I had admittedly been worried about Camilla. She had followed me as if drunk, but she had collapsed onto the bed and spent the rest of the afternoon asleep once I had procured a room, until she awoke just after midnight. I had decided to check her, divining what I could about her and making my prayers to holy Sigmar, seeking guidance on her health once I had finished with the physical inspection. She seemed fine, though I could not help feel somewhat sour about something. Guy Du Ponce was one thing, but I did not know what sort of things he had envisioned about Camilla and it troubled me.

And it troubled me that I was troubled.

Again, I questioned myself on why I was here, but watching her sleep made me realize I would have traded this for the long road to the capital of Reikland, even if I had rewards awaiting me when I was received there. Just like the other night, I felt like she was like a painting. Even if she did snore like an ox. In the meantime I grabbed something to eat, and left her a plate of ham, cheese, and chopped tomatoes and celery. My own plate I devoured very quickly and almost literally inhaled the water pitcher. And then I had asked the staff about a bowl of their coldest water to be brought to the room and went out to see what news I could find in the meanwhile. Once back in the room, I unwrapped my bandaged hand and gingerly placed it within the cool liquid, seething at the sudden rush of sensation. But after a moment it felt better. Even I slept a bit, after that, though I woke up before she had aroused.

When she awoke she seemed much the same. Perhaps slightly more vibrant from the rest, which was a high bar because I had thought her vivacious in body and spirit beforehand. She even looked a year or two younger, oddly enough. I told her what I knew and made a few jests, but then she apologized.

This might be difficult to imagine, but I could count the times someone has apologized to me on one hand in the entirety of my life, and it certainly was never from someone like Camilla. It made me feel sentimental, which was annoying. This woman really was throwing me into a lot of emotions and bad decisions recently.

"I believe what you meant to say was 'thank you,' I remarked wryly, but my face softened and I gave her a much warmer look than even I intended. "But either way, you're quite welcome."

"So, why did you come back?" Camilla asked, looking at me curiously. She twirled a small wave of her hair in her finger. "Not for me, right?"

"No," I laughed. "No, of course not. I'm interested in the gold, and admittedly I love the weather here, the sea air agrees with me, plus I can't stand that blathering captain..." We both shared a smile. "But, you know, now that I am here..." I lifted myself off the chair, took her hand in mine and kissed the back of it. "It would be my delight to stick together. Just a smart move, of course."

Soldiers and courtesans rise early. The former check the picket lines and observe the weather, for the later it is time to begin applying the various powders and potions needed to maximize appeal. My cosmetics were in the palace but the instinct didn't leave me. I climbed from the bed, pleasantly sore from the night before and stepped over to the mirror, lighting the single candle from the coals of the fire. I peered into the mirror and was surprised to find myself as fresh and vivacious as ever, perhaps even more so. My skin seemed to glow in the soft predawn light and my lips were redder and fuller than I remembered. Perhaps the stimulation of the evening had been good for me. I glanced at the sleeping Kian and began to smile, then froze. Out in the street I saw a cat arch its back and hiss before skittering off down an alleyway. I frowned and pulled on my tunic before slipping to the door and opening it. The hallway beyond was dark and I crept down it to the top of the stairs and peered down into the common room. There were still a few drinkers up and about, chatting excitedly about the coup and the prospects for various parties. Their words were slurred from a long night of drinking but they seemed harmless. The tavern door opened and a trio of condottieri half walked half staggered inside.

"Ale for me and they boys!" one of them called as they made their way across the floor. Cursing I ducked back and ran on silent barefeet back to the room. Kian stirred as I came back through the door sitting up on one elbow and giving me a hungry lookd.

"Back for round two?" he asked with a lazy smile and I realized I wasn't wearing any pants. I grabbed my leggings and started pulling them on in the same motion that carried me across the room to him in an awkward hop. I put my fingers over his lips and leaned close.

"There are soldiers downstairs, looking for you," I told him. I assumed that was the case anyway. They weren't drunk as they hadn't slurred their words when they asked for ale.

"The probably have men out in the streets too," I hurried on, rationalizing the behaviour of the cat. It seemed like a leap but I somehow knew it in my bones. Kian was awake and getting dressed no, evidently this wasnt the first bed he had been rousted out of by unwelcome company.

"Why in Sigmar's name would they be looking for me?" he puzzled. I wasn't sure.

"Maybe they want you as a hostage, now that they missed their chance to snatch Hortimann? In any case I'd say its time to scappare."

I grabbed up my few possession and stepped to the door only to freeze as I heard voices at the top of the stairs. The innkeeper was shouting at the soldiers telling them it was two crowns a night if they wanted a room. The hostile response didn't even have the pretense of drunkenness, and I could imagine the condottieri stalking down the hall weapons drawn. I slid the bolt closed as quietly as I could, though the attempt at stealth was rendered moot by the crash of a door being kicked in and the startled screams of the occupants. By Myrmidia's grace they didn't know what room we were in.

"Time to go," I half gasped stepping to the window and pulling up the shutter as slowly as I could. Kian followed me, pulling on his boots and grabbing his own few belongings as I climbed out onto the tile roof. Something whizzed past my ear and the timber frame splintered as shouts erupted from below. I saw a half dozen soldiers emerging from cover, several more pointing crossbows at us. Kian paused, clearly uncertain whether being shot on a rooftop was preferable to being captured in the room.

"Come on!" I yelled and took off down the roof at a full sprint, praying to Myrmidia that the tiles didn't come loose under my feet. The end of the roof rushed up towards me and I leaped out into empty space, sailing through the air, arms flailing. I hit the roof of the villa on the other side of the alley and slid. This time I was less fortunate, the tiles coming away under my wait as I scrabbled for purchase. I managed to grab hold of a stem post and pull myself fully up onto the roof just as another crossbow bolt whisked pass me.

"Jump!" I yelled at Kian, then on inspiration began to prize up tiles and hurl them down at the soldiers in the alley below. The heavy ceramic missiles crashed down in explosions of terracotta dust. One of the crossbowmen was slow to reach and went sprawling to the dirt as I caught him in the arming cap.

"Come on!" I screamed. If Kian could make it across we could flee across the roof tops and that sounded pretty good to me, I had spent just about enough time in Remas for one season.

I felt as if Sigmar had placed me into a sort of exchange. A life of pleasure and fun at the cost of great danger and ever at the expense of breakfast, it seemed. I had not had breakfast in three days from some calamity, and both yesterday and today my planned morning date with Camilla went awry from some danger. Thinking back to the night before, however, I felt it was worth it. Though I would very much try and have a big lunch.

