A chapel was built inside Schild Estate. Its smooth facade remained unpainted compared to the larger and more flamboyant guest houses that were constructed around it. The interior was the complete opposite of what it appeared to be from the outside. Eight pews could only seat up to six people each. Windows of many-colored glass created a multi-colored ambiance. The large windows had images of the great saints of the ?therlicht; their melancholic faces permanently crystallized on the walls. Smaller windows at eye level were dedicated to patriarchs and other known names of previous generations of the clan.

  Euphemia took the time to drive away the dust and polish the relics stored inside the chapel for years. The servants kept the place well, reducing much of the work to adding more shine to the artifacts on the altar. She knelt to pray, though no words, not even her breathing, could be heard.

  Agnes entered the chapel and found the canoness inside. She sat nearby, waiting for her daughter to finish her reflections. Euphemia stood up and found her parent in quiet reverence before the altar.

  "You are preparing for parish work?"

  There was no answer. Instead, Euphemia went closer to the duchess, embracing her tightly than she usually did. Agnes felt a subtle cold on her back. It came from something meant to be hidden inside the cleric's sleeve, but it must have slid off with how she was hugged. It was too hard for it to be her daughter's arm. Her voice was softer than before when she said:

  "I will return."

  Euphemia walked out of the chapel. Agnes didn't look back at first until the sound of the heavy wooden door closing brought her back to her senses. She hurried, almost ran to the door, and opened it; her daughter was nowhere to be found.

  That coldness. It was her worst fear. She would only wear that artifact with the intent to use it. Euphemia was set on a task, and she would not be coming back until it was done – or if she had nowhere to go but home. Agnes saw a small wet spot on her right shoulder. She turned around, went for the nearest pew, and kneeled in prayer. There was one, followed by another stream of tears that ran down the duchess' face.

  "I do not depend too much on prayers, but in Your name, Creator, I entrust my bull-headed daughter to You now – wherever her quest might take her."

  ????

  "Forgive me, Mother, for I don't dare to... I can't... see this pain I am causing you and will cause you, should I fail."

  The streets were half-empty by the time Euphemia reached the streets near Alberta's borders. Very few people were attending to matters outside their homes; scents of broth and meat being cooked for tonight's dinner crawled out of the windows and mingled with the lazy air. An almost-orange sun peeked from the horizon, checking on what else it missed before it started to descend from its watch.

  "If I take the northwestern exit, it should get me to one of the towns along the K?n. I wonder how long this walk is going to be? Should I take the Brescha Line to Wulfstadt?"

  Euphemia stopped by the city exit, unaware of the sentries looking at a cleric standing in the middle of the road. This was it. Taking her first footstep out of the city meant she would have to rely on herself for the journey ahead. She thought of how far she could really go with this, or perhaps if the light of determination that burned bright in her was meant to last for only a short time. Time was not something she could waste, and standing on the road for too long would not give her the next clue on where to start her search.

  "I shall see you again, Alberta, even if I do not know when."

  She was out of the city, out of the Schild family influence, and her only guide to her task was the little knowledge she gained from eavesdropping at Agnes' office.

  "I should find what I need if I reach the Old Wood. But searching there immediately might be exhaustive. Would I be talking to anyone there? What about if I stop by the towns? There could be rumors surrounding this 'Fox', the man Mother talked to mentioned. If I'm good or lucky enough, there can be someone who knows why Father had tried to deal with him."

  Nobody else was on the roads at that time; rustling of branches and the occasional squawking of a faraway forest bird accompanied her. The ferry was not far at all, and it would only take the cleric minutes before she could see an old bell tower with an equally aged yet sturdy-looking house that also served as the terminal. Only the attendant was around that day.

  "Planning to take the ferry today, sister?"

  Euphemia looked at the vessel. It was listed at an odd angle. She blinked four times to make sure the water was not playing tricks on her eyes. Unable to understand what was going on, she replied:

  "Yes, I do. Is there something wrong with it?"

  "Better find another way if I were you. Some bastard punched a hole in it two days ago." The man pulled a line out of the riverbanks; today's catch wriggled in vain attempts to break free of the hooks that pierced their mouths. "She'll stay here until we can fix 'er. It would take a while since the ones in charge are yet to come by."

  "I see. Thank you for telling me."

  She extended a bow and waved goodbye to the dock worker, and that ended Euphemia's choice to take the ferry. There were no shortcuts other than the snaking road along the riverbank. It would be a long walk from where she stood, and travelers were hard to come by lately. The length seemed to be a blessing, though – a long walk would allow her to think of what to do the moment she arrived at the nearest town.

