It was late morning when they finally reached Gavlim. The pair had made it to Fari as the sun was setting but, as Jorg had readily pointed out, without having a pressing monster problem there wasn’t going to be any fisherman willing to risk their boat at night.

  Larkin had tried to hide his unease at this sudden insight that their crossing of the Arguil Sea on the wooden coffin had been any kind of a risk.

  They’d instead had a pleasant night at the inn, where the innkeeper had been even more diligent with Jorg than he’d been before. Larkin also spotted the familiar face of Arnault sitting in a corner of the tavern, though the villager seemed like he wanted to be alone with his cups.

  The tavernkeeper, who introduced himself as Huprin, said that he was allowing the distraught villager to stay at his inn for free.

  “I’m concerned about his drinking.” He admitted to the two of them though, giving Arnault a concerned look.

  “Loss is something that we must all face.” Jorg said, voice grave. “And how we face it shapes us.”

  The Dwarf sounded like he was speaking from experience there, so Larkin didn’t venture any opinion. And despite the reminder of the devastation caused by the Firestingers, Larkin had a relaxing evening and then, reluctantly, joined Jorg onboard a waiting boat the next morning.

  Larkin’s body hadn’t been strengthened sufficiently from his level up to overcome his seasickness, unfortunately. So the bobbing view of their approaching - and still remarkably ugly - town was a welcome end to the journey.

  “What were you travelling to Gavlim for, anyway?”

  He turned to Jorg, sitting opposite him in the small boat - and showing absolutely no concern with the motion, damn him!

  “I was asked to deliver a letter to someone.” Larkin replied, not feeling the need to explain all the context.

  The Dwarf didn’t seem to get the hint though, as he instead raised a bushy eyebrow.

  “Who to?”

  Larkin found himself momentarily flummoxed by that one. He furrowed his brow as he tried to remember the name that Kyrstan had scrawled on the envelope.

  “It was for someone at the temple, a Classbearer.” He said, before venturing. “...Lizzie?”

  That didn’t sound right to him, but he got a surprised growl from Jorg.

  “Lyzkel?” He guessed, sharply emphasising the “k” sound. “An Avorean?”

  Larkin nodded. “Yeah, that sounds right.”

  He then raised an eyebrow at the Dwarf.

  “Are Classbearers that uncommon?”

  Jorg nodded.

  “Apart from the three of us in the guild, Lyzkel’s the only other Classbearer in Gavlim, yes.” The Shieldbearer told him. “She’s been in the city longer than any of us, though she travels now and again. And she does seem to be a little nexus for messages going back and forth."

  The Dwarf then paused, squinting at Larkin.

  “Anything you want to say about the person who sent this message, though?” He asked, sounding a little more than curious.

  Larkin only had to think about it for a moment before giving a terse shake of his head. It didn’t exactly feel right to start gossiping about this - especially when he didn’t know any of the wider context.

  And he still remembered the wariness that Krystan had when he’d first seen Larkin.

  There’s something I don’t get about the whole situation, he knew.

  “Not really.” He replied. “He seemed perfectly ordinary to me.”

  Jorg’s frown deepened.

  “And you just happily agreed to deliver some letter for them.” He hinted, voice flat. “Like to play mailman do you?”

  Larkin didn’t really know how to respond to that so just settled for a shrug.

  Fortunately, the Dwarf seemed content to let the matter finally drop as the boat reached the pier and they clambered onto land.

  “Thanks Paulo.” The Dwarf waved to the fisherman as they left. “Might see you down at the Pearl later tonight.”

  The sailor raised an acknowledging hand in a wave as Larkin followed Jorg down the road. The Dwarf glanced up at him.

  “You know, speaking of the old bird, I haven’t seen Lyzkel around for the last few weeks.”

  Larkin nodded.

  “That’s actually what the message is about.” He clarified. “She’s been a bit incommunicado, apparently.”

  He peered at Jorg.

  “You wouldn’t happen to know if anything might have happened to her?”

  The Shieldbearer coughed a laugh even as he shook his head.

  “Lyzkel is the sort of individual that happens to things, not the other way around.”

  Larkin looked at the Dwarf, hesitating over his question before just deciding to go for it.

  “Any idea what level she is?” He asked.

  Jorg shot him a sideways glance.

  “As I said, I’m not particularly close to her. She’s certainly been around for a while, though.” The Dwarf told him. “But either way, I don’t know exactly.”

  He gave a shrug. “I’m not her minder.”