I grabbed my belongings swiftly and had the chance to put on my travel boots and trousers. However, I only had a small bit of cloth of my robe across my shoulder, but half my side and all of my torso was bare. I scrambled out of the window with Camilla, recalling yet again how we had just met and I'm leaping through a window because of a swift warning from her. Camilla slid out of the window and danced across the shingles of the roof with a grace I couldn't match. Thankfully I was still agile compared to the greybeards of my sect and I followed her well enough, feeling the cool morning air on my chest in concert with the sun's warmth. The streets and curved arches and villas, as well as the towering palace was almost breathtaking in the morning light. Shame I hadn't the time to stop and admire the view.

I saw Camilla's desperate leap and realized immediately the futility of trying to jump like her. True, my legs were a bit longer, but she was an acrobat and I only kept my physique to attract women. Would that be enough to get me across?

Well, no time like the present to find out.

As Camilla began raining tiles down onto hapless soldiers and screaming for me to hurry, I placed my foot on the furthest point of the inn's roof and shoved off. Time seemed to slow for me, and even years down the line, I remember the still image of Camilla dropping the tiles and spinning to take my hand. It's amazing how you can fight every creature and abomination imaginable, from vampires to chaos sorcerers to brutish greenskins, and yet simple heights with the threat of gravity can stick with you.

I hurtled through the air, but with the desperation of survival and Camilla's quick reflexes, she caught my hand. My left leg hit the edge, pain shooting up my body, stealing the energy from the limb. Luckily, I found out later there wasn't a fracture or break, but it hurt like hell, as did my hand. I had thrown out my bandaged hand for her to catch, clever as ever.

"We must goo hansome, joost a bitte moore!" She implored me in Reikspeil. I gave her a tired smile to reassure her I was alright, and with her help and my other leg I pulled myself up on the roof. Behind us we heard a shout. I turned and saw a condottieri with his morion helm poke his head out of our window, turning his head the wrong way then swinging back in our direction. I could not see his expression well, but he shook his fist.

"You will not get away so easily!" He cried, and as if on cue, crossbow quarrels bounced against shingles and scythed past us, one getting close enough to fly right between Camilla and I.

Camilla dashed away, while I limped after her, but as we moved, blood flowed back into my leg and I could put weight on it again. Mercifully the other buildings were packed closer, and together we made it down three city streets, swiftly losing the soldiers who's shouts faded into the distance.

Eventually we stopped atop a sandstone roof with an awning and an area to relax and take stock. A small table under a swift, outdoor cupola was sequestered there for shade. Camilla sat down and I caught my breath, smoothing my mane of black hair back, though some fringes stubbornly set back before my face. My torso glistened with a light sweat, and I had to admit the lack of food did wonders for my early morn physique, but even if Camilla was interested we were a bit preoccupied.

"I say we've overstayed our welcome. Apologies if I'm the cause of that," I said, taking a cloth from my pack and wiping it across my forehead. "I suggest we find what money we can and get the hell out of here. I hear Pavona is lovely this time of year, or perhaps Luccini."

Fucking hell, I thought as my stomach growled.

"I am not feeling the warmth of the friendship you spoke so highly of Giovanni," I complained as I counted the meager handful of coins into my purse. The pawnshop was cluttered with old swords, last seasons dresses, and a surprising number of pistols and firearms. Keeping in shot and poweder was more expensive than people thought I supposed. Giovanni, a balding florid man spread his arms helplessly.

"Mia Cara, you know that I love you, but I have a bussiness to run! You say you have property in the palace, but you do not know it hasn't been looted, how can I advance money against what might not even be there?" he reasoned. I grunted sourly. What he said was true, but the excuse to poke around the palace was worth more than the few possessions I had left there. In truth, he had me over a barrel and he knew it. This was the only place I can think of to get some coin to get out of the city.

"I guess it will have to do," I grumbled and tied up my purse. We stepped out into the street keeping our hoods up.

"Are we going?" Kian asked, "also where are we going?" I shook my head and ducked into an alley across the way.

"Not yet, and not yet," I told him, peering out of the alley way as Giovanni emerged from his store, he locked the door and hurried off towards the palace. When he had turned the corner I stepped out and crossed back to the door, pulling the piece of parchment I had slid between the lock plates free as I opened the door. I crossed quickly and pulled the lock box from behind the counter, tucking it into my cloak.

"We are robbing him?" Kian asked, "Isn't he your friend?" I snorted.

"My friend who is running to the palace to inform on me," I explained, helping myself to a handsome pair of pistols and a rapier with a jeweled hilt.

"Grab what you need and lets get out of here, assuming your priestly virtues don't preclude a little loan."

"Perhaps we would have been wiser to not call upon him at all, then?" I asked.

"He might inform on me, but the palace is a large place. We can't get in and out without a few prying eyes, but I would rather have steel with me as we do it." She reasoned, strapping the items to her waist with a sturdy belt. Kian did not wish to relinquish his staff, but it did stick out like a sore thumb. He had left it outside the gates after saving Camilla, to better grab it later. Despite my abandoning of the troupe, I held no illusions that after finding Camilla, we would have worn out our welcome fairly quickly.

I grabbed a baldric, a brace of pistols, and a well-balanced sidesword. I was not very skilled with a sword, but it was better than using nothing and another staff or polearm would just stick out.

"We're probably only a small problem to whoever is calling the shots now," Camilla said to me.

"Optimism is a useful trait," I replied a bit snarkily. She grinned, and we drifted together and shared a few moments of passionate kissing, one of many tempestuous moments, before we drifted apart and made our way to the palace.

Camilla opted to swing round the walls of the veritable fortress to the left, passing by many of the major businesses and getting within eyesight of the waterfront. It was more populated here and the walls were taller, the patrols more frequent, and that was exactly why we did not go through the gardens to the east, where they might expect us. It was an unexpectedly good idea, even to the clever Tilean woman. Once we reached the wharves, they were a shadow of their previous bustle, and the patrolmen were more than half what I had imagined. I still saw a few bodies of fallen swordsmen, blood staining the wooden tiles of the docks or the stone of the streets.

Camilla and I vaulted over a short wall, cordoning off civilians from entering a warehouse in construction. We slipped in like ghosts, passing through the half open sky of the superstructure and reappearing near an alley past much of the docks, slowly but surely making our way toward the edge of the district.

"We're going to use the rocks to climb the wall, aren't we?" I asked Camilla. Past the docks, jagged seaside rocks scythed against the waves, glistening from the spray and littered with barnacles. Some of them jutted up the walls until they were a scant arm reach from the parapets, and so far we had only seen a handful of armed men keeping watch.

"Very good, you really are a university graduate," she joked.

We slipped out the North Gate a little after noon, mingling with a group of farmers and tradesmen who had been trapped in the city by the unpleasantness. Hard faced mercenaries scrutinized the crowd but the simple expedient of scattering a few copper pieces in the street was enough to provoke a scramble that diverted their attention. Though I chafed at the slow pace but we didn’t dare risk horses, they would have marked us out as people of note. As it was I wore a cowled cloak to conceal myself and I had instructed Kian to hunch, though he remembered to do this only intermittently.

