The farmer was shocked when he watched the spectre of the woman he had bandaged step down from his carriage on her own two legs. It probably seemed like a miracle to him, though his pointed away quite rapidly. We had stopped for a bit of water for the mule… the sun rising to its mid-morning position. As I turned from the sun, to the man, the farmer’s eyes were glued upon my charge. The Goddess had chosen to step into the cold waters of the river, opting to bathe herself. When had she last… best not think of it.

  “Is she a heretic?” the man asked me in a hushed tone.

  I paused a moment… the irony not lost upon me, but still required a sense of serious contemplation.

  “Not quite. Still, the Holy Eye will seek her. Thank you for taking us this far.”

  “... I can take you a bit further… no matter how much I help you, the Inquisitors will punish me just the same.”

  I stiffened at his errant response. I turned to him, a question on my lips and concern on my tongue. “Surely if you tell them we threatened you…”

  “Eh, crusaders… even on suspicion, they’ll burn you and you kind at the stake. Hand a heretic a lamb, they’ll accuse you of supplying a sacrifice. Shelter a marked child, they’ll cite you for trafficking. Once their holy eye is upon you, they’ll lie, cheat, steal… and they’ll be praised for their ‘diligence.’”

  I know not what compelled the man to speak so brazenly with me about the matter. Perhaps he took comfort in knowing that I too was an enemy of the church. Why else would I be so eager to run from its auspices?

  “Did they gouge her eyes out? I dared not peek,” the farmer continued to speak. “Most of the other injuries I saw were… well, outdated is a term.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The stake- its sunstone. Old Inquisitor tactic- they’d nail a heretic to a pillar, and let the stone burn through the victim’s hands. Haven’t seen it for… two decades at the least.” Despite the sun, I could feel a chill set in. “Miracle she made it this far.”

  “Yeah… she’s a bit… blessed in that sense.”

  The Goddess turned to me as she heard my voice. She smiled, splashing her hands in the water. Even from this distance I could see the burn marks in her hand… but they were whole in spite of that. My brow furrowed, but after her arms started flapping wildly, I had no choice but to voice my response. “Yeah, I see you!” I announced my continuing presence.

  “Do you know where you’re going?”

  That question gave me pause. The only instructions in my head had been born of confusion and panic. With the distance between myself and the Eye, I could afford to actually think my actions through. My mind began to work through its cobwebs, as the Goddess cleansed herself in the river water.

  My parentage could wait. My mourning could be delayed. My thoughts now focused upon one central conceit- the fact that the more time I gave him, the more powerful my enemy would grow. I turned back to the goddess. My fears could be abated a while longer… For Inquisitors had a duty.

  “There’s a heretic to purge,” I said, my voice finally dropping to a growl that felt… familiar in my throat.

  —

  To become an Inquisitor of the Sun, one had to take several oaths. First, to serve the Goddess above all. Second, to serve her faithful. Third, to bring light to the shadows. This was the code of Ethics that bound our order. But that simply served as the qualifications to earn the title- to survive as one, you need the cunning, resolve, and moral fiber to stay in good standing. I remembered the first time an Inquisitor went rogue beneath my watch as I dried my charge. The farmer had done us a great service in taking us beneath the sun, but I could not bear him to suffer the consequences of aiding us for the next sin we would commit upon the Eye.

  Her name had been Asha. Unlike most, she had been sun-kiss- her skin a shade darker than most of those who served the Goddess. I paid her little mind when she first joined. She was a pair of hands, useful with a blade, an adept shot. Over time she earned a good deal of trust within her cohort, till the day were given the order to purge a village worshipping a pagan god. The heretics in question had yet to commit a crime, but an Inquisitor’s duty was not to question an Inquisition- simply to affirm it.

  It had been Asha who attempted to shirk her duty first.

  There were no bodies to attribute to this god. No sinful sacrifices, no sacrilegious effigies. Simply a mark in the homes of the heretics. Asha claimed that it was a monument to an elder god of some fashion- that its worship was ordinary and was deeply ingrained in the culture of the land. But our Commander at the time would not hear her- instead, he viewed it as a rejection of the true, proper path.

  Looking at Magimus now, I wonder how that Commander would view the twisted Celestial’s actions. Would he see him under the same light? Or would he choose the self-serving path of supplication?

  I will never know.

