Golden sunlight caressed the brittle skin of the orange and red leaves as though easing them in the last days of their lives, and, in response, the leaves whispered their appreciation.

To Laranna, the ambience of the day was a blessing from Kalim, warmth granted to those who lived in the cold, and a gentle reminder of the goddess’ softer side to those who had been afflicted by the distresses of life. It was easy for the priestess to reflect upon the teachings from the Book of Light and Love as she strolled down the cobbled walk, accompanied by the song of the blue jay and the dance of the twisting leaves about her slippers. As she went, the young priestess held her right hand out towards the stone wall, not quite touching the moss-covered surface, but reveling in the feeling of the wind licking at her fingertips. Before she’d left the confines of the temple, she had draped a baby blue shawl over her shoulders to guard against the cool autumn winds; but in the heat of the morning sun she had let the garment fall about her lower back and catch in the crook of her arms.

The path that she took might have appeared rural to any who were quickly passing by on an adjoining road, but it was deep within the limits of the sprawling metropolis that stood as the capital of the kingdom. Laranna Secour had walked this very road for months, enjoying the various moods of Nature as she went about her religious duties. The trek was part of a ritual for her, a preparation of the strength she’d need to face the atrocities found within the dredges of society, and when she returned home, it allowed the hardships she’d witnessed the opportunity to seep from her, caught upon the winds to drift away. It gave her time for silent prayer and to repair the emotional strains of the day--something that was desperately needed after such experiences.

The poor district was a place usually avoided by those of the upper class. Laranna believed, however, that all roads within the city eventually led there, and to ignore it was something the fair goddess Kalim wouldn’t look upon with favor. Those who were less fortunate were under Kalim’s care, and thus, under Laranna’s. Ever since she’d arrived in the city her attention had been on the poor, the afflicted, and the distraught. She cried with those who wept over the loss of a loved one despite her never having known the deceased. She visited the ill without ever fearing for her own health. She was well known in the poor quarter and it was there that she made her way once again on this autumn day in the year 1326.

Arriving at a rickety wooden bridge that arched over a nearly dry ditch, the auburn-haired priestess paused for a moment at the apex to listen as a town crier ambled by. The news that was loudly read from a scrolled parchment seemed trivial to her compared to the trials people were put through on a daily basis outside of the rich manors and the pompous forums. Shaking her head she sent the crier a soft smile before turning and continuing her journey. A few minutes later and she had come within sight of the first dilapidated shacks, sitting like so many skeletons and husks. They were as good as headstones for some, but they were all these people had to call home and despite all that Laranna did it was difficult to pull people from their ruts.

“Good morning, your holiness.” A skinny, dirty little girl rushed past a sagging fence and reached out a grubby hand, her smile splitting the grime with fairly even, white teeth.

Laranna stopped and cradled the outstretched hand between hers. “Good morning Ula, and how are you?”

“Good.” Ula was one of the few Laranna had been successful with; that is, her family was. Ula was the youngest daughter of a fisherman whose wife had died of the fever three years past. She had two older brothers, Mica and Shelo, both of which worked at home cleaning and keeping an eye on their sister. Shelo was almost twelve and Mica was eight, but to Laranna they seemed mature beyond their years.

“Where are your brothers?”

“Mica’s gone to market, and Shelo’s out back choppin’ wood.” Ula rocked back and forth on her heels forcing Laranna to keep a tight grip on her hand lest the little girl fall backward.

“And how’s your father?”

“Da?” Ula shrugged. “He’s well.”

“Are the fish biting?”

“I think so.”

Laranna chuckled and patted the young girl’s hand. “Good. Tell your father I’ll stop to see him on my way home tonight, and I’ll bring something for your supper.”

“Ok.” Ula slipped her hand from Laranna’s and smiled broadly as she turned to run around the corner of their single-room cottage. The priestess of Kalim watched her for a moment before returning to her walk. She was quite certain Ula would grow into a respectable young woman if she could keep with the right influences—perhaps a place within the clergy awaited her. She certainly had good heart, and the placement of Ula in the Church’s care would do wonders to ease the family’s burden while giving the little girl a chance at an education and a better life. This wasn’t a new thought for the priestess as she went her way through the winding veins of the crumbling cottages, but she had yet brought it up with Ula’s father.

Various other stops were made along the way as people recognized her and engaged her in conversation. A lot of it was gossip not worthy of being repeated; but often the small talk was laced with useful pieces of information. Bits about the health of this person, or the condition of this other’s roof after the last storm; talk of a baby being born to a young couple, or work being found for a destitute cobbler. Some was good, and some was bad. The bad, Laranna catalogued under things she needed to investigate, and the good she placed under people she needed to visit and congratulate. Still, her primary destination that morning was yet to be reached, and it was a visit she was greatly looking forward to.