We struck north toward Pavona, taking the Great Road. Astia was out of the question as we already knew the port was closed and I thought Luccini too obvious a destination seeing Du Ponce and his shadowy mistress knew that we had saved the life of the Ambasador, Maximo Panyo, and were likely to guess we might seek shelter there. The thought of the woman, of whom I retained only the vaguest of recollections after my fuge state, chilled me and made me suddenly and irrational glad the sun was high overhead. I kept myself covered having found myself unusually sensitive to the sun, though the sensation was fading.

We kept to ourselves as we followed the great road up the modest hills. Kian’s Tilean was good enough that people took him for a native, or perhaps an Estilian who had been here a long time. I tried not to speak, hoping my cloak would render me sexless and unremarkable. Twice mounted mercenaries raced up behind us and the group cowered off the side of the road. Both times they passed us without comment, probably carrying orders to the forts north of the city.

Our numbers dwindled as the afternoon wore on. Peasants and artisans took the smaller trails that led to their hamlets and villages. We briefly discussed hiding out in some such place, but decided strangers would be too much cause for gossip. I felt growing unease as the sky darkened, becoming unreasonably nervous about being on the road after nightfall. Perhaps it was this worry that caused me to bump into a young merchant when he stumbled to avoid horse droppings he had nearly missed in the fading light. He turned to snarl some curse at me and got a good look under my hood.

“Sigoritta,” he gasped, making an elaborate bow. He didn’t know me of course, but I could tell that the fact I was concealing my gender wasn’t lost on my traveling companions. Some, a pair of dust stained masons, merely looked concerned, but a hooked nosed miller and a merchant cast speculative looks down the road. The young merchant who had spotted me seemed oblivious to the tension he had created.

“It is growing dark friends,” he proclaimed, “it is about time to make camp and I for one would welcome the company. Lacking a convincing reason to object we turned off the road into a small grove of olives to make camp.

_______

“So tell us Signorita what brings a woman like you out of the city?” the young merchant, who turned out to be named Adriamo asked as we sat around the small fire we had built with scavenged timber. I had by now removed my hood, it no longer being useful to try to conceal my face.

“I am relocating to Caratzo,” I lied, giving him the name of one of the medium sized towns to the north and west.

“Ah and what will you be doing there?” he pressed. He was jovial and friendly but he clearly wasn’t going to leave off pestering me.

“I will work,” I said with a touch of dejection in my voice. Predictably he didn’t pick up on it.

“And what is your trade Signorita?” he asked.

“Sono una prostituta” I replied. He opened his mouth and then closed it with a clop, casting an eye sideways at Kian and drawing the logical conclusion that he was my pimp. It had the desired result as Adriamo colored and didn’t renew his questioning.

_________

I awoke to the sense that Kian was moving. The fire had by now died to smoldering embers that cast virtually no light but the moon was nearly full and bathed everything in it’s silver glow. I sat up to find Kian frozen with his head cocked. I heard the sound that had disturbed him immediately, distant hoof beats. He made a wait here gesture which I completely ignored, following him to the edge of the road. For long minutes we waited in the dark, the distant sounds of hooves on the stone roadway growing louder. An owl hooted close overhead and I nearly jumped out of my skin. There was a fog coming up, clinging to the wooded hilltops like a crown. It seemed to flow down the road in a slow motion river that seemed sentient and sinister. I had a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach, but there seemed little point in mentioning it. I could taste bile in my mouth and feel my heart beating in time to the relentless drum of hooves.

After a subjective eternity something stirred in the mist and four riders appeared on thin unhealthy looking horses. Far from reassuring me, my dread increased at the sight of them. They were cloaked and hooded and as they closed I saw an odd glow in the eye sockets of their steeds. I noticed that though the horses seemed poor, their tack and gear was very fine. The wind shifted abruptly and I was assailed by an unpleasant smell, like meat that had turned but been concealed with harsh and astringent spices. I was sure that the strange riders could hear my heartbeat so loudly did it strive to burst out of my ches.

“My lords!”

I just about soiled myself at the sound of the voice. A man stumbled onto the road waving both his hands to attract attention.

“Do you seek a man and a young woman? For the right price I can take you to them!” It was the miller, evidently woken by the hoofbeats. I never did learn his name because the riders wheeled in eerie unison and rode him down. It was almost dainty, save for the snapping of bones and the shattering of the miller’s skull. Only once all four horses had passed did the last rider break from the formation, lowering a rod of ivory and brass to stab through the miller’s heart. Incredibly the mangled body was still drawing breath until the tip of the rod crushed the rib cage. The temperature seemed to drop twenty degrees in a heartbeat. Icicles hung from the leaves of nearby trees like tiny glittering needles in the moonlight. A pale ethereal glow seemed to pour out of the wound, uncoiling into a transparent facsimile of the dead man. It was distended and deformed where hooves had crushed it in life and a great millstone hung around the figure’s neck. It looked mournfully down at the body from which it had emerged then turned its pale silvery eyes on our hiding spot, seeming to smile through its horribly crushed jaw.

I screamed. It wasn’t my finest hour, but I challenge you to keep it together when you have just seen a man trampled to death and then raised into unnatural servitude before your very eyes. Kian told me later it was very loud, though all I really remember were the birds bursting from the cover of the trees and taking flight in a storm of feathers. The riders turned on us with the precision of a drill team. Their faces were covered with eyeless masks that seemed to be woven from silver and gold thread. The faintest hint of witchfire seemed to glow within. I was very certain I didn’t want to see what the masks concealed.

“Run!” I shouted, forcing my icy limbs into uneasy action as I turned and fled into the woods.

I was assailed by a wave of incorrigible unease suddenly, and somehow I knew the feeling was not new, but increased in volume. How foolish I felt in that moment, that I should have foreseen the arrival of such wraiths an hour before. I had assumed my sense of foreboding was jealousy over the merchant's interest in Camilla, or perhaps my anxiety over the constant threat of death the past week. But now it was a vivid, very real cascade of nausea and filth that only a priest can feel when confronted by something unholy and unnatural. I would have chided myself further, but Camilla's scream rent the very air and pierced my eardrums. My hands went to my ears, the thick wool of the cloak still held in them. I rose and tried to flee, but my long legs were immediately caught in the folds of the cloak. I stumbled and caught myself, grasping for my staff.

"No more stooping!" My lover cried at me.

