c7

In Stormwind City...

The Cathedral was filled to capacity as Alliance dignitaries, noblemen, common tradesmen, beggars from off the street, and everyone in between turned out to remember the devout servant of the Light that High Priestess Laurena had been. The memorial service had been a solemn affair in accordance with the church's liturgies. Out of respect and wanting to focus on her life, no mention during either the eulogy or the homily was made as to the circumstances of her death.

After the religious service, her body, having been freshly embalmed and cleaned up so as not to betray how she had died, lie in state in fresh gilded white vestments as befitting her station in a white casket placed on a stand at the foot of steps of the altar where she had served. Mourners passed by saying their own good-byes and remembering the gentle, revered healer and shepherd that had been the city's guiding light for many, many years.

Presiding over the Memorial, Bishop Marcus reflected much on the proceedings of the night before last. He felt the mental and emotional whiplash keenly as he still struggled to understand what had happened, and how quickly everything had changed.

The Stormwind guards had rushed to the Cathedral immediately upon the report from the patrolman of her suicide. Two guards remained at the location where they could see her body on the rocks below while two more had been dispatched to the Church's cloister immediately on horseback through the cobblestone streets of the city. They knew the priesthood could resurrect one who had died within a certain amount of time, and that every second counted.

The patrol guards had pounded on his wooden door on one side of midnight or the other begging the nearly defrocked Priest to hurry. In a state of confusion, he had answered his door wondering why the Stormwind patrol was at his door. In truth, the brief though that they had come for him had crossed his mind, and so when he opened the door he had half expected to be arrested. Instead, they were pleading with him to follow them, only saying that there had been an accident and someone had died. It wasn't the first time the patrolmen had sought the priesthood's assistance in such an emergency, but it was the first time since the Light refused to hear him. They apparently weren't aware yet of the problems the clergy were having.

Perhaps this time the Light would hear.

In spite of his recent difficulties with the Light, in spite of the strange barrier which had arisen for himself and his brothers and sisters in the Church, he went with them, hurrying as fast as he could to Lion's Rest. He must have looked a comical sight, running embarrassingly in his night clothes. When he had reached the memorial and looked down in the dim light to see the broken form of a woman's body in the vestments of the High Priestess, he went into a kind of shock, disbelieving what he was seeing.

He recognized the victim even in spite of the darkness of the night, and yet it didn't look real.

In spite of himself, he called on the Light. He did not really expect it to answer him after all that had happened. He did so regardless, hoping that maybe the Light would answer, if not for him than for Laurena's sake, but once again, the Light remained silent. There was nothing he could do, and it had already been at least twenty minutes if not more from the time the patrolman reported her jump to the time he laid eyes on her white robes just barely visible in the darkness on the rocks below them. Six minutes was all the priesthood could count on for a successful resurrection, and after eleven minutes there was no hope whatsoever. Regardless, he had even attempted to call on the Light to levitate down to her, but it would not respond to him. He attempted to plead with the Light for her life, but there was nothing.

The Light was gone, and so was she.

"The Light's will be done." He had whispered to himself in defeat, bowing his head as a single tear fell.

Marcus had been as shocked and saddened as everyone else had when he recognized her broken, dead body. Even more so when he had seen the wisps of her white vestments stained with the dark splotches of blood as Stormwind's guards retrieved her corpse from the rocks which had smashed it. It had not felt real to him. None of the events of the last few days had.

In spite of her lack of clear sight on many things, he had genuinely respected his superior. She had in the past been an inspiration to himself of faith and compassion. He had still been awake in difficult and confused contemplation, and attempting to seek guidance from the Tome of Divinity when the guards had pounded on his door. It had wounded him greatly when she had verbally suspended him just hours before her suicide.

But strangely, she had not put that suspension into writing, or informed the other clergy of her decision earlier in the day. Indeed, no one had even been aware that there had been a falling out between them. Instead, he had been the first member of the Priesthood of the Light who had been informed of her death, and those around him had just naturally expected him to take the leadership of the Cathedral until another High Priest could be elected from among Stormwind's higher ranking clergy.

Aside from himself, however, there were few candidates which would be seriously considered at that point in time; a fact which Marcus was aware of all too well. A sense of guilt had risen within him regarding this, but once again there was little he could do except step down.

