The wood caught. The mother started screaming. Brother Qown grabbed the boy by his good arm and started to lead him outside, but as he did, two arrows slammed into the wooden lintel.

They couldn’t go that way.

Fortunately (if it could be called that), the hovel proved less a house than a balanced hill of rubble. The mother (Brother Qown had never learned her name) kicked a hole through the planking, and they all crawled out. Mother and son took off running.

Brother Qown started to follow them.

Started.

He heard a shoe scuff behind him. A sharp pain exploded at the back of his head.

He didn’t remember anything else.

Brother Qown heard voices, shouting.

He kept his eyes closed and pretended to be unconscious.

Really, just one voice. “Have you lost your little mind? You can’t just kill a priest! Do you have any idea what the duke’s men will do when they find out?”

A second voice. “Oh, quit your complaining. He ain’t dead, just knocked around a bit. Tell him how he can’t be going around cutting into our business, and then we’ll send him on his way.”

“No, you idiot. We don’t have any choice now. We’re going to have to—”

Qown heard a rattle, followed by two more. Then a sound like someone dropping a large book.

A second thud followed.

Brother Qown tried to reach Illumination. If he could, he’d be able to see without opening his eyes, without revealing he’d woken. He needed all his concentration. He needed—

A hand tapped Brother Qown on the shoulder.

“Come on, priest,” Ninavis said. “Let’s go.”

Brother Qown opened his eyes.

Ninavis crouched over him. She wore a cloth wrapped around her hair and face—very similar to the bandit mask she’d worn the first day they’d met. A hanging oil lamp cast shadows against the walls of a rough-hewn shack, while the Three Sisters’ light streamed in through the window. Two tough-looking men lay on the ground holding their heads or privates while they moaned.

Brother Qown took her hand and let her pull him to his feet.

“How did you find—”

“Later, holy man. This isn’t safe.” She pushed him out the front door, where the priest saw several more people, two men and a woman, in similar moaning states. Ninavis and Brother Qown made their way back out to the main street, lit by celestial light or the occasional lamp too near a window.

Ninavis led. She wasn’t armed; her bow and arrows had been left behind. Of course, she didn’t need such weapons.

“I don’t understand why those people—”

“Classic scam, priest,” Ninavis said. “They come through selling healing spells to the Marakori, because none of these poor bastards can afford the prices the House D’Mon Blue Houses charge. Which means you were undercutting their profit margins.”