Bel sat on a foldable chair, his hands resting on the sword on his knees as he blankly watched the servants work. Men carried stand poles, refitting them on the survived tents or latched the tent ropes onto wooden stakes while the women resew tattered white canvases in groups of four or five. Inquisitors and knights alike had thrown off their traditional garb, now walking around in simple shirts or coats, extinguishing the sparse flames or trying to calm the still spooked dogs with the grooms. Watching them, he kept sneaking glances at the surrounding forest. A fine little mess this was. Not only had the heretics stolen back almost the entirety of their equipment and some of their supplies, but they were also able to set fire to half the camp, not even mentioning the around a dozen wounded or dead. It was strange that most of those were only inquisitors or his knights. Still, he guessed the damage could’ve been more severe. After all, the heretics hadn’t hit their food stores and the main kitchen tent had remained surprisingly intact. Sighing heavily, Bel hung his head, relaxing on the small stool as he laid the azure blue blade on the slightly damp grass. He wasn’t angry. Well, not truly angry. In truth, he felt frustration and disappointment the most. Frustration for the time this cleaning up will take. Disappointment both in himself and his men for not being able to prevent this. He shouldn’t have taken so many soldiers hunting with him. Sadly, what’s done is done and there was nothing he could change.

“Milord!” Bel turned to see Arlosius, his pure white cape slightly flapping along with the spring wind. The man had been in a frenzy after the incident, disciplining the survivors and heading the repairs. Anger and fatigue etched his grim face. Going to one knee, he tilted his wide-brimmed hat. “Rise, man. Rise,” Bel said in a calming tone. Inquisitors were known for being sticklers to the rules and it seemed their captains were even more so. He looked at Arlosius as he stood. Most inquisitors rarely ever spoke and hid most of their faces with white or black veils, with only their eyes uncovered. Bel felt strange knowing that the grim-faced, tight jawed man was the first inquisitor he had ever seen unveiled. Not for the first time, he studied Arlosius’s face. Wide ears loosely framed a long, gaunt and sickly face, complete with hollow eyes and a long nose which seemed to have been broken several times, a bushy moustache in the Allmanii style decorating his upper lip. Three scars, two short and one long ran along his right cheek, while a brand of the Holy Diamond sat impressed onto his forehead. He might’ve been considered handsome by some in his younger days, but now his face more closely resembled a ghost's. Sadly, Bel wasn’t one to judge, considering his entire face was covered in great cracks of skin, some even showing muscle sinew or even bone. Still, despite his looks, the man was nothing if not efficient. In truth, though Bel was the leader of this expedition, he barely had to worry about the procurement of supplies, or the drawing up of guard duty, or even the coordination of patrols. Every morning, Arlosius went from tent to tent, handing out the orders to the men individually! The only thing he needed from Bel at all was the use of his seal.

In truth, it was rather vexing. After all, this was his first hunt. And here he was, having some white cloak doing all his work for him. Still, he was taught to use every tool at his disposal. And Arlosius was proving to be a rather effective tool. Turning from the man, who kept a close watch on the ongoing work while leaning on the long shaft of his mace, Bel thought hard, blocking off the sounds of hammering and work songs. This had to be reported to Grandfather Maximien in Baye which could’ve meant his recall for disciplinary action. And that was something he couldn’t allow. As he thought about all this, he noticed Sister Almona entered his vision. Dressed in the deep blue dress of a Sister, her white linen shawl draped loosely on her shoulders, partly hiding a wide white neckerchief while a coif and cap, with a deep blue veil covering it, hid everything apart from her youthful freckled face. A long prayer bead swayed along with her motion as it hung from her slim belt. The very definition of a pious Sister, she glided towards him and Arlosius. Coming up to them, she regarded Arlosius with a nod and greeted Bel with a simple curtsey. Though the image pristine image of what a Sister should be, Almona had the word ‘frustration’ seemingly etched onto her forehead. The longer they had gone without finding the escaped slave, the more anxious and seemingly angry she got. He had heard that she was a bit snappish at first, but now he got regular reports of her shouting at servants for merely standing in her way. He had heard of the bond that developed between Sister and slave, but he never expected something like this. Standing by him, she seemed the image of a calm and collected woman, but that smile was so forced it almost made him cringe.

“I see you are unnerved, Sister,” Arlosius suddenly said, glancing at her. The girl looked at him, seemingly stunned for a moment, before catching herself and simply nodding.

“Forgive me, Brother Arlosius… I am… worried. Worried for my poor Pietre,” she said. Bel noticed her hands slightly quivering.

“Do not worry, Sister. As soon as we clean this sad excuse for a raid, we’ll be on the hunt once again. Speaking of which, milord, I wished to speak with you about a change I wanted to implement concerning the number of men who go on patrol and the ones left on guard duty.”

Bel shook his head. He felt a slight shock from Arlosius. The man wasn’t used to someone declining his advice.

“I have already thought of that, Brother Arlosius. In total, we have brought 353 men, out of whom around 330 are left, including the injured. Therefore, from here on, we will be leaving exactly one hundred men, an equal number of inquisitors and Order knights, to guard the camp, while the others ride out in search of the heretical vermin. Our priority is still the Marrel hills and the recovery of the slave, but on our next outing, I will take fifty of my knights to try and hunt down those men. It is obvious that we had written them off too quickly.”

Arlosius stayed silent for a moment, before nodding resolutely. “It will be as you say, milord. May I…”

“Brother Arlosius!” Almona suddenly said, her tone haughty and hurt. “Have you forgotten etiquette? The captain must be addressed as Father Bel. All of us left our earthly titles and possessions the moment we kissed the Holy Diamond and swore to serve in aeternum.”

