Thorda’s elite band of fighters had not relented in their attacks since Gordian’s death. Rayan had participated in most missions large and small, attacking soldiers on patrol, ransacking language schools teaching the populace the imperial tongue, and setting fire to the homes of priests and magistrates. If it represented the Everlorn Empire, it was a target. After two years of relative inaction, he relished donning his armor, readying his shield, and bringing his sword to bear against his oppressors.

Yet their every strike was retaliated tenfold by Magus’s soldiers. War loomed on the horizon, and everyone in Vallessau felt it.

“Blessed Midwinter to you, paladin,” a shopkeeper said as he walked past his stall. Years prior, the man would have belted out the phrase at the top of his lungs, but now he whispered the words. A faint red mark of paint had been brushed underneath his left eye. A shadow of the painted faces men and women once wore to mark the Midwinter holiday, but like all things involving Endarius and Lycaena, faith had to be hinted at instead of proudly proclaimed. Everywhere he looked, Rayan saw the stubborn signs. Shapes cut into the world that resembled butterfly wings. Swabs of color on wrists, cheeks, and foreheads. A lone feather tucked into a belt. A lion’s paw drawn in chalk.

“Blessed Midwinter to you, too,” Rayan said, and he beamed a hollow smile. Again Rayan fingered the jasmines. That was the theme of today’s lesson to the children. Thanet was smothered and buried, no different than the flowers and grass beneath fallen snow. And like the flowers, so, too, would Thanet’s people emerge come the spring, brighter and stronger than ever.

Rayan knew something was amiss as he neared his teaching spot. Normally parents would be lingering about with their children waiting for him to come tell his stories. Instead the dead-end stretch of road was remarkably empty, with not a child in sight. Of the regulars, only the bearded and big-bellied merchant Jesper waited nearby with a scowl on his face, a scowl that deepened upon seeing the paladin.

“What happened?” Rayan asked. “Where are my students?”

“I thought it best that I be the one to tell you,” his friend said. “They’ve all gone home.”

“But why? I wasn’t late. Was the church prowling about?”

Jesper stared at him a moment. Rayan’s unease grew.

“You don’t know, do you?” the merchant asked at last. He sighed. “Fine. Follow me, paladin. And steel your stomach.”