"I'm aware!" I yelled back with some alarm. Our other traveling companions stared in mute shock or scrambled every which way. I was lucky in that Camilla had the good sense to run to the tree line. With my staff helping me rise, I finally got my feet under me to sprint to her, the both of us racing into the woods as another scream rang out, followed by a terrible, unearthly wail that seemed to permeate the very air. Camilla cried out in dismay, stumbling into a tree. I nearly toppled, but kept my feet this time. I helped her right herself, and swiftly stole a glance behind us.

I only saw one man left running, and a rider swiftly pursued him across the small clearing. He screamed in primal fear, but the rider followed in eerie silence, a scythe clutched in his right hand. Even as I watched, he raised his cruel weapon, the blade almost glimmering from some untold power, and with a swift cut that looked almost theatrical, the man fell in two pieces as if it was the most natural change to the human form. His top half hit the dirt with a disturbing, heavy weight to it. Blood pumped from both halves, but that was not the most horrific thing to transpire. I saw two more men, one of the travelers and the young merchant, get up once more. Their eyes glowed a faint blue, like cold stars in the night.

The other horsemen galloped past them, horses emaciated and gaunt, bearing down on our position.

We fled into the darkness of the woods, Camilla ahead of me at my insistence, my hands ever pushing her forward. We crossed a glen and a copse of evil-looking trees in the gloom, before she leaped down a small drop that was shielded by vast roots from an ancient fir. Camilla stumbled, but my staff kept me upright. As we hit the ground, I swiftly grabbed Camilla and pulled her backward, enshrouding ourselves under the overhanging roots. My hand clamped over her mouth, and I gave a soft "ssshhh." I expected her to be smart enough to keep silent, but after the scream I was going to let her insult me later rather than risk it, now. Truly, I don't consider myself a brave man. But my staff pulsated gently, thrumming with some kind of vibrancy. I chalked it up to Sigmar. Camilla calmed a bit, though we both felt taut and ready to spring from barely suppressed fear. Hoofbeats rose and fell in distance, and a soft mist clung to the ground before us.

I held my breath, holding Camilla tight as we waited for safety.

I huddled among the roots with Kian bitter coppery fear at the back of my throat. I could hear horses around us, the sound of hoof beats indistinct in the thickening fog. My hand gipped the hilt of my rapier so tight that my knuckles were pale and white. By the moment the fog grew thicker, the bright moonlight seeming to fill it with a silver glow that concealed more than it illuminated. More than once we saw bright patches in the fog where ghostly forms seemed to roam.

“Come on,” Kian said at last, his voice shockingly loud to my terrified mind. Ht took my trembling hand and tugged me into action, climbing over the roots and moving off into the fog. How he navigated I had no idea. More than once he pulled me into concealment moments before a spectre or a horseman emerged from the fog. The passage of time was impossible to judge but after what might have been an hour we reached a small stream.

“Running water, Ive heard that the undead fear to cross it,” I breathed, hopping across the stream.

“Sometimes,” Kian said wiith what wasn’t enough like agreement for my taste. We followed the stream down into the valley. As we decdened the fog began to thin and we found ourselves in woodlands. We were over the hills now, moving northwards towards the more cultivated plains. At length we reached the stone arch of a moss covered bridge and climbed the bank to find ourselves on a dirt road through the forest.

“Do we risk…” Kian began but I cut him off, pulling him off the road.

“Horses!” I hissed, perceiving the distant clatter of a coach. We crouched in the undergrowth as we head the approach of horses. I could tell even from here that they had been pushed hard, worked into a near fatal lather. The coachman was cracking a whip above his team but even that could muster no more than a brisk exhausted trot that slowed as he approached the narrow bridge.

“It is a mail coach,” I breathed and stepped out into the road. The coachman’s eyes widened and he reached for a coachgun, freezing as I produced one of my pistols and pointed it in his direction.

“What in Myrmidia’s Cunt do you think you are playing at?” the coacman demanded as his horse came to a stop.

“Are you Highwaymen?” he demanded, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

“Just travellers friend,” I told him, I waggled my pistol.

“Shall we agree not to shoot each other?” I suggested. His eyes flicked between Kian and I and then he nodded. He was a stout man with an eyepatch, but though he was old he looked muscular and fit.

“You are the one with the gun drawn signorita, but yes,” he agreed, taking his hand away from the bell mouthed blunderbuss.
“And if it is all the same to you id rather not linger here, something ….evil is up in the hills,” he said. I tucked the pistol into my belt and hopped up onto the bench beside him, Kian following me.

“All the more reason to get out of here,” I agreed fervently.

I recalled yawning. I only had a small bit of sleep at that point, and the constant running for my life was not doing me any favors. Luckily Camilla seemed to have concocted up a solution for our aching feet and now we had a nice, if a bit rough, seat as the miles began to roll by. The horses were churlish from their evidently long journey, and I could not blame the poor beasts. If I was not so exhausted I would have blessed them, but I felt I should perhaps wait until the next stop. Camilla sat close to me, the two of us pressed together, careful not to bite our tongues from the occasional large bump in the road that felt as if it sent the carriage careening across the path.

"So signor, where is it that you go at such a late hour?" I asked the coachman, wanting to make small talk so as to keep the man from suspicion. Even if we had done nothing wrong, the mind wanders at night, left to its own devices.

"Believe me, it is not by design, sir priest." The coachman said. His blunderbuss hanging just beside him, stacked on a small rack just below his seat to his left, built into the carriage for quick and easy access. "I had left Verezzo, making my way through Pavona and to Remas the great, and I had planned on camping this night until I saw unsettling things in the wood. Strange lights and the screams of men. I barely had time to piss before I was back in the wagon, and that was some hours ago. Now I believe I will go to the Bajamonti Villa in the hills and wait there, by leave of the Duc De La Rochefoucauld‎. I am known to his son and have made many stops there over the past decade."

"A Brettonian noble?" I inquired, my interest piqued. I was curious on the Brettonian, but I was very interested in the 'noble' aspect. A large villa meant good food and soft beds. "Strange that, I wonder why they would be so far south. Would we be able to secure a room for the night there as well, or would that be too intrusive?"

The man thought for a moment, eyeing myself and Camilla for a brief second before answering once satisfied of our motives. "He might take some convincing, but it is worth a try, signor. He may want something in return, and I cannot tell you what. It is always something different each time, when I approach. Usually he merely wants a package delivered to Luccini or Remas, or to send a parcel to a ship set for Brettonia. He and his family are nice enough hosts, as long as you give due respect. If you can speak their tongue, they will welcome you doubly."

"Luckily I can," I said, and Camilla raised an eyebrow. I winked. I could not speak Brettonian nearly as fluently as Tilean or Reikspiel, and truth be told I would need a small refresher. But I could manage the accent well enough so as not to offend them, and perhaps a greetings or two would go a long way. For once, I was glad my professors and tutors at the church found such promise in me. It was almost too bad I disappointed most of them, in some form or fashion. I turned back to the driver. "Why is the villa called Bajamonti? Are villas not named after the family who resides there?"

