The road west unfurled like a ribbon through fertile plains - flat meadows dotted with wildflowers, interrupted only by occasional low hills or pockets of woodland.
Trails branched off every few miles, leading to hamlets or farms.
The party pressed on, staying in roadside inns most nights.
Sometimes they camped in the wild.
One late evening, rain forced them to take shelter in a small country church with whitewashed stone walls and a modest steeple.
The priest, a thin man with nervous eyes, greeted them at the door.
When Faná introduced herself, the color drained from his face.
Beads of cold sweat appeared on his forehead, and his eyes darted around like caged birds.
"P-perhaps the inn in the next village? It's not far. Clean beds, good stew…"
But night was slowly falling, so Faná smiled serenely.
"The Goddess provides shelter in Her house. We'll take the pilgrim dormitories, if you please."
Reluctantly, he led them in - men to one shared room, women to another.
That night, Liora lay awake in her cot, listening to the silence.
Faná snored softly on hers, sprawled in a ridiculous pose with one arm dangling off the edge.
The elf's long ears twitched - a soft, steady murmur reached Liora from outside.
She quickly slipped out of the room, walked, went to the window overlooking the hallway, and listened.
Soft light still flickered in the prayer room below.
The sound of fervent prayer drifted up from the chapel.
"O Goddess," the priest whispered, "I've only just taken duties here. Please let this church survive the night. I beg You…"
Liora's lips twitched.
Footsteps approached - it was Thrain, scratching his back, yawning on his way back from the outhouse.
He was taken aback by her silhouette - she was standing by the window, holding a bow.
"Liora? What in the deeps-"
She raised a finger to her lips.
"Nothing. Go to sleep."
---
Morning came, all grey and damp.
The priest looked as if he had aged ten years overnight.
He had dark circles under his eyes, his hands trembled slightly as he ladled the thin porridge into wooden bowls at the small table in the refectory.
He kept glancing at Faná between motions, as if expecting the building to suddenly explode.
Faná frowned.
"Reverend, you look unwell. Shall we stay? I'll pray for your health."
The priest froze.
Then, with sudden desperation, he dropped to the floor and began doing frantic push-ups.
"One! Two! I've never felt better! See? I'm as fit as a fiddle!"
He sprang up suddenly and began rapid sit-ups.
"Strong body, strong spirit! Praise the Goddess!"
The party stared.
They departed soon after, leaving the priest panting but visibly relieved as they disappeared down the road.
---
Their path led westward.
The next great pilgrimage site on Faná's list was a famous place.
It bore an extremely uninspiring name of St. Durmond's Monastery.
It was built atop the hill above the cave where a wandering knight-saint, after receiving a divine revelation, slew a monstrous wyrm that had terrorized the surrounding lands for thirty years.
Pilgrims still visited the caverns below to see the blackened stone where the creature's blood had supposedly burned like acid.
However, their destination lay a few days' journey further west along the main trade route.
Mid-afternoon, hooves thundered along the road ahead.
A group of mounted guards - a dozen men, led by a stern knight in polished plate - surrounded them with weapons drawn.
The party drew theirs in response, forming a loose circle.
The knight raised a gauntleted hand.
"Hold. We're men of Lord Halbrecht of Urdvale. Hunting murderers." His visor lifted, revealing a hard face lined with frustration.
"State your business, armed travelers."
Faná stepped forward peacefully.
"We're pilgrims. What happened?"
The knight grimaced.
"A caravan was attacked nearby. Four wagons. Merchants, guards, even pilgrims." His jaw tightened.
"We found them sprawled across the road. Everyone dead."
Thrain frowned. "Bandits?"
"Maybe. But the strange part?" The knight spat into the grass.
"Nothing taken. Goods were untouched. Bodies left where they fell, like someone wanted them found."
Gorzod grunted. "We came from the east. Saw no one but farmers and pilgrims."
Faná's eyes lit. "Evildoers! The Goddess demands justice. We'll help punish them!"
Thrain added quickly, "Aye. For a proper bounty."
Erian, glancing at Liora, said, "We have a tracker."
Liora rolled her eyes. "Minimum effort."
The knight sighed deeply, rubbing his temple.
"Adventurers… of course."
He gestured westward.
"If we fail to find them, I'll post a bounty with the Adventurer's Guild in Urd town. Bring proof of the killers to the garrison and you'll be paid."
He lowered his visor again. "Good hunting."
The riders wheeled their horses and thundered east.
---
About an hour later, the party reached the ambush site.
The road curved between low embankments.
Three wagons had been shoved violently off the road into the ditch. Another had shattered against a boulder, its axle snapped clean.
But there were no bodies, and also no goods.
The garrison probably sent wagons to carry them off, alongside with the bodies.
Liora crouched near the roadside, scanning the dirt and grass.
She walked around, crouching, checking signs and finally stood.
"No tracks. Or too many." She jerked her chin toward the road.
"Those guards trampled everything."
Faná pouted. "That's inconvenient."
Gorzod kicked a broken wheel.
The dark red stains were clearly visible on the road, grass, and wreckage of the wagons.
With nothing else to learn, they continued west.
---
As the afternoon wore on, the road grew busier.
Travelers became cautious when they saw the armed group ahead. Some wagons slowed, their nervous drivers gripping crossbows or clubs.
Then they noticed Faná's nun robes.
Relief followed almost immediately.
Several people even waved.
One elderly woman shouted, "Bless you, Sister!" as she passed.
---
Soon a round merchant with a tiny wagon fell in behind the party.
His ox plodded patiently, keeping just a few paces back.
Since the party traveled on foot, he could easily overtake them.
Yet he didn't.
Thrain glanced back once.
Then again.
Then again.
His face reddened. "He's following us."
The merchant, close enough to hear, gave a cheerful smile.
"My good dwarf, this is a public road. We merely travel in the same direction."
Gorzod snorted. "You could pass us anytime with that cart."
The merchant shrugged. "Well… safety in numbers, eh?"
Faná smiled warmly.
"Let him. If he feels safer, I don't mind."
The merchant clasped his hands dramatically.
"Miss travelling nun, you're a true saint! The Goddess shines through you!"
Erian chuckled to himself - the man had no idea how close he was to the truth.
Thrain gritted his teeth but said nothing.
After several minutes of awkward silence, the merchant tried conversation.
"So! Who do you reckon the murderers are? Barbarians from the south? Or perhaps rogue knights from Karsovia?"
Gorzod slowly turned his head - he was a southern barbarian.
Erian mediated hastily: "Eh, probably just bandits…"
---
As the road wound its way around a small hill, and nothing seemed to indicate any change, Liora suddenly shouted.
"Watch out!"
A small tree trunk hurtled from above like a thrown spear, smashing into the dirt exactly where the party was a moment ago.
And landed a few paces in front of the merchant's wagon.
The ox bellowed.
The merchant shrieked.
"BY THE GODDESS-!"
He whipped the reins furiously and the ox bolted down the road, wagon rattling wildly as it fled east.
The party drew weapons.
From a narrow crevice in the rocky hillside stepped a lone figure.
A man in battered plate armor shambled forward.
In one gauntleted hand he dragged a long ebony sword across the road. The blade glowed with a faint, ominous red.
His eyes burned the same crimson.
The man tilted his head slowly.
Then rasped in a dry, hollow voice:
"Entertain… me…"