Brother Douglas, an older priest, wore the marks of time—his once-dark hair had thinned to wisps, leaving him nearly bald. Chosen by the Church to lead the battalion to River Hallow, he had served in its militant ranks for over twenty years. He had crushed rebellions, personally executed heretics and blasphemers, and forged a legacy built on ruthless efficiency. His cruelty bred obedience through fear.
He had never approved of Lady Rhaine’s appointment, but he followed the Council’s orders without question.
“Move faster, you cursed lot!” he barked, his voice sharp with contempt, his scowl deepening at the sluggish pace of the march.
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The soldiers struggled to keep pace on foot, sweat pouring down their faces beneath the weight of armor and gear. Brother Douglas rode behind them on horseback, his voice cracking through the air like a whip.
“Any stragglers who fall behind will receive ten lashes—by my hand!” he roared. In his eyes, there was no service to the Church without suffering.
“We are the Creator’s army! We die in the Creator’s service! There is no greater honor!”
“Praise the Creator!” the soldiers shouted in unison.
The sound pleased Douglas—though he’d never show it. His scowl didn’t waver as he sneered, “If you truly praised the Creator, you wouldn’t be crawling like slugs.”
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Douglas barked orders at one of his commanders. “Brother Keller, fall back to me. We need to reach River Hallow before the set date. I want to catch this ‘Lady Rhaine’ off guard.”
He seethed at the very thought of her. The Church Council had chosen her—a woman—to lead the fight against the Harbinger. It could’ve been anyone, but they picked her. To Douglas, it was a slap in the face to every priest who had ever shed blood in service to the Church.
“I have burned people alive!” he shouted, turning his wrath toward a soldier who’d drifted out of formation. “Don’t think for a moment I’m bluffing when I say I’ll whip you myself!”
“We will defeat the Harbinger—with discipline!” Douglas roared.
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Within the battalion marched a particular young man—Thomas Leflore, barely past his seventeenth year. Abandoned at the Church as a child, his parents had believed the old superstition that children born with red hair were cursed. His hair had marked him ever since.
At the Church’s school, the other boys gave him cruel nicknames: Fire Top, Copper. He hated both.
Thomas had grown into a Church Scribe. While he was expected to fight like any other soldier, his primary duty was to document the morale of the troops and, Creator willing, record the downfall of the Harbinger.
“Hurry it up, Copper! I’m not getting whipped just because you march like a drunk mule!”
Thomas turned his head at the familiar voice. It was Dareth—one of his former classmates. Dareth had never been much for books, but what he lacked in brains, he made up for in brute strength. It was no surprise he’d ended up in Brother Douglas’s platoon.
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“I’m doing the best I can, Log Legs!” Thomas snapped. The truth was, everyone had a nickname—usually a cruel one.
A sudden shove from behind sent him stumbling forward, crashing into the man in front of him.
“Watch it, boy!” the man barked, steadying himself.
Thomas turned to glare at Dareth. “Thanks, you jerk,” he muttered before returning to his march.
“Company—halt!” Brother Douglas’s voice rang out. The soldiers stopped in unison.
“Set camp! We move before dawn!”
A collective sigh of relief passed through the weary ranks.
Douglas rode to the front, scanning the line. “I want my tent up before anyone else's! Move it!”
Perched high on his horse, Douglas had a clear view of the entire company. No one dared set up their own tents until the officers assigned to him had finished his.
Once it was up, the troops broke into smaller groups. Campfires soon flickered across the field where they had stopped, bringing a momentary sense of rest to the long march.
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“Hey, Copperhead!” Dareth called out with a grin.
Thomas sighed, the old nickname like a stone in his shoe. “What is it now, Dareth?” he muttered as he began setting up his tent.
“Don’t be like that, Copper. I just thought it’d do us both some good to stick together,” Dareth said, his tone feigning friendliness. He gave Thomas a light push to the back of the head.
“I have a name, thank you—and it’s not Copper or Copperhead or whatever else your dull mind comes up with,” Thomas said sharply, turning to face him. “It’s Thomas.”
No sooner had the name left his lips than Dareth’s fist slammed into his stomach. Thomas crumpled to his knees, gasping.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Dareth said, towering over him with a smirk. “I was thinking we could be a team in all this. I beat up the bad guys, and you write about how amazing I was. What do you say?”