“Miss Secour!”

Laranna’s smile broadened as the small shop--one of the only general stores in the poor district--came into view; the proprietor standing out front with a emaciated broom in hand and a huge smile on his weathered and wrinkled face.

“Brendon.” Laranna embraced the old man with a genuine warmth. “How are you this morning?”

“Oh, pleased to see you--pleased indeed,” Brendon said, the smile still a resident upon his face. “The misses will be right joyful at your visit, young lady. She always perks up a bit when you’re around, and if that isn’t a sight that does these poor eyes good I don’t know what is. We are truly blessed by Kalim that you’ve taken an interest in us.”

“It is I, Brendon, that is blessed.” Laranna stepped back and surveyed the shop front with a critical eye. “Just received a new bunch of cabbage, I see.”

The old man bobbed his head. “Matro dropped them off this morning. Not nearly as large as he’s produced in past years, but they’ll serve well enough in someone’s soup. Oh, and I was able to convince Jamis that some apricots would sell well from my counter. Do come in and sample the fruit--small though they may be, they serve up a snappy burst of juices once you take a bite.”

Laranna allowed herself to be guided in through the front door, which had been propped open wide, beckoning to the sparse customer base. The store was one of the largest buildings in the quarter, built by Brendon’s father; the old man had inherited it upon his parent’s deaths in 1289. Laranna knew this because she’d sat with Brendon and his rail-thin wife at meal on many an occasion and they were always more than happy to discuss the past, as the elderly were wont to do. The floor of the shop was packed dirt, as wood was too expensive for the poor shopkeepers; and a rug would just soak up the earth and eventually become worthless. Shelves lined the walls and bins were set out in the center, each partially filled with only the basics. Luxuries weren’t something that sold within the poor quarter and, as a result, Brendon didn’t stock them.

Laranna paused just inside, allowing the old man to shuffle past. As he placed the broom in the corner the priestess waited politely near the door. Healgha wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but Laranna was sure she was nearby, and wasn’t surprised to see her bustle from the back room that served as their residence as soon as her husband called out that Laranna was there.

“Blessed day!’ Healgha clapped her hands together and glided up to the younger woman giving her a quick but solid hug. “Are you staying for a meal, or do you have other stops today?” she asked as she held the priestess at arm’s length. “Oh, you are looking frightfully thin, my dear.”

Laranna laughed a light, happy sound that brought immediate smiles to the shopkeeper’s faces. “You are one to talk, Healgha. I am in perfect health, thank you, and I eat well enough. Though I’ll be more than happy to stay for lunch should you allow me but one small favor.”

“And what is that, my dear?” Healgha brushed down her patched skirt and motioned Laranna to the counter where she proudly displayed a small box of five bruised apricots.

“That you allow me to buy the meal for us all.”

“Now Laranna, dear--”

“No, Healgha, Brendon, I insist. The Church smiles upon your efforts in this community, and it is the least I can do by way of thanks.”

“We’ll accept,” Brendon said at the same time as his wife declared that the service was thanks enough. Laranna laughed again and placed her hand over the old woman’s bone-thin fingers staying her hand as she attempted to lift one of the fruit in offering to the visiting priestess.

“I’ve eaten my fast-breaking meal, Healgha, and am quite satisfied, thank you. But I will purchase the whole box; there’s a little girl and her brothers who would find these delicious fruits a treat beyond measure.”

“Oh, well, if there’s a little girl involved we’ll sell you the lot of them for three coppers.” Brendon chuckled as he shuffled past his wife in search of their strongbox.

“You are giving me a bargain, my friend.” Laranna leaned over the counter so that he could still hear her as he bent to retrieve the box. “A silver for each of them, and not a copper less.”

“A silver?” Healgha breathed in sharply and placed her hand to her chest. “Why, that would be robbery. What would my regulars think if they found out I charged you five silver for a box of shriveled apricots? Why, I’d be out of business within the day.”

“Five coppers.” Brendon righted himself and placed the strongbox on he counter and Laranna was saddened not to hear the sound of coins rattling from within.

“I won’t tell if you don’t,” Laranna pressed. “Five silvers or I walk into the street singing loudly that you forced me to pay ten.”

“Laranna!” Healgha and Brendon both gasped in surprise.

