right now, and the two acolytes continued making their way steadily and cautiously toward the mill's entrance. It wasn't difficult to find.

Now that they were up close, they could make out the mill's features. There was nothing remarkable about it, nothing to differentiate it from dozens of others Diran had seen before. The mill had been constructed from wood and stone on the eastern bank of the river, and a waterwheel provided the motive force for grinding grain. Effective enough, Diran supposed, though a contained water elemental would've performed more efficiently. Not that it mattered anymore. The wheel hung slightly askew and was frozen in place, resisting the river's current. The mill's stonework remained in good repair, but its wood was weathered, a number of the planks cracked, broken, or missing altogether. The mill had been abandoned for some time, Diran judged. Decades, at least.

Of course it's abandoned, Diran thought. What self-respecting evil spirit would want to haunt a newly constructed mill?

"Do you feel it?" Leontis asked. "The temperature is several degrees colder this close."

Diran nodded. He'd noticed. He'd also noticed that now that they stood at the mill's threshold, Leontis seemed hesitant. Diran wondered if he were talking in order to postpone entering.

Leontis went on. "Should we take a light with us?"

If he were going in alone, especially to confront a mortal enemy, Diran would've wanted to use the darkness to his advantage. The shadows are an assassin's greatest ally, Emon had always said. But Tusya had taught him that light could be a powerful weapon against spiritual evil. Besides, if Leontis were to make the most effective use of his bow, it would help if he could see what he was aiming his arrows at.

Diran reached into a pocket and withdrew a light gem-a favorite tool of the Brotherhood of the Blade. Each gem contained a tiny fire elemental that began to glow in response to the touch of a human hand. The gems provided light: not too strong or harsh, just enough to see by without giving away one's presence unnecessarily. In addition, they were small and easily portable, and their light could be shut off simply by closing one's hand or tucking the gem into a pocket. Of course, the gems had their drawbacks, chief among them being how easy it was to lose hold of the damned things. If Diran had a gold piece for every light gem he'd lost over the years…

"I'll go first," Diran suggested, but Leontis shook his head.

"You open the door for me, then I'll go first. If you weren't so tall, maybe I could shoot over you. As it is, you'll be in the way of my arrows."

Diran nodded and Leontis-who already had an arrow nocked and ready-stepped back and raised his bow. Diran held the light gem steady as he took hold of the mill's door handle, depressed the catch, and gently pushed.

The handle tore free from Diran's hand as the door fell inward with a thunderous crash. A cloud of dust billowed forth from the now open entrance, and Diran turned to regard his fellow acolyte.

"If whatever is inside didn't know we were coming before, it surely does now."

Leontis grinned wryly. "I suppose that means the time for stealth has passed."

Diran grinned back. "I'd say that was an accurate supposition."

He stepped aside so Leontis could enter the mill. As his companion stepped past, Diran slipped a silver dagger out of a hidden sheath in his cloak. He'd owned the dagger for years, having acquired it on a job when he was seventeen, when he'd been hired to assassinate a baron in Adunair who'd turned out to be a vampire. It had been Diran's first and only encounter with one of the undead fiends, but he'd kept the dagger, just in case. It had come in handy on several occasions since he'd begun studying with Tusya, and he had the feeling he'd have further need of it this night.

As soon as Leontis had passed across the mill's threshold, Diran slipped inside after his friend with silent grace. The air inside the mill was even colder than outside, and the dust from the collapsing door had yet to settle, making visibility poor, even with the aid of the light gem. Leontis continued holding his bow at the ready, but he didn't loose the arrow. Leontis wasn't one to act on impulse.

Inside, they saw only what they expected: a large room with floorboards warped and broken, sacks filled with old grain piled against the walls, millstone set in the middle of the floor, wooden rods and gears for turning the stone, ceiling beams overhead, missing roof tiles allowing shafts of moonlight to fall upon the dust-covered floor. But Diran noticed something else. The grain sacks had no holes from where hungry mice had nibbled their way inside, no bats hung from the ceiling beams, and there were no spiderwebs anywhere, only strands of cobwebs. There was no life of any kind within the abandoned mill.

"Now what?" Leontis spoke in a low voice even though there was no longer any need to maintain secrecy, but Diran knew the man couldn't help it. The mill's atmosphere of dread inspired one to speak in soft tones.

