Next a young man speaking a language beyond Pilgrim’s knowledge, but the stricken expression and anguish on his face spoke of a love lost or unrequited. Beyond him an old woman on her knees, her hands clasped for so long they seemed to have fused together as she begged for the death of the mistress her husband had abandoned her for. The voices merged as they pressed on, a discordant chorus of desperate entreaties voiced in a dozen tongues. “My father’s birthright… The treasure should have been mine… I ask only for justice… They call me mad, make me sane… Take away every memory of her…”

Priest halted once more as the crowd thinned. Only a few hundred paces away lay the bridge across the moat, guarded by a large gate flanked by two tall pillars. However, Priest’s gaze was focused entirely on the face of a man with a long mane of white hair. Unlike every other unfortunate they had passed, this one was silent. He was also clothed, although his garments were tattered and would soon slough away. Even so, Pilgrim recognised his threadbare cloak as being identical to the one worn by Priest.

“Prelate,” the young cleric said, greeting the silent man with a formal bow of his head. The man gave no response, his face upturned to the tallest of the Crescent’s points. Pilgrim could see no mania in his eyes, only anger touched by a deep, unquenchable sadness.

“Prelate,” Priest repeated, reaching out to grasp the man’s arm. “I must know, did you pray?”

The man blinked his eyes slowly before focusing them on Priest. His lips parted with a dry rasp and the voice that emerged was a hollow thing, void of emotion save for a clear note of bitterness. “I prayed,” he said. “I beseeched his return to those who love and worship him. I begged for the restoration of these lands and the release of the benighted souls who dwell here. He…laughed at me, brother.”

The old priest blinked again, angling his head as his brow formed a quizzical frown. “Now…I pray for death. Will you kill me?”

Priest’s hand slipped from the man’s sleeve, his face white as he retreated and turned away, deaf to his prelate’s softly spoken plea. “A year I’ve waited…is it too much to ask from a brother in faith?” He reached out to Priest’s retreating back, but the awareness on his face faded quickly and his arm slipped to his side. He resumed his vigil, paying no heed to Pilgrim or the others as they passed by.