The party had been on the road since dawn, following the narrow path leading to the next hamlet.

  This time, the quest was simple - the team had to explore the forest ruins and report back to the guild.

  Three days earlier, a group of frightened adventurers had arrived at the guild, saying that they had been stalked by something that looked like a shadowy beast in the vicinity of the ruins.

  Since the forest ruins were a place where the guild sent many less-experienced groups for quests, sooner or later it could end in fatalities.

  The guild therefore decided that a strong group should be sent so that, if necessary, they could defeat the beast.

  An added bonus was that running around the forest and ruins would provide a few days of safety for the city and its surroundings - with no holy rearrangements.

  Fanática walked ahead - or tried to.

  She kept glancing at Gorzod's back, who had taken to the front with his unusual long strides.

  “My large friend,” she said sweetly, “perhaps I should lead. The Goddess guides the righteous, after all.”

  Gorzod grunted.

  “You led us last time. We were lost in the forest for two days. And before that, we spent three days circling over the canyon until Liora led us out.” he said wearily.

  Faná pouted. “But I’m the party leader.”

  Thrain muttered: “Let her. Saves us pointless arguing.”

  The saint brightened instantly and strode forward, bypassing the barbarian. She hummed happily.

  Within twenty minutes the trees thickened, the path forked, and she was gone - vanished around a bend like mist.

  The party stopped.

  Gorzod sighed. “She’s lost. Again.”

  Liora, who was moving at the end of the column, placed a hand over her eyes. “Minimum effort just became maximum search.”

  They spent the rest of the day shouting her name, hacking through underbrush, but found nothing but deer trails and false leads.

  By dusk they made camp in a small clearing.

  Thrain poked the embers with a stick.

  “Why do I ever follow her? I ask myself that every bloody day. I should have filled in the transfer form at the diocese office years ago.”

  The barbarian leaned back against a tree, axes across his knees.

  “I swore to repay a life debt. She cauterized my guts once. But I feel like I’ve pulled her out of the fire how many times? Two dozen? More?”

  His rugged, scarred face darkened. “That’s not fair.”

  Liora sat cross-legged on a log, sharpening an arrowhead with slow, deliberate strokes.

  “Fifty years,” she murmured. “Then the vow ends. I’ll be free in fifty years.”

  Erian looked between them. “But… she means well. And she saves people, all the time.”

  His voice sounded small.

  The dwarf snorted.

  “Aye, lad. She saves ‘em right into burned craters and desolate glowing fields.”

  Gorzod gave a tired half-smile.

  “Keep believing, mage. Someone has to.”

  The dawn was gray and damp, reflecting the mood of the team.

  They were packing the camp up when a pillar of golden light stabbed upward in the distance - bright, clean and unmistakable Faná.

  Gorzod shouldered his pack. “There she is.”

  They ran.

  The hidden camp was tucked off the main road - a ring of merchant wagons circled in a shallow dell, their canvases were torn and horses gone.

  Gorzod and Liora were first, barbarian looked around in confusion, while the huntress’s deadpan expression didn’t change.

  After a minute, Thrain joined them - shield and warhammer ready to strike.

  Erian stumbled last, panting.

  Surrounded by the wreckage stood Fanática, her halo blazing softly.

  She held her maul high, sparks of divine energy still glowing over it.

  Seeing it was her companions, she lowered down her weapon.

  The party’s first thought was: “Has she finally gone utterly mad and attacked some merchant caravan?”

  But then they saw that she was surrounded by eight beastkin children, aged between eight and twelve.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  They stood with their eyes downcast and their tails tucked between their legs, wearing torn linen tunics.

  Iron collars - the type that are used in southern kingdoms to mark slaves - were clamped around their necks, looking too heavy for their small bodies.

  They clung to Faná’s robe, trembling.

  Faná looked up as the last member of the party burst through the brush, with her beaming smile.

  Her hair and robe were covered with leaves and broken branches. There were fresh mud marks on her knees.

  It looked like she spent the entire night wandering blindly through the forest.

  Knowing her, she probably did.

  “My dear companions! Look! I found a vile slaver who was unjustly holding these innocent children!”

  She patted the head of a bunnykin girl with soft white ears.

  “So, the Goddess guided me right to them.”

  The children stared at the newcomers with fear, clinging more tightly to the Saintess.

  Erian swallowed. “Faná… how did you-”

  “I wandered,” she said happily. “And the Goddess provided.”

  Thrain eyed the camp: broken chains, wagons resembling cage on wheels, the scorched marks on the ground, and weapons left around.

  He grunted, “Slavers. Passing by some hidden routes. Someone was interested in moving the merchandise quietly and out of sight.”

  Liora knelt beside one of the older boys, he had fox-ears and a bruised cheek.

  “Who put these collars on you?”

  The boy whispered:

  “Men in black cloaks. They said we were going to a new home. Paid our parents… or took us anyway.”

  The huntress quickly scanned the wrecked camp.

  “The tracks head north-east. Shall we track them?”

  But the children just clung more tightly to Faná when they heard that.

  Saintess raised her empty hand and a small radiance appeared around it.

  “O Goddess of Innocence Unowned,” she intoned softly, “Let no child bear iron in Your light. Break these chains and undo the wicked hands that placed them.”

  The collars glowed, then melted into harmless liquid slag that lifted off the children’s necks, dissolved into floating holy motes.

  The children gasped, tears streaking their dirty faces - they were tears of relief, of disbelief, and something like small joy.

  “We need to protect the innocent.” Faná declared.

  There was a slight hint of iron within her usual sweet voice.

  The party escorted them to the nearest town - it was a two-hour walk.

  Guards took the children into protective custody, wide-eyed at the story.

  The kids waved shyly as they were led away, still staring at Faná like she was an angel of the Goddess herself.

  On the road out of town, Erian looked at Gorzod, Thrain, and Liora.

  “She did it again. A real good deed. No craters. No glowing meadows. She just… saved them.”

  Gorzod grunted.

  “Aye. This time.”

  Thrain rubbed his beard.

  “Doesn’t mean the next time wouldn't end in some apocalyptic holy bonfire.”

  Liora just shrugged.

  Erian smiled. It was tiny but nonetheless a smile of victory.

  “Didn’t I tell you so?”

  “What about the shadow beast?” asked Thrain.

  Faná remembered that one of the slave hunters used illusion magic.

  At the moment of the attack, he conjured up a pair of shadow beasts that pounced on her - and then turned into golden motes along with the mage.

  “That wouldn't be a problem, the Goddess killed two birds with one stone today,” she said cheerfully, and started humming the melody of some hymn.

  Much later.

  In the candlelit study of Faraway Manor, Clemont Faraway sat at his desk, reading a sealed report by lamplight.

  His face remained composed as he scanned the lines.

  “The ruse failed, m’lord.

  Most agents are dead.

  The collars - destroyed.

  The Duke cannot be tied to the shipments.

  The northern roads are compromised.

  Another batch will be impossible for months.

  S.”

  Clemont set the parchment down carefully.

  He pressed two fingers to his temple.

  “How,” he murmured, “did she know?”

  He picked a small, silver bell from his desk and rang it.

  No sound was heard.

  After a few moments, a shadow peeled itself from the wall behind him - it was a tall cloaked figure, face hidden.

  The shadow guard bowed low.

  “Someone must have spoken. Details of the plan were known only to a handful.”

  Clemont’s voice stayed soft, almost gentle.

  “Find the traitor.

  Show no mercy.”

  The shadow bowed deeper and vanished.

  Clemont leaned back in his chair.

  The candle flame reflected in his eyes - calm and calculating.

  But deep within them lurked a cold fury.