“Caste? What are you going out in the streets with the common, unfiltered folk?” Suvau joked lightly, trying to ease into approaching him as the cleric had a serious, even hopeless presence about him. “I thought you’d be living the good life, surrounded by deacons and bishops and books…” Caste continued to stare at the water but Suvau suspected he wasn’t even aware he had spoken. “Caste?” He called again then edged closer, staring to wonder just how quickly the fabric of the cappa clausa could become saturated and if Caste was calculating the depth of the water. “Little cleric?” Caste still gave no hint that he had heard Suvau. The big man was now close enough to put his hand on Caste’s shoulder. “What is wrong?”


    Caste blinked, his freckles dull against the pallor of his skin and the shadows beneath his eyes deep enough to drown in. “I’m not dead.”


    Suvau was taken aback. Of all answers he could possibly conceive, that had to be the farthest from his mind. “Isn’t that a good thing?”


    “Not according to Archdeacon Adamis who, when the opportunity arose to assign a cleric to a knighthood questor, made sure I was given to the least likely to succeed…and the most likely to get me killed.”


    His voice was hollow with no emotion attached to his words. Suvau would have understood sorrow or anger or offence but Caste’s despondent demeanour was lacking any connection with all the emotions he was undoubtedly dying from on the inside.


    “Caste…are you sure?” Suvau asked gently, making sure he had a grip on the hood of the cappa clausa.


    “I overheard Adamis speaking with Bishop Peele.”


    Suvau swallowed and edged closer, moving his arm around Caste’s shoulders and turning him away from the water, heading for the low wall against a backdrop of excessive shrubbery. “Not that I am a believer in the Order of the Grail but surely the Bishop rebuked his words.” Caste allowed himself to be moved and even to sit on the top of the wall, Suvau leaning next to him.


    “No. He agreed with everything Adamis said.” Suvau’s heart twisted as Caste’s jaw quivered. “He couldn’t understand why I hadn’t the decency to die out in the wilds…” Suvau’s teeth clamped together, furious. “He called me pedantic…neurotic…a perfectionist.”


    “Well,” Suvau tried a little levity if only to disrupt his own fury, “you are.”


    “Yes,” Caste stood, spinning around to face Suvau, “but I thought in the ranks of the officers of the Order of the Grail, I would be appreciated and respected even if I was never liked.” He began to pace, his emotions racing to catch up with him, his hands gesturing wildly while his fingers were hooked and tight. “I was willing to give my all, sacrifice certain liberties in the pursuit of truth…but find I am bound in the service of an Order that has proven itself as prideful, manipulative…even corrupt enough to plot someone’s murder in a way that keeps their hands officially clean.” Caste ran his hands through his hair, the shock of red dislodged and unkempt. “I…I thought I knew what I wanted!” He stopped pacing, staring at the boardwalk, his shoulders caving beneath the weight of broken promises and shattered dreams. “Now I don’t know anything at all.”


    Suvau pushed off the wall and turned Caste around to face the direction the others had gone. “Come on.”


    “Where?” Caste said, allowing himself to be propelled.


    “You need to be with friends. Judd, Verne, Giordi…”


    Caste pulled out of his grasp and backed away. “They are not my friends.”


    “Caste…” Suvau’s tone was warning.


    “I never treated them with anything other than disdain!” The cleric exclaimed. “I told Judd I would never see him again and deserted their company the first opportunity I could. I certainly never thought of any of you as friends.” Caste was scathing but Suvau could hear that his words were not externally aimed but internally felt.


    “Perhaps not…” He admitted.


    “I have been obstructive, abstruse, vexatious, aberrant, unpleasant or as Giordi would call me, a humgruffin…”


    “And yet,” Suvau interrupted Caste’s spiralling spiel, “they respect you.” He caught Caste’s green gaze in his dark brown ones. “They appreciate you.” Caste swallowed. “They like you. Even I do.”


    Caste tucked his arms around himself and looked away. “If it had been up to me, I would have let you and your people rot in Mavour as slaves…”


    Suvau chuckled, surprising the cleric. “Sorry, Caste, you can’t push me away that easily. I know you’re not nearly as compassionless as you make out.” He gave him a nudge, causing him to stumble into a walk beside the larger man. “I can’t see Judd and the other two. They must have headed back to Judd’s parent’s house. We’ll catch up with them there.”


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    Caste walked up the sloped paths, each one with lush green verge on one side and on the other, picturesque views of the bay. Suvau didn’t say a word and for that, Caste was grateful. For hours there had been nothing in his head except the utter bleakness of his life and how that which he had so looked forward to had suddenly become a millstone around his neck, trying to drown him.


    He had wandered the streets of Astaril after escaping the vestibule, fleeing down the stairs like a thief, not looking right or left as he hastened out of the building he had thought of so wistfully for months while in the company of Judd LaMogre and his motley band of questionable companions. He had found himself by the bay, his heavy feet taking him lower and lower until he stood at the edge of the boardwalk, staring at the water.


    And no one had talked to him or inquired why he was there.


    They had moved about him like spring blossoms, pale and fleeting.


    Caste could never recall feeling that way before.


