The Magistrate's Confidence

Merall smiled briefly, letting Deravell's stories of bloodlust and corruption of the spirit slip back into the lower reaches of his memory. She need not know, and at any rate they were only stories. Only the librarians in the Lower Archives and the other visitors to the Archbishop's collection would have any chance of letting anything slip. The chances of that, he reckoned, were nil.

"Leave the young woman be, Merall. Not everyone has the same interest as those on the Council of Artefacts."

The reeve turned to Reliath with a start - he had almost forgotten the presence of anyone else in the room.

"Well, on that note the holy relic that you bear was thought lost over seventy years ago. Where did you acquire it?"

The paladin was silent for a moment before giving a mirthless chuckle.

"Its hour had not yet come, and now it has. Where is immaterial, Merall. You would be better served asking why."

The mighty paladin stood, bowed respectfully to the reeve, and headed upstairs to some much-anticipated rest.