  Asha slayed him before he could give the order to raze the village. Before the eyes of all her peers, she descended down the path of the Heretics, and was suitably punished for her sins.

  I remember her smile most, before the axe cleaved her. She was sinless… blameless.

  Would I meet a similar end?

  Or would Magimus possess the same convocation when I drove my blade through his heart?

  “Pu-tree?” a voice reverberated through me. I paused in my ruminations, and looked down. The Goddess peered back up at me, her head tilting to face my own. An errant part of me wished to remove her blindfold, to see what gaze she saw me in. Her language was foreign to my ears, but perhaps it was a variant of Sunscript. I could never speak the words, but reading was fine. Alas, this would not aid me with her eyes bound like this.

  “I’m sorry,” I tried my best to express how little I could understand her. “I don’t… speak your tongue.”

  Wait, her tongue?

  I reached up to her chin, and parted her mouth open. Her tongue had been repaired, but the scarring remained. I released her, feeling a sigh of relief pulse through my lungs. The sun truly had done wonders for her, just as the Heretic said.

  The Heretic… I was less concerned with him than I was with my father. Even if he had been captured Magimus would have likely branded him a traitor, to be locked away for a proper “inquisition.” Most were sham trials of course- how could one disprove that they held the wrong god in their hearts? But few were as skilled as my father in manipulating truth into lies… perhaps his gift of gab would aid him there. I was a poor hand at such games, preferring to speak with a blade than my tongue.

  “When do we go back?” a voice whispered in my mind.

  —--

  I jolted, pulling my hands away from her soaked hair.

  The goddess looked to me, or at least… she turned. Her mouth did not move, and yet… I could hear her voice.

  “Summoner? No… Sussel. When do we return?”

  I raised my hand to her. “Are you… speaking with me?” I asked of her, uncertain of this strange… sensation in my mind.

  “Yes?” her head tilted. “You have the Summoner’s blood in you. It is not as strong as the last one.” She began to rise from the stump that served as her seat. “But it is sufficient for me now,” the voice in my mind persisted. It tingled, it pulsed, like a sensation in the back of my mind, teasing at me with a constant whine. “You were difficult to reach,” she commented, striding towards me. “It was difficult to reach… any of you.”

  Her hand graced my cheek.

  “You were crying,” she echoed in my mind. Her thumb was wet- I had not even noticed I was letting my tears fall. Her other hand rose up and began to feel across my face. “You would not answer me with words. Hence my intrusion. I apologize- I do not know your tongue.”

  “Ironic,” a humor within me rose. An odd sentiment to have as I chuckled. “Do you see all my thoughts?” I asked, keep her in mind.

  “A mind is a dangerous thing,” she responded. “I can only see what you convey with me in mind.”

  “I’m an Inquisitor. Your Grace is always on my mind.”

  A sound trumpeted from her throat. Followed by a harsh cough. Did she… laugh? Was that a chuckle?

  Had her torture lasted so long that even a laugh was a foreign sensation to her throat?

  “Forgive me. It was a joke in poor taste.”

  “Are you doing this on purpose?” the goddess’ wry smile was enough to communicate her intent to me. She gestured to her leg- I winced seeing the bite marks of a certain madman in Priest’s clothing.

  “No.” I wish she could see the pain in my face at the insinuation. “But I think I better understand this… connection. Are you… did someone… summon you to this world?”

  She nodded.

  “The faithful needed guidance. I was their guide. In that sense I would be akin to your Goddess… but as you can see, I do not possess the strength one would expect from such… magnanimity.”

  “What are you then?”

  “An aspect of her. An avatar, if you will. A piece of her that was sent to this world to guide your race…” she paused, seemingly shrinking as she pulled away from me. “But alas… I seem to have failed.”

  I did not have words for her. All I could offer in comfort was a hand upon her back.

  “We need to kill him. Excise him, like the tumor his faith has become.”

  9kjThe sun began to die. A shadow passed over it. The mustered Paladins stumbled as the shine that accentuated their armor suddenly faded. Magimus’ eyes turned upward as he felt the wind grow… stale.

  “It’s just as you said!” stammered a priest by his side. “The heretics… they are claiming the sun!”

  It had not been his intent… but it put his words into vivid, visual reality.

  The faithful were so easy to lead along.

