He stared at her, dumbfounded, not understanding her meaning for a smattering of long, pregnant seconds. He couldn’t do anything about the witch-smoke in the baron’s lungs. However, yes, if he tied the cursed fumes to something close enough to their basic nature—say, normal non-magical smoke—he could encourage a sympathetic link. Then what happened to one, happened to the other. Brother Qown scuttled to his pack and began running his hands through his pockets. “A candle,” he muttered. “I need a candle.”

“Mmm-hmm.” Dorna held out a small beeswax candle, then snatched it back as he reached for it. “Not here,” she said. “Are you daft, colt? This ain’t something we should share with the whole town and any who might feel like watching. Best bring him behind the farrier’s banners.”

Brother Qown felt blood flow to his face, but he couldn’t deny her logic. If the locals saw him using magic on Baron Tamin, they wouldn’t stop to clarify he was a priest.

They would just reach for the clubs and the knives.

On the heels of that, he realized Dorna somehow understood the rules of sympathetic magic, but this wasn’t the time to challenge her on that.

“You take the head.” Dorna picked up the baron’s feet.

Brother Qown picked up Tamin by the shoulders. Together, they made an awkward shambling trio as they ducked behind several large banners concealing a patio complete with large sturdy forge and work area.

Of course, he thought. The horses wouldn’t want to go downstairs into the building if they didn’t have to, even with a ramp.

Everyone else seemed too distracted by Janel’s instructions to pay them much attention. Brother Qown hoped they’d managed to bring Tamin over to the forge without anyone noticing.

He grabbed a cloth and opened the door to the brick forge itself. They didn’t shoe horses often in this part of Quur. He assumed they just used the forge for spot repairs on tournament armor and the like. The banked fire was enough to light the small wooden taper, which Brother Qown used in turn to light Dorna’s candle.

The candle was poorly made and smoky. Normal smoke, thick and gray. Perfect.

He sat down cross-legged on the straw-strewn brick patio floor, with the candle in one hand. He made sure he could see the smoke spiraling out from its small orange flame and Tamin’s hacking, coughing body. Brother Qown breathed deeply and tried to enter Illumination.

It wasn’t easy. He’d seen too much horror. What he’d witnessed flashed through his mind like haunting ghosts. He finally calmed himself enough to see, although he didn’t use normal sight at all.

A dark, twisting blue mass spiraled inside Tamin, warring against the golden aura flashing over his body. Each light wave fought back the twisting blue mass; when the golden light retreated, the darkness returned.