Now what, indeed? Up to now, Tusya had always taken the lead whenever they'd "bearded evil in its lair," as the old priest half-jokingly referred to it. And whenever they'd done so, the evil had obligingly made its presence known-usually by leaping out and trying to slay them. But it appeared that the evil that infested this place had no intention of being so cooperative.

"I suppose we could always try summoning the evil forth," Diran suggested.

Leontis kept his silverburn-coated arrow ready and swept his gaze slowly back and forth, continuous alert for danger. Diran noted with approval that Leontis's hands were steady, and the tip of his arrow didn't waver.

"And how, pray tell, are we supposed to do that?"

Good question. Diran knew such rites existed in Church lore. Tusya had spoken of them a time or two, and Diran had read about similar rituals during his years at Emon Gorsedd's academy, when-at Emon's encouragement-he'd read widely about all manner of subjects, including the supernatural. But to how those rites were carried out specifically, Diran had no idea. But that didn't stop him from giving it a try.

He knelt down and wedged the light gem into a small crack in the floorboard near his foot. He then straightened and, still gripping the silver dagger in one hand, he reached into his tunic pocket and withdrew an arrowhead. Leontis had once asked Diran why he chose to keep the symbol of his new faith hidden when it was the custom among the Purified to carry their arrowheads in plain sight. Diran had responded that it was a practical decision. Just as with smiling in the moonlight, displaying a piece of silver where light might glint off of it wasn't conducive to approaching an enemy without being noticed. Leontis had seemed less than satisfied with this explanation, but he'd never challenged Diran on it again.

Diran planted his feet apart, raised his hands into the air, and spoke in what he hoped was a commanding voice.

"Spirits that inhabit this place, in the holy name of the Silver Flame, we beseech you to reveal yourselves!"

Diran thought he could almost feel the mill tremble in response to his voice, but no unearthly voices answered, and no undead creatures came charging toward them out the shadows. After several moments passed without anything happening, Diran lowered his arms and looked to Leontis.

"Beseech?" Leontis asked with a raised eyebrow.

Diran shrugged.

Despite the failure of Diran's exhortation, Leontis continued to hold his bow steady. Just because nothing had responding to Diran's summons didn't mean nothing was present. After all, they could both still sense the evil permeating the mill.

"So what do we do next?" Leontis asked. "Tear the place apart looking for hidden chambers? Rip up the floorboards to see if any bodies are hidden beneath?"

Diran thought for a moment. "I say we burn the mill down."

Leontis looked at Diran as if he'd taken leave of his senses. "Are you possessed?"

Diran smiled. "I hope not. If the evil will not come forward to confront us, then it must be because for whatever reason it's hiding from us. So the best way to flush it out is to take away its hiding place."

Leontis mulled over his fellow acolyte's suggestion. "It's worth a try. Given how old this place is, we shouldn't have any trouble getting a good fire going in short order. And who knows? Perhaps by destroying the mill we'll also destroy the evil presence that inhabits it. I'll keep watch while you start the fire."

Diran nodded. He slipped his dagger back into its sheath, then reached into his tunic for his flint and striker. He knew a way to release the fire elemental from the light gem if necessary, but he didn't want to waste the little flame spirit if he didn't have to. But as he brought out the flint, he felt a sudden chill gust of wind waft through the mill and enfold him in its icy grasp.

No…

It sounded like the mournful wail of a distant wind, but Diran knew he was hearing a voice. The coldness surrounding him intensified, and he thought he could feel delicate fingers gripping the wrist of the hand that held the flint. But when he looked down, he saw nothing but his own flesh.

"Diran, what is it?"

Diran tried to answer his friend, but his lips felt sluggish and numb, as if he'd been outside in winter cold for too long, and his voice refused to come. He felt his strength begin to ebb, and he knew that the unseen creature holding onto him was stealing his life essence.

"Use your arrowhead, Diran! Thrust it toward the creature!"

Excellent advice. Unfortunately, Diran couldn't move. Whatever foul power the invisible creature possessed, it had rendered him immobile. But then again, perhaps not entirely. He tried to wiggle the fingers of his right hand-the hand holding the flint-and though his fingers were too numb for him to tell whether or not he succeeded, Diran was rewarded with the sound of the flint hitting the floor. Marshalling all the strength remaining to him, Diran concentrated on speaking a single word.