And then who would be able to protect the Church from those who would seek to destroy it? The answer to that question kept him from laying aside the sigils of his office. After all was said and done, Laurena had not put the order for his suspension into writing. She had not notified anyone of it except for himself. The only reasonable conclusion for this oversight was that she had recognized it for the foolishness that it was and had seen reason.

But then why did she jump? Was she attempting to levitate? Did she attempt to call on the Light once more and fail as the rest of us have? He thought this latter explanation the most likely, though he would never have thought the High Priestess so reckless as to risk her life on such an attempt.

In truth, Marcus' own emotions remained confused at the sight of the handsome woman displayed in front of him that day. Standing on the steps in between the casket and the altar, he had worn black vestments inlaid with golden thread as had the other clergy symbolizing the grief they all felt for her. As a sign of mourning, and in some final deference to the woman's last words to him, he had foregone his bishop's miter and his graying, somewhat bald head remained bare as he stood his silent vigil during the viewing after the memorial service in the Cathedral. He would remain there until the viewing was over, and then it would be time to remove her remains to the burial catacombs beneath the Cathedral where she would join her predecessors. His feet and back ached from the long period of standing, and the thought of the longer period he knew would yet be.

The first person to view the casket had been the king himself, Anduin Wrynn. In spite of his obvious delusion with the Dawn Event heresy, the expression of grief and concern on his features had appeared real enough to the clergyman. Was it guilt the young man was experiencing? Was it repentance for his foolish pronouncement? Marcus had hoped that the High Priestess' death would shock the young man back to his senses. At least then, some good could come from the terribly tragedy. The handsome, youthful king had briefly met the Bishop's eyes with his own blue ones, nodding in respect to the clergyman before moving on.

The king had been followed by Lord Greymane. His expression had been a respectful but emotionless mask. Lord Greymane had strangely not met the Bishop's eyes at all.

After him, the High Priest of the Conclave had passed, though he received little recognition from most of those attending with the exception of the aforementioned nobility. Since the Legion War which had seen his ascension over the Conclave, the man was away from Netherlight Temple only rarely. He had traveled to Stormwind by portal solely to honor his fallen colleague and the Church over which his ultimate jurisdiction fell. It was likely he would remain in Stormwind to oversee the holy gathering of clergy for the Church of Light until a successor to Laurena would be elected. His own otherwise glowing golden robes and miter had been changed out for more subdued and humble dark vestments befitting the occasion. It would explain why few attendents there beyond the clergy and the nobility appeared to recognize the great yet humble man or his station unifying all the denominations of Azeroth. He stopped before the casket, and had gently lain a white rose on Laurena's chest, stretching his hand out in a quiet, thoughtful prayer over her before moving on.

Surely he has heard of our plight here in the Cathedral. Marcus had thought upon seeing the superior clergy. I must speak with him later when it is appropriate. Perhaps he knows better than we what has happened to us and what must be done.

Then, a string of dignitaries and nobility followed, and then the common people, and there were many of them, who wanted to see her and pay their final respects. All of Stormwind it seemed had turned out.

Laurena had been much loved.

As the line of people began to reach its end, one family from the church that Bishop Marcus had expected to see was again strangely absent. Joseph and Miriam Davidson and their children had been nowhere to be seen. The elder Davidsons, Jacob and his wife had passed by, the grief and concern on their faces very real, but not the younger.

All of Azeroth must have heard of Laurena's passing, and the Davidsons had held a good rapport with her. He had reasoned. I never would have expected them to dishonor the High Priestess by not paying their respects. What a dark path the heretic Jeshua has led those poor misguided people down. I must pay a pastoral visit to their home, and soon.

The last man to view the casket wore midnight blue vestments under a dark cowled cloak. Marcus could feel the Shadow from the man across the casket that separated them attempting to draw in and trap the light around them in its void. The cowl of his vestments had been drawn back to reveal a pale, older man balding like himself, but with a full graying beard.

A look of dismay crept over Marcus' face at the presence of the Shadow Priest.