Arlosius blinked at Almona, the words he wanted to say stuck on the tip of his tongue. Taking a moment to compose himself, he nodded to the young Sister. “You speak the truth, Sister. Thank you for pointing out my fault. As I was saying, Father Bel,” he said the words bitterly. Loyal he may be, but Arlosius did not enjoy the fact Bel was higher in rank than he. “May I then lead the hunt for the heretic and the stolen property?”

Bel simply nodded in answer. As long as the man did his job, there shouldn’t be any problems. Watching the tents coming up one after another, he felt something brush up against his neck. Not his armour. His neck. Perhaps one of his bandages had loosened? No, that was unlikely. Those things were tied tighter than a pickpocket’s purse. Still, he took note of the feeling. It was too… noticeable to be called goosebumps. It truly felt like someone had touched him. He remembered feeling something similar once, long ago…

“If you would excuse me, I will be retiring to my tent,” he said suddenly, standing and grabbing his sword as he headed for the large pavilion just behind him. His tent had also been ransacked, with documents and parchment littering the ground, his single chest opened and thoroughly robbed of anything useful and valuable. They had even taken their banner which Bel had hung up as a trophy on the main pole of his pavilion. Still, it was better than to find the thing collapsed in on itself or in flames. Entering the tent, he found Duomas sitting in front of his smaller table. The senile valet wore a snug, slash-sleeved doublet, the insignia of the Putrelis Order carefully sown on the right side of his chest and simple britches which reached to his ankles, revealing white hose which extended to his simple leather shoes. The old man bobbed a deep nod as Bel entered, the bells in his grey beard chiming. Bel never understood that Septimaran tradition. Most said it was a relic from the ancient civilization which left the Stormfront Statues, others – that it was just stupid southerner fashion sense. Bel agreed with the latter more. Nodding back, he came up to his desk, a large, heavily ornate and foldable thing. A page of parchment was already carefully placed on it, quill and ink prepared in advance. Bel groaned. He did not want to write that report. He had to catch these heretics, to prove to the Order lords and Grandfather Maximien that he could be trusted. He could not be recalled. He couldn’t! He had to… Looking at the page in front of him, he exhaled and said a quick prayer of forgiveness. Picking up the quill, he started to write:

‘Report of the 137th Faith heretic hunt expedition. 15th day of Birdsong, year 1569 our Illustrious Lord.

My most Illustrious and noble Grandfather Maximien, Vicar to the Great Father in Bollardia, High Pontiff of St. Amanelia’s Cathedral. I, your humble servant, Father Bel of the Putrelis Holy Order, wish to inform you of the last week of our activities.

We have chased the escaped band of heretics into the countryside around the Marrel hills and Kamoran Forest. So far, over sixty-three heretics have been confirmed to be dead or routed.

A band of around fifty heretics have made camp deep in the Kamoran Forest and have recently raided our camp. Thankfully, the combined efforts of the inquisitors and Putrelis knights were able to swiftly drive them away and, as I write this, a sizable contingent has been dispatched to find and purify them.

The Chief heretic, Kosian Nocamius, along with a smaller group of heretics and the stolen property of the Church is believed to be hiding somewhere in the Marrel Hills. We currently send out scout parties regularly to search for them. The process may take time, but I can assure you that we will find them.

May you walk in the path set out by the Lord and may the Blue Stars of the Band forever guide your path and judgement,

your humble and loyal servant, Father Bel of the Putrelis Holy Order.’

Rolling up the letter, Bel grabbed a green tassel and used it to tie the rolled-up paper tight. Taking the nearby stick of wax, its color pure gold, he quickly heated it and dripped a few drops on the knot. Pressing the ring, which he always kept tied around his neck, to the wax, he checked the imprint left on the wax - the image of a masked knight. ‘I shouldn’t be doing this!’ Bel thought, placing the rolled-up letter into a leather messenger case, he handed it to Duomas.

“This is my report to Grandfather Maximien. Please ask one of the messengers to send it as fast as possible.”

The old man nodded, taking the case without looking. Sitting down, Bel sighed and murmured another prayer of forgiveness. He was happy he didn’t mention the wyvern guts.

Digarza felt a smile cross his face as the tall human sat back in his chair. Oh, how he loved toying with human consciousness. It was all too simple! He felt mirth as he heard the man chastising himself in his thoughts. All too simple. Still, the bronze-headed ox had been a tougher nut to crack than that little Sister of theirs. Reaching out to her with his thoughts, he was immediately flooded with thoughts of that slave boy. Digarza felt himself unconsciously lick his lips. He wasn’t as deviant as his sister, but even the girl’s thoughts made him desire the boy. If only in the most minuscule way. Still, he was impressed. He had never had someone fall so quickly to his temptation. And the interesting part was that the girl didn’t want to find the boy because she feared for her status or her reputation. No. She just wanted to experience him again. In truth, had she been an elf, Digarza might’ve taken her for a concubine. The ones in his current collection had been failing him lately and this one seemed just the replacement. ‘Calm down there, you rascal,’ he thought to himself, as his veiled form floated out of the large pavilion. It felt nice, having to do something so simple. Still, he wasn’t all happy. The fact he had to activate one of the Sacrificed had left a bad taste in his mouth. Not only that, but those insects had killed it as easily as some beast! He had to report this to Namkuz. Though few, there were still dangers to their plans. And it was best to be ready for any eventuality. Still, things had been proceeding smoothly. Already, around a hundred thousand had died in just these past few days. If they were able to continue this, there was a good chance around one-third of the population of Evea would perish before the end of the war. That was better than the last larger war they had instigated. It might even be enough to summon him. No. That was just a myth, and, though enticing, a stupid one. Looking down at the insect again, Digarza smiled to himself, feeling as thoughts of doubt drifted in his mind.

“He may prove useful yet,” Digarza said to himself, opening a Window into that stuffy castle room.