    He had felt alone many times and even enjoyed it for the most part.


    But this wasn’t about feeling alone or even lonely.


    He had felt abandoned by everyone and everything he had put any kind of value in.


    Not even Judd was without blame in that area, asking Caste to help him liberate the Maul slaves from Mavour. Aalis’ collusion in the knighthood quest Caste could justify if he squinted with his conscience and admitted that, for a witch, she had never harmed anyone and done a great deal of good. But to include Caste in the plot to steal from a knight, regardless whether he was a man of virtue or disdain, had rankled badly with the cleric.


    All other offenses he had committed were rendered void compared to this breaking of confidence.


    Yet as they climbed the slope and Caste considered that he would have to face Judd after leaving him so abruptly, his pride squirmed but his heart hoped that he might not be entirely alone.


    Once they reached the city proper, they took to a side street that would cross the main road where Judd and his company had rode upon only yesterday. As the two of them approached the main thoroughfare, Caste frowned at the amount of people blocking their path.


    “Well…we’re not going to be able to go this way.” Caste muttered.


    “What are they all looking at?” Suvau wondered, moving closer.


    Caste, not having the willpower to protest, followed behind Suvau whose height gave him a substantial advantage over the much shorter cleric.


    “Well?” Caste asked, unable to see beyond the wall of backs he was presented with.


    “Soldiers…”


    “Astaril soldiers on patrol?”


    “They are not wearing Astaril colours…”


    “Fort soldiers? Possibly an envoy from a knight in honour of Judd’s knighting ceremony. What colour are they wearing?”


    “Dark blue.”


    Caste shrugged. “That could be any number of forts. What is their crest?”


    “Hold…I think I can see it…” Suvau’s eyes widened and suddenly he ducked down to Caste’s level, letting the shadows of the side street envelop him. “A wild animal snarling…a werewolf.”


    “Fort Mavour?” Caste whispered. “Then you had better keep your head down.” Suvau nodded. Caste folded his arms, his brow creasing. “I suppose it makes sense that they are here but did Donimede really despise him so much that he could not make the journey himself?”


    Suvau gazed at Caste, surprised. “No one told you Donimede plotted to kill Judd in the Arena?”


    “No!”


    “Donimede’s daughter sent Judd a warning. It was why the gate reopened ‘accidentally’.”


    “And why Donimede committed a social taboo, bringing the man responsible for doing so into the feast. He was hoping Judd would lose face in front of the guests.” Caste groaned. “Why didn’t Judd tell me?”


    “Given what he had already put on your shoulders, perhaps he did not want to burden you further.”


    Caste felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it down hard. “Did you see who was leading the envoy?”


    “A man with sizeable red sideburns and there was someone wearing your robes.”


    “Could have been Alast or Rodel.” Caste had no desire to meet with either of them. “What is that squeaking noise?” The sound was coming up the road, following the clop of hooves on the paved surface. And as it drew closer, the excited chatter of the crowd silenced into wonder and fear. It was so strong that Caste and Suvau felt it and looked at each other. “What is it?” Caste ducked down and tried to look through legs. “I can see wheels…maybe a cart?” He stepped back and jumped in vain, unable to see over anyone’s shoulders. “It’s impossible. I am just…whoa!” He swayed dangerously as Suvau grabbed him around the waist and hoisted him into the air. Caste was so terrified at being taller than he ever thought he could be that he didn’t even think of looking at the procession. “Put me down!”


    “Just look!” Suvau barked, leaning against the side of the building so Caste could brace himself on it. When he had determined that he could not fall, he turned his green eyes onto the procession that he could see with almost perfect clarity. Suvau kept Caste on his shoulder, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to make the cleric remove his weighty cappa clausa before hoisting him up when Caste batted at his hands.


    “Put me down. Put me down!”


    “What do you see?”


    “Put me down!”


    Suvau did as he was told, Caste as white as a ghost.


    “What is it?”


    “It’s…a monster cage, the kind of thing smaller monsters are captured in and paraded through Astaril, usually as a boast about their skill in battle.”


    Suvau shook his head. “So? They’re from Mavour. They battle monsters all the time.”


    “It’s not a monster. It’s Aalis.”


    They stared at each other. The sound of the procession moved away from their position and the crowds began to disperse.


    “But…but…” Suvau began to chase after Caste who pressed his fingers to his forehead, wandering aimlessly. “She is not a monster.”


    “But she is a witch according to the Order of the Grail. They…they must have followed us…to her village…” The strain of a night without sleep and the horror at realising he had been set up to be killed piled on top of the shock of seeing Aalis in the cage. Caste was starting to descend into hysteria. “She’ll be killed!”


    “Caste! Snap out of it!” Suvau clapped his hands, so close to Caste’s face and so loudly it was like a crash of thunder and then grasped his shoulders. “Where will they take her?”


    “To the castle and before King Rocheveron where her execution will be immediate.”


    “Then you have to run to the castle and do whatever it takes to get inside and stop this.” Suvau ordered and Caste nodded. “I will go to the LaMogre’s house and bring Judd as quickly as I can but you must delay the execution! Go!”