"You speak the truth, signor. The estate has been there many generations, and legends say an old curse lies over it from when the Bajamonti family resided there. No one dares change the name now, or face the wrath of those that once dwelt and are now buried in the crypts."

"Ah." I sighed, tired at the prospect.

The coachman laughed. "Tonight has made me think there could be some truth to the supernatural, but fear not from these ghosts, signor. I have been there many times, and never have I seen a spectre or ghoul feasting on the flesh of men. Just some old servants tripping over themselves."

I slumped against the side of the coach bench, exhausted and lulled by the rattle of the wheels over the road. We had turned off the main road and climbed a series of gravelled switchbacks flanked by manicured woods. We passed through a small hamlet surrounded by propsperous looking fields and orchards. A few dogs barked but the only light came from the inn and a small block house where an elderly nightwatchman peered out.

"How is it a Brettonian holds a manor in Tilea?" Kian asked as we turned up a hill on top of which sat an elegant manor house of creamy white stucko. Elaborate garden's spread out infront of it, with fragrant rose blooms growing in profusion below handsomely trimmed apricot and plum trees.

"Several generations ago the Duc De La Rochefoucauld‎ was a great Condottiero," I explained, dredging the information up from the history I had been taught at the convent. He was the bastard son of the Bretonian Duke, but the name stuck. He fought for all of the major cities at one time or another. He was rumored to be devious, treacherous, and utterly ruthless. There were always rumors that he was a bit too lucky, but that isn't so unusual for great captains."

"You are very learned signoritta," the coachman observed. I shrugged my shoulders as two men with halberds in the armor of brettonian men-at-arms stepped from a stone guardhouse at the end of the main drive, polearms raised to block the progress of the horses.

"Who goes there?" the guards called out as the coach slowed to a stop.

"Aldo Vincenzo!" The coachman called, raising a hand in greeting and giving a smile. I had assumed the guards would have to fact check with their commander or give questioning, but their grim faces brightened when they saw it was indeed him.

"Aldo! Good to see you," they said in stilted Tilean. The two halberdiers approached and took Aldo's hand in turns, shaking it heartily. One turned and cried out in Brettonian to the gateman, and the iron gate swung open slowly, grinding against its hinges as it moved. The first guard pointed his chin at myself and Camilla. "Who are they? Friends?"

"Travelers on the road. The woods are perilous tonight. I said they might find shelter here. I'll talk to the Conte, don't worry."

"Well, if you're sure." He said, then a mischievous glint appeared in his eyes. "Tomorrow we'll talk about the money you owe me."

"Ack! Still remember the game. Fine, fine. We'll talk," Aldo laughed in good humor, and once the men stepped aside, he kicked his horses into a trot with a small whip of the reins, and they hauled us and the carriage up a small incline, past the low wall and the towering tilean cypress trees that ringed the estate. Inside, the grounds were well tended, with small gardens of Brettonian flowers of roses, daisies, primose, the lot. A statue of a Grail Knight stood vigil on the right side of the path, just before the cobbled entryway into the main estate.

Aldo let us off just under an archway, and a servant in a well tailored suit appeared, greeting him and offering to take the horses to the stables. Aldo complied, and the three of us were allowed entry into the doorway, only to be greeted by a young man, perhaps a few years older than I, with a full brown mustache and slim stripe of a beard below, almost making his facial hair in the manner of a three pointed star. He wore an old fashioned knightly tunic that almost reached his knees, with thin trousers in the manner of brettonia.

"Aldo! It does me good to see you!" He said, his eyes sweeping over Camilla and myself for a moment in curiosity.

"Lord Fernand, glad to see you again. I hope you don't mind me and my friend imposing. We just need a place to stay for a night or two. I would not normally ask this of you, but the road is... there are horrors this night." Aldo explained, grimacing at his thoughts reaching back to earlier. I did not blame him. I thought I was going to die as well, a scant few hours ago.

Fernand was taken aback, looking hard at Aldo for a moment, concern on his face. "Horrors?" He asked, incredulously. There was a fire behind his hushed question. Swiftly he bade us forward to the great hall. "Come come, let us get you and your friends a drink and set you by the fire. Then we can discuss this, my friend. And do tell us all."

The Brettonian, I hesitate to call him a knight, led us into a plush sitting room. While the architecture was Tilean, it had been hung with elaborate tapestries depicting scenes of hunting and battle. A fire burned cheerfully in a vast stone fireplace above which a battered shield emblazoned with the head of an elk hung in pride of place. Servants arrived with wine which they poured into jeweled goblets for us to drink before withdrawing respectfully beyond the threshold.

“The restless dead stalk the land,” Fernald breathed when I concluded my candid recounting of events, “by the Lady, that is ill news.” I wondered if a Tilean would have taken my words at face value, but Brettonian’s even a few generations removed from their homeland, seemed more willing to lend credence to such a tale.

“Gaston!” Fernald snapped and a tough looking man-at-arms in a burgundy coat appeared. He had a line face that looked well beaten by the weather. He had clearly been awake and about, even at this early hour.

“M’lord?” he inquired perfunctorily.

“There is strangeness afoot, I’d like you to double the guard on the estate,” the Knight instructed. Gaston nodded, then waited a beat.

“Shall I also alert the hamlet my lord?” he suggested in a weary tone.

“Ah, yes of course I meant for you to do that as well,” Fernald agreed. Gaston bowed.

“Very good m’lord,” he agreed and hurried out to do his masters bidding.

“A good man Gaston… for a commoner,” Fernald observed. I decided not to point out that both Kian and I were orphans. I suspected that Gaston was an old retainer who had probably done more fighting than Fernald had ever daydreamed about.

“Now you must be my guests, I am sure you are both exhausted from the night adventure wot!”

"Yes, my lord, we are quite exhausted. Très épuisé, as you might say in your home country." I added, wishing to lay on some small bit of Brettonian to follow the advice of good Aldo. Fernald gave me a pleased look, smiling at the very first instance of my Brettonian phrase. Camilla hid her knowing smile, though I could see it in her pretty eyes. I looked from my companion to the lord, always trying to find some small edge. "Might I ask if there is fresh clothes we might utilize on the morrow? I would rather be well dressed if I am to entertain one of your stature at breakfast time. Camilla here is a fine dancer and she would look radiant in one of your doubtlessly well-tailored dresses."

"Of course, sir Priest. We have fine coats and attire you may freely take. The signorita as well" Fernald said, and Kian hid his grin with a humble bow. It wouldn't do to stay at a lord's household without taking a few valuables, and he would rather have permission so there wasn't the annoyance of the chase for later. Fernald waved for another servant to approach, this one a bit older than Gaston but undeniably Tilean with his dark features and olive skin. "Escort my two guests to their room, Renard."