  Euphemia looked at the road ahead. The stone yellowed with age; much of the forest's nutrients began taking over the path, giving it a yellowish sheen against the sun. Up ahead was a fork: the left route led to the town of Leifinfaltz, and opposite to it led to the corridor between the K?n and the Antikwald's southern domain. The air carried a leafy scent that went through jagged outcrops of rock, which made the wind whistle in its passing.

  She fixed her bag strap – a thin cord of leather on her shoulder, securing a boxy container that hung at waist level. Euphemia thought of taking out one of the fruitcakes she brought along for the trip, but she wasn't that hungry to stop for a quick bite. The folds of her habit danced to the soft breeze that rushed out of the forest; she found the coolness and the silence soothing amidst her restless thoughts.

  The canoness turned back and could only see faint outlines of Alberta's northwestern watchtowers; indeed, it was too late to reconsider her actions. She refocused on the road, then paused.

  "That boy again?"

  He wouldn't dare attack her when she could still fall back to the port city's walls. It was best if she moved along, though she had to do so from the cover of one tree to the next.

  An outline moved to where she stood. It was a truck, one of the older models with an exposed front engine, modified with a wooden and iron bed at the back. It had two crates and a metal box that was likely for tools. A temporary relief. She hoped her presence in the open, together with this vehicle's arrival, would be enough to dissuade any attackers.

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  "Good day." The driver was a wrinkled man whose eyes were shadowed by the brim of his hat. "What brings a Holy Sister to the roads at this time of day? Aren't you aware of the dangers that haunt these paths? It's not as quiet as it used to be. Not anymore."

  "I would be more careful traveling along these roads then." Euphemia looked up at the old driver and gave a faint smile, which was returned with the same courtesy.

  "You are taking that route? Why not come with me instead? There's space at the back, if you don't mind sitting there."

  "Thank you for your help."

  Euphemia went aboard the vehicle. It was right for her to choose boots for this journey; the added grip was more than handy to climb on things that were not staircases. Clanking sounds and random weak blasts came out of the engine until the vehicle began to move. The trees around them seemed to be moving, as if the forest borrowed the fluidity of the river on the other side. Their entry to more developed terrain was marked by smooth stones that were under the wheels of the motorized transport. It was a new road, one that Euphemia thought to be somewhat less than a decade in service. The Empire's span of progress was beginning to flow beyond its major cities, slow, but with visible results.

  An orange outline of what seemed to be a section of a citadel wall was visible beyond. Euphemia surveyed the place and saw men in what looked to be military attire roving around the battlements. The barrier seemed to have reached a jagged end; a portion of stone and mortar crumbled, revealing the town that was behind it.

  "I wonder what is going on at Altrecht. The town looks worse, even from a distance."

  Empty wooden crates made crude seats; not exactly the best substitutes, but they were better than sitting directly on the floor, where some spots of broken earth were seen. A potato spud was found on a corner; the driver was either a farmer or an older aide working for one.

  The journey ended faster than expected. An orange sun was seen making its descent, taking the day along with it. The truck stopped at a point that split the road into three. On the left was an outline of a farmhouse with a barn behind it; not too far ahead was a part of Altrecht's walls where the town's western gate was situated. The central path led to a longer route to Wulfstadt.

  She thought of taking another route beyond Altrecht, but the peril of outlaws running about made her decide to find a place to stay in the dilapidated town in the meantime. How long that would be depended on whether or not the authorities have taken back control of the roads. Euphemia disembarked from the truck and walked towards the driver's cabin, saying:

  "I believe this is where I must go on my own. Thank you again for helping me."

  She reached out for her purse and plucked two bills from a rolled-up wad.

  "Would these be enough, as payment for your service?"

  "No, no need, Holy Sister. Your presence has done more for me. Maybe a prayer for a good harvest, but I don't want to ask for too much." The driver shook open palms. He looked at the road ahead before asking, "Are you planning to make your way to Altrecht?"

  "Yes. I plan on seeing someone there." Euphemia felt a tinge of alarm from the old man. She jumped on it when she asked, "About your request, I shall pray on your behalf once I am settled. Is there anything I should be careful with?"

  "Strange things are running through the towns a month from now. Those brigands are up and about again." A longer pause was heard from the old man when he uttered the last few words. "I can give you a room to stay for the night if you wish. It is dangerous out there."

  Was this opportunity perhaps? A clue to where her father's captors could be? Euphemia used to remember Altrecht as a distant yet peaceful place, but things might have changed within those years of the cloister. Her chances were vague, and these events would most likely have little to do with the quest for answers she had committed herself to. If there were truth to the old man's words, then...