  It was not easy, controlling himself. Keeping his body looking as old and decrepit it had been till he tasted the flesh of the goddess. But the Heretic was still there. He and his brand of magic were too messy an issue to leave unresolved, but he did not possess enough eyes to find him once he hid in his shadows and lies. Worse yet, by the time he erupted from the vault, the Inquisitor had taken the divine maiden and flown from the Eye.

  There were too many factors at play here. Too many little inconsistencies for him to simply reveal himself in all his glory. No, he had to play it smart, cautiously and carefully building their faith in him… and diminishing their faith in her. First, she was branded a Heretic. Simple enough, all he needed to do was reveal her mother’s name- Illania Sussel. That alone gave her the motive she needed to abandon the faith and betray his trust. He made a great show of it too. Even scarred his arm with her blade, just to show the depths her treachery.

  Then he had her father arrested. A little piece of bait. Magimus had not lied to her- no, they had been friends once. That friendship ended the moment his wife’s family was purged- a loss Magimus could live with, and one he truly did believe Arthus could move on from. He never remarried, of course, but he had a daughter to protect.

  He turned his eyes to the blackened sun, its eclipse complete. How simple it all was… just as her father would have fought to save her, now she too would be forced to save him. Like poetry, it all… set itself in place.

  —

  Locked away in the darkest cell, furthest from the light of sun, General Leonis awoke with start. His muscles ached, his arm lay shattered. His legs was still attached, but it had been… treated. His head throbbed and his throat was parched, and worst of all, he could no longer see. He groped the ground about him, twisting on his bed of straw, as he twisted about. A pair of hands landed upon him, pinning him to his bedding.

  “Don’t move,” the now familiar voice of the Heretic graced his ear.

  The man’s eyes snapped open, but his gaze was black and void.

  As he turned, however, he could see some dim light between the iron bars of his cell.

  “Where am I?”

  “Imprisoned. Your daughter’s accused of heresy,” the heretic’s words were terse, as he continued to touch the man’s joints. Sure enough, as he pinched the man’s right elbow, the General hissed.

  “She… what?” the man gasped. “She escaped right?”

  “Yeah, she’s got the goddess with her.”

  “Knowing her, she’ll be back…”

  “The sun’s gone out, for what it’s worth.”

  “What?” the man said, before the Heretic's hand pinned his arm to the wood beneath the straw. The man’s howl of pain seethed through clench teeth as a lamp was lit- like this he could see the boy’s face, as he surveyed the damage to the general’s arm.

  “Still bleeding. Surprised he didn’t order it amputated there and then… Magimus’ grown confident.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “What do you mean the sun is gone?”

  “Quite simply that- an eclipse has swallowed it whole. It’s got a neat ring around it, but the sun’s just a black void.”

  The general laid back upon his bed, his eyes staring up at the ceiling. As he did, the Heretic began to undo a bandage wrapped about his arm. He had seen it before- the Heretic’s arm had always been wrapped in an unsullied bandage. As more of the boy’s arm was revealed, the General’s eyes were drawn to a bite mark on his arm. Teeth dug into his flesh, so deep that the scars were still there.

  “Wolf bite,” the boy said, noticing what the general’s eyes had latched onto. “Don’t worry, the Father didn’t bite me… doubt he would, now that he has taste for the flesh of gods.”

  “How old were you?”

  “When the wolf bit me?” he responded as he tied the general’s arm up in the cloth. Arcturus Leonis hissed as the heretic carelessly lifted his arm and tightly wound that strange silky cloth about his shattered elbow. “I’d say… 12?”

  “Have you been… on the run… since then?” the man asked, before the Heretic tugged his bandage a bit too tight and drew another audible wince from him.

  The Heretic did not answer him.

  “The locket… do you still have it?” the General asked him after a moment. The Heretic did not answer him with words, but he did fish from his pocket a silver chain.

  The General sighed in relief.

  —-

  Just a morning before, that chain had been wrapped about his neck, as he approached a muddied field and set himself to take the Heretic to task. He had not expected the boy’s technique, but the boy understood his tactics well enough. He was ready to accept that the boy had defeated him when he lost… but in the fray, the boy’s knife had slid, and cut the locket about his neck loose.

  The boy’s eyes were sharp- he caught but a glimpse of it before it fell into the mud.

  That sullied pendant now hung above the general, dangling from the hands of the young man that had bested him.

