Oralyn was the largest village in northwestern Hania, but Auraya had heard visitors grumble that it wasn’t particularly big. Built on the summit of a hill, it overlooked the surrounding fields and forest. A stone Temple dominated the rest of the buildings and an ancient wall encircled all. The old gates had been removed over half a century ago, leaving misshapen stumps of rust where hinges had once been.

Dunwayan warriors paced the wall and the fields outside were empty of workers. Auraya and Leiard were escorted along equally empty streets to the Temple, then directed inside. Villagers crowded the large room. Some of the younger men wore bandages. Hearing her name, Auraya saw her parents and hurried to their side.

“Thank the gods you’re alive,” her mother said, drawing Auraya into an embrace.

“What’s happening?”

Her mother sank to the floor again. “These foreigners made us come here,” she said. “Even though your father told them I was sick.”

Auraya undid the ties of her tawl, folded it and sat down on it. “Did they say why?”

“No,” her father replied. “I don’t think they intend to harm us. Some of the men tried to fight the warriors after Priest Avorim failed, but none were killed.”

Auraya was not surprised that Avorim had been defeated. Though all priests were Gifted, not all were powerful sorcerers. Auraya suspected there were farmers with more magical ability than Avorim.

Leiard had stopped by one of the injured men. “Would you like me to look at that?” he asked quietly.

The man opened his mouth to reply, but froze as a white-clad figure moved to stand beside him. The injured man glanced up at Priest Avorim then shook his head.

Leiard straightened and looked at the priest. Though Avorim was not as tall as Leiard, he had authority. Auraya felt her heartbeat quicken as the two men stared at each other, then Leiard bowed his head and moved away.

Fools, she thought. He could stop the pain at the least. Does it matter that he doesn’t worship the gods? He knows more about healing than anyone here.

Yet she understood the situation wasn’t that simple. Circlians and Dreamweavers had always hated each other. Circlians hated Dreamweavers because Dreamweavers didn’t worship the gods. Dreamweavers hated the gods because they had killed their leader, Mirar. Or so Priest Avorim says, she thought. I’ve never heard Leiard say so.

A metallic clunk echoed through the Temple. All heads turned toward the doors as they swung open. Two Dunwayan warriors entered. One had lines tattooed across his forehead, giving the impression of a permanent scowl. Auraya’s heart skipped as she recognized the pattern. He is their leader. Leiard described these tattoos to me once. Beside him was a man in dark blue clothing, his face covered in radiating lines. And he is a sorcerer.

The pair looked around the room. “Who leads this village?” the Dunwayan leader asked.