“And you think he’ll do it?” asked Athgar.

Cyric smiled, “Let’s just say the Grand Master and I have an understanding. He sends me places, and I keep an eye on things for him.”

“I thought you said that was the job for the Brothers of Saint Ansgar?” said Natalia.

“I’m not referring to internal matters,” said Cyric, “but there are many things outside of the Church that merits further investigation. Don’t worry, I’ll have plenty to keep me busy.”

Athgar shifted his feet, then swayed.

“I think we’d best get him a seat,” said Natalia.

“Agreed,” said Cyric, “and let him rest while we wait for the healer.

Sometime later, the healer arrived, an elderly Life Mage wearing a rather stylish, but tattered robe. He kept muttering to himself as he looked over the Therengian’s wounds, then stepped back in shock as he finally took notice of Athgar’s grey eyes.

“This man is a Therengian!” he announced.

“What of it?” asked Cyric.

“He’s a heathen! They all worship the old Gods,” the man proclaimed.

“He is an ally of the Church,” declared Cyric, his voice patient.

“This is most unusual,” the healer persisted. “These heathens are known to worship the old Gods. Who knows what strange rites he has been a part of?”

“Then I’d suggest you heal him, the better to be gone from his sight,” offered Natalia.

“Why is he wearing the cassock of your order?” the mage pressed.

“As I said,” Cyric repeated, “he’s an ally of the Church. Can you tell a man’s beliefs by the colour of his eyes alone?”

The Life Mage, much humbled by the rebuke, went quiet for a moment. “No,” he finally admitted, “I suppose not.”

“Good,” said Cyric, “then how about you heal this man?”

“Very well,” the healer relented. He held his hands in front of his face, speaking the words of power. When his fingers began to glow bright orange, he touched Athgar’s shoulder, the light transferring into the Therengian’s body. It lingered at the site of his wounds, then slowly dissipated, revealing fresh, unblemished skin.

“It is done,” the Life Mage said, “though he will be weak for some time.”

“Thank you,” said Cyric. “Brother Renaldo will see to your payment.”

The healer nodded, “Thank you, and may the blessings of the Saints be upon you.”

“And you,” added Cyric.

He waited till the man was out of earshot, fumbling in his cassock for something. Moments later, he fished out a purse.

“Here,” he said, handing it to Natalia.

“What’s this?” she asked.

“A gift from the Church,” said Cyric, “to help you on your way.”

She peered inside to see the coins within. “We can’t accept this,” she protested.

“Nonsense,” replied Cyric, “it’s the least we could do after the mess you uncovered here. Consider it payment for not speaking of this matter.”