  The pair were wandering to the main street leading to the central square that held the Guild. Jorg glanced sideways at Larkin.

  “Though speaking of levels, I did have some questions about yours.”

  Larkin tried and failed to keep his face expressionless.

  “Is that a common thing to ask Classbearers?” He asked, trying to understand the atavistic sense of exposure that the suggestion raised in him. “Seems a bit personal.”

  An ugly snort was the Dwarf’s response.

  “If you’re rude enough, like me, it certainly is a common question.” Jorg told him. “It’s also required if you want to join the Adventurer’s Guild.”

  Larkin blinked, startled.

  “I was really wondering why you weren’t a Guildmember already.” Jorg continued. “Not all Classbearers are, of course. Not by a longshot. But I peg you as a good fit.”

  He grinned at him.

  “Being the sort to throw themselves in trouble in search of levels I mean.”

  Larkin came to a sudden halt, starting at Jorg - who deliberately carried on a few steps forward before stopping and turning to face him.

  “That’s not what I’m like.” He told the Shieldbearer, though he felt a traitorous part of his brain protest that.

  I’m not some sort of crazy daredevil risking my life for levels…

  As though he could see his inner confliction, Jorg shot him an amused grin back; a flash of teeth through the thick beard.

  “Then what are you doing this all for?” Jorg asked. “Wanting to help people?”

  He laughed. “You’d fit in with that mindset, too.”

  The brief amusement twisted. “Well, amongst some of us, anyway.”

  Jorg turned and started walking again. Larkin frowned after him for a moment before hurrying to catch up. And the Dwarf carried on talking as if there hadn’t been any disruption.

  “Cezar clearly wants you to join.” He added. “You did a good job back with those Firestingers.”

  Jorg grinned up at him.

  “Though that’s actually why I’ve got some questions for you.”

  The Shieldbearer waved absently at one of the hawkers as they passed by.

  “I’ve trained plenty of younglings in my years.” He added. “Both for the Guild and back in Axehearth. Did my best to help them achieve their potential without getting themselves killed beforehand.”

  The Dwarf glanced over at him as they entered the central square.

  “The best I’ve known are keen to learn, wanting every opportunity to get better. Nothing can come quick enough for them, and they won’t settle.” Jorg laughed. “Jasset’s a little like that, too.”

  Larkin let the Dwarf lead him not to the Guild but instead across the grass towards the central statue in the middle of the square.

  “But some, they go beyond that.” The Shieldbearer said. “Doesn’t matter what warnings you give them, they’ll throw themselves into trouble that they’re not ready for. And most of ‘em end up dying for it.”

  Jorg looked pointedly at him before turning his face towards the statue.

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  Larkin followed the Dwarf’s gaze, though didn’t really understand what he was looking at. It was a bronze statue, slightly pitted from exposure, that showed a lithe looking man in a billowing cloak. The man was raising an openhand skyway, a smile on his face.

  He looks slightly gormless, he found himself thinking, though I guess that could be the carver’s fault.

  There was a name carved into the plinth the statue was on. It read ‘Latimer the Lucky - Founder of Gavlim’.

  Which I guess explains what it’s doing here, gormless or not.

  “From what I’ve seen there’s no way you should be able to kill an Enforcer.” Jorg told him. “And yet you didn’t hesitate when it came towards you.”

  Larkin blinked, a number of competing thoughts going through his head.

  “What else should I have done?” He asked, after a long pause. “Running wouldn’t have helped anyone.”

  He was surprised by a knowing grin from the Dwarf.

  “Did that thought even occur to you?” The Shieldbearer asked.

  Twinkling brown eyes latched onto Larkin’s, who could only shake his head.

  “That’s what I thought.” Jorg told him, before glancing at the statue again.

  “Why would you want me to be in the Guild, then?” Larkin asked. “If you think I’m going to get killed, I mean?”

  The Dwarf chuckled, still looking away from him.

  “I’m a slow learner, I guess.”

  The silence stretched for several moments more before the Shieldbearer turned back to Larkin.

  “You don’t need to decide now.” He told him. “It’s an open offer, and you’ve got your mail to deliver first.”

  The Shieldbearer pointed to the building at the opposite end of the square from the Guildhouse. The only one apart from the town hall that was fully made of stone.

  “The best place to start looking for Lyzkel is her temple.” He told him.

  And then the Dwarf grinned and started walking back towards the Guild.

  “See you around, kid.” Jorg called over his shoulder.