“Now, I hate that it had to come to blackmail, but I insist on you gaining a fair price for your wares.” The priestess reached into the small velvet pouch at her waist and retrieved the proper coinage, setting it on the table before her. “And don’t think I won’t do it, either.”

Brendon chuckled. “I don’t doubt that you would,” he said, shaking his head in mock disbelief. “Well, the fruit is yours, and once again, we are in your debt.”

“You are never in my debt, my friends,” Laranna sweetly reminded him.

As the old man found the key for the strongbox Laranna turned and slowly began making a round about the floor, picking up a handful of dried wheat and dumping it back into the bin, lifting browning squash and almost imperceptibly shaking her head as she replaced it. It distressed her the squalor these good people were forced to live in. Healgha followed her about; describing the generosity of this vendor or that in providing each of the items the priestess took an interest in. With every description Laranna felt her concern growing. It wasn’t that she doubted the vendors were being munificent with their wares; no, her concern was in the quality of what they had to offer in the first place, but before she had a chance to ask after the delivery dates a young man entered, casually sauntering across the room to lean against the counter.

“Why, hello Bristol.” Brendon placed his hands on the tabletop and gave a nod to the sandy-haired youth. “How’s your ma?”

“She’s go’ a croup, bu’ says it ain’t nothin’ serious. Sent me fer some beets if’n ya got some, Master Brendon.”

Laranna was about to cross over and speak with the boy when some more shadows crossed the hearth. The priestess immediately frowned at the sight of those who owned the shadows--tough men, all of them, and about five of them at that. The one in the lead was less broad than the others, but carried himself with a confidence that denoted command, and Laranna was sure she knew who he was affiliated with. The lot of them stepped right up to the counter, shoving Bristol aside as they did so and making quite a show of acting as though they owned the place. Laranna remained still, returning the threatening look from each thug with narrowed eyes and a set jaw. Brendon wasn’t so poised, licking his lips as very large men, obviously intent on doing harm, suddenly crowded his attention.

“You there,” the first man growled, his voice like two granite blocks being ground together. “Time t’ pay.”

“E-excuse me.” Brendon had to cough to regain his voice. “But I’m afraid I don’t know to what you are referring, sir.”

“Heh,” the man barked a short laugh. “He don’ know what we’re talking about boys.” The others snorted along with him, but the laughter was cruel and void of any humor. The gang leader leaned against the counter, supporting his weight with one elbow while taking one of the apricots from the case and inspecting it with large, bulbous eyes. “Look, old man, you know perfectly well wha’ I’m talking about, so pays up an’ we’ll be on our way.”

Laranna caught Brendon glancing her way and her brow furrowed. It was almost as if the shopkeep was more embarrassed about her being there than frightened. Taking a step forward the young priestess suddenly found her momentum stalled by the bony hand of Healgha gripping her arm. The willowy woman gave Laranna a sharp shake of her head mixed with a pleading look--enough to give the priestess pause.

“Perhaps you could come back later? After lunch?” Brendon was practically pleading. “I’ve customers to tend to right now, see?”

The bug-eyed man turned his attention about the room and gave Laranna a smile full of rotting teeth. “They looks to be the sorts that can wait patiently. Now, that’ll be...three silver, no?”

One of the larger men standing behind him spoke up with a voice heavily laden by alcohol. “Uh, I thinks you said it was four when we was comin’ in here, Francis.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Four silver then.” The man took a huge bite from the fruit, expelling the thick juices down his stubbly chin and grinning at his theft.

“What would Brendon be paying for, Francis?” Laranna had experienced enough of this mistreatment. Healgha made a whimpering sound, but let go of Laranna’s arm when the thug returned his attention to the priestess, wiping the juices from the apricot away with the back of his hand.

“Now,” he said, almost sweetly, “I didn’ know you was included in this conversation, my sweet. But since you have invited yerself why don’ we make it five silver, Brendon? Hmm? Five silver sounds fair enough, don’ it?”

Laranna bristled as the shopkeeper nodded and bent to retrieve his strongbox again. “Brendon, hold sir.” With a few quick strides the priestess put herself within arms reach of Francis, her eyes alight with the fire fueled by injustice. “Extortion is against the laws of this city, sir.”

This brought chuckles from all the men except the bug-eyed leader. He pushed up from the counter and jabbed a finger in Laranna’s face. “You ain’t in no position t’ be talkin’ law with me, my sweet. Brendon, make that six silver.”

“But,” the elderly man gasped. “I don’t have that kind of money.”

“You shoulda kept yer girl here from openin’ ’er mouth. Six silver!”