How dare this heretic set foot in this holy place? And in an hour of our greatest grief? His outrage grew within him as he watched the man with disdain. Laurena had never forbidden the dark priests from the Cathedral, but they were also far from truly "welcome".

It is something which I will look into changing upon my ascension to the High Priesthood. He thought silently, and then immediately, Did I really just think that? Is it wrong to think that I would be Laurena's successor?

But the Shadow Priest said nothing. The heretic cleric's face was a mask of reverence for the proceedings as he laid a blood red rose on Laurena's chest. It appeared for all the world that he merely wanted to pay his respects to the superior clergy as everyone else did, regardless of his own beliefs.

I suppose that is what the Conclave was formed to do; create respect among those of differing creeds and faiths so that we can all work towards a common goal. Marcus reflected. Perhaps that is why Laurena never banned them. It is a lesson which I could stand to learn I suppose.

After withdrawing his hand from laying the rose, the Shadow Priest then looked up towards the Bishop, and their eyes met. "We all serve the balance one way or the other." The dark cleric told him cryptically, his accent unusual and foreign sounding. "Shadow cannot exist without Light, nor Light Shadow. I honor her service to this truth."

"Indeed." Marcus replied, not certain of how to respond. "As do we all."

And then the Shadow Priest surprised him by saying, "The Light has chosen its path, and we all must choose our own as well, to follow or not as the case may be."

"This much is true, er... friend." Marcus answered, surprised yet again at his own agreement with the man. Perhaps we have more in common than I once believed.

The man before him gave a slight bow, and made to depart saying, "The will of the Light be done, your grace."

And then the Shadow Priest moved on without another word, leaving the clergyman to ponder his intriguing if enigmatic words and their meaning.

"Yes... Yes, it must, must it not?" He whispered to himself.

Later that evening...

The body of the devout woman had been carefully wrapped and reverently laid in the stone niche set aside for those of her rank within the Church. And then those attending to her had left, leaving the catacombs underneath the Cathedral silent and dark once again, a place of rest and peace on and under consecrated ground.

Nearby, a brown rat scurried in the darkness, looking for anything the intruders might have dropped, or even a cockroach that might have wandered into its territory. It shuffled on its pink clawed feet sniffing this way and that, trying to find anything it could in the silence of the sacred dead.

And then a glow caught its eye and it thought the humans might have returned. It ran away from the increasing glow and back to its hole in fear of being caught and killed by them. Humans didn't like to share what they had with its kind, the rat knew.

But the glow came from the newly laid body of the High Priestess. A golden white light enveloped her body from head to foot until it was completely surrounded by Holy Light. Around Laurena's niche, the remains of her predecessors and other Holy clergy began to glow with the same golden, gentle Light.

The Light spread from corpse to corpse and even bones which had dried and fallen from their remains began to glow until the entire length of the Church's catacombs was afire with the Light emanating from the remains of the Holy.

And then, suddenly, all was dark and still once more.

And the catacombs were empty.

In the Hillsbrad Foothills...

In spite of the warmth of sunlight on his face, Grayson Shadowbreaker's walk to the town of Tarren Mill had been in total darkness, led only by the firm, calloused, feminine sword hand of his friend and sister in arms, Katharine, surnamed "The Pure" for her devotion and piety. In his other hand had been placed a still green staff which she had cut from a sapling to aide his stumbling walk on the old paved road.

They knew their best chance at reaching Tarren Mill unmolested would be to appear as common travelers on the road. Before his "vision" he would have thought the idea suicide, assuming that those others in the region only appeared human and would strip the flesh from his bones with their teeth if they got the chance. But now, his belief about it had been badly shaken, and he couldn't fight without his sight regardless. He could learn, as he had heard others had, but it would take time in honing his other senses which he had not yet spent.

Grayson's armor and weapon were useless to him. The familiar weight of his plate armor was gone from his well muscled warrior frame. Stripped of that armor, he wore only the padded trousers, vest and sweat stained shirt that had been underneath to prevent chafing. His feet were shod only with the leather hobnail boots which had previously been covered by his greaves. His hammer had been left in the care of Durothian Rall and the other knights he had been leading. He had done so in the belief that he might one day reclaim it.

