The cathedral Mordred waited in was one of several that loomed over the holy city. It was a place of solace, a place of calm, of peaceful contemplation. A place where one was closest to the radiant light of the Guiding Star. It was also a prime place to cultivate, to think upon your covenant and the blessings bestowed upon you. Even on a day when it was empty, the scale and majesty alone were enough to remind you of the blessed heavens that awaited the faithful.

  The hallowed halls were far from empty this morning. Seven knights decked in all their finery knelt in a row before the altar. In the pews immediately behind them was a force of Bronzes. Thirty-six Squires, and an equal number of Acolytes representing the clergy. Filling the rest of the cathedral was a collection of pious mortals, those granted the honour of witnessing the divine guidance the Cardinal was about to bestow.

  Mordred knelt at the end of the line of Paladins, enjoying how the light of the dawn streamed through the stained-glass windows. The artful arrangement and divine artistry worked into the coloured glass focused the heavens' blessings. He felt it aid his cultivation, every breath drawing in more power. The effects only increased when he heard the choir begin their hymns. They used their blessings to help empower those chosen by the Guiding Star at the cost of their own cultivation. A true sacrifice in the name of their faith.

  Mordred knew this was the reward for his dedication. He didn’t plot and scheme, nor did he tolerate any such corruption that targeted him. His retribution against those who dared try to drag him into their plots had left him with few friends, and fewer enemies. Everyone had learned to keep out of his path lest they test his commitment to the guiding principles.

  His Chaplain rewarded his dedication with more tasks than any other Paladin. Mordred was sent on hunts of great monsters, or tasked with quelling dangerous bandits, the kind of duties one couldn’t trust to the corrupt sons of the old dynasties. The Chaplain’s respect grew to the point he’d even sent him out to aid the Inquisitors in rooting out heresy. He got along with the Inquisitors, they alone understood his dedication. They had even tested his faith, as was their duty. After days of purification he confessed no sin, and the Inquisitors had returned him to his Chaplain, pronouncing him pure in body and mind.

  The Chaplain had to retreat into solitary prayer for a whole day, such was his relief.

  After that, the Chaplain had disappeared, explaining he was worried that such talent was being wasted. He returned a week later with the Order. Mordred was to be the representative from his Ray, chosen from among all the other Paladins, to answer the call of a divine quest.

  The service began. Even with the sound of the choir, he could hear the steady steps of the Cardinal as he approached. Two High Priests who accompanied him split off, stepping up to the marble altar before the congregation, laying down the blessed relics. The Cardinal continued, his even tread leading him up the circling staircase, carved out of the bone of some titanic beast. It led to the pulpit, decorated with gold, silver, and embedded with gems that radiated the power of the Star.

  “We stand here in the blessed light of the Guiding Star, following the illuminated path as it leads us through the sinful dark and burns away the deceiving shadow. All were lost before the Star gave us guidance, before the rays lit our way.” Mordred’s breath caught. His pulse pounded. He’d rarely, if ever, felt so connected to his faith. It was as if his soul was wrapped in a warm embrace.

  There was a power in the air and Mordred knew it had to be the Cardinal’s mandate. The holy power that separated Paladins from Saints, going far beyond the power of the Covenant, the purified version of the heretic’s ‘intent’. That divine power stoked a religious epiphany in him. So even though much of the service was words he’d heard before, this time they held a weight and meaning that was truly sublime.

  Mordred wasn’t alone. The Paladins and Squires with him all hung on the Cardinal’s every word. Even those Mordred had privately considered lacking in faith were whipped up into a fervour. The ceremony continued.

  The Cardinal talked of the Star’s infinite benevolence, and the duty of its servants to live up to its ideals. And so, the Paladins knew to be kind and set an example to their fellow believers.

  The Cardinal spoke of the Star's resolve to give the faithful a path forward devoid of twisted fae pacts. And so, the Paladins cursed once again the evil tricksters who led men astray.

  The Cardinal railed against the heretics, and their insidious lies that sought to cast the illuminated path into shadow once more. And so, the Paladins shook with rage, the power of the Covenants flaring, such was their zealous fury.