“You are the one who should cease, Francis.” Laranna held her position despite her racing heart.

“Please, Laranna dear,” Healgha whispered while Brendon silently implored her to stop, but the priestess was not about to let these men take advantage of her friends.

“Oh, an’ what’s a pretty little thing like you going t’ do about it? Hmm?”

“You are tempting Kalim’s anger, Francis.” Laranna’s voice was dangerously hushed, a tone having fallen over her that the shopkeepers had never heard before.

“Kalim? Tha’ prim little hussy?”

There was a very audible gasp as those who revered the goddess felt the verbal slap across the face derived by the man’s disrespect. Laranna’s temperature rose as her blood begin to boil and her hands begin to tremble.

“Don’ threaten me with religion, woman.” Francis glanced down at the apricot and then tossed it to the dirt floor, wiping his hand on his dirty trousers afterward. “I’ve four gents ’ere who’d snap you like a twig before you’d even finish a prayer to tha’ goddess o’ yours. Then, when they were done I’d have ’em break this place apart an’ no’ forget to include these two in the process.” The thug motioned at the shopkeeper and his wife in one continuous wave of his arm.

“Are you so sure?” Laranna appeared calm on the outside, but inside she was a tempest of rage and fear.

“Oh, believe me, little missy.” Francis smiled broadly. “I’m very sure.” That said, he gave a quick nod to the others accompanying him spreading them out across the storeroom, each with their fists clenched and their eyes narrowed. Laranna scanned the room with an impassive face and nodded as though accepting the situation and resigning herself to whatever fate awaited her.

“I was afraid you were going to say that,” she whispered, and raised her hand so that it was level with the man’s forehead. “Kalim wills it: sleep.”

Francis didn’t have time to react. A surprised look crossed his face, then his bulbous eyes rolled up into his head and he fell over as though his legs were nothing more than thin reeds. His colleagues stared blankly at his limp form for but a moment before one of them growled and leapt forward, right arm raised as though to strike.

“Hold, by the name of Kalim!” Laranna’s voice was filled with the might of the righteous as she turned to level her hand at the would be assailant despite the drain that her first prayer had caused her. With the utterance of the second she was tired, but could still stand...barely, and she was doing all that she could to keep the fatigue from her face. The rage melted from the rough’s splotchy face and he stopped two paces from her outstretched arm, held rigid by the holy power of the Goddess. The others hadn’t moved. Two were staring at their fallen leader, the one other who hadn’t charged was eyeing her with some trepidation, and the one who had charged was now looking as though he’d swallowed a bug. “Do not tempt Kalim’s temper again. Now leave, and do not return. This place is protected by the Goddess.”

The calculating man gave her a slow nod. “We’ll see, witch. We’ll see.” He then cast the others a look followed by a nod and made his retreat. There wasn’t any haste involved in his movements, and they took the time to hoist their companions between them before leaving. Laranna only cared that they left, the speed by which they accomplished this seemed a minor affliction to bear considering the alternative. She knew she couldn’t have held them back as she hadn’t the strength remaining, and when they were gone she sank against the counter nearly overcome by exhaustion.

“Laranna?” Brendon made his way to her side as quickly as he could and slipped his arms about her shoulders, offering what little support his elderly frame could.

“Over here, dear.” Healgha moved towards the curtained doorway that led to their living space and motioned for her husband to follow.

The living area was much smaller than the space allotted the shop, consisting of one chamber to house all of their cooking area, bed, and living room. They had a twin bed stuck against the west wall with a patchwork quilt folded neatly at the foot. The mattress was made of a thin pallet of cloth strips sewn together in bunches: a lumpy rainbow of faded palette. There were shelves along every wall and a counter had been built against the north wall, opposite the entry. There was a table and three chairs against the eastern wall and it was into one of these chairs that Brendon helped the weakened priestess.

“I’ll get some tea on,” Healgha said, a slight tremor to her voice as the adrenaline of the afternoon’s events slowly evaporated from her system.

“Are you well?” Brendon sat down opposite Laranna and peered at her with all the concern a father gives his daughter.

“Yes.” Laranna smiled weakly and made an attempt to wave the question away. “It’s nothing, really. Our bodies aren’t strong enough to contain the power of Kalim without a little wear and tear. I’ll be fine with a little rest.”

“Some tea won’t hurt.” Healgha seemed to be regaining some control with an objective in sight.

“They’ll be back.” Laranna sighed and closed her eyes. “I’ve made it worse for you, haven’t I?”

“There, there, dear.” Brendon gave her hand a pat. “It isn’t anything we can’t take care of.”