"F… fffff… Fire…"

Leontis understood. He dropped his bow and ran forward to snatch up Diran's flint. He moved quickly away from Diran lest he be caught by whatever force had taken hold of his companion and then drew a fresh arrow from the quiver slung over his shoulder. Holding the arrow near the metal tip, Leontis knelt down close the floor and began using his makeshift striker on Diran's flint. Sparks leapt forth from the flint, arcing into the air and landing on the mill's wooden floor, only to fizzle out in the layer of dust covering the planks.

Diran felt vertigo wash over him, and his vision was starting to go gray. As consciousness began to desert him, he prayed that Leontis would be able to get a fire started before their unseen attacker finished draining the rest of his lifeforce. If not… well, then Diran would just have to experience his reunion with the Silver Flame a bit earlier than he'd expected, wouldn't he?

Diran heard the spectral voice whisper mournfully once more.

No… fire…

And then the voice spoke a word that startled the young acolyte.

Please…

A spark hit the floor and ignited into flame, causing Leontis to let out a shout of triumph. The flame grew quickly, and Diran knew that within moments the mill would be beyond saving.

Though he had virtually no strength remaining, Diran somehow managed to speak three more words. "Put… it… out…"

They were little more than whispered exhalations, and Diran wasn't sure that Leontis had even heard them, let alone that he would understand and heed them. But the other acolyte looked at Diran for a long moment before finally rising to his feet and stomping out the fire he'd just made. It took several tries, but Leontis managed to extinguish the flames.

"I sure hope you know what you're doing, Diran Bastiaan."

Diran wanted to say, So do I, but he couldn't force out any more words. If he'd guessed wrong, he was dead, and perhaps Leontis was too. But if he'd guessed right…

Diran felt the icy fingers let go of his wrist, and the cold that gripped his body began to recede. He was weak as a newborn, but he no longer felt dizzy and in danger of passing out. He looked to Leontis and gave his friend a reassuring, if somewhat shaky, smile.

Before either acolyte could speak again, the air between them began to shimmer as strands of white mist appeared. The strands grew thicker, joined together, and coalesced into the ghostly apparition of a young woman in her late teens. She appeared solid enough, but her flesh and clothing-a simple dress with an apron tied over it, a cloth wrapped around her head to keep her hair in place-were both marble-white.

She looked at the two acolytes and gave them what was unmistakably a grateful smile.

"I take it we're looking at a ghost," Leontis said. He sounded oddly calm, given that a specter had just manifested before them, but then the priesthood did run in his family, and he'd been training with Tusya for a while now-long enough for strange sights not to seem so strange anymore.

"That would be my guess," Diran said. "I've seen a few in my time." Caused more than a few as well, he thought wryly.

"And she evidently would prefer that we don't burn down the mill," Leontis added.

My mill… the ghost's voice sounded clearer and more distinct now, though still very ethereal. But when she spoke, the movements of her lips lagged behind the sound of the words themselves, adding to the unearthly effect.

Keeping his gaze firmly on the ghost-girl, Leontis tucked Diran's flint into one of his pockets then retrieved his bow and silverburn-coated arrow. The spectral girl watched him, but made no move to stop him. Why would she? Diran thought. Silver had no effect on ghosts.

"Why do you think she's haunting this place?" Leontis asked, his arrow trained on the ghost-girl's heart-or rather, where her heart used to be. Diran was certain Leontis knew the arrow would prove little more than an annoyance to the girl, but he supposed his friend felt a need to do something other than just stand there while they talked.

The girl shook her head emphatically, the motion making her ghostly features blur a bit. Home… she said.

Diran thought he was beginning to understand. "From the way she's dressed, I'd say she used to work here. Perhaps she died here as well."

The girl nodded, the action again making her features blur.

"All right, so this is her home," Leontis said. "But what does that matter? She's a creature of evil! You can feel it all around us! We shouldn't be standing around here having a conversation with her. We should be destroying her!"

"You said it yourself: evil is all around us. But do you sense any evil emanating from her?" Diran gestured at the ghostly mill girl.

Leontis looked at her and frowned. "Actually… no, I don't."

"She didn't manifest when we first entered," Diran pointed out. "And she didn't appear when I attempted to summon her. She had ample opportunity to attack us if she wished to harm us, but she only acted when we attempted to burn down the mill… her home."

"That may be," Leontis said, "but then where is the evil coming from? Is there another creature of some sort lurking here?"

Though he'd had no formal training in how to do so, Diran attempted to stretch his senses outward, to feel what could not be seen. "I don't think so. I think the mill itself is the source of the evil. Something wrong happened here… something that bound this girl's spirit to this place and infused the structure itself with the echoes of the evil that was done here."

