It’s hard to believe it’s only been about a week since we came back from the Sea of Eternity with Elmendra - it feels like it’s been more than six months.

The world has been in chaos for a while now. The whole kingdom is still abuzz with talk of the war being waged by the Blood Daughter’s Barbarian army; the dissolution of the Curia; the Templars’ dark faction that worships the “fallen Prios”; and the growing popularity of the Reformist movement. Everyone who isn’t talking about these recent events is chasing after the throne of Symbar.

Even in the last week, though, so much has changed. We’ve changed. The Queen has raided the Beggar King and restored her rule in that section of the city. The marshal law instituted after the attempted assassination of the Empress is still in place, and tensions in the city are running high. Igni has gained significant respect within Ordo Magicka for defeating Kullinan Furia. Our dear Coriol, both a Changeling and a Barbarian, must go about with covered face or in the form of another. I can now wear my Theurg robes on the streets without fear of being attacked, though I do still get wary looks from passersby. We all grow restless waiting for our next adventure.

And then it comes, in the form of a goblin messenger bearing a scroll sealed with wax. “Mistress Silvershade,” he says with a small bow, “a message for you.” I smile, thank him, give him the customary thaler and cookie, and pretend not to notice as his goblin friends greet him with glee. We try our best to look nonchalant as we finish dinner, but we all eat quickly so that we can escape to our rooms to inspect this unexpected delivery.

When we finally reach my room after diiner, the men watch as I break the non-descript wax seal. A beautifully flowing script meets my eyes. My Dearest Daughter Agathara.

“It’s from Deseba.” I blink hard, trying to hide my relief at reading the words written in her familiar hand. “She has a mission for us.”

Her letter is brief, but descriptive. In the ruins of the cathedral remain many objects of great power. She describes one of them - a red box, one foot long, ten inches wide, with copper clasps and the insignia of the Rising Sun of Prios in silver - and gives exact directions to its location.

“She wants us to fetch this item for her and meet the Theurg Matais at the Day’s Dawning Inn, near the north gate. From there, we are to escort him and his party to Ravenia.” I trace the ornately flourishing D that serves as the only signature before rolling up the scroll. “What do you all think?”

“The cathedral is under heavy surveillance, we’ll need to find a way around that.” I can tell Igni’s initial ideas all include fire from the devious smile playing across his lips.

“That whole section of the city is barricaded and patrolled.” Aticus passes his warhammer from hand to hand effortlessly, as if already imagining all the skulls he can smash.

“And there are the curfews.” Coriol drums his fingers on his thigh, doubtless picturing the mass squirreling that could be.

I smile. “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

The next morning, after a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast, we dress in our most professional-looking attire and head in the direction of the cathedral. I’m still not used to the cold here, or the snow that swirls around us as we weave our way through the masses of bundled-up people. Almost without realizing, I find myself walking as close to Flare as I can, soaking up the heat radiating from his armor. We can see the wooden barricades and patrolling guards as we approach, as well as scattered fires where guards and townsfolk alike huddle to share the local gossip.

“Hey! Who are you and where are you going?”

We all turn at the sound of the guard’s yell. I muster my most winning smile and lead the party in his direction.

“Good morning, sir. We’re with the Royal Sekretorium, we’re here seeking special information for the queen.”

The guard examines our badges before giving us a sideways glance. “Let us just get the captain to verify these badges…” His companion leaves and returns just moments later with another guard, this one bearing a few more stripes on his uniform. He leads us through the barricades and into a small building on the outskirts of the cathedral courtyard that has clearly been fitted as a temporary outpost. A man in clean black robes sits behind the desk.

“How can I help you this fine morning?” His tone is pleasant enough, but it’s difficult to miss the suspicion in his expression.

I smile as warmly as I can, given the weather. “We’re with the Royal Sekretorium, we’re here seeking special information for the queen.”

I know we’re in trouble when he raises his eyebrows and steeples his fingers in front of his chin. “How interesting. I am Lasaro Herano, the head archivist for the Sekretorium, and I don’t remember assigning you to this project.”

“Oh, we’re not here for your project.” I’ve known Igni long enough to know that the helpful tone of his voice is pure fabrication, but I doubt the archivist can tell. “We’re here on special business.” He eyes the guards around us. “If we can have just a few moments of privacy, we’d be happy to explain.”

Lasaro dismisses the guards with a wave of his hand. When they’ve cleared out and he’s sure we’re alone, Igni leans forward conspiratorially. “We’re here to find information about the Throne of Symbar.”

The archivist’s face turns red. “Why do you think that this information would be inside the cathedral? And what exactly do you think you will find that my team could not?”

“We suspect that the First Father, in his traitorous ways, was hiding information about the Throne from the queen.” Igni inspects his fingernails, feigning ennui. “We hope to uncover that information for the queen.”

“We have full faith that your team will find everything necessary,” I add, “but the information we seek is time sensitive, so we thought we’d come and get it ourselves.”

“And how do I know you’re actually working on special business for the queen?” The head archivist reminds me of a cat who thinks he has cornered a mouse.

The ends of Igni’s hair begin to lift as if blown by an invisible breeze. “Well if you want to be sure, you can, of course, verify this information with her and delay our time sensitive mission.”

Lasaro doesn’t even hesitate. “I will. You may come back tomorrow, after I ask the queen about this.” He lowers his head to read the scroll spread across the desk; we don’t need a clearer dismissal.

In the safety of our rooms at the inn, Aticus rolls out a blank piece of paper and starts sketching. “I got a pretty good idea of the defenses while we were inside. There are active patrols which stop frequently at the fires, which are spaced about 30 feet apart. The townspeople also use the fires to warm themselves, which we might be able to use to get in. There are definitely rings of guards, so if we do infiltrate, we’ll have to do it in layers.”