“They’ve come before, haven’t they?” Laranna gave the old man’s liver-spotted hand a soft squeeze, as she couldn’t muster much more strength.

“You needn’t concern yourself with that now, dear.” Healga was working at the tea with fervor, but she still had an ear for the conversation.

“No? I beg to differ, Healgha.” Laranna took a deep breath before continuing. “I just couldn’t stand to see them take advantage of you like that. It’s no wonder you never have the means to improve your lives; the opportunity is stolen from you by thugs and thieves!”

“Now, really,” Brendon coughed and glanced over his shoulder reminding Laranna that the boy, Bristol, had been out there when the episode had begun. “It isn’t so bad. They normally leave us with enough to get by for the next month, and they keep the...what’d they call them others, wife?”

“Freelancers.”

“Yes, freelancers. They keep freelancers from picking us clean.”

The priestess frowned and tried to peer into the shop for any sign of the sandy-haired young man, but could only make out a portion of the shop beyond the curtain and saw no activity within.

“Where is that boy?” Laranna tried to rise, concern written on her beautiful face, but sank back into her seat with a sigh when her energy didn’t match her conviction.

“Bristol? Oh, he slipped past the men and out the door after you stepped in. Smart lad if you ask me.” Brendon chuckled and shook his head, the effects of the encounter either hidden very well, or having fled with the rogues. “I wish we could slip out like he did and avoid them every time they showed up.”

“How long has this been happening?” The question was filled with concern and a touch of bitterness. Laranna had been coming here for quite some time and had never picked up on their dilemma before, and that fact irked her. She prided herself on being in tune with the needs of her flock.

“As we said, it doesn’t matter.” Healgha moved to the table now that she had the teapot set to boil. “You must stay out of this, Laranna. Do you hear me? These men will--no, have, killed to keep their business in operation. What would the poor people of this district do if their guardian angel were killed? Oh dear, I can’t even bear the thought.”

“Kalim protects me so that I can protect you,” Laranna said with tired finality. “I would be remiss in my duty if I allowed this to continue.”

“And how will you stop it? The power of Kalim is strong, but these are like cockroaches: they come out of the woodwork at night and where one is removed ten more sprout up.” Brendon rose and started to pace. “You’ve injured the pride of that one, that Francis, and he’ll want revenge. How are you going to deal with him in your state? Can you manage another of those spells?”

“No, Brendon, I cannot--at least not right now.”

“Brendon.” Healgha’s gaunt face looked grim and pale. “Go to Pritchet’s place and get him to bring his wagon around. Laranna won’t be walking home this day.”

“It is quite all right, Healgha.” Laranna smiled pleasantly at the older woman. “I shall quite enjoy the walk as the cool air will invigorate me.”

“I’ll hear nothing of it.” Healgha shook her head for emphasis. “What if you should have a run in with that Francis? I’d never forgive myself if I’d let you walk back to the temple alone.”

“May I stay for the tea, dear?” Brendon meekly asked.

“Yes, husband.”

For close to an hour the three remained in the back room talking and sharing tea. There wasn’t any hurry as no one came in and the street outside seemed ghostly. Laranna’s strength was slowly returning and by the time the pot of tea was finished she could stand on her own and walk with only a slight hesitation to her step. The shopkeepers had made a deft attempt at keeping the conversation from the thugs that had been bothering them, but Laranna would always steer the discussion back in that direction as soon as she could. On occasion she managed to get Brendon to slip and reveal a small tidbit of information before his wife detoured the dialogue again, giving the poor old man a withering look in the process.

Laranna felt as though she was making progress towards discovering more about this injustice, slow though it may be. Though she hadn’t necessarily learned anything more than she had already assumed, she now knew without a doubt that the roughs had been sent by Guild Darkmoor, that mysterious thieves’ Guild that operated throughout the kingdom with relative impunity. She also knew that the gang came around once a month to collect protection dues from all of the locals, but never took so much as to force the people into destitution--just enough to keep them from progressing. She had also discovered that there had been more than one individual who had refused to be bullied in the beginning and those people had ended up dead. It was infuriating to the priestess that these people--these who were protected by Kalim--could be preyed upon in such a manner and she silently swore that she would battle the Guild’s every effort so long as she had breath in her lungs.