  “She was beautiful,” the Heretic said, before dropping it down upon the man’s chest. “Her daughter is nothing like her though.”

  The man shot him a withering look. The Heretic quickly threw in something gratifying to appease the General wrath. “She seems to take more after you. Quite… handsome.”

  “Give it to her.”

  “The pendant?”

  “I know what he’s done to my arm. I can feel it. I’m not going to make it boy. She deserves to know what… she looked like. Truly looked like.”

  “You got options,” the heretic took a moment to extract from his chest pocket a vial. Even beneath the limited light they had, both could see the ruby red liquid for what it was.

  The General rigorously shook his head. “Never. Never again.”

  “Alright,” the Heretic pocketed the vial once again. “Then grit your teeth.”

  “For wha-” the General’s jaw clamped shut as pain shot through his arm. From the corner of his eye, he could see the bandage begin to burn away, a pale blue flame flickering in the dark of his cell as he could feel the pain of bones grinding against each other shoot straight through his arm. As his body writhed, the Heretic held his arm in place, letting the magic do its work.

  As the pain ebbed away, the General’s eyes opened… the last wisps of the bandages were gone.

  And his elbow answered his call to bend.

  “How?”

  “Healing was my mother’s specialty,” the Heretic answered. He did not expand on the topic, his eyes still set upon the elbow he had mended.

  “... Did I kill her?”

  “I don’t know. I wasn’t there for the purge. I was studying in the Capitol- the mobs couldn’t just hang children before the Holy Eye, so I had the time I needed to get away.”

  The General’s eyes widened as he began to better understand what led them to this point. Locked away in the depths of the holy temple, a saboteur and a paladin. The Heretic rose from his seat. “I’ve done all I can. Your daughter’s probably got a plan to get you out. Just hold out till then.”

  “And what about you?”

  The Heretic paused, before he began to meld into the shadows.

  “Wait, at least give me a name!” Arcturus sat up from his bedding… with a clink, the man realized that he had left something behind.

  His hand reached down for his pendant… its lock was still set in place, but from the mud it was clear it had been opened. He parted its clasp, and in the dim light of the lantern the Heretic left behind, his thumb pressed in longing upon the last true portrait of Ilana Sussel.

  It seemed it was down to him to ensure his daughter knew her mother’s true face.

  —

  The Matron did her best to keep the children calm. The sun was eaten whole, the land cloaked in black, and for some reason, the orphans took it as an excuse to be the gremlins she warned them they’d become. Caustus was stealing the drapes, Penelope was picking Ethel for her name, and worst of all, she kept finding a specific child standing out in the courtyard. From the moment Rina had been left upon her doorstep, the Matron had considered her… odd. Distracted. She was a loner, rarely crying, often doing the others a favor by sequestering herself away from the others to play with her dirt and her sticks.

  Those who would come to adopt children would dismiss Rina. Claim she had an ill favored look. There was something to be said about her dark curls and dark eyes- but the Matron would never say it. As per the scripture, every child was a gift from the goddess. But she was a perceptive one- sometimes, when she

  At times the Matron worried about her.

  At other times, she was happy just to let the child be- the others could be such a hassle.

  But she had never seen the girl like this.

  Rina stared up at the sky, her eyes enamored with the void that had swallowed the sun whole. She stood at the center of the courtyard, her lips forming words. The Matron stepped out to meet her, her name on the Nun’s lips… but Rina seemed locked in her stupor.

  “RINA!” the Matron began to shake the girl from her stupor.

  As the Matron held the girl’s shoulders, she found herself reflecting upon a refrain. Something a potential parent told her when she rejected the child.

  “Her eyes are like the void.”

  The void the Matron found reflected in Rina’s eyes was silhouetted by a sliver of white, a shimmer of the sun fighting through the void that masked it.

  “She’s coming,” Rina’s lips formed about the words.

  The Matron pulled away, the voice of the girl seeming hollow. Distant. The void in her eyes began to crack with lines of gold.

  —

  The Holy Eye was built a century ago. A monument to the authority of the Church, a golden dome staring up into the sky, meeting the gaze of the sun, unbllinking and undaunted. At its center stood a spire, reaching ever closer to Her domain. It would never have reached of course- it was the symbol that mattered more to the architects of its magnificence, rather than the true accomplishments.

  It proved more resilient that the gold.