Leontis looked at the girl once more. "You mean she was… killed here?"

"I believe so," Diran said. "Remember what you said earlier, about tearing up the floorboards to see if any bodies were hidden under them?"

The two acolytes lowered their gazes to the floor beneath their feet.

Diran and Leontis sat atop the unmoving waterwheel, legs dangling over the side. The ghost-girl hovered in the air beside them, her malleable features contorted in an exaggerated mask of fear, her terrified eyes larger than a human's could ever be, her mouth a grotesque slash of a grimace. Diran wondered how many ghosts assumed a hideous appearance not to frighten others, but simply because they were themselves afraid. The Thrane River rushed by less than thirty feet below them, moonlight sliding across the surface of the water like a liquid silver sheen. The river smelled clean and pure, but another scent hung in the air, growing stronger by the moment: the scent of smoke.

"How did I let you talk me into this?" Leontis grumbled.

"I believe all I had to do was ask," Diran replied.

It hadn't taken the two acolytes long to find the girl's skeleton hidden beneath the floorboards, along with the remains of a half dozen other unfortunates. Why hers should be the only spirit bound to the mill, Diran couldn't say. Perhaps of all those who had died here-or at least been buried here-she was the one whose death had been traumatic. Dying in great grief, fear, or rage was often the cause of spirits becoming earthbound. At least the number of skeletons explained why the mill itself reeked of evil. Deeds of great wickedness had been performed here, and their spiritual taint had seeped into the wood and stonework of the mill, turning it into a Bad Place.

Diran and Leontis had spent a couple hours digging graves well away from the mill and then transporting the skeletons as carefully and respectfully as they could to their new resting places. They'd attempted to lay the girl-ghost to rest first, but after they'd finished burying her and returned to the mill, they found her ivory-white form waiting for them. So they finished with the others and, after Diran had convinced the girl there was no other way, they'd set a fire inside the mill. But in order to get the girl to agree to let them start the fire, they had to acquiesce to one request: she didn't want to be left alone while her home burned.

The girl couldn't leave the mill, and Diran and Leontis could hardly remain inside. But they could sit atop the waterwheel for as long as it was safe, and the girl could manifest outside the mill, as long as she remained close enough to reach out and touch it.

Diran looked at the girl's almost comically distorted features and reminded himself that he was looking not at a monster, but rather at the soul of a person who was afraid to die for a second time.

"Don't be afraid," Diran said. "The destruction of the mill will not mean the destruction of your spirit. Instead, you will be released from your earthly prison. You will be free at last."

The smell of smoke was much stronger now, the wood beneath them began to feel hot, and a new sound joined that of rushing river water: the crackle of hungry flames.

Phantom tears streamed down the girl's face, wearing channels in her insubstantial flesh, as if her fear would literally be her undoing.

Diran reached out to take the ghost-girl's hand, and though he shouldn't have been able to touch her, though it was more than likely only his imagination, he intertwined his fingers in hers and found them not cold and dead but very much warm and alive.

The girl's features returned to normal, and she gave Diran a grateful smile.

"Uh, Diran…" The usually unflappable Leontis sounded as if he'd edged a step closer to panic. "It's getting rather toasty up here."

Diran could feel sweat beading on his skin despite the coolness of the night air.

"And in case you hadn't noticed, breathing is becoming something of a chore…"

Smoke billowed up around them now, obscuring his vision and making his eyes sting, and he could no longer see the ghost-girl. But he could still feel her hand entwined in his.

Diran had to fight to keep from coughing as he answered. "I promised her we wouldn't leave her until it was over."

Then the smoke parted and the girl's ivory face came toward his. He felt soft lips brush his gently, and then she withdrew back into the smoke and was gone.

Thank you…

Diran tried to tell her she was welcome, but he burst out with a fit of coughing. He felt Leontis grab him by the shoulders and shove him off the waterwheel, and he tumbled down into the waiting waters of the Thrane, Leontis following right after.

They climbed onto the bank many yards downriver, wet, shivering, and chilled to the bone. They flopped exhausted onto the grass and turned to view the bright orange glow of the burning mill set against the black of the night sky.

"You lads might consider getting a bit closer to the mill so you can dry off. It'd be a shame to let a fire like that go to waste."

