Father Rowland gathered the Prayer Box, noticing it was fuller than usual. He frowned, running a hand over the carved wood. "No doubt because of the troops," he muttered to himself. The growing presence of Church soldiers, combined with rumors of the Usher lurking in the wilds, had unsettled the people of River Haven.
"You’re just the man I was looking for. Can we talk?"
Orion’s voice cut through the quiet, startling Rowland. He turned to see the younger man standing in the doorway, his expression unreadable.
"Of course, Brother Orion," Rowland said, tucking the Prayer Box under his arm. With his free hand, he gestured toward a chair. "Please, have a seat. What’s on your mind?"
Orion leaned in, exhaling a heavy sigh. "I’m bothered… troubled, rather, by an order given by the Church."
Father Rowland nodded knowingly. Orion wasn’t the only member of the clergy in River Hallow struggling with the Church’s decisions. "What we discuss here will go no further—you have my vow," Rowland assured him, settling into the chair across from Orion.
Something in Rowland’s words offered Orion a small measure of comfort. "If we find the Usher…" He hesitated, the weight of the thought pressing down on him. River Hallow could be in danger. "If we do, the Church has ordered us to wait—until we find the Harbinger, Tyler Langston."
Rowland studied Orion’s face, noting the conflict etched into his features. He nodded slowly. "But there’s more to it than that, isn’t there?"
"The Church has deemed Tyler the more imminent threat. If we find Marcus, and we know people will be in his path…" Orion paused, locking eyes with Rowland to underscore the weight of his next words. "We are not to engage in any way. Any."
Father Rowland, now entering his silver years, had been in the clergy far longer than Orion. He understood exactly what those words meant. A somber expression settled over him.
"If you are willing to share a secret, then I will share one of mine," Rowland said, adjusting his robe—a habit of his whenever nerves crept in. "When I first arrived in this town, it was plagued by bandits. The people lived in fear. But I took what I had learned from my time as a soldier in the Church’s army. We built walls, we defended ourselves. And in time… River Hallow began to prosper."
Orion spoke, "Creator be praised, you have built a wonderful town. The Church is blessed to count River Hallow and its people among its faithful."
Rowland shook his head. "Let me finish." He exhaled, as if lifting an enormous burden from his chest. "When it came time to collect tithes, the people were already poor. The town had life again, but wealth did not flow. So, I made a choice—I refused to take tithes from them."
He paused, his gaze drifting over the modest church. "Everything here has been built with sweat and sacrifice. The very pews we sit upon were crafted by a local carpenter. His wife nearly lost her life in childbirth, but we took her in and saved both mother and child." Rowland ran a hand along the worn wood of the pew. "Each one has their names engraved underneath."
His voice softened. "When the harvest is good, the farmers share their yield. The Church would have us sell it to cover the tithes—but there are too many mouths to feed. So, as far as the Church knows… almost no one in this town is a convert."
Orion nodded, humbled by Rowland’s words. He knew he had to tell him everything. "If Marcus comes to River Hallow, the Church's strategy…" He faltered, unable to force the words out.
Rowland placed a firm hand on Orion’s shoulder. "The Church would have you abandon the people of River Hallow." His voice was steady, filled with quiet understanding. "I understand, Orion. You want to be a faithful servant of the Church, but you struggle to follow a flawed order. That doesn’t make you a heretic. It makes you human."
Rowland’s words eased the knot in Orion’s chest, but one question still weighed on him. "If the time comes, and we are ordered to withdraw… what will you do?"
A heavy silence settled between them. Finally, Rowland spoke. "If that day comes, I will defy the Church one last time. I will defend River Hallow with my last breath—that too is my vow."
Orion knew Rowland would say that. Secretly, he wished he could possess such conviction. "Thank you, Father. You've been most helpful." Orion stood and walked toward the door. "Do not worry, I won't say anything."
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Father Rowland smiled. "Of course you won't. A priest never betrays a confession."
Orion left the church and made his way toward one of the church's lodgings. On the porch sat an old woman, knitting in a chair.
"Good day, Katherine," he greeted, waving.
"Hello, Brother Orion," she replied, not lifting her eyes from her yarn. "Are you here to speak with our visitor today?"
"No, there's too much to do," Orion answered, his tone thoughtful. "I came to ask if there's anything you need, to make it easier on you for housing our guest."
He paused, the weight of his actions settling in. He had brought Melissa Shadelyn here, unable to leave her to suffer in the desolation of Dren.
Katherine laughed softly. "Nonsense, it’s actually nice to have someone around the house again. It’s been ages since my children visited, and this will be the third winter since my husband passed. Not being alone in this house is a blessing. I don't share her beliefs, mind you, but I’m not about to turn her out of my home because of it. Father Rowland would have my head for that."
Orion smiled. "Yeah, Father Rowland would." He chuckled, knowing she was right.
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The door to the "Tired Boar" Tavern swung open, and Rhaine stepped inside, followed by two members of the Battalion. A hush fell over the room. Every table they passed whispered behind their hands, eyes flicking nervously toward the newcomers. Rhaine moved toward the bar, where the stout bartender stood, his thick beard reaching down to his chest.
"To what pleasure do we owe such holy guests?" he asked, his voice booming with a touch of amusement. The crowd laughed lightly.
"I understand our presence here has unsettled some of you," Rhaine began, her voice calm but firm. A few patrons rolled their eyes. "I assure you…" She was cut off by a voice from the end of the bar.
"I assure you, we don't care about your assurances. What do you want?" The man, blonde-haired and heavily intoxicated for this time of day, slurred his words as he glared at her.
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"We are hunting a great threat," Rhaine declared, her voice steady. The response was a wave of laughter from the tavern.
"I am looking for a guide who knows this area," she added, but the laughter only grew louder. Rhaine’s nerves began to fray. She had never faced such a reception before. She paused for a moment, trying to regain her composure.
"Would you still be laughing if I told you that you will be handsomely paid?" she asked, her tone sharpened. Silence descended upon the room. The laughter had stopped, and a heavy stillness settled in. The Church may have been an easy target for ridicule, but money was another matter altogether.
"I know someone," the bartender said, breaking the quiet. "He may not look like much, but that fellow at the end of the bar is one of the best Sellsword in town. When he's sober, I claim him as my brother. When he's like this… I sometimes wish he wasn’t."
The tavern erupted into laughter again, and a vulgar gesture was exchanged between the two brothers.
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Annoyed, Rhaine turned to leave, unwilling to endure further insults.
"Wait, wench!" the man at the end of the bar called after her. "You're in luck! You're looking to pay handsomely, and I’m handsome and looking to get paid." He ended his crude offer with a drunken bow.
Chivalry wasn't dead—just nearly dead drunk.
Rhaine’s patience snapped. She turned back, her hand flying to the hilt of her sword. "You may not like the Church, but make no mistake, you drunk little worm—I am no wench." Her blade rested against the man's chest, the cold steel pressing into him.
The man staggered back, his hands raised in surrender. "I was wrong. I apologize. The name’s Alexander Nightside."
Rhaine’s gaze hardened, but she lowered her weapon. "Find me when you sober up," she said before turning to leave.
The door swung shut behind her, leaving Alexander fuming. "Why the hell did you tell her that, Jirjin?" he muttered to his brother. "I was having a nice drink!"
Jirjin chuckled. "That’s because you haven’t paid for a drink in a week. Either you do this and pay what you owe, or to you, the bar’s closed."
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