  The very sky rent open, a harsh golden light dancing down upon the faithful as a form robed in a dress black as night descended upon the dome, the gold bubbling and melted beneath her feet. As it bled away beneath her, Her voice echoed through all the capitol.

  “My judgment is upon you.”

  The gold descended in rivulets, the radiance that it suffered rendering it thin as water. It flowed down the parapets, clogging drains meant to siphon rain to the lowest quarters. An urchin found the first blobs of gold cooling in the sewage.

  What value could it have now, as the Goddess stood atop the highest point in all the land?

  Cracks of golden lightning snapped sharply upon the Holy Eye as the faithful and faithless alike scrambled.

  As I snuck through the lower quarters, I could only marvel at the distraction she made.

  The woman that I could only refer to as Goddess was not nearly as powerless as she claimed- to block the sun required a great deal of power, one would assume. Or was it more the opposite? That to keep the sun burning and feeding the people below, a great deal of energy needed to be spent?

  Such complications were not fit for the minds of mortals, I presume.

  Panic gripped the hearts of the Priests and Nuns as I passed by. They phased past me, screams in their eyes, their breath short and shallow. Their legs carried them to and fro, their hands flapping out, attempting to quell the fear that gripped the hearts of their braying sheep. I could not stop to reassure them, for this… this had been the plan.

  It was, admittedly, a slapdash mess of a plan, but it was something better than nothing. For now, I needed to focus on finding my most trusted companions. My fellow Inquisitors, paladins who possessed the wits to see reason. Find them, get my own consecrated blade… so that the goddess could enact her part of the plan. Even now, the rumble of her “judgment” rolled through the minds of the thronged masses.

  As I passed through the port into the Paladin’s Barracks, the guards had all but abandoned their posts. It took but a quick nod from me to assure them that I belonged there- they lacked the wherewithal to pause and question my appearance.

  As I reached my quarters, I took a moment to look upon the Meredith in the mirror. Her tresses were matted with muck, ends splayed aside, her visage muddied by the stains of her myriad battles. She looked as though she slept through a storm and half, or been dragged through a war. Perhaps I had been. As I pulled the shirt off my back, I realized that the back had grown dark with blood that had been sprayed across it. I had all but neglected the fray that my father engaged in with the… amalgamation of sin that Magimus had become.

  As I turned, I found myself confronting the judging gaze of a fellow Commander. Jorrel was his name, and gray was his mane. He stood there, resplendent in his armor, blade by his side. My hands rose to cover what I had bared of myself, but the man’s eyes diverted. “Finish up,” he ordered. “I will not face a heretic harlot… undressed.” The scorn in his voice bit, but I had expected it, from the way Magimus had attempted to manipulate me.

  “Heretic?” I asked of him as I quickly threw on a shit, doing my best to bury my spite at his usage of the second term.

  “Magimus told us of your attempt to kill him.”

  “Magimus is a liar.”

  “Your Heretic friends are robbing us of the sun, and you claim the Father is false?” The blade was being unsheathed behind my back.

  “Perhaps the Goddess is relinquishing her gift to you. For your faith in the wrong man.” I knew Jorrel well enough. He was a man who found his meaning through his faith. Convincing him would prove a challenge.

  “That’s not… no, that’s a Heretic trick. I know what you are, Sussel!” There it was, the song of a blade ringing through my head. HIs blade was out. I turned slowly, my hands carried within his view.

  “Jorrel, think this through,” I eased him in, trying to use his own memories- his own perception to guide him towards the light. “You know me. You know how many.. Heretics lay dead by my hand. I slaughtered them all,” I insisted. Jorrel knew my record well- we were competitors once, both aiming for the right to serve by my father. My youth and charisma earned me many allies, but his experience had always proven an even match. “How could I have done that without the Goddess’ blessing? To, supposedly, my own people?”

  I could see the wheels in his mind turning. That’s right… he was questioning it. Comparing my claims against the Father’s.

  And then… he began to laugh. Sharp, harsh barks of laughter. Each resonating with an increasing depth of horror that roused from a sinking part of my heart. When he finally faced me, he spoke with a growl.

  “Show me your hand.”

  I blinked, but he pulled his hand away from his blade, showing the back as he pulled his glove off. “Both of them. Like this.”