A dull footfall in the shop drew their attention and turned all eyes upon the curtained doorway. Even nearly an hour and a half after the confrontation in the store Laranna still felt the consequences of spell-casting and was positive that she wasn’t up to channeling any more of Kalim’s power. Whispering a silent prayer for the well-being of these, Kalim’s worthy, the priestess watched with doleful wide eyes as Brendon pushed himself up from the chair and began his slow gait to greet his visitor. She could sense the fear rising in her companions and didn’t blame them in the least as she was experiencing the same panic. When the old man slipped past the curtain she turned and gave Healgha what she hoped was an encouraging look, but the shopkeeper’s wife didn’t seem to be comforted in the least bit--she sat chewing on her bottom lip and nervously drumming the tabletop with her long, boney fingers.

“Can I help you?” Brendon’s voice crept through the curtain, and Laranna could easily pick out the quiver within.

“Yeah, you Brendon the Shopkeep?” The second voice was high and nasal.

“I am.”

“Good, cause I’ve got a message for you.” There was a slight shuffle audible from the shop and Healgha rose quickly from her chair, knocking it to the floor with a clatter as the old woman sped for the shop. Laranna wasn’t too far behind, though she had to use upper body strength to help hoist herself from the seat; it felt as though she’d just finished walking all day and all night, but she wasn’t about to let poor Brendon and Healgha take the brunt of her actions. A chuckle followed the shuffling, “I see you’re able to guess what that message is, old man. Good. Now, where’s the due?”

“They’re right here...in the box.”

Laranna grimaced at the imagined scuffle Brendon had just endured and stumbled to the swaying curtain, placing a hand against the doorframe to steady herself before regally pushing through and staring from underneath her brow at the guildsman. “I thought I made myself clear when Francis paid Brendon a visit. This shop and its residents are under the protection of Kalim. Do not come in here threatening and demanding tithes lest you exact the vengeance of our Goddess.”

The Darkmoor representative was a squat man--not at all what Laranna had envisioned from his voice--with a pudgy face and an upturned nose like that of a pig. His eyes were wide as though perpetually surprised and his forehead carried a sheet of sweat across it like a bandana. When Laranna made her presence known the rogue took a step back from the counter where Brendon was just placing the strongbox in view and tucked his hands beneath his vest. “All you did, lady, was give this poor man more trouble than he needs.” The nasal voice lifted as the guildsman smirked at her. “Now, why don’t you practice that legendary Kalim wisdom and go back into that room where you can proceed to mind your own business.”

“Brendon and his household are under the protection of the Church,” Laranna repeated, resisting the urge to lean against the wall and, instead, forced herself to remain upright, staring the pig-man down. “I suggest you be the one to exit and take that message back to your Guild. You’ve more than likely heard what happened to the first representative of your ilk...pray I don’t do worse to you.”

“Are you threatening me?” The man’s annoying smile never left his face, but his hand jerked as though he wanted nothing more than to pull it from his jerkin and use whatever weapon Laranna was sure he was concealing.

“I am merely pointing out the consequences of your actions.” Laranna graced him with a brief nod as though acknowledging his right to make his own decision.

The thug’s mouth suddenly began twitching. “Lady, you just decided poor ol’ Brendon’s fate.” Before Laranna could react the sweaty little man had produced a six-inch blade of blackened silver from beneath his vest, swiveled, and flung it full at the shopkeeper’s chest. Brendon gasped and took a step back; his eyes wide and a surprised look on his weathered face as the dagger struck.

“No!” Laranna cried in unison with Healgha and for a moment she found the strength and speed to rush to the injured man’s side as he slid down the wall to rest behind the counter.

“Brendon?” Laranna found her hand hovering over the knife where it protruded from her friend’s chest, near the intersection of shoulder and collar. The old man turned his head to slowly look at the priestess while his weeping wife shifted his weight so that he was leaning into her cradling arms. With a weak smile Brendon patted Laranna’s hand and then shuddered as he took a deep breath.

“The next one will be for the old woman, priestess.” The pig-man had walked around the counter to that he could keep them in sight. Laranna could see another knife held in his right hand, which hung by his side non-threateningly.

Laranna turned to Healgha and whispered, “He’ll live,” failing to add that it was conditional on the old man’s constitution and how soon he received aid.

“Not if you keep interfering,” the Darkmoor representative chuckled, “and neither will she. This is my last warning: back away and stay out of Guild business.”

Laranna unhurriedly rose and maneuvered to put herself between her friends and the knife-wielder. “And I’ll tell you this one last time: remove yourself from these premises--you won’t kill me lest you bring the wrath of Kalim down upon your Guild in a holy war, and I won’t let you harm them any further, so be gone!”

“You think rather highly of yourself and your Church’s position,” he chuckled. Despite his gloating Laranna saw some hesitation and was thankful for it.

