As Morgan suppressed a sigh of dismay, Duncan nudged his elbow and gestured to the left with his chin. Far in that direction, almost out of their range of vision, Morgan could just make out the former site of Saint Torin’s. A blackened pit yawned where the shrine once had stood: a charred tangle of beams and collapsed walls were all that was left of the once-famous place of pilgrimage.

But there were soldiers swarming there as well, clearing out the debris and digging in the ruins. Over to the right, more soldiers were cutting new beams and timbers. Apparently the bishops had put at least some of their army to work rebuilding Saint Torin’s while they waited for war.

Shaking his head grimly, Morgan inched backward until he could safely scramble to a crouch, then began to make his way back down the slope, straightening as he went. Duncan followed. When they had reached the comparative safety of their horses, Morgan sighed and leaned one arm across his saddle, glancing at Duncan.

“Well, we certainly can’t slip past the entire episcopal army,” he said in a low voice. “Any ideas on what to try next?”

Duncan toyed with a strap on his horse’s stirrup and frowned. “It’s hard to say. Apparently they aren’t requiring travelers to go through the shrine anymore, because there isn’t any. But I doubt they’re letting just anyone cross the lake to Dhassa, either.”

“Hmm. I wonder.” Morgan scratched a forefinger thoughtfully across his beard and grimaced.

“How about trying to bluff our way through?” Duncan suggested, after a pause. “In these clothes, and bearded as we are, I doubt anyone would recognize us. You saw how little reaction we got on the road this morning. We could even try to steal a boat tonight, if you think the broad daylight idea is too daring.”

Morgan shook his head. “We daren’t risk even that. We must reach the dissident bishops. If we were captured before we could get to them, and had to use our powers to extricate ourselves, we’d never be able to convince the bishops of our sincerity.”

“Then what do you suggest? Take two days to ride to the northern approach to the city? That’s hardly feasible.”

“No, there has to be another way.” Morgan paused. “Ah, you don’t suppose there are any Transfer Portals around here, do you? I wonder how the ancients built them.”

Duncan snorted. “As well wonder why we can’t fly! What we could do, though, while we’re trying to figure out a solution, is to talk to a few local citizens and find out what the situation in the valley really is. If worse comes to worst, we can always appropriate another Torin badge and try the broad daylight approach. I still have mine, you know.”

At Morgan’s look of surprise, Duncan pulled the object in question from his belt pouch and began attaching it to the front of his leather cap. Morgan watched the operation in silent appreciation for his kinsman’s foresight, then nodded slowly as he considered the last suggestion. Within minutes, they were moving back toward the road to choose a suitable informant. It could do no harm to pretend devotion to the local saint.