  Larkin slowly turned away from the adventurer and focused on the building that the Dwarf had indicated. It certainly looked like the image he had in his head of what a temple should like - low steps leading to a raised archway held up by lots of spindly columns.

  And as he got closer, Larkin realised that the pavilion-style roof that the columns held up was covering a large open space. There were various lights visible within, and a low murmur of voices reached his ears as he reached the base of the steps.

  The smell of the place hit him as he stepped underneath the high roof. Incense, and soap, and … ash, for some reason. As well as the oddly contrasting scent of burning that he associated with barbeques.

  That mystery soon revealed itself as soon as Larkin got a better look inside the open space.

  There were a number of roasting fires going on. He saw a total of eight pits dug into the ground around the edges of the covered area, placed at regular intervals. Some had large carcasses of animals slowly roasting with people laughing happily together, others had silent groups with bowed heads, but all were surrounded by people.

  And at the very centre of the space were some very large statues.

  They were carved of a dark stone, with each of the six figures sculpted to be twice the size of the various people within the temple. They were grouped in a ring racing outwards.

  The Six, he realised. The knowledge came to him with the same eerie sensation of a quiet invasion that he was getting worryingly used to.

  So there are the gods of Systemia. He thought as slowly approached.

  There were two facing the entrance: and the one to the left was the most striking. The man had a clean shaven face, and a really intense look as he stared down into his cupped hands. From which an amazingly bright light was floating.

  You don’t see anything like that at church. Larkin thought, even as his Skill fed him the name of the god.

  Padam, the God of Fire. He knew. Well, the name clearly fits.

  The other statue, standing next to Padam, was a bare chested man with a ridiculously muscled torso. He had a thick beard, and an imperious look in his eyes.

  Looks like a judgemental prick, Larkin thought sourly, taking in the huge hammer whose head was resting on the ground and the handle grasped by those thick hands.

  And then he chuckled to himself as his Skill told him the name of this guy.

  Prisalt, the God of Judgement.

  Larkin shook his head - turned out his assessment was spot on.

  Good carving there. He thought. Really caught his essence.

  There was a rustle of cloth as someone approached, and Larkin looked up to see an old man approaching. They were wearing a set of robes that screamed clergy, accompanied by a heavy iron pendant hanging across his chest; depicting a broken circle.

  And then, Larkin realised that he’d seen the guy before.

  “Ah, you’ve returned.”

  The man said - and it was the priest that had been present when Larkin had told Cezar and the mayor about the Firestinger threat.

  “Your name was Larkin, is that correct?” The old priest continued.

  The guy was actually pretty ancient, his skin tight against his skin. But he walked with a straight back and his voice, though somewhat croaky, was confident.

  “That’s right.” Larkin told the guy. “And, uh, you are?”

  The priest smiled, a gentle expression.

  “I am Father Maguire. I manage affairs at the temple here in Gavlim.”

  Larkin nodded awkwardly. He wasn’t really sure why the guy was talking to him.

  But understanding came at the priest’s next words.

  “May I take it that you being here means that the threat has passed?”

  At Maguire’s question, Larkin gave a quick nod - as realisation came.

  “Yes, that’s right - Cezar killed the Queen.” He told the priest. “I came back with Jorg, who’s just gone back to the Guild.”

  Maguire smiled in response.

  “That is very welcome news.” He replied. “The presence of such a fearsome family of monsters would have caused panic if it had become known.”

  The priest paused for a moment and then turned surprisingly keen eyes at Larkin.

  “Hearing this is very good, but I don’t believe that you were here to pass on that report.”

  Larkin started as he realised he’d gotten distracted.

  “That’s right.” He replied. “I’m actually looking to deliver a message to Lyzkel, and was told I should start looking here.”

  He couldn’t miss the knowing glint that came to Maguire’s eyes, as he nodded and looked Larkin up and down again.

  “Priestess Lyzkel has been gone from Gavlim for a while.” He replied. “She didn’t leave any word as to where she went… or at least, not with me.”

  “You should speak to her … secretary. She might know more.”

  The priest gestured behind him, towards the statues. When Larkin’s gaze followed that motion, he realised that the six statues were actually built around a round stone building. There was a small opening set into the round building in the junction between two of the statues.

  “Ah, I’ll do that.” Larkin said, turning back to Maguire. “Thanks!”

  The priest gave him a nod, before Larkin hurried away from him.

  As he approached the opening he saw that it had no door but instead a tight set of stairs leading upwards. The sound of the people outside fell to an almost inaudible volume as soon as Larkin stepped through the archway.