I stood up brusquely, and Camilla joined me, straightening her belt for a brief moment as we followed the servant out of the great hall and into the colorful corridor of the De La Rochefoucauld. As we walked, I felt a small, irking feeling in the back of my mind. I felt as if we were being watched somehow, and if my eyes were not deceived, a door closed as we passed by, but looking at Camilla, she looked none too concerned. Her dark eyes glittered as they passed over the paintings and busts of Brettonian knights and lords of legend and wars long past. One painting showcased a battle of Fredemund de Aquitaine slaying a greenskin warboss at the cusp of the dreaded woods of Athel Loren.

"Ar deez bettles famoos?" Camilla asked in Reikspeil. Somehow, her accent in my native tongue made her all the more attractive.

"I believe that is the unification of Brettonia itself." I said, mostly certain of the accuracy of my assessment. "I don't know the painter, however. It's not Robourte Voltaire, the coloring is all wrong."

"We are here, signor and signoritta" Renard said, having turned the corner and unlocking the door at the end of the hallway. He opened it and stepped aside. Within was a lovely chamber, with a small dining area beside a cupboard and kitchen area, and two steps up led to a bed with a layered canopy above it. To the right was a small area with a couch and a fireplace. "Call if you need anything."

"Thank you, Renard. But my companion and I are quite tired. Do make sure we have our privacy, sleep is quite important for us as we have a long day ahead." I told him, taking Camilla's hand and all but yanking her into the room. She stifled a laugh and closed the door. I pulled her toward me and as she pressed, I dipped her down as if we were dancing.

"I thought you were exhausted," Camilla remarked.

"Epuisé d'attendre," I said, my eyebrows wiggling.

---

I was tackled by the brutish greenskin, which gave me the misfortune of losing my breath just before I plunged into the frigid knee deep water. The clear blue sky above was suddenly obnubilated by a cascade of bubbles and foam, and a big green silhouette that leered down at me from his perch atop my prone form. I was not the most thick-bodied man, but I was not small either. I managed to kick the orc's legs out and have him slip into the river as well, bellowing another stream of bubbles as his warcry was drowned by the water. I swiftly rolled atop him, doing my best to keep him under, but I was too busy taking in a lungful of air. I was unfortunately thrust straight back into the water, and the big orc managed to get atop me and keep himself there. I couldn't hear his roar of victory other than a muffled shout, but I saw him grinning down at me with cruelty in his eyes.

The orc suddenly lurched, and bright drops of blood began to stain the river water as the greenskin slowly unhanded me and began to topple into the water. A lithe arm shot into the water and took me by the hand, and with some help from myself I was pulled out of the water, coughing up liquid as I tried to regain my breath once again. Camilla withdrew the blade of her rapier from the back of the orc's skull, cursing in Tilean.

"You have never been sexier," I told her, and she dazzled me with a smile. I grabbed my fallen staff, smiling tiredly.

"Yu alwees say that," she replied with her lovely accent, dark hair still amazingly styled despite the rough traveling the last week, not to mention the subsequent fight. I would have kissed her, but I spied something hulking past her shoulder, her keen eyes catching my own widening causing her to duck. I stepped past her, running my hand up the length of my staff to brace myself as the cleaver-like weapon that had been meant for Camilla's head was parried by the holy staff. I swiftly flipped my weapon, shoving the butt of the staff into the Orc's nose. It squealed like a stuck pig, but raising its head gave me the opening to thrust my staff into its exposed throat, collapsing it. It gave a pitifully small, hoarse cry as it topped into the river with its other two companions, the first dead from an oath granted to me by holy sigmar.

"Are you alright?" I asked, this time giving Camilla the helping hand. She took it gratefully, her hair glistening from dipping into the rushing river, but somehow it just enhanced her natural beauty.

"I wil haf to git thees rah-pi-air cleaned," She lamented.

"If we get through these mountains alive, it will be my treat." I offered, though my proposal was swiftly drowned out by a chorus of shouts from within the forest, screaming a phrase everyone in the old world knew portended doom.

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!"

There must have been dozens of voices, perhaps even over a hundred. Camilla and I spun to the treeline, watching like hunted deer. I grabbed Camilla's hand, entwining her fingers in my own as I pulled her along, moving the other way. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" I asked, and she needed little encouragement. Together the two of us fled eastward, past the river and into the opposite woodland that rose higher and higher as we raced into and under the shadowy canopy. If the old map was right, we were close to the pass that would lead us into the borderlands and out of these sigmar-forsaken mountains.

I nearly stumbled from a gnarled root, but my staff caught me and I raced on, Camilla running alongside me, bounding over obstacles with a dancer's grace. My legs soon felt like lead, and after a few minutes of running full sprint uphill, I felt like I had run hours. Having finished our food the day previously was doing no favors for my stamina either, and I prayed to holy sigmar we made it out of these mountains, if for nothing but Camilla's sake. I was little better than a lecherous thief, but she was certainly the most interesting and worthy woman I had ever met, and that was no small boast on my part.

More roars erupted, this time to our left and right. By the grace of the gods none were ahead of us, and though I thought every shadow was a greenskin lying in wait, I did nothing but run straight forward, thinking somehow we were falling into a trap. Even the ground leveling out seemed deceptive, as if the mountains themselves wanted me to relax my guard. But suddenly the canopy opened, and light sprang forth as the two of us leaped out of the woods into a small crevasse; a breach in the rock wall that towered over the forest. We launched ourselves through it and nearly lost our footing. It was Camilla's sure-footedness that kept me from rolling down the slope that fell just before our feet. We both breathed heavily and wearily, but to my relief, the cries had grown quieter and less frequent, and though the slope was steep, beyond another thicket or two of trees, we saw dozens of smoke pillars rising from a walled village a mere handful of miles away.

We had made it to the land of opportunity.

We had arrived at The Border Princes.

"Halt! Who goes there!" came the cry as we approached the walls. They were fairly impressive fortifcations, stone based and topped with timber pallisade, beyond which steeply sloping rooves could be seen. We saw plenty of evidence of the Orcs we had seen in the mountains as we walked towards town, the landscape being dotted with burned farm steads and the occasional smashed cart.

The cry was in thickly accented Tilean, though I was willing to bet it wasn't the mother tongue of the guard up on the wall. The guards were all but invisible behind the walls, visible only as the bobbing tips of pikes and the occasional flash of color. The Border Princes were a home to the flotsam and jestsam from every human culture and even this close to mountains the architecture and speech was distinct from Tilea.

