Page 11 of Sundered By Fate

The crowd murmured in agreement, and some of the Pureblades exchanged uncertain glances.

Aric pressed on, sensing Cyrus's uncertainty. "I know that our relationship was never one of great trust, inquisitor. I served the mages, and you hated magic with a passion. But this is bigger than you or me." He took a deep breath. "If there is any loyalty left in you to the human realm—loyalty that exceeds your fear and disgust of those unlike you—please. Let me help."

Virida's eyes narrowed as she watched the two men face off. "Lord Inquisitor," she said, her tone measured. "I urge you to consider the consequences of denying him this chance."

Cyrus's patience was threadbare, his mind too fixed on his task. "Enough talk!" he barked. "Seize him!"

The Pureblades advanced, hands poised to draw their weapons—but the townsfolk closed ranks around Aric, forming a human shield.

Virida planted herself firmly before the templars. "This is still Thornhaven," she said, her voice laced with steel. "And Aric Solarian is under our protection until proper procedures are followed."

A murmur of agreement rippled through the crowd, their earlier uncertainty hardening into resolve.

The Pureblades hesitated, clearly unsure whether to risk an open conflict with the townsfolk.

Cyrus's eyes darted between Virida and the gathering mob, calculating. "These people have been deceived by your tricks," he said, trying for authoritative. "But they won't be enough to protect you."

Aric tensed, but then the crowd began to part, and a hush fell over the square.

Cyrus's eyes widened slightly as he caught sight of something behind Aric. He turned, and his heart leaped into his throat as he saw a group of mages from the Silver Tower striding purposefully toward them, Olaya at their head.

Their flowing robes caught the light, glimmering with threads of silver and gold as they moved in perfect unison. A faint hum of magical energy pulsed around them, resonating with Aric's own magic.

"Lord Inquisitor," Olaya said, her voice commanding immediate respect as she approached. "What is the meaning of this confrontation?"

Cyrus's jaw clenched, his knuckles turning white on his reins as he clearly struggled to contain his anger. "We have captured a dangerous fugitive. I intend to bring him to justice for his crimes against the realm."

Olaya glanced toward Aric a hint of sorrow in her own eyes. "I think you're mistaken, inquisitor. Aric Solarian’s fate is a matter for the Silver Tower." Her chin lifted, regal. "And any business regarding him is ours alone."

A chorus of murmurs rose from the townsfolk as they absorbed her words, and the tension began to shift.

Cyrus's eyes narrowed with suspicion, his hand creeping toward the hilt of his sword. "The Pureblade Order operates with the full authority of King Aster himself."

Olaya raised an eyebrow. "And does that authority extend to harassing a loyal servant of the realm who has risked his life in defense of humanity?"

Cyrus opened his mouth to respond, but Olaya pressed on before he could find the words.

"I hardly think so," she continued, her tone smooth as silk. "Especially not when you have no official outpost in Thornhaven. That gives you precisely no jurisdiction here."

The townsfolk began to mutter among themselves, and Cyrus's grip on his sword hilt tightened.

"There was once an outpost here," Cyrus said, his voice hoarse with frustration. "Before . . ."

He trailed off as he spotted Virida, Thornhaven’s townmaster, staring at him with a steely resolve.

"The Pureblade Order abandoned it," Virida said, her voice ringing out clear and strong. "When the wards fell."

In a last-ditch effort, Cyrus argued, "He's been tainted by demonic influence! We can't trust him!"

Olaya, for all her regal composure, only raised one skeptical brow. "And if he's here to corrupt the town of Thornhaven, he's doing a piss-poor job of it." She glanced at Aric. "Repairing sewage tunnels, honestly?"

Aric could only shrug.

Uneasy Laughter rolled through the crowd, the tension easing as they saw Aric's work in a new light. But Cyrus's lips thinned, his eyes flashing with anger.

"I will not stand by and let this traitor poison your minds," he said. "But if you insist on sheltering him . . ."

Olaya shook her head. "There is no poison here—only your fear of what you do not understand."

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