  The small chamber that the stairs led to was a simple one. The floor was covered in rushes rather than carpet and there was a simple wooden table near the end of the room. The walls were plain whitewashed with a couple of paintings on the plain whitewashed walls. Some sort of religiously significant images, he imagined after a quick uninterested glance.

  His Skill immediately - and somewhat helpfully - confirmed this.

  One of the tapestries showed depictions of the Six standing together. While the other was one of the Gods in particular.

  Caitlyn, the Goddess of Hope.

  She was depicted in the tapestry as a middle aged woman staring benignly off to the side. If it wasn’t for the golden halo around her head, Larkin wouldn’t have had any reason to think it was anything other than someone's portrait.

  There was a single chair behind the desk, and behind that there was a door leading further up in the small tower. The seated person looked up as Larkin entered the room.

  “How may I help you, dear?”

  It was a woman, solidly into middle age if not beyond that; plump with a gently smiling wrinkled face.

  Larkin hesitated, not quite sure how to introduce himself.

  “Hi.” He said, awkwardly. “I’m looking for Lyzkel.” He said.

  That didn’t seem like the right thing to say, as the old lady’s face lost much of its good cheer.

  “Priestess Lyzkel isn’t available at the moment.” She responded, with a deliberate emphasis on the title. “And I’m afraid that I can't possibly say when she’ll be likely to return.”

  Larkin could practically feel an air of unhelpfulness emanating from the woman.

  Bah, the old lady’s clearly decided I’m a nuisance.

  Larkin didn’t have great experiences when confronted with the wall of elderly indignation. Facing that frozen expression, he found himself half-tempted to give up. But after a moment he decided to press on.

  “I actually have a letter with me.” He attempted. “For Priestess Lyzkel, I mean.”

  That at least made the old lady pause for a moment. Even if there was clear suspicion still on her face.

  “A letter.” She replied. “And who might this be from?”

  Larkin swallowed an awkward cough - he was definitely getting strong flashbacks to how old Mrs Franklin had used to control the class in Year Three. The young Larkin had never been able to convince the teacher that he wasn’t trying some mischief.

  “From an Avorean called Krystan.” He replied, pushing that unwanted recollection away.

  The old woman’s eyes went as round as sauces at that name, and then her beaming smile reappeared.

  “The dear old bird?” She exclaimed. “Oh dear me, what could be wrong for him to send a message?”

  The lady blinked, a shade of panic entering her expression.

  “Is it about his sweet son, or his lovely daughter in law?” She asked. “Surely nothing can be wrong with his dear grandchild?”

  The old lady was talking as quickly as a machine gun at that point.

  “Life in the capital is far too dangerous, I’ve always said it. All those soldiers and politicians and wild Classbearers roaming around. Why, it’s as bad as the Runic Kingdom, I dare say. Or even Stobon!”

  The woman shivered dramatically at that point.

  “And now it’s too late! Poor Kyrstan’s family have been killed by some roaming band of heartless thugs or some such.”

  Larkin coughed awkwardly, daring to speak up before the old lady spiralled too much further.

  “No, Krystan and his family are all fine.” He said, trying to sound reassuring. “He was worried about Lyzkel, actually.”

  That brought the old lady up short.

  “What?” She asked, sounding so confused that she didn’t correct his lack of title. “But she’s fine. Been meditating at Harper’s Grove for the last two months.”

  So much for not knowing where she is, Larkin thought sourly, but decided not to comment on that.

  “Kyrstan hasn’t heard from her.” He explained. “So he asked me to send a message to her.”

  The lady paused, still looking surprised.

  “Oh, that shouldn’t be the case.” She said. “I’m sure I sent … that is, I’m sure Lyz would have made arrangements for her associates to know where she is.”

  The old lady paused, looking mildly panicked while Larkin fought to keep the sceptical look of his face.

  “So I could find Priestess Lyzkel at Harper's Grove?” He asked.

  Which seemed to reignite the old lady’s energy.

  “That’s right.” She confirmed. “It’s only a few days northeast from here.”

  She frowned, glancing around as though looking for something.

  “Now. What was the route to the crusty old place?”

  After some more of this, Larkin managed to escape the confused lady’s little lair. And with some directions that Jillian - as the old lady had eventually gotten around to introducing herself as - had been able to dredge up from her clearly murky memory.

  That hadn’t prevented Larkin from being subjected to a rambling series of supposedly related anecdotes to the directions she was given; which seemingly all ended with ‘so-and-so’ now being dead.

  Still, I know where I’m going now. Roughly anyway.