Only a smoldering pile of ashes and blackened stone remained by the time dawn pinked the eastern sky. When they'd first arrived, Tusya had added the last of his silverburn to the mill fire and spoke a series of prayers, asking the Silver Flame to forgive any impurities in the girl's soul and accept her as part of the divine Flame. Diran and Leontis had prayed along with their teacher, and when the rite was concluded the three men sat in silence and watched the mill burn.

It was Leontis who first broke the silence. "It's too bad we finished the last of the wine, Teacher. I could use a drink right now."

Tusya smiled. "I'm proud of you boys. You served the Flame well tonight. So, though we're all tired and could use some rest, I would be remiss in my duties as your teacher if I didn't ask what you've learned here this night."

Both Diran and Leontis thought for a time before answering.

"There are many kinds of evil in this world," Diran began. "I've known this since I was a child. I once served one of those evils… carried it within me like the blood that flows within my veins. The evil we discovered in the mill tonight wasn't of a supernatural nature. It was the result of someone who long ago could not restrain his own selfish need to wield the ultimate power over others-the power of life and death. I understand now that all evil-natural or not-comes from the same impulse to put one's desires above all else, no matter the cost to others. Evil is the ultimate form of selfishness, and it must be opposed in all its manifestations, whether small or great, mundane or mystical. That is what the Silver Flame asks of us."

Tusya nodded approvingly. "And you, Leontis? What did you learn tonight?"

"That things are not always as they appear on the surface, and in order to combat evil, one must see a situation not as one thinks it is or should be, but rather as it truly is." Leontis looked at Diran then. "You taught that to me tonight, my friend, and I am grateful."

Diran smiled and nodded his acceptance of Leontis's thanks.

Tusya stood, groaning at the stiffness in his joints. "I think it's time we returned to our camp and got some rest don't you? There's a village not far from here, and once our strength is restored, perhaps we'll pay the good folk who live there a visit and see if there's anything three faithful servants of the Silver Flame might be able to do for them."

Diran and Leontis rose to their feet.

"And perhaps we'll see if they have some inexpensive wine for sale?" Diran teased.

Tusya grinned.

Diran walked over to the fountain and sat beside Leontis.

"I thank you for your earlier assistance, my friend. If you hadn't arrived when you did, I'd most likely be one with the Flame right now, and Ghaji would have the burden of my death on his hands. Even though he wasn't in control of his actions at the time, he would still feel responsible."

Leontis didn't look at Diran as he replied. "I was glad to help, but I really didn't do much. You had the situation well in hand before I arrived."

"Remember what Tusya always told us: 'Humble or grand-'"

"'-all good actions brighten the Flame's light in the world.'" A ghost of a smile crossed Leontis's face. "I haven't forgotten."

The entire time he'd been in the courtyard, Diran had felt uneasy, as if evil were present nearby, though for some reason it seemed muted and restrained. He'd put the feeling down to the lingering aftereffects of the Fury, but now that he sat close to Leontis, he could tell the evil he felt was centered on his fellow priest. Something was seriously wrong, and Diran felt confident that was the reason Leontis had kept himself apart from the others while they talked in the courtyard.

"It is good to see you, my brother," Diran said. "It's been too many years since last we saw one another. I would like to think you sought me out for old times' sake, but I suspect otherwise. Something is clearly troubling you. Tell me what it is."

Diran reached out to put his hand on Leontis's shoulder, but the other priest jerked away, as if he feared Diran's touch.

"I… I would prefer that you do not lay hands on me," Leontis said.

Diran frowned, but he withdrew his hand. "Of course." He waited several moments for Leontis to continue speaking, but his fellow priest remained silent, and Diran knew that whatever matter was plaguing his friend was so serious that Leontis couldn't bring himself to discuss it, even though that was surely why he had come to Diran.

"May I see your arrowhead?"

Diran was puzzled by Leontis's request, but he removed the holy symbol from the pocket where he kept it and held it out for his fellow priest to take. But instead of reaching out for the arrowhead, Leontis turned his palm up and waited. Even before he dropped the silver symbol into his friend's hand, Diran had a bad feeling, and once the metal touched Leontis's flesh that feeling was confirmed by the sound and smell of sizzling meat. Diran quickly snatched back the arrowhead, but the damage was done: a blackened scorch mark in the shape of the holy symbol had been seared onto Leontis's palm.

As Diran stared at the mark in horror, Leontis gave him a sad, grim smile.

"I've come to ask you to kill me, my friend… for old times' sake."