  "I'm afraid I must decline." Euphemia bowed before returning the driver's gaze.

  "I understand." He tilted his cap and took the wheel again. "The house is open, should you change your mind. Come see us some other time. Stay safe till then."

  "Bless you and your home, Sir." Euphemia waved an eight-point cross in the air. "May the Creator continue to protect you and your loved ones from harm."

  "Thank you, Holy Sister."

  She walked closer to the town gates. Altrecht did not have grand buildings like Blaurosen or the cool coast like Alberta. Walls that glowed orange in the sun were what was left of a citadel that once stood there. A central square replaced the main fortress that was destroyed during the years of the Grand Invasion. The main door's arch was all that remained intact: a reminder to the townsfolk of what happened long ago.

  Euphemia passed by a house that was reduced to soot, ash, and ruins. No smoke or embers were seen on the pile of rocks and wood, but a team of constables and firemen salvaged whatever items of value could be hidden inside. Two men with picks and axes broke off some of the stone and wood and loaded those untouched by fire on a nearby cart. Not too far from the scene of the ruins were houses with broken windows and dislodged doors. She could see their interiors filled with chair legs and fragments of what used to be glass showcases.

  The old driver was right: the extent of the dangers was more visible within the town proper. Constables and other uniformed men of the empire's armed forces stood by the sidewalks or trotted down the road. Euphemia could recall warmer people out and about the streets when she last visited the place. Could ten years change people from pleasant to cold and doubting? Many stared at the strange pale lady from their windows and looked away or shut the panes the moment she returned their gaze. There was not even time to smile back.

  This town, part of an empire that swore to protect the land and its people, was neglected by the ruling authorities. Was this something Lord Cecil tried to prevent? Euphemia wondered while thinking of going forward, though there was little reason for her to lower her guard.

  "I still know where the nearby church is. Maybe I can ask for a room there."

  She could see the radiant cross that rose above the residences' roofs; the church was not far from where she stood. Altrecht's parish was larger than the one in Alberta, though patchy soot and what looked like black paint took away much of the church's splendor. She thought it would be safer to stay on the roads, though the stench of human waste and the sight of broken machines and discarded furniture might hide unwanted surprises.

  Euphemia looked at the path ahead and started walking. The church, while too ragged for a sanctuary, could still serve as shelter, she hoped.

  The main door was shut, but she found a smaller, more welcoming portal at a building extension on the right side. Even this parish was not spared from the clutter and ruin that spread throughout the town. She found a faded brass knocker to call the attention of the occupants. Euphemia made three knocks; footsteps were heard but stopped right behind the door. A coarse but strong voice said:

  "We are out of soup. I will have to ask you to come back in the morning."

  "I- I am an Adorer, hailing from Alberta. I am here to seek shelter for the night."

  "Adorer, you say? I haven't heard a more elaborate con in a while. Are your friends behind you, readying their arms to come here by force?"

  "I do not understand." Euphemia scanned the door for a peephole, only to find solid timber with iron ribs. She noticed a mix of fresh steel and old supports.

  The attendant picked up something heavy; the ringing of metal grinding against stone ran from the floor. There were a few clicks and chugs before the door made a small opening.

  "Oh, you really look like an Adorer. I've never seen one in months, no, even years. Please, come in. Quick."

  Euphemia went inside; before her was a balding man with a nested beard. Though dirtied, the cream robe of the Hagarian Order was unmistakable. The bludgeon he held was set aside nearby. Small, rounded eyes looked at her from bottom to top before he said:

  "How ill-mannered of me, I apologize. Things have been rough recently, and our supposed hallowed halls were not spared by thieves and other ruffians. What brought you here, young lady?"

  "I mean to travel to the northwest, but I have taken too long on the road."

  "The Creator must have sent you as an answer to our prayers." His doubtful look lightened up to a near-smile when he said, "We are gravely short of hands. The Archbishop is yet to reply about sending more servants... let's talk more about this in the morning. I should not tire you with subjects you are not aware of."

  There were no introductions for the night. Euphemia was led to a modest bedroom: a place to lie on, a crude wooden stool, and a small table were all the amenities, apart from having enough space to turn around and open a window. The canoness set her bag on the floor and sat on the bed; it was lumpy, but the smell of old linen and what seemed to be perfumed oil was a small assurance that the night's sleep could offer a little refreshment.

  Even supposed men of piety failed to resist the choking turmoil that took over Altrecht.