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Thomas struggled back to his feet, clutching his stomach. “Why would I ever agree to that?” he muttered, his pride aching as much as his ribs.
Dareth slung an arm around his shoulders, pulling him in with mock camaraderie. “Because, Copper,” he said with a grin, “I’d hate to have to toss you to the enemy myself.”
He said it like a joke, but the threat hung in the air.
Thomas stared ahead, jaw tight. “Sure… whatever.”
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The horses were spent, their flanks lathered with sweat. Rhaine, Alex, and the remaining survivors had pushed hard, desperate to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the Crimson Mist.
On the horizon, the town of Stennor came into view.
“Finally,” Rhaine breathed, her voice ragged. The sight was a small mercy. “I think we’re far enough away,” she said, glancing back at the weary group trailing behind her.
Alex pulled his horse up beside hers. “I can tell you one thing… I’m never having kids,” he muttered, then pointed ahead. “Oh hey, look—Stennor.”
“Yes, Alex,” Rhaine said flatly. “There it is.”
He grinned, unfazed. “I, for one, wouldn’t mind stopping by a bar. I think we’ve earned a drink or two before the next round of nightmares visits us tonight.”
Without waiting for a reply, he nudged his horse forward, heading toward the town’s gates.
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“Is that all you think about—drinking?” Rhaine snapped, keeping pace with him. “People have died, Alex. No, we don’t have time for a pint of ale. We’re here to bring Orion back for trial.”
Alex reined in his horse, forcing her to stop with him.
“I know you’re in charge, Lady Rhaine,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “You might never tire of carrying that weight, but our horses need rest. Your men need food. Shelter. Time to breathe.”
He met her eyes, unflinching. “You can condemn the priest tomorrow.”
With that, he turned his horse and trotted ahead. “You may be Lady Rhaine,” he called over his shoulder, “but the rest of us are only human.”
She sat in silence for a moment, jaw tight. He was right, and that was what stung the most. Everyone was exhausted—herself included. The anger she felt wasn’t just toward him—it was frustration at the truth.
“Come,” she finally said, loud enough for the others to hear. “We’ll stay in Stennor tonight. But I want to find Orion first.”
She led the remaining eight riders into town, bracing herself for devastation. Instead, she was startled to see life moving as if untouched. People went about their business—calm, almost serene.
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“Did Marcus miss this town?” Rhaine muttered, her eyes scanning the peaceful streets. She rode further in, then stopped beside a townsfolk going about their day.
“Excuse me,” she said. “Has a priest and a woman arrived in town recently?”
“Oh, certainly, m’lady,” the villager replied brightly. “There was a terrible fight not long ago—a priest named Orion and a woman named Melissa faced off against a horrible-looking man and… well, some twisted children with him.”
Rhaine blinked, stunned. “Thank you… Where are they now?”
“The children took the man’s body and vanished after the woman said some strange, magical words,” the villager said, shivering slightly at the memory. “The priest was badly hurt in the fight. He’s being cared for at the mayor’s house.” She pointed toward a large home down the main road.
Before Rhaine could ask anything more, the woman was already walking away.
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Hearing that Orion was injured only fueled Rhaine’s anger. Without wasting a moment, she made her way to the mayor’s house and knocked firmly on the door. A man answered, his expression polite but cautious.
“Yes? How can I help you?”
“I need to speak with Brother Orion,” Rhaine said, her voice edged with exhaustion and restrained fury.
“I’m afraid Brother Orion is injured and needs rest,” the doorman replied. “It would be best to return in the morning.”
As he began to close the door, Rhaine stepped forward, blocking it with her boot. “I am Lady Rhaine of the Council of Trendell. I need to speak with him. Now.”
The doorman’s eyes widened slightly. He nodded and opened the door wider. “Brother Orion said you would come. Please, come in. He’s been expecting you.”
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Rhaine was led upstairs to one of the spare bedrooms. Inside, Orion lay on the bed, his leg heavily bandaged. Melissa sat by his side, her face tight with worry. She had done her best to heal him, but the wound refused to fully mend.
When Rhaine entered, Melissa held her breath—unsure of what to expect.
“What happened?” Rhaine asked. Though her voice was stern, a thread of concern wove through her words.
