Gruthka spent some time bringing Verdan up to speed on the goings on of the Fwyn population, which was both reassuring and depressing at the same time. On the one hand, the tension in the city had impacted them far less than Verdan had feared. On the other, Hursk had predicted all of this and had taken steps to mitigate it, even when Verdan didn’t believe him.

  Did that mean that the rest of Hursk’s predictions about what Verdan was trying to achieve in the city would come true?

  Verdan cast aside the unpleasant thought for the time being. A month ago, he’d have said it wouldn’t happen and that was that. Now, though, things were changing quickly, and he didn’t like any of it. Perhaps Hursk was right, perhaps integrating Fwyn into an existing city wouldn’t work.

  That begged the question, though, of what exactly Verdan would do if that turned out to be true?

  -**-

  Leaving the Fwyn to enjoy their food, Verdan made his way back over to the market area and got directions to where Ciaran was from a Thrain Thearn who was patrolling the area. There was likely still some time before the potential meeting, but they had a lot to discuss.

  The Thearn led Verdan and Barb straight to a large building that seemed to be a hub of activity for Thearns and shieldguards of both Clans. It was somewhat telling that there was no sign of Osran or the rest of Clan Menteith. Osran was a Chosen, just like Ciaran and Maeve, but had refused to join them in taking the fight to the Cyth corrupting Miyaka forest.

  Osran had decided instead to stay and secure his people within the city, to protect them from further harm. A desire that Verdan could not and would not belittle. No, the problem Verdan had was that now, looking back on it, Osran would have known that others would be there to protect his people. Not just city guards, but shieldguards of the other Clans. They would not have been left alone and defenceless. Despite that, he’d not joined them.

  Having Osran with them might have made things easier, might have made their passage through the forest faster. They’d chosen to sally out, though, chosen to face the Cyth, and the cost of that was something they’d all taken upon themselves.

  In the end, Osran’s help was unlikely to have tipped the scales, but there was no way that the Chosen could have known that. Verdan held Osran to the same standard as the other Kranjir Chosen, and had found him wanting.

  Or perhaps it was just that the other Chosen he’d met had been exemplary?

  Without the Kranjir, the Daith tree might well have been corrupted, and the consequences of that would have been beyond Verdan’s understanding. All he knew was that anything a species as ancient as the Maevir feared happening would be a calamity by any standard.

  Thankfully, the tree survived, more or less, and hope lived on that Feli could plant its seed and grow a new one.

  “Verdan?” Padraig’s voice brought the Wizard out of his thoughts and he looked up to see the older man heading their way with a wave. The veteran’s gaze flicked to the eyepatch for a moment before fixing fixing on Verdan’s face. “Blade Dhorn let us know you were in the area; I was just going to ask around for you.”

  “I went to see the Fwyn first and see how they are faring,” Verdan said, exchanging a knowing look with the other man. Padraig was Ciaran’s Blade and one of the oldest Thearns outside of the Mhorgain veterans that had rallied to Dirk. His greying hair didn’t stop him from holding the line and covering Ciaran’s back in battle, though.

  “I believe that Clan Mhorgain are making strong ties with them,” Padraig said with a nod, turning slightly and motioning down the hall. “Shall I take you to the Chosen and the Clerics?”

  “Please do,” Verdan said, arching a brow at the plural. He’d see about that soon enough, though, he had other questions for Padraig. “I’ve seen some people learning Low Imperial to talk with the Fwyn, has that caught on with your Clan at all?”

  “A little, but not particularly. Our Clan has always traded with the city directly. The Mhorgain have had more contact with non-humans in the past, and with their current status, are less set in their ways. Even so, we’ve noted how much effort is being put into working with the Fwyn. If I’m honest, we’d assumed that was your doing, is that not the case?”

  “I’ve encouraged it, but not to the degree it seems to have escalated to,” Verdan said with a slight shrug. “I won’t pretend that it isn’t what I’m working towards, though. The Fwyn have a lot to offer.”

  “Agreed, but I’m just a Blade, my opinion hardly matters beyond my Chosen.”

  You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

  Verdan thought Padraig was downplaying his influence among the local Kranjir, but let the matter slide and turned to general questions about how things had been in the city over the last few weeks.

  They didn’t have long to talk, but the raw impression that Verdan got from Padraig was much the same as from Ruan and Nikau. Fundamentally, the city was recovering well from its most recent attack, but clear fault lines were developing in the process.

  It did help that the Cyth had been spotted early and the civilians in the city had been given ample time to hide or flee to somewhere secure. An attack like that, even one that had been driven back, could well have ruined the city otherwise.

  Eventually, Padraig brought them to a mostly empty library that had been converted into an office of sorts. Ciaran and Dirk were inside, along with Sinead, Bastian, Zhalia and Branwen.

  “Verdan, come on in, good timing,” Ciaran said, giving them a warm smile as he beckoned them forward. “Secure the door, please, Padraig.”