  “And now it comes time to speak to your quest. One that came from the Prophets themselves.” Only his iron-hard control of himself kept Mordred from falling to the floor to prostrate himself. The congregation was not so silent. They whispered and some cried out in shock. To think they would hear the words of the Prophets themselves. The few who stood above even the Saints and Cardinals. Those who stood above the division of clergy and crusader, their connection to the Star so great they could hear its words directly.

  “Silence! Be silent in the presence of the Prophets' words.”

  “The Star guides us. A glimmer of light from a land of shadow. A spark of divinity hidden in darker times is poised to reveal itself. This light cannot fall to forces of darkness, and yet if we reach out to grasp it with full force the Star sees the potential for great harm to come to the innocent of Euross. In its divine mercy, the Star sought a solution, and it has seen a path where those gathered here will find this lost fragment of power and return it to its rightful place.” The Cardinal’s speech concluded, and he bowed his head indicating his blessing upon the congregation.

  Mordred could feel the dryness in his mouth and the pounding of his heart. Never before had he felt unworthy. He could only hope he could live up to his god’s expectations. Now though he wondered if he deserved this, if he could possibly live up to the duty placed upon him.

  “You seven have been chosen for your unwavering faith. Receive your blessing here before these witnesses and then report to the Dusk Chapel to be granted the full measure of your quest.” The Cardinal descended the stairs. The choir took over as he proceeded to prepare the ritual.

  The two priests, one bearing a golden chalice and the other a jewel-encrusted amphora, approached.

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  “Sir Breuse Sans Pitié of the Ray of Protection. May the blood spilt before your shield root you where you stand, and every drop bind your foes.” The Cardinal, dipping his finger into the chalice, withdrew a single digit coated in crimson. The knight stood, fist clenched over his heart, and embraced the blessing, letting the priest draw a line of blood from the back of the hand of his shield arm, across his armour till it reached his heart.

  “Sir Damas Fallowmere of the Ray of Labour. May the blood shed in toil and burden bind your limbs with iron and bear you through hardship unbent.” The Cardinal drew the blood down the knight’s back, starting at the bare base of his skull and continuing till he traced a line down the back of the man’s armour.

  Mordred barely heard the rest of the anointments, so deep was his worry. Would he be found wanting? He had faith, but never before had he felt so keenly that the Star was placing faith in him. Then the Cardinal stood before him. Mordred heard, quiet as a whisper, “Do not worry, my child. Have faith.”

  Mordred felt his heart calm, his brow smoothed, and his breathing steady. He stood, coming to rightful attention. He was in the presence of beings far beyond him, here at the behest of the gods themselves. Even if he thought himself unworthy, they did not.

  “Sir Mordred Corbenic of the Ray of Mercy. May the blood of those whose pain you bear wash your path clear of death, and bind your soul beyond its reach.” The man reached into the cup and then drew his bloody fingers across Mordred’s throat.

  “That was quite the show, but this feels like a waste of our time.” Ginevra lounged in the small office, the stained-glass windows allowing her to peek into the cathedral. She was dressed casually for a Saint. It was still two layers too many of holy vestments and far too much white and gold, but it was at least comfy.

  “Guiding the faithful is never a waste of time, Saint Ginevra. Nor is it ‘a show’.” Cardinal Wreath quietly admonished from behind his desk, looking over paperwork.

  “No, sending out these children. If there is something of value we should grab it now.” Ginevra was keen to act. Surviving the massacre in the mountains had left her feeling irritated. Retreating stung her pride, as did the lecturing that followed. She wanted nothing more than to leave the holy city and throw herself into the thick of things again. But now she’d been handed this accursed mission.

  “We cannot afford to alert our enemies to this issue. A Saint’s radiance cannot be concealed. If we sent you and the other Saints to look for the artefact we would only be showing our hand. Better to let our Paladins go forth.” The Cardinal’s reply was flat, clearly rehashing an argument that had been had before.

  “I’m the one who’ll have to ‘shepherd’ them though. It is not my forte.” Ginevra knew where her skills lay.

  “No. That much is apparent after your recent failure.”

