The diocese courtyard was big enough that four full wagons could be lined in a row, and there would still be some space.
In the middle of it knelt four people.
Priests, nuns, and acolytes moved in quiet orbits around the kneeling party - Fanática in the center, and Gorzod, Thrain, and Erian beside her. Liora was conspicuously absent.
Whispers could be heard:
"…the one who carved a canyon through the north-eastern road…"
"…the elves are still mourning the forest…"
"…how does the bishop still tolerate her?"
After a long wait, Bishop Jorvia Elina Sancta descended the wide steps.
Her robes were immaculate, but her expression was weary.
She stopped before them, eyes sweeping the group.
"I see your elf friend has… disappeared again."
Faná offered an apologetic shrug.
"Liora comes and goes as the wind wills, Your Grace."
Jorvia sighed.
"We received a missive from the elven villages.
Your… intervention contained the corruption.
More precisely, it eliminated it."
A faint smile touched her lips.
"For that, the diocese is grateful."
Faná beamed. "The Goddess is merciful!"
The party exhaled a collective breath of relief.
But Jorvia's gaze hardened as it moved over the saint's companions.
"But can anyone here explain to me why her solution to a local corruption required a continental surgery?"
The words hit like a whip.
"The elven elders are still drafting strongly worded letters." The bishop sighed.
"Several of them have promised to continue doing so for the next fifty years."
Silence.
Thrain muttered under his breath, "Told ye lass, the canyon was a bit much."
---
Evening found the party dragging themselves into the familiar inn.
They collapsed at their usual corner table with bruised egos, sore knees from kneeling, and the weight of a very long list of prohibitions.
During the summons, Jorvia produced a thick sheaf of parchment - new rules, far longer than the previous three-point list.
She handed it to Faná.
"Read. Memorize. Obey.
Or the Goddess be witness, the next summons will not be so polite."
Liora was already waiting at the inn, sipping water from a cup.
Her expression was as deadpan as ever. But she raised a hand in lazy greeting.
Thrain unfolded the long parchment, grimacing. The end of it fell off the table and unrolled all the way to the table on the other side.
"'Thou shalt not invoke the 'Solar Guillotine' without written permission from a bishop or higher.
And two dozen more rules.
It seems she's outlawed half yer prayers, lass."
Faná looked mildly puzzled. "But the Goddess-"
"Aye," Gorzod cut in dryly. "The goddess will have to file forms first."
Erian suddenly looked up from his bowl.
"What do you think about the visit of the Prince?"
Everyone turned their heads toward the mage.
Jorvia mentioned it almost in passing - that Prince Hector Norvain would be arriving in a week as part of his royal progress.
A short tour of the city was planned, along with meetings with the guilds and the city council.
And, of course, three days of feasting and hunting with nobles.
Gorzod snorted.
"Her Grace has made herself clear: it would be best if we were absent during his stay."
He lifted his voice into an unconvincing imitation of the Lady-Bishop's:
"Go on a quest. A pilgrimage. I don't care. Just vanish from the city during the visit."
Faná tilted her head.
"But why? A good kingdom is a kingdom with a pious king.
I haven't heard if Prince Hector is pious.
But I would love to speak with him about the holy scriptures!"
Three meaningful glances passed between Gorzod, Thrain, and Liora.
Rumors about Prince Hector were numerous, but none of them had anything to do with the holy scriptures.
The more polite ones spoke of his general fondness for the company of women.
The less polite ones spoke of a private group of men whose sole duty was to procure... suitable companions.
Willing or unwilling.
Erian looked between the party grim faces and Faná's radiant smile, confused.
"What's wrong with meeting the Prince?"
Ignoring him, Gorzod sighed.
"Lass… you always say that evil doesn't sleep.
Meeting the prince is nice, but would you abandon innocent people who are suffering just to talk about the scriptures?"
Faná looked indignant. "Of course not!"
The tavern girl arrived and placed fresh ale in front of Gorzod and Thrain.
They grabbed the mugs gratefully.
She looked at Fanática, and a flash of fear appeared on her face.
However, it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a bright, practiced smile when Gorzod threw her an extra coin.
"Thank you, kind sirs!"
Thrain looked at Faná.
"Girl, I think you need to think more about the consequences of your actions."
She tilted her head slightly.
"I don't understand what do you mean Thrain, after all, evil has been destroyed. Hasn't it?"
The group sighed in unison.
"You'll do more good for the world if you don't alienate every mayor, nobleman, brewery owner, and bishop you meet along the way," the barbarian added gruffly.
Erian joined the conversation, "I-I think the Lady Bishop might have serious problems because of this new canyon."
Liora remained tactfully silent.
The sister looked at them with her bright eyes.
"Er," the dwarf began again, "Have you ever considered that you... might be wrong?"
Faná began to give it genuine thought.
Then she answers, smiling radiantly: "If I were wrong, the Goddess would undoubtedly stop me."
The party exchanged meaningful glances.
---
In a Faraway Manor, same evening.
The guest room was softly lit by lamps.
Lord Clemont Faraway sat in a high-backed chair with his posture perfect. His face calm.
A shadow detached from the wall corner - it was his ever-present guard, cloaked and silent.
The butler opened the door.
"Lady Noctura has arrived."
Clemont rose.
She entered barefoot - a dark elf girl with striking amber eyes, and silver hair falling down till waist like liquid moonlight. She wore traditional dark elf attire. Saying it was on the light side would be a serious understatement: black chestpiece that barely qualified as clothing, matching loincloth, simple jewelry on wrists and ankles.
But there was something in her eyes that completely absorbed the viewer.
She curtsied perfectly. "My lord."
Clemont bowed. "My lady. Please, sit."
They settled dow - he in his chair, she on the sofa.
A minute of awkward silence.
"So-"
"The reason-"
They spoke at once.
Clemont gestured graciously.
She continued in a flat, monotonous voice.
"The reason your lordship's father pleaded with me to come here.
He begged me to lend you assistance with a certain problem."
Pause.
"But he didn't bother to explain what that matter was," she finished.
Somewhere in the back of her voice there was a slight... dissatisfaction?
Clemont nodded.
"Yes. I... my family has a certain problem. Saintly problem.
There is a certain nun - sister Fanática. She… somehow interrupts our grand plans. Time and again."
A faint gleam of understanding in Noctura's amber eyes.
Clemont leaned forward, his speech turned cold..
"For our plans to succeed… it will take a saint to... oppose a saint."
Noctura regarded him in silence for a long moment.
"That's impossible."
She stood sharply.
The shadow guard's hands reached for his weapon in a flash.
Clemont gestured an empty palm, "Stop!" he cried.
A drop of sweat glistened on his temple, rolled down his cheek, and fell to the floor.
He looked back at his guest.
Noctura extended one hand.
A pulsing blade of purplish radiant energy formed at its end - long, elegant and deadly.
Purple halo in matching color spun slowly around her head.
She pointed the blade at them both.
Then, seeing as they wouldn't attack - as suddenly as it appeared - the halo vanished.
The blade dissolved into purple motes.
She did not curtsy this time.
Instead, she simply walked toward the door.
Clemont's voice cracked slightly.
"Why?"
She paused with her hand on the handle.
"Saints don't fight Saints."
The door closed softly behind her.
Clemont stood frozen for a long moment.
Then he sat.
Very slowly.