“You aren’t stupid,” she informed him, hoping to solidify his uncertainty.

“But apparently you are.” Turning just his head the pudgy man called over his shoulder, “Havad, Mercehol, you boys get in here!”

Laranna froze as two more men entered through the front door. The first was broad at the shoulders, but had a slim waist indicative of an athlete. His hair was as black as midnight and hung loosely about his shoulders. He openly carried a cudgel and wore spiked leather bracers about his beefy wrists. The second was thinner, with a wiry look to him and a way of walking that instantly reminded Laranna of a willow blowing in the wind. He carried a pair of sticks in hand, about an inch thick and made of polished hardwood with leather grips.

“Problems?” said the first thug; the second just gave Laranna what could have passed for a pleasant smile had it been under different circumstances.

“They’re still refusin’ to pay.” The sweaty man shrugged. “This priestess is being a bit difficult, so I thought the two of you could take her outside and have a talk with her.”

“Sure.” the raven-haired man took a step toward Laranna, who immediately responded by raising her hand in dramatic poise.

“I am fine in my current location, thank you.” She narrowed her eyes at the cudgel-wielding rogue and he stopped, glancing at the knife-thrower as though seeking direction.

“Look at her, you idiot!” the pug-faced thug bellowed. “If she had half the strength to cast a spell on us she’d have done so already. Get her!”

Laranna gave the men a sweet smile as she silently prayed to Kalim for the strength to protect these innocents. “Are you willing to risk it, Havad? Or are you Mercehol?”

“Havad,” the thick man responded before the knife-thrower could hiss at him in annoyance. Shaking his head the would-be attacker shrugged. “I don’ know, Javkel. She could be right, an’ what if she’s one o’ those that can burn a man to charcoal?”

“You big oaf.” Javkel, the sweaty little man, swore and spit on the wall. “Get her, or I’ll put this knife in you!”

Just then, a dull thud was heard from outside, followed by a groan and another muffled thump. A cry of pain followed and a body fell across the doorway, an arrow jutting from his forehead. Laranna was as surprised as the guildsmen and stood staring at the body for a moment before taking a step closer to the wounded shopkeeper and his wife, acting as a shield.

“What the--” Jaykel muttered, staring at the fallen man, whom Laranna assumed was another of the entourage he had brought with him. “Lilton?” he called, but received no reply. He suddenly looked like a fountain spilling sweat down his cheeks and chin. “By the Dark Fire! We’re under attack?” He was incredulous; shocked that someone would have the nerve to interrupt their little bash.

Havad ran to the door, placed his back against the wall next to it, and tried to peer outside without presenting himself as a target. Mercehol stepped back into the recesses of the shop and Jaykel moved further away from Laranna, placing himself in the corner where he could safely survey the entire room.

“I don’ see no one,” Havad whispered.

“You won’t, either,” Laranna said, boldly trying to further the fear these men felt despite not knowing the source of the attacker—after all, anyone attacking these fools could only be a friend. “At least, not until it is too late.”

“Shut up!” Jaykel appeared on the verge of a nervous breakdown. “Keep an eye out; that archer has to be somewhere.”

“The wall.” Mercehol spoke for the first time, nodding his head to the wooden slats Havad was pressed up against. Through the cracks in the thin wood Laranna could see a shadow creeping towards the door. Jaykel nodded to Havad, who gave him a wicked smile in return and readied his cudgel, waiting for the man to round the corner. Laranna opened her mouth, but caught the knife raised in Jaykel’s hand ready to throw at her and slowly closed it again.

Her warning was unnecessary. As the shadow reached the area where Havad stood it paused, shifted, and quite suddenly the blade of a scimitar slid through the seam between two boards and pierced the athletic thief’s back until it cleanly protruded from his belly. Havad audibly grunted, a look of complete surprise passing over his face, slowly transforming into one of utter pain. His right hand opened and the cudgel fell from limp fingers. Laranna looked away as he began to slide off the blade and heard the sound of his body hitting the floor like a sack of rotten potatoes.

“Ti’ishara’s twisted soul,” Jaykel breathed as the bloodied sword disappeared again with a feint ringing sound. Both remaining rogues quickly stepped away from the walls, Jaykel glancing back at the corner as though expecting to see another blade come sweeping in intent on taking his life.