Katharine's gentle grip had been skin to skin with his own hand. It humbled him deeply that she would have to lead him about by the hand, and he was grateful to her for standing by him even at the risk of her own life. It had been agreed between them that she too would shed her armor to appear less threatening, and so, though he could not see her, he imagined that her clothing must have matched his closely. He knew she was a beautiful woman, in spirit as well as appearance. In spite of the temptation, he refused to imagine her without her armor any other way than clothed like himself. He respected her chastity and devotion too much to do that to her, even secretly.

The walk along the road had been long and taken most of the day until he began to feel the warmth on his face waning as evening began to fall. From their starting position in the forest, it would have been faster for them to pass through the trees and ford the river directly to the town. But that had been the plan before he had been blinded and they had the protection of armor, weapons, and eight other warriors to deal with the wildlife which could prove fatal.

Not so with an unarmored woman and blind man. They had been forced to find the road to the south of them and follow it on foot in a circuitous route around the foothills.

Their communication had also been mostly silent throughout the day. They talked briefly when they needed to rest, or when Katharine needed to inform him of an obstacle. But other than that, he remained consumed by what had happened to him, and Katharine too had not seemed ready to discuss what she had witnessed and heard.

It just didn't make any sense. Briefly he wondered if he had hallucinated the whole thing when his head smacked the ground from the fall. He had known people who had lost their sight after hitting their heads, and others who had experienced vivid waking dreams. It would have made perfect sense.

But a hallucination couldn't heal a man dying on the ground from a seventy foot fall onto his back through trees. Grayson had been dying. He knew that for certain. He had tasted the blood in his mouth. He had felt his life slipping from him. It was a memory he would not forget.

I am Jeshua... and I am the Holy Light. The vision had told him. Two statements that had been in complete opposition before that day. They were two statements which had been the epitome of blasphemy against the sacred. They were two statements that he could not reconcile, but also two statements that he could not ignore. There had been times during that day when Grayson had wondered if his very sanity had left him, and then there were times when he knew it threatened to as he tried to make sense of all of it.

His grace had met the man! Bishop Marcus saw with his own eyes what had happened at Darrowshire! How could such a man be so totally wrong? It was a problem to which he had few answers.

How could I be so totally wrong? This was the more pressing question in his mind.

Born of lesser nobility in Elwynn Forest, Grayson Shadowbreaker had served the Light for most of his life, having been knighted in Stormwind Keep and consecrated in the Cathedral at the tender age of eighteen. It was there he had taken the Paladin surname "Shadowbreaker," giving up his family name for service as a warrior of the Light. He had studied the Tome of Divinity as well as the Tome of Valor, the Paladin's addition to the sacred texts. He knew as well as any priest what was possible with the Light and what wasn't. He had taught squires and knights the sacred works and their meaning for decades, and had overseen their spiritual formation alongside the clergy. If anyone should be able to recognize the presence of the Light and what it could and could not do it would have been Lord Grayson Shadowbreaker. The Light had been his trusted companion and guide on battlefield after battlefield, and through the darkest times in his life. He knew its presence.

And this is what he could not reconcile. He did know the Light's presence. He did know it intimately, and recognized when it was at work. He was certain it had been the Light speaking to him that morning.

I felt the Light speaking to me. It was inescapable.

He had felt it once more as he lay on the ground with a collapsed lung and broken bones. The Light, his trusted companion and source of power, had come to him once more, but it wore Jeshua's face when it did, and it wore the heretic's face when it healed him itself.

What is happening to me? He asked himself silently again and again.

Katharine had heard the voice of his vision, but did not see anything. The woman Paladin also had not said anything about it, or mention it at all during their long journey towards the Horde controlled town.

They had passed others also traveling on the road, though did not speak with them. The highway north of Southshore leading to the town of Tarren Mill appeared to be fairly busy. Grayson had heard horses, carts, and the sounds of conversations pass them several times. No one bothered them, and to his relief, no one appeared to be interested in fileting them for a meal either. It sounded and felt for all the world no different from the traffic on the roads of his native Elwynn Forest. It smelled of it as well with the stench of sweating human bodies and horse excrement on the road which Katharine did her best to navigate the blind man's feet around.