Orion, struggling to breathe, tried to sit up. “We had… to do… something,” he managed to say, each word drawn from a place of pain and effort.
“The Warrior Priest Orion and Nightingale Shadelyn protected this town,” came a deep, commanding voice from behind Rhaine.
She turned to see Cormier Remington, the master of the house and Mayor of Stennor. In his younger years, he had been a bard of some renown, and though long retired, his eloquence had not faded with time.
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"Who are you, and why did you give them those names?" Rhaine asked, her voice sharp. She took a deep breath. This situation was slipping further out of her control. She couldn’t afford any sort of hero worship. She had already declared Orion was to be arrested—there was no turning back now.
"My name is Cormier. I am the Mayor," he replied as he stepped further into the room. "And those titles are fitting for the champions they’ve proven to be. After all, they turned back the Usher."
Cormier paused, his eyes meeting Rhaine’s. He wanted her to understand—he knew what was truly at stake.
"The Church must be here to celebrate them, surely?" he asked, his voice laced with quiet challenge. He turned and walked to the window, gazing out at the town. "It’s been ages since we’ve had reason to openly rejoice in the Church."
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"I need to speak with Brother Orion and Melissa in private, please," Rhaine said, her focus returning to Orion.
"By all means," Cormier replied, giving a small nod before stepping out and quietly closing the door behind him.
Once they were alone, Rhaine moved to the foot of the bed, her posture rigid.
"You completely disregarded an order—an order from the Council," she said, her voice cold and restrained. Her gaze shifted to Melissa.
"And you... you aided him. After everything the Church did for you—nursed you back to health, gave you a second chance—you chose to betray that."
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"At least we did something," Melissa said firmly, her voice edged with defiance. She didn’t regret their actions. "I repaid the Church by saving Stennor. I won’t stand by and let another Dren happen."
"That may be," Rhaine replied, her tone strained. She looked to Orion, her expression heavy. "But the fact remains…" She hesitated, then exhaled slowly. "You still defied a direct order from the Church."
She closed her eyes for a moment, weariness catching up to her. "Everyone in River Hallow knows what happened. It won’t be long before word reaches the Council."
Sweat clung to Orion’s brow as he looked up at her. "You have to arrest me," he said quietly. He understood—this was the only reason she’d come.
Rhaine opened her eyes and gave a solemn nod. "Yes. You’ve left me no choice."
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Melissa jumped to her feet. "That will never happen!" she snapped, drawing her Tarot cards from her belt. Magic hummed at her fingertips as she prepared to strike—until Orion’s voice cut through the air.
"No, Melissa," he said, strained and breathless. "If you attack her... they’ll burn you at the stake."
Rhaine’s grip tightened on her sword, her patience unraveling. "I haven’t decided whether to arrest you either," she said coldly, eyes fixed on Melissa. "You’d be wise to sit down and shut your mouth."
"I'm not afraid of you, coward!" Melissa shouted, throwing the cards into the air. They began to levitate, circling her in a glowing ring. One shot toward Rhaine like a blade. She deflected it with her sword, slicing the card clean in half.
Rhaine moved to strike—but Orion staggered from the bed, planting himself between them.
"Leave Melissa alone... and I’ll go quietly," he said, barely able to stay on his feet. "I’m not so sure... Cormier would give you the same deal."
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Rhaine stood still, weighing the cost of mercy. After a long pause, she finally spoke.
"I'll compromise," she said. "I won't arrest Melissa, but she doesn't leave my sight. She returns to River Hallow with me."
The truth was, Rhaine needed the extra help—especially if things went bad.
"She stays there under guard," Rhaine added firmly. "One stationed at her door at all times. She agrees to that, or we have a problem."
Her eyes drifted to Orion. She hated this—hated that it had come to this. In another world, maybe there was another way.
"Then I accept those terms," she said quietly.
Orion gave a faint nod. "Deal." He turned his head toward Melissa, his voice soft. "I knew what I was doing. Maybe the Church will understand... that we saved these people..."
Before he could finish, Orion collapsed back onto the bed, his strength spent.
Melissa rushed to his side, checking his temperature with a trembling hand. "He's been fighting a fever," she whispered, alarm creeping into her voice.
Rhaine watched him, uncertain. For the first time since arriving, a sliver of doubt pierced her resolve.
She wasn't even sure he’d survive the journey back.
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