While the background was nice, I still had limited understanding of what Alex's plan was. Drifter was an important part of my future goals but was stuck in prison, and next steps seemed unclear at best.

  So I pressed him, and his response was simple: "The return of Henry Noman, at least in Lord Edgar's eyes, gives us the justification we need to dig deeper into the previous Regent's dealings."

  I was less than pleased with this response. "That's not a plan, though. It's trying to get information to hopefully make a plan."

  "That's where we're at, though." Alex shrugged, nonplussed about throwing a man in jail for no reason. "There's a gap in authority between us and the Regent, and it has been difficult to breach that gap. We've made smaller attempts to get access to the Regency's ledgers, or to interview people closer to the Regent, but we're always stymied by some minor bit of bureaucracy that no one is willing to waive. Now, with someone the Regent believes killed his father in prison, we have the ability to press harder."

  It felt weak. "If he's so convinced, does he even need or want an investigation? It seems to me that the most likely outcome is that he pushes for Drifter to be punished severely, and maybe if we're lucky there will be a sham trial to go with it."

  The thought had clearly crossed Alex's mind as well. His silence was less about considering the possibility and more about coming up with a proper excuse for why it wouldn't work out that way. All he could say was "We don't intend to allow that," which brought me little peace of mind.

  Our discussion continued somewhat fruitlessly for a bit longer. I attempted to push for more details on steps forward, Alex insisted things were going according to plan - or, as I saw it, according to his concept of a plan. Eventually we decided to part, with Alex leaving for the night, while making plans to meet up the next day. I hoped that the gap in time would show us some developments.

  It did not, though. Events seemed to be proceeding according to my fears: Drifter's trial was announced for a week in the future, the Regency was acting like they finally had justice for the death of Edgar's father without any investigation, and the guards seemed to find themselves struggling to get information on the murder as much as they had before. When a reporter asked about the lack of due process, a government representative I didn't recognize said "What is there to investigate? We know what happened and who did it." Spending resources on finding out "why" seemed to be undesirable.

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  I had a brief talk with Even and Alex about all this, in which they seemed more stumped by the Regency's bullheadedness than anything else. If they were going to come up with a plan, I would need to leave them to get their wits back about them first.

  This left me with no plan, no Drifter, and a short timeline for getting both of those. A terrible state to be in.

  And so I found myself back in the Heron's Rest that evening. Orwyn, unlike the guards, was in a cheerful mood, having offloaded the last of the goods he had brought to the city while finding good deals on goods he wanted to bring further south. "If you don't mind the company post-escape," he clarified.

  "Isn't the path south blocked?" Our options were the wastes or a blocked-off road.

  Orwyn nodded with an odd enthusiasm. "Yep, but I've got some fun intel: Durin is asleep, and Berserker was spotted on the road, so the wastelands are safe to traverse for a while."

  Offroading seemed unpleasant, but if it wasn't a death sentence it was still the better option.

  And for my benefit, Orwyn added: "I've got a quiet way out of the city, too, as long as you can get Drifter out of jail."

  "You heard?"

  "Who hasn't? They splurged on getting photographs of the guy and plastering them around town. No idea how you missed them."

  I was preoccupied, for the record.

  He continued, "Regardless, I'm guessing you're on his side anyways, otherwise you'd probably just be here to say bye and leave, so he's probably not the murderous psycho the government is touting him as. I'd say more people think it's a farce than not, so that's something."

  "Something that doesn't help me get him out of jail. But at least you have a way out, afterwards."

  We discussed the details of when and how to execute the escape plan, and I left for my lodgings after a second ale to calm my nerves.

  We were still far enough north that, even at the late hour, the sun was in the process of setting. Red hues cast over the citizens of Beorne, as if a fire sat just a few feet from every man and woman heading home for the night.

  My stomach knotted itself, thinking back to Drifter's words days earlier when we got into town. "We can get out if we need to." It was an ominous sentiment at the time, and it was getting sickening the more I thought of it. I suspected Drifter was more than capable of breaking out of prison on his own, slaughtering a few dozen civilians on top of some number of real combatants in the process. What would the blood toll of our presence here be?

  I often read histories of nations falling, including the thousands of people dying in the process. I read tales of cities razed to the ground and villages sacked for goods and fun.

  I passed by a fountain at the same time as a mother and child. The child was laughing, telling the story of his day, and his mother smiled along to his shenanigans. The sunset filtered through the spraying water, scattering red specks across their faces like the blood of a massacre yet to be.

  Was I ready for the history I was walking into? I could read anything, write anything, but as I felt the real option of tragedy in my future my stomach turned over and over, waffling on freeing my chosen godling.

  I slept little that night, thinking of Beorne and the Contest yet to come.