  “The failure is not mine. It belongs to Wexlan. Our creed is clear. He was the Primary, he was the one we followed, and he is the one who led us into disaster.” Ginevra smirked. If there was one upside to the law of the Primary, and being stuck as second in command, it was that none could blame her for the failure. She suspected this was why she was getting a less than stellar response from the clergy. The Inquisitors had not been happy.

  “Well then, perhaps this time you will view yourself not as a shepherd, but a hunter who is being given a pack of hounds.”

  “That appeals far more. I don’t like the idea of waiting for news to come to me, but if it saves me from trudging through the bleating mortals I won’t complain.”

  “You realise this is important. The prophecy is no mere jest.”

  “What is it exactly we hunt?”

  “I can say little. Many artefacts were lost after the original legion of the faithful was scattered by the foul realm-walker. Our notes from that time are thin and our riches were many. The Prophets can only confirm they sensed something in the passes. Something touched by the old divinity, and all such relics are of immense value.”

  “Can we not truly get any more knowledge? I understood the Prophets’ powers to be—” Ginevra hesitated. Speaking actual blasphemy in front of a Cardinal was a fast way to get a visit from the High Inquisitors.

  Even the Church wasn’t twisted enough to name the monsters from the Inquisition who reached Steel ‘Saints’. Better to die in battle than face their questions.

  “I’m not holding anything back. The challenge is that the devious fae conceal much of the region. You should be aware that the heretical druids may also be present.”

  “Has their neutrality shifted?”

  “No, but their attention is upon the passes. It would be wise to remember to avoid sparking conflicts with them. Keep your hunts far from the twisted woods, and dark realms.” The Cardinal passed her some maps with lots of notes, the flow of people and their agents’ observations of various forces.

  “I dislike that my success is in the hands of a handful of hounds.”

  “Your quest is to protect your ‘hounds’. Ensure they can move about and are not culled by some heretic with a grudge. Our story is that with the upheaval we have sent these Paladins out to aid those in danger. Our agents have gained some insight that the fae-slaves have put together their own group to respond to the chaos caused by the schism sparked by the founding of the Order Teutonique.”

  “And what are my hounds to do if they encounter these—”

  “They apparently go by the ‘Order of the Round Table’. They are very new, not a week or more old but years of politics tells me that they’ll be a challenge. A group of Iron-ranked idealists who aim to protect the people from the very fae beasts they invite into the realm with their wicked practices.”

  “If they’re only Iron—” Ginevra didn’t say it, but met the Cardinal’s eyes. He shook his head.

  “I have no doubt they have their own Steels watching over them. Your hounds are to avoid them if at all possible. We don’t believe they are aware of the artefact, and the fewer chances they get to find out the better. This is important, Ginevra.” The Cardinal’s tone brooked no argument, and Ginevra subsided.

  “I suppose a spear such as myself can rest behind shields for a time.”

  “There are a few places that are friendly to us, where you will rest as our Paladins spread out. Now have you any last questions? I have three more services to complete today. You’ll be looking after two of the groups, and there will be a lower-ranked Cardinal aiding the priests we’ll be sending out. I expect the pair of you to merge both groups effectively. And I would prefer if this Cardinal returned.” Ginevra winced at the admonishment. She picked up a stack of papers with names of her new dogs.

  “Who are these hounds of mine? They seem a strange mix. Why were they picked?” She flicked through the paper. They were an odd collection of characters, but from the lists of achievements she concluded they were competent.

  “They are the faithful. Not to their Ray, but to the Star itself, and that faith has survived their ascension in the ranks.”

  “So they are from common stock?” Ginevra mused. That tended to be the way of such things.

  “No. Not all of them. They have been selected for their devotion to our cause. They’ve proved they believe, and they will not be corrupted. Nor do we need to worry about them leaking their mission to other faithful they might feel close to. We don’t want anyone finding out there’s actually a relic sitting under their noses. They’ll be obedient, and they’re smart. They’ll run themselves ragged at your bidding. I trust that’s enough.”

  “What more can a faithful Saint ask for? Still, I’m pleased. I never did like having to put disobedient dogs down.” Ginevra smiled, and went out to meet her new pets.