It was when he made this observation that the realization came over him, It does smell and feel the same. The sounds are the sounds of human life and traffic. My eyes can be fooled by glamour magic, but can all my senses be? Not being a Mage, he didn't know the answer to that question, but he doubted it. Even the most powerful arcane magic had its limitations.

They turned east down the hard packed dirt road to the town shortly after the warmth of the day had completely left Grayson's skin, and Katharine had informed him that the sun had completely gone down in the western Alterac mountains.

"What do you see?" He asked her, breaking his silence.

"Old buildings that look like they're under repair." She responded discreetly. "A row of them to both sides of the road. There appears to be a covered well in the center of town, and a large church like building at the other end of town. Those people I can see appear human, standing and talking or moving from one place to the other. Two human guards in armor, swords and shields, patrolling the incoming road, but I don't recognize the tabard or colors. It's not Forsaken. Looks similar to Argent Crusade, but has a red humanoid cross emblem in the center against a door shape. An Orc in armor near the well, Horde tabard and colors, two handed battleaxe. Three more at the end of town near the church. Armored human guards near the perimeter around the town, lances."

"Are we drawing any attention?" He asked.

"No. We don't appear to be." She responded.

"Is there an inn visible?" He then asked.

"I'm not sure. The town doesn't look like it follows the old war blueprints. There looks to be a building which could be one at the other end of town near the church." She replied.

"Head there." He told her. "We can ask about the man I was told of."

Katharine's grip on his hand remained as she led him forward across the hard packed ground of the town. Each of his footfalls was still uncertain as he could only trust his friend that she would not lead him astray as he placed them.

"You there! Woman! I don't recognize you!" A gruff, gravelly voice called out.

"Orc by the well." Katharine told Grayson discreetly.

"What's your business in Tarren Mill?" The Orc questioned gruffly, his voice growing closer as Katharine continued to lead the blind Paladin forward..

"We're looking for a man called Andrew Haleis." Grayson responded. "We were told he might be here."

"The emissary? I have not seen any of them since Jeshua... visited here." The Orc replied, though his tone was not hostile. "Last I heard they were all in Lordaeron. I've not heard of any planned visits here, though I suppose it's possible."

The Orc then went silent for a minute as though studying something. "You're both already living. Why would you be looking for one of Jeshua's emissaries?"

Grayson then let go of Katharine's hand and pointed at his eyes. "I was told he could give me back my sight." He answered honestly enough.

The Orc was quiet for a few seconds then responded, "Well, I don't get told everything. Maybe he'll be here tomorrow. Night's fallen. The inn's that way if you need a room. We haven't had too many strangers in town today. There should still be some available."

"Thanks, friend." Grayson found himself replying without irony.

"I saw Jeshua himself change this entire town from undead to living. I've heard of the emissaries doing things priests and shamans could only dream of." The Orc then added. "If anyone could restore your eyes, it would be one of them."

Grayson nodded in the general direction of the Orc's voice before he and his guide continued on.

"Not what I expected." Katharine remarked after they were out of the Orc's earshot. "What do we do now if this man isn't here after all? Lordaeron is another week maybe on foot."

"We've been walking all day. Neither of us can keep going much farther without food and rest." Grayson responded.

Then Katharine said, "The Orc did point us to the inn. We should rest there until the morning. We can try to start back for Aerie Peak after sun up."

"The vision said he would be here." Grayson then pointed out. "I don't know how to explain it, I just know it was the Light speaking to me. I've got to see this through. I'm here now where I was told to be. If you want to head back in the morning, you're free to do it."

"Durothian was right. You are a stubborn ass, Grayson." She told him. "Do you really think I'd leave you here to your fate alone?"

"Let's get to the inn then and see if this 'emissary' arrives." Grayson told her, smirking at her comment.

After entering the structure the Orc had pointed out, Katharine had introduced Grayson as her blind brother to the innkeeper with as little conversation as possible and requested a room. Grayson had heard the silver coins his companion had carried counted out into the innkeeper's hand and then she had taken his own once more and led him up the stairs to the inn's bedrooms and into one of the chambers where he heard the door close and lock behind them.

That night had been spent with little sleep and little enough food. The innkeeper had apologized to the woman Paladin that their hospitality was a little lacking for the meager supplies of meat, flour, and other foodstuffs for the moment.