  I presented my hands gingerly as the man shook his head. “Of course you weren’t a proper one. Should have known the moment he locked your father away,” he reached back for his blade. In his lackadaisical mannerism, however, I found opportunity. My hand flew for my knife, as he dipped his hand down to the blade at his hip.

  Neither of us made it in time.

  The hiss of a summoning reverberated through the small room I had to myself. What had once been my sanctuary suddenly felt small, constraining as my instincts kicked in. In hindsight, I suppose I expected a beast to appear. I had fought many a troll or direwolf, or similar monster summoned by the Heretics. Each time I heard the sound of their magics, I felt I had to prepare. But nothing appeared. Nothing to my eyes at the very least.

  Jorrel’s body, however, seized, a hand cupping his ear, his body stumbling as the whine of the Heretic’s magic continued to pulse through the room.

  “Come on,” the Heretic’s voice echoed from the doorway.

  He looked… worse, but whole. His body sagged against the frame for support, his hand holding a position from his matted cloak, the muck of his night still weighing him down. Jorrel howled out a profanity or two, as the Heretic’s eyes focused upon him. I grabbed my knife, before pausing. Jorrel’s hands were clenched upon his ears, his form bending into a fetal position. I reached down… and took the blade from his hip.

  “Let him go,” I ordered the heretic as I buckled his shortblade about my waist.

  The Heretic did not.

  “Henri, stop it,” I insisted, marching towards him. He took a moment longer, before finally lowering his hand. The sound ended with his release, Jorrel melting upon the floor as he turned towards us in the doorway. “The Goddess’ judgment is upon us, Jorrel. The Father will face his punishment. Whether she condemns you too is… up to you to decide. If there is an ounce of doubt within you… gather whoever you can, in her name.”

  The Heretic slammed the door shut before he could respond.

  “This way,” the young man rushed towards the stairs. “Your father’s locked away in the furthest cell they could find, but the guards are all distracted by… her. You might find safe passage-”

  “Stop.”

  The Heretic listened this time, his eyes slowly twisting towards me.

  “We’re not running,” I insisted.

  The Heretic took a moment. His eyes darted from down the hall and back to me. “What do you mean, not running? Your father needs help. You are not… properly armed.” I did appreciate his candor on my lack of armor. “You saw what he became. Nothing in this church, in this… realm of existence can match that, save… you know,” he gestured to the port. “Let the Goddess handle her faithful flock. She has the sun behind her- all you will do is hold her back.”

  “I am an Inquisitor,” I answered him. When he stared, lost and stunned by my simple answer, I had to clarify, “It is my duty to wield my blade in her name.”

  The air grew still. The scant light that escaped her eclipse framed the Heretic’s body as he took several deep inhalations. The frenetic energy that possessed him when he had dueled my father was bubbling from deep within, his hands clenched in fists. I stood, resolute in my position.

  “We have a plan-”

  “Sod off.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Go. Go on then. Die. I can’t waste what remains of my mortal coil protecting minions of the Church.”

  That’s right. He was a Heretic after all. But…

  “You have a part to play too,” I said. “The Goddess-”

  “She’ll find replacements. They always do.”

  “... Did she… ever reach out to you?”

  He turned to me. HIs eyes were cast in shadow, but I could see a glint of refraction shimmer from the void where his eyes should have been.

  “She’s a summoned spirit. You know… a demon. Shackled and chained to this mortal world by a contract. With the church. Every person you have ever hunted. Every summoner you ever killed… you don’t protect the people. You just protect your own.”

  HIs finger pressed against my collar. The snarl in his voice grew deeper, the air in his throat garbled by a resentment I had only just begun to contemplate.

  “In Her Graces, are all equal, right? In Her name, all may find absolution wasn’t it? I read my scriptures. I know what you all truly believe. Your pontifications, your sermons, your consecrations, look who they serve-” he thrust his finger out towards the courtyard. A procession had begun. Paladins in gleaming armor, the gold of the Goddess’ light danced upon their polished helms. At their center stood Father Magimus, in his ancient decrepit form. My heart raced- I had grown late.

  “I… I wish you the best in your escape,” I began to angle towards the stairs. The blade alone would have to do.

  I did not turn to face him again, my heart still set upon the task ahead of me. He kept his silence as I made my retreat, my focus bent upon that odious toad in priest’s clothing. I simply hoped my plan would be enough to save us all.