The room Luther had been imprisoned in retained the pungent aroma of herbs and clean linen. The stone walls etched weak prayers, yet to him it was rely a gilded cage. He slumped against the edge of the large bed, clad now in a white plain shirt and black trousers in place of the bloodied garnts he had burned before.
The fabric was soft, expensive even, but Luther tugged at the collar as if it was constricting him.
"Better than this do prisoners get," he grumbled, lying back in the bed. "At least they are allowed to leave after a while."
The Holy Staff, lying motionless against the wall, glowed softly in response. Its surface rippled with a silvery light, like the sheen on sunlight in water.
Luther seethed at it, unflinching. "Don’t even think about it with . You glow whenever I’m not happy, like that’s ever going to make a difference. What am I supposed to do? Hug you? Whisper secrets in your ear? Think again."
The staff throbbed once, faintly, like a breath.
"Yes, yes," Luther grumbled, flipping onto his side. He breathed out a great, booming groan, as if trying to irritate the mute attendants. "If they’re all done playing with like so sort of wonder pet, maybe they’ll let go. Or maybe not. Knowing my luck, they’ll turn and chain up to an altar and chant until I collapse."
His eye went to the great wooden door. A mischievous spark twinkled there. He sat up.
Well, if I am stuck, I may as well have a bit of fun."
He walked quietly across the room and rapped heavily on the door. The sound echoed down the corridor.
There was a pause, then the door swung open wide enough for the helted face of a guard to look through. The man’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.
"What do you want, Saint?
That was enough to make Luther’s eye flicker. Still, he was able to force a broad, fake grin. "I was just thinking. Does your head ever itch under all that armor? Or do you simply scratch the inside of the helt with your brain?"
The guard blinked. ".What?"
"You heard . And let’s get one thing straight—is that armor heavy? If you slip into a pond, do you go straight to the bottom, or do you float like a tal duck?"
The guard’s mouth went wide, then shut. His jaw creaked.
Luther slouched forward, interest seeping into his tone. "And your feet—tal too? Death of your toes, I should think. Any left, or is it all just one huge lump by now?"
The man’s face turned red inside the helt. "You—!"
"Easy," Luther cut in smoothly, smiling. "I’m just trying to make friends. Isn’t that what saints do? ’Reach out to the people,’ and so on?"
The guard’s grip on the door fird. His irritation was evident. Luther grinned wider—exactly what he wanted.
Before he could even get his mouth open to launch into another stupid question, a second guard ca out of the corridor. He advanced, spoke sothing too quietly for Luther to hear, then pointed—first at Luther, then down the corridor.
The lead guard stiffened, stiffness replacing annoyance. He backed away a step, holding the door wider. "The elders have called you, Saint."
Luther’s train of thought ca to a halt. ".Huh? The geezers need ?"
The guard gave no response, but stood at attention, helt glinting in the light of the torches.
Luther’s smile faded. His brow furrowed into a scowl. "Don’t call that. Saint. Saint this, Saint that. It’s getting on my nerves."
The second guard stepped forward, crumpled cloak in hand. He knelt on one knee before Luther and offered it up in both hands. It was a black cloak, heavy and long, embroidered along the hem with silver thread and crest-marked at the back with Asthan’s dove emblem.
"Put this on," said the guard, his voice formal, almost like a sacrant. "It will be needed where we are going... and for your ears."
Luther stared down at him, suspicion prickling at his skin. "Cover my ears? What am I, a rabbit?"
Neither guard answered.
For a long mont, Luther considered refusing just to spite them. But curiosity itched at him. Why the cape? Why now? With a sharp exhale through his nose, he snatched the garnt and swung it over his shoulders. The hood fell forward, shrouding his face in shadow, his ears hidden.
The dove crest glowed faintly under the light of the torches.
"Happy now?" he growled.
The guards only nodded their heads slightly and gestured for him to follow them.
As they walked down the corridor, Luther was in a frenzy. Why are they walking out now? Did those old n finally decide to set free? Or do they have another new sche up their sleeves? Either way, this is going to be annoying.
He suppressed a second groan, glaring up at the rear of the guard’s helt.
Far away, in the tranquil village where Luther had lived, the air was filled with the sll of burning oil and herbs. In a modest stone house, shelves creaked under piles of crystal shards, vials of potions, and unrolled scrolls. At its center, Mariana labored, sleeves rolled up, a thin bead of sweat on her brow as she carefully channeled light into a fractured crystal.
Her motive was good, her green eyes intent, her lips pressing into silent calculation.
Then—crash.
The door slamd open with a jerk that shook the shelves. Glass tinkled. A thin sliver dropped from Mariana’s fingers, snapping in half in a crisp sound.
She whirled, fury in her eyes. "Who is it who bursts into my work space like—"
The words jamd in her throat.
It was Betty. The girl stood in the doorway, shivering, face as white as paper, hands flying nervously together. Her lips were shaking as she tried to get a word out, but only a poor stamr ca.
Mariana’s rage lted away at once. Her heart fell at the look in the girl’s eyes. She took a step forward, her voice softer now, though with a hint of urgency. "Betty... what happened?"
The girl’s Adam’s apple bobbed as she swallowed. Her voice cracked as she forced the words out.
"The... the kids we sent... they haven’t returned."
Mariana stiffened. There was a heavy silence in the room.
Then Betty spoke up, her voice barely audible—
"The temple... it was assaulted."
And that was when the glass vial Mariana had been clinging to fell from her fingers and shattered at her feet.
"I’m gonna kill those geezers!"
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