"We are travelers from Tilea!" I called back, aiming my cupped hands in the general direction of the guards voice. I became uncomfortabley aware that there were probably a number of crossbows pointed at us. There was a long silence broken only by the caw of distant ravens. Quite suddenly a bell tolled, startling a flock of crows from a steeple somewhere deeper into the settlment. I tensed, imagining this to be an alarm, but it must have simply been telling the time because it faded slowly in the crips alpine air. I was about to call again when the heavy oak gate began to swing open, revealing a knot of men in a mismatch of armor and colorful clothing that I thought might have been Imperial in origin. The curuious faces of villagers could be seen behind them, held back by other men with stern expressions and long pole arms.

"Welcome to Zinoca," a man called in thickly accented Tilean "You'd best come inside before the greenskins get you."

"Just hold on a minute!" A gruff voice growled, his voice rising above the whispers of the crowd. Out of the rough phalanx of town guard, a burly man in the only (relatively) well-made tabard stepped forward. His mustache was thick like his chest, and his eyes were small but fierce as they gazed at us, the veritable refugees. His eyes scanned Camilla, and unlike his men, he didn't oggle, merely looked suspiciously, before they moved to myself and dare I say, he seemed even less enthused to see me. I couldn't imagine why, I might not have my robes on me, but I did not carry a weapon save for the symbol of my office on the staff. He leveled his gaze. "Who are you and where do you come from?"

This seemed like an interrogation, and a very real means of keeping my lover and myself out of the village. Luckily I was used to such aggressive behavior.

"Why," I chuckled amicably, placing a hand on my chest and giving my most handsome smile. "I am but a humble priest of our lord Sigmar, coming to heal the sick and feed the poor. I have heard tell of how many of the afflicted live in this verdant land, and it shocked me to my very core. I, and my lovely assistant, have traveled many miles to grant absolution and blessings to your modest township."

"Gustav, we should let them in," one of the men said.

"Oh, and let a potential spy from Bradolf walk into our streets?" The lieutenant said. I cordoned off the information, but kept myself in 'character', holding up my free hand and closing my eyes, concentrating. The large soldier looked back our way. "What are you doing?"

"I sense a presence a... a daemon..." I said breathlessly.

Gasps erupted from the crowd, and though a few looked disbelieving, the potential of the prospect settled on their minds. Gustav tried to hide his stress with fury. He began to deny it, but I simply opened my eyes and strode past him with a purpose, my hand in the air, acting as a probe. He went and grabbed for my shoulder as the other men parted out of my way, but Camilla kicked him in the left shin, causing him to yelp and spin left. She slid to the right as soon as he did so, slipping beside me before he could do a full spin around to see who was responsible. Even the crossbowmen on the steps overlooking the walls watched us with curiosity and interest as we strode into town, the villagers before us stumbling out of the way, nearly dropping what baskets or cartons they carried.

"Worry not, it seems a small daemonic presence. Merely a curse," I declared, halting at a well with a bucket full of water and a ladle draped within. "I am quite certain Zinoca is as clean of heart as its drinking water." I scooped the ladle in the water and lifted it to my nose, sniffing. I gave a face and a muted 'eugh' and dropped it back in, not to be dissuaded. "Hrmmm, yes...yes I am getting closer."

The buildings were not tightly packed, with enough space between them for small gardens or refuse piles. Most of the architecture was a single story, with simple thatched roofs and only a window or two to speak of. As we drew deeper into the town, the crowd following us like ripples in a clear stream, the buildings grew larger and shops began to appear, along with larger residences. My eyes shifted back and forth, and once I found one that satisfied me, I frowned and stopped just before a two story home. There was even a stone base in its construction. I turned back to the crowd, my visage clouded with grim certainty.

"Here, this is where the daemon resides!" I announced, drawing more strangled gasps. One man in particular wailed, running out of the crowd. He wore a feathered cap and a well to-do jerkin, and seemed to be well manicured and groomed. He had a small brass ring with a signet on his left hand.

"Say it's not so, sir priest!" He cried with an imperial accent, worried.

"Who are you, my son?" I asked him, my eyes filled with concern but my smile kindly. I placed a gentle hand on his shoulder.

"I am Gregor von Ludendorf, the alderman. Is it truly as you say?" He asked, and before I could even say 'I am afraid so' he leaped to the next question. "What am I to do?"

Camilla bit her lip, and I nudged her with my shoulder to keep her face straight.

"I sense you have had bad luck recently, sir. Not everything in your life has gone as expected, yes? Yes, I see. It can be fixed quite easily, herr Ludendorf. Tonight my companion and I will stay the night, and I will perform the necessary rituals." I raised my hands and staff, as if a beam of light was expected to pierce the heavens and fall upon me at that very moment. "By morning, the foul presence will have been banished!" My voice carried over the crowd, and as Gustav watched with suspicion, I leaned in and whispered. "_{Oh, and for your tribute we require food and strong drink, preferably whiskey, and a comfortable place to sleep.}"

"Yes, yes of course!"

I smiled at how easily Kian talked his way into a comfortable spot at the inn. I knew that the people only half believed in his ‘daemon’ but I also knew that life in a small town was monotonus. Daemon or n daemon, the chance for something exciting and entertaining was worth the price of a meal. For my own part I had other priorities, days spent climbing over mountains and dodging greenskins had left me feeling less than civilized. Fortunately the best inn in Zinoca ran to a simple bath in the form of a large iron bound half drum which I guessed had been used to ship wine or ale in bulk before the locals got more creative with it. The serving maid was a little scandalized when I asked not only fresh water, but hot fresh water to fill it, but for a silver coin I was able to overcome her initial reluctance to do more than make doe eyes at Kian.

During the bath I asked her what the gate guard had meant about Bradolf.

“It’s a town up the river, uppity farmers and timber men for he most part,” she confided in surprisingly nasal Tilean. I think she meant it to show that she was as sophisticated as I was, but I much preferred her bastardized Riekspiel to the hash she made of the Mother Tongue. Bradolf had, she claimed, once been a hamlet under the control of Zinoca but wealth from its mahogany groves had lead to its growth until it rivaled the parent city. Predictably friction between the old families and the new money was acute.

“We even had a few battles, mostly just the men shaking their spears at each other,” the serving woman explained as she scrubbed my back rather harder than seemed strictly necessary.

“Everyone was saying it was going to be war before the orcs showed up this spring.”

“And you have been fighting the orcs since?” I asked. She made a dismissive sound by blowing air through her lips.

“The orcs don’t come down out of the mountains much, except at night, it hasn’t stopped the men from squabblin’ only made them a bit more cautious about it.”

"You're Imperial, are you not?"

The question was innocuous, but surprising to me nonetheless.

The alderman and I stood outside, drinking a small cup of wine as the sun set and the stars began to blanket the night sky in ubiquitous illumination. It was truly a wonderful sight when you were far away from a large city like Altdorf or one of the many Tilean city states. The few torches lit outside were set about as almost a fashion choice, lighting up the finery alongside buildings and keeping the main crossways alight. It seemed the guards set along the walls had to carry their own light source, some with torches and others with oil lamps. I wondered what utility a lack of structured light was, but no doubt it was for some purpose I had yet to ascertain. For his part, Gregor von Ludendorf had seen the inquisitive look on my face.