"I'm happy to share what we've got, it's just not much right now. There's a little bit of game meat left from what a couple of hunters brought in to trade this morning." The kind sounding man had told them. "What Jeshua did for us all created a whole bunch of living mouths to feed that we didn't have before." His voice became almost worshipful when he mentioned the man's name. "It's a good problem to have, but it still leaves everyone a bit short at the moment until the new wheat's been planted. Lordaeron and the Argent Crusade are doing everything they can to help with supplies, and I've heard there's a boatload of livestock coming in from Kalimdor soon. The queen's made sure the Horde's taking care of its own. Our local food stocks should even out after next harvest I hope."

Why would they need more human edible food if it was all an illusion? Grayson had asked himself honestly. The man's use of the word "Lordaeron" instead of the "the Undercity" caught his notice as well. There was a touch of pride there as he spoke of the capital, shared only by the surreality of when he spoke of the Horde taking care of its own.

"It's more than the Alliance ever did for us, that's for sure." The Innkeeper added as the two took the keys and headed upstairs.

Grayson didn't know if he visibly winced at the comment or not, but it was painful regardless.

Having been led upstairs, Grayson had chivalrously refused to take the bed once in the room, even as Katharine had pointed out she would be the one doing the fighting if it came down to that. His ability to keep watch was also at issue under the circumstances. But he insisted.

"I don't think I can sleep anyways." He told her after she had led his hand to the back of a wooden chair in the room not far from the door.

He could feel the grain of the wood under his own rough hands, and could feel that it was newly sanded and smoothed. There was the fresh cut wood smell about it as well. Finding the seat with his fingers, he put his hind end into it and remained there.

It was true enough as he said it. He was frustrated that he had been told to come here to meet a man who was a hundred miles away across the mountains. It felt like someone was mocking him. What was worse was that he was certain that it had been the Light that had guided him there.

It had been the Light which had healed me. Nothing else could have kept me from death. There was no other conclusion. It had been the Light which had spoken to me.

Elsewhere in Tarren Mill that night...

Andrew Haleis had never ridden on the back of a riding bat before. After having done so, he wasn't sure he wanted to ever do it again. But when his teacher Jeshua had appeared to him in a vision earlier in the day instructing him to fly to Tarren Mill, he had obeyed.

He had been alone in the cloister room he shared with his brother trying to pray. His knees complained severely at the posture he had assumed next to his bed. Prayer itself didn't come naturally to the fisherman. He had been a man of few words most of his life, and didn't ask for help or anything easily. What little he had before meeting Jeshua he had worked for by fishing and selling his catch in the port town. But Jeshua had been his friend as well as his teacher, and prayer was one of the few ways he had left to spend time with him anymore.

"Andrew!" He had heard Jeshua's voice out of the blue in the silence of the room, and opened his eyes in surprise when he had.

"Jeshua?" He had asked aloud into the empty chamber. Then, not seeing anything, he asked, "Where are you?"

And then the whole room filled with warm, welcoming light, brighter than the sun but not harsh to his eyes at all. "I'm always with you, my friend. I want you to do something for me." Came the answer.

"Yeah, of course, teacher. What do you need?" Andrew had responded.

"There's a man in Tarren Mill named Grayson Shadowbreaker. I want you to go there and heal his sight for me." Jeshua's voice responded.

Andrew recognized the name. The queen, Sylvanas Windrunner, had mentioned it upon return from her peace talks with the Alliance king.

"Isn't he the man who tried to have everyone in Darrowshire killed again?" He asked. "Sylvanas said something about that, Jeshua."

"Yes, he is." Jeshua had confirmed for him. "And it is for this reason he will be my emissary to Stormwind, to bring my Holy Light into the increasing darkness there. You need to meet him at the inn. He will have gotten a room there by the time you arrive. Ask the innkeeper for the blind man and the woman who led him there."

Andrew had spent enough time with his teacher to know that Jeshua was always right, no matter how strange what he said seemed. "Yeah, I can do that, teacher." He told the Light that had surrounded him. "Anything else?"

"Send him to Lordaeron when you have restored his sight. He has much to learn before he is ready to be used." Jeshua had responded.