  Ciaran was a Chosen of Clan Thrain and the grandson of the current Thane, he and his father, Sebastian, had come to Hobson’s Point in search of ways to supplement their ancestral weapons. Verdan had done what he could for them, which led to exposing a plot to keep the Thane in a magically induced coma.

  Like his father, Ciaran was tall with shaggy dark hair and crystal clear blue eyes. Bad scarring lingered around the left side of his face from their fighting with the Cyth, but he’d refused Verdan’s offer to try to heal it away. Like most Kranjir, Ciaran wore his scars like a badge of honour.

  “Yes, Chosen.”

  “You’d best wait outside as well, Barb,” Verdan said, hiding a smile at the relieved look she gave him before hurrying back out to the corridor. “Alright, sorry if I’m late. I thought there was another hour or so until the meeting?”

  “We had a meeting with the council that was cut short,” Bastian said with a tight smile that held no warmth. Bastian was as tall as Ciaran, but while lacking his prominent muscles, Bastian had an intense air about him that could be quite intimidating. His mismatched eyes only added to the feeling, one a bright ocean blue and the other steel grey.

  Most importantly, though, Bastian was a Cleric, a wielder of Exeon, the magic of the gods. Unlike every other Cleric Verdan had met as well, Bastian had two gods, the brothers Gwyll and Rharth.

  “Why was it cut short?” Verdan asked, moving over to take a seat and join the room properly.

  “Apparently, they’re entirely against the idea of allowing us to establish any kind of formal presence in the city. We can still do it, of course, but we won’t be recognised by the council in any sort of way. Apparently, they don’t want to cause any tension.”

  Ciaran scoffed and shook his head. “Cowards, the lot of them.”

  “Hang on, I’m missing some context here,” Verdan said, motioning for Bastian to slow down. “What exactly is it that’s been denied?”

  “We asked for permission to establish a combined temple in the city, to bring together the faithful. Recent events have shown that our methods aren’t working as well as we’d like, so a change is needed. We’ve been spread out, doing our best to cover as much ground as we can, but that has failed. Instead, we decided to concentrate our efforts. Having official recognition from the city would help with that, but it isn’t required.”

  Verdan nodded slightly. “I think I understand from what we’ve discussed in the past.”

  Bastian had warned him that the gods were losing their influence in the world. The number of Clerics was slowly but steadily declining, to the point that they were insufficient to keep the worshippers of the Annwae, the malevolent gods of the Abyss, in check.

  A dangerous state of affairs, and one that no doubt had led to the Brotherhood having as much influence as they did. It was also something that couldn’t be publicly discussed or shared widely. If they did, panic would be inevitable, and the already difficult situation they found themselves in might well get worse.

  From Ciaran’s reaction, Verdan didn’t think the Chosen was aware of the greater importance of what Bastian was doing. Thankfully, the Kranjir seemed to have a strong bond with their Patron god, Govannon. That would hopefully mean that Ciaran would help the Clerics without needing to fully understand the situation.

  “You’re more than welcome to take a building in our area,” Sinead said. “We have several that are empty and unused. Our Clan would be proud to host the Clerics.”

  Sinead was the closest thing to a Keeper that the Mhorgain Clan had. Her parents had both been Keepers, but they had died defending Blackpeak and her training had been incomplete. To become a true Keeper, she needed to know how to make ancestral weapons and Glaichsteel, the aethite-infused metal that was key to such weaponry. With what Verdan had learned in recent weeks, he was confident that he could now help her achieve that.

  It would be a bold step forward, but one that needed to be taken.

  “Thank you, I appreciate the offer,” Bastian said, bowing slightly. “For now, we’ll do so. There are many followers of both Gwyll and Rharth in the city. I will reach out to them and see what we can do.”

  “Most Airta worship Dassdarth,” Zhalia said, folding her arms. “But we do so in our own way, and without organisation. I will do what I can to change this, but we Clerics are few among my people.”

  Zhalia was a muscular Airta woman with short brown hair and bronze eyes. She was quiet for the most part, speaking only when necessary, but was a fierce warrior. Any Cleric of Dassdarth, the god of Nature and Hunting, would be, though.

  “It is much the same for the Idrisyr,” Branwen said, toying absently with her long hair as she frowned in thought. Branwen was Elliot and Cullan’s older sister and, like her brothers, had the physical strength to crush a man with ease. “We’ve had no home for a long time, so we wander from place to place. With those that Verdan rescued from the Brotherhood here in the city, this is the most Idrisyr in one place that I’ve seen for quite some time.”

  “Will they be leaving?” Verdan asked, remembering how weak the Idrisyr had been. “If so, I’d recommend at least some time to recover first.”

  “They’re staying for now, and their families will no doubt be heading here when they hear they’re alive,” Branwen said, her jaw firming as her hands curled into fists. “The Brotherhood will pay for what they’ve done.”

  “Speaking of which, perhaps this is the time to discuss what you found on your trip?” Bastian asked, turning to Verdan expectantly.