I gave him a smile. "Don't act so surprised. I can hear more than a hint of an imperial accent in you, herr Gregor."

His brow raised. The man chewed on something I did not catch him pop into his mouth. "You've got a good ear. I have not thought of myself as a citizen of the empire for years now. I've been in this land, oh... two decades? More? I came here as a refugee like many people."

"I'm certain there are many men and women born in these lands." I said, turning to look back at the greenery, now a deep blue from the long shadows over the land.

"You're right, but when someone is born here, they have a thirst for adventure and a wish to explore, to create! The settled folk are the ones that fled from somewhere else." He explained, and then gave a chuckle. "Unless you're a lord, of course."

"I hear this is the land of opportunity, is it not?" I pondered

"If you could have made your fortune where you came from, you would have. People only come here for a second chance, or to keep their heads on their shoulders. Which are you, herr priest?" He asked pointedly. I turned to regard him again, and not wishing to become too personal, I deflected. Though my mouth always ran away from me.

"Well, I'm always trying to keep my head on my shoulders." I quipped. "As for chances, I had mine and I squandered it, but that is a story for another time."

It would not do to tell him of Camilla and I were lovers. We had not introduced ourselves as such. That would draw too many questions, and we were still so close to Tilea. I doubted there were many itinerant priests who spat in the face of his liege and left the party he was duty bound to protect in order to elope with a beautiful Tilean dancer. The alderman and I shared a few more pleasantries, and he took his leave, wishing to check on his wife and the dinner they were preparing. I had to admit I was nearly famished. Ah! Yes, I needed to make my mark on the house. Tomorrow if someone asked how I quelled the daemonic spirits, I needed something to point to. I gulped down the last bit of my wine and set the cup on the porch, before taking up my staff and and knapsack.

I picked my way around the small garden out front easily enough, deigning to examine the house to sate what small guilt I had lying more than anything else. As I did so, I found I faced the near the back end of Zinoca, where the walls were thick and the traffic was little. Only a few storehouses and outhouses for the workers hugged the wall, with thick trees and foliage hugging the architecture. Even so, it seemed Sigmar was with me. As I looked, I saw a bit of movement. My eyes honed in, wondering why I believed I just saw something drop down the wall without a sound. I stopped, perfectly cloaked by the trees as what I imagined was the same figure flitted from one building to the other, dressed in dark clothing and moving like a serpent.

I found that quite suspicious.

I waited another moment, and then slunk out of the small bit of green between the houses and followed the figure, moving briskly but keeping back and to the shadows to keep my presence unknown. I held my staff like a spear, lower to the ground and ready to strike just in case. Seconds passed to a minute, and suddenly the figure rushed across the street, like a fox not wishing to be run down by an oncoming carriage. Luckily, they had traveled to my side of the street, and I awaited in the shadows. The figure, a man's size, stepped into the alleyway I hid within. Even veiled by dark cloth, I saw their eyes go wide when I stepped into the light.

"Evening," I said, or I tried to. The flash of steel against the light was the only warning I had, but fate had it that my weapon was longer. The head of my staff rammed into their head even as they ducked, but to their credit they recovered swiftly. I spun my weapon to keep him at bay, but they timed their dodge perfectly, ducking and dodging before taking a leap, knife point out to gut me. They had not counted on the butt of my weapon however, and I slid it under their legs like a martial artist from Cathay. The figure tripped, falling to the ground. Even as they spun to try and catch themself, my staff flipped and I helped gravity along, slamming the heavy head of the staff into the back of their head. They hid the street like a sack of potatoes.

Ugh, now I was even hungrier.

I knelt down and took the knife from their nerveless fingers as a precaution, but oddly enough, there was a message wrapped around the hilt. Gingerly I unrolled it, and I gasped.

I peered at the scrap of parchment while Kian ate thick slices of the local bread with evident relish. The stuff was rather good, but I had always been taught to approach bread carefully. The map was little more than a few quick lines drawn with a charcoal stick. A sketch of what looked to be a manor house, a few quick notations which obviously correlated to number of watchmen and change of shifts. I clucked my tongue against the roof of my mouth. It was clumsy, in Tilea any assassin worth his salt would have memorized the information and destroyed the note, but these were unsophisticated lands, without an elevated culture of how to kill each other with maximum artistic flair.

"He must have been planning to kill the Baron, no burglar would have the watch information," I concluded, "no chance the fellow is alive to question?" Kian shook his head as he chewed.

"Cwushed skaal," he managed around a mouthful of bread. I tutted again, though I could hardly blame Kian for refusing to pull his punches. Doubtless the assassin wouldn't have shed many tears for a dead priest in a back alley.

"I suppose we ought to warn the Baron," I concluded. If there was one assassin sent their might be more. I didn't know anything of the politics of this places, but I found it was rarely the just cause that stooped to hiring killers to knife someone in their beds. Besides someone was bound to have seen something, and it would go ill for us if the Baron thought we were withholding vital information. And there was always the chance he might have some halfway decent wine...

I swallowed the spiced bread, quite good by my estimation, and drank a bit of water to wash it down before I dabbed my mouth with a cloth. "I concur most judiciously. It seems Sigmar has brought us here for a reason. What priest would I be to ignore the summons of my esteemed deity?" I reasoned, my mind made up. The alderman's house was quite fine, but the Baron's manor would be a step up in comfort and prestige.

"Sometimes I cannot tell if you are speaking honestly when you talk of Sigmar." She replied. We both spoke in Tilean as we often did, though I do find her accent when she spoke imperial quite adorable.

I flashed a sly grin. "It's a mystery to me as well, my lover. Now I suggest we go and report this to our generous host. It would not do to leave a body lying in the street, particularly a body we might profit from." I advised, taking my staff in hand and rising from my seat. The hour was quite late, or early depending on who one asked. If luck was with us, no guard had stumbled upon the corpse.

It was our good fortune the alderman was an office meant to dispense justice. Camilla ruffled her hair up and rubbed her eyes, giving her the look of a woman that had just awoken. She followed behind me, my staff knocking on the bedroom door of the slumbering alderman. There was a grumbling, before the door opened. Gregor looked at us bleary eyed, incredulous.

"What is it, herr priest?" He asked tiredly, clearing trying to be polite despite what he deemed as an impolite interruption of his sleep. He changed his mind quite quickly when I informed him of the events of the past two hours, and when I looked at Camilla, her glorious dark eyes were wide with shock and amazingly there seemed to be real moisture brimming.

Sigmar, even I couldn't act that convincingly.