After the Light had faded, Andrew hadn't wasted any time. The old flightmaster's niche had been located deep underground in the Undercity, but most of those tunnels had been abandoned in the weeks following the New Dawn. The bat handler, a man named Michael Garrett, had relocated his animals to the surface near the gates of the city. Garrett had assured the emissary that his bats were well trained and that all he had to do was hold on and the animal would find its way to Tarren Mill on its own.

It had, but Andrew had felt as though his stomach had not successfully made the trip with him.

It had been after dark by the time Andrew had landed and his own bare feet had touched the ground. His shoes had given out weeks ago, and since then he had adopted his teacher's regular habit of going unshod as a poor man. If it had been good enough for Jeshua, it would be good enough for Andrew Haleis.

Following his teacher's instructions, he went straight to the inn, recognizing it from his one and only previous visit to the town. That was the visit where everything had changed and the whole world had been set on a new path. In the darkness of the night, it didn't appear as though anyone had recognized him, but that was just as well. He had a mission from Jeshua. Catching up with people would have to wait.

Entering the building, he did just as Jeshua had asked and talked to the innkeeper, a middle aged man with red hair named Shay. He had gotten to know him a little on their journey north to Hearthglen and had struck up, if not a friendship, then an acquaintanceship with him.

"It's good to see you again, Andrew." The clean shaven, pale skinned man had greeted him. He wore dark trousers and vest over a blue linen shirt. "Yeah, I know the folks you're talking about. They just checked in an hour ago. They said they were brother and sister, though I didn't see any resemblance. Had a strange accent too, but I thought it was just 'cause they were from out near Stratholme maybe. Makes no difference to me, I'm not one to judge if their coin is good. Their room's upstairs and to the right. I've got another one empty next to theirs if you want it for the night. No charge, of course. Not for you, friend."

Andrew thanked the man, then headed upstairs to knock on the wooden door Shay had told him. He rapped against it several times before he could hear the bolt being undone from the other side. It creeped open until a crack appeared and an attractive woman's face emerged. She looked to be between thirty and forty years old with orangish red, shoulder length hair. Through the crack in the door he could see that she wore a travel stained padded woolen vest over a dirty long sleeve linen shirt. They were the kind of clothes he would see on occasion that soldiers would wear under their plate armor.

"Yes, can I help you?" The woman asked, her voice authoritative and firm. It was the voice of someone used to giving orders.

"I'm looking for a man named Grayson Shadowbreaker." Andrew told her. He then added, "My name's Andrew. Jeshua sent me."

The effect of his words appeared immediate as the woman's eyes went wide with surprise, and then the color drained from her features as though she had seen a ghost.

From behind her, he could hear a man's voice, "Who is it, Katharine?"

She tried to recover her composure, but the fisherman could see she was having trouble.

"You're Andrew Haleis?" She asked, her words careful and deliberate, and loud enough for the man behind her to hear.

"Yes. Is Grayson here?" Andrew asked again. "It's important that I see him."

The woman then backed away from the door, a look of fear and uncertainty in her eyes which would not leave the man. On its own, the door opened wider and the emissary stepped into the room looking around it.

The inn room was pretty spartan. There was a four poster bed against the far wall, a writing desk and a chair under a window, and little else. In the chair sat a man with dark hair and goatee, a day's worth of beard stubble on his cheeks. An eyepatch covered his right eye, though there didn't look to be any sight in the other one either as it didn't appear to be focused on anything in the room. Like the woman, he wore the padded vest and trousers of a soldier used to wearing plate armor.

Andrew walked over to where the man sat. "Grayson Shadowbreaker?" He asked him.

"Yes." The blind man replied.

Andrew then stretched out his hand to cover his useless eyes with his hand and said matter-of-factly, "Jeshua Lightborn restores your sight. Be healed."

A bright Light flashed between Andrew's hand and Grayson's eyes. When Andrew withdrew his hand, the warrior was blinking his eye repeatedly. Then, in surprise he reached up and pulled off the eye patch and looked at the emissary with two good eyes.

"Thank you, friend." Grayson responded.

"Don't thank me." Andrew answered. "Thank Jeshua. He's the one who told me to come and find you here."