Their speculation and fear was short-lived. The man who burst through the door was bald with a hawkish face. He wore studded leather armor that seemed alight with fire reflecting from every stud. He held a wickedly curved scimitar in hand and as he entered he ducked into a roll, deftly avoiding Jaykel’s hastily flung knife. When he rose Mercehol was already rushing him, sticks at the ready. Laranna watched as her rescuer batted the first two blows away, then took a glancing blow on his left shoulder as he maneuvered underneath the rogue’s defenses and opened the man’s belly with a quick slice of his blade. As Mercehol leapt back, the bald man pressed, a lazy smile upon his face. Two quick strokes and the stick-bearing thief screamed as he found himself suddenly without hands. Clutching the stumps of his arms to his belly he was on his way to his knees when the scimitar cleanly removed his head.

Laranna stole a glance at Jaykel expecting to see the pig-faced rogue leveling another of his knives at the leather-clad warrior, but was pleasantly surprised to see him vacating the premises in all haste.

“Are you well, Laranna?”

The priestess returned her gaze to the bald man and smiled, careful to avoid looking upon the decapitated corpse at his feet, “I am, thanks to you, Bishop Ospin.” There was a moment’s silence before Laranna rapidly blinked and gave herself a slight shake. “Could you assist me here? Brendon has been wounded.”

“Certainly.” Ospin bent and cleaned his bloodied blad on the cleanest portion of Mercehol’s body, then stood and sheathed his sword in the frog at his hip before moving to investigate the injured old man. “Superficial,” he muttered as he deftly placed a hand on the wound and pulled the knife free. Brendon promptly fainted and Healgha’s weeping grew louder.

As the blood seeped from between Ospin’s fingers he closed his eyes and began to call upon Kalim’s power in a tight tenor. A bright white glow enveloped his hand and reached out to embrace the old man before dissipating in a shower of sparkles to the dirt floor. When they could clearly see again, they saw that the wound was completely closed over and Brendon breathed evenly in a deep sleep.

“I’ll take him to his bed.” Ospin stood, apparently unaffected by the prayer, though Laranna knew he too suffered from the weariness that manifesting the powers of their Goddess inflicted upon them. The hero easily hefted the old man in his arms and, with the direction of the sobbing old woman, took him to the back room where he laid Brendon upon his mattress.

“He should rest for the next two days,” Laranna told Healgha, placing her hand upon the old woman’s shoulder. “Feed him soup and other warm things and he’ll be up and about in no time.”

“Thank you.” Healgha sniffed. “But what of tomorrow? What of the next day when more of them return?”

“There will be men here within the hour,” Ospin answered, motioning toward the outdoors with a bloodied hand.

“Kalimite soldiers to help protect this area.”

“And we’ll see what we can do to maintain some sort of presence to deter any further actions against you--or others--in this neighborhood,” Laranna injected.

Healgha continued to sob, but there was a different tone to it. Laranna and Ospin stayed with the couple until the soldiers arrived. Bishop Ospin spent some time directing them in how to best cover the area and offer the most protection before returning to the shop. Then he and Laranna helped clear the dead from the shop, get rid of the blood-soaked sand, and clean up the mess left after the battle. The bodies were disposed of by a city service that came at the call of the Kalimite’s and loaded the dead in a wagon. By the time everything was taken care of and Bishop Ospin and Laranna—a box of apricots securely cradled in her left arm, a cabbage in her right--were on their way from the poor district, evening was drifting across the sky like a hungry shadow.

“The guard can’t be kept there indefinitely Laranna,” Ospin said as they came upon the edge of the poor district. “I know,” Laranna said with a sigh. “We’ll just have to find some way to fund it.”

“The Church’s coffers are deep, Laranna, but I’m afraid you’d have to present quite the case to ensure adequate funds for an on-going campaign.”

“Surely there’s some benevolent lord or lady who’d see it as a chance to further their political standing with the public,” Laranna spoke wistfully, for she was unsure whether that was the case, not being particularly interested in political undertakings.

Ospin shrugged noncommittally and fell silent.

“Oh.” Laranna stopped in front of a dilapidated fence. “How is it you happened by when you did?”

“A young lad found me and told me of your situation, though he’d said there were many, many more than were actually present.” Ospin shrugged. “I didn’t think you could wait so I came on ahead, sending him to the temple to recruit more footmen.”

“Kalim bless his exaggerations,” Laranna laughed, allowing some of the tension to fall from her shoulders. “I am grateful for Bristol’s quick mind. Care for a reward, Bishop?”

“A reward, Lady?” Ospin’s eyes twinkled and a roguish smile perpetrated his thin lips.

“I promised a certain young lady supper.” Laranna nodded at the crooked cottage just beyond the ragged yard. “I believe they won’t mind one more mouth at the table.”