“Hopefully it won’t come to infiltration,” I say with a nervous chuckle. “But this is great information to have. Thank you.”

We spend the rest of the day relaxing, sharpening our weapons, and wondering what the next day will bring.

On our return to the cathedral the next morning, we are escorted to our private room with the archivist much more quickly than the day before. He is silent for a moment; when he does speak, his tone trips suspicion and animosity.

“I have verified your claims of being on special business.” He doesn’t actually roll his eyes, but it is heavily implied. “You will be allowed to seek information in the cathedral under two conditions: First, you will share anything, anything you find with the archivists assigned to the cathedral project. Second, you will be escorted about the cathedral grounds by two archivists.”

“Of course, we’re happy to share any knowledge we find with you,” I say, hoping to ease some of the tension. “And we would appreciate the guidance of your archivists as well.”

At a wave of the archivist’s hand, two archivists emerge from the back room and lead us in the direction of the cathedral ruins.

“What is it that you’re looking for here in the ruins?” The archivist’s voice isn’t as icy as his superior’s, but I wouldn’t characterize it as friendly, either.

“Well, we’re looking for information on Davokar, so we’d like to see the oldest texts you have available.”

The second archivist looks thoughtful for a moment. “We’ll take you to the cathedral archives, the oldest texts will be there.” My heart sinks as I realize that the archivists are leading us in the direction of the west wing – the opposite direction of Deseba’s object. “Of course,” the archivist continues, “the Twilight Monestary would be much more likely to have older records on Symbar.”

When we arrive in the archives, Coriol and I set up camp at a table as Igni takes a quick inventory of the room and Aticus and Flare take a deceptively casual posts at the door. We spend a few hours at the table, Igni and Coriol working their way through the texts, me offering insights on the religious jargon and references to holy texts, Aticus and Flare guarding the door.

“There’s nothing here,” Igni murmurs after a couple hours, “and we’re not getting any closer to the box.”

“We might have to come back tonight.” Coriol flips a couple pages of his book in feigned nonchalance.

“At the very least, we’ve gained a lot of good information.” I sit back in my chair and stretch out my shoulders.

“This batty old First Father was obsessed with the Ambrians’ right to tame Davokar,” Igni says in a disgusted tone. “He goes on and on about divine right and the evils of the Barbarians and Elves… Lots about how unimportant secular leadership is… Near the end of his writings, he’s pushing for an all-out theocracy.”

After a while, Igni pushes his chair back from the table and sighs loudly. When the archivists join us, he carefully closes the books in front of him and stands up. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything about Davokar here. We did find some interesting threads of traitorism in some old writings…” Coriol and I gather up our things and return the books to their places as Igni explains the old First Father’s push for theocracy.

“Well that is very interesting.” I can tell from their expressions that the archivists are impressed. “That will be very useful to us, thank you.”

We apologize for any toes we may have stepped on in our search, hand over a plate of fresh-baked cookies, and leave the cathedral grounds.

“This looks like as good a place as any.”

I look around at the area Aticus has indicated, less than convinced. It’s nearly dusk, almost time for the city curfew, and we’re standing in an alley inspecting the nearby rooftops.

“Oh come on,” he says, clearly registering the doubt on my face. “It’ll be fine.”

I sigh and climb up on a bag of trash to give myself a head start. Aticus leaps onto the roof in one easy motion, catching the ledge and pulling himself up effortlessly. Igni, Coriol, and I try to follow much less successfully. The three of us land on the ground in a tangled heap, causing a huge ruckus on the way down. Townspeople start to poke their heads around the corners at the end of the alley, and more than a few curtains slip to the side to allow those inside a view.

“Oy, what are you doing there?” A man leans out of the doorway of the building, shaking his fist. “Get off my roof and get ye gone!”

Aticus slides off the roof as if he does it every day and casually strolls down the alley, the three of us trying to look as dignified as possible while still brushing snow and trash off our backs.

“You know, I could just turn you all into rats, stick you in my pockets, and walk right past the guards,” Coriol mutters, almost under his breath.

“What?” Igni and I whirl to look at him.

“Yeah, I could make myself look like a guard and just walk right in.”

I reach out to grab Aticus’s cloak, pulling him back to where the rest of us have stopped. “You mean you can just… make yourself look like someone else?”

“You could have done it this whole time?” Igni’s cheeks redden, and the ends of his hair begin to float.

Coriol shrugs. “Changeling.”

A few minutes later, a nondescript town guard strolls up to the wooden barricade outside the cathedral, three rats snuggled cozily in his pockets. One of the guards on patrol waves to him.

“Hey! Coming onto patrol?”

“Yeah, darn punishment duty, patrolling out here in the cold.” Even Coriol’s voice is not his own.

The other guard laughs. “It’s not so bad with the fires and all. You’ll want to check in at the main outpost.”

Coriol thanks him and carries on. Within a few minutes, he has obtained a torch and is doing a decent impression of actually patrolling the grounds, slowly but surely heading towards the northeast corner of the cathedral. When he is the only person around, he kneels as if to adjust his boot, and the three of us scamper out of his pockets and race across the hard-packed snow to the rubble.

It’s almost too easy to locate the stairway Deseba described and find the door bearing the words “Archive 104”. I use Gardovan’s Mind Ring to tell Coriol we’ve found it and almost instantly feel my body lengthening until I am Confessor Agathara once more. I brush a few stray rat hairs off my cloak as Aticus tries the door.

“It’s even unlocked!” He pumps his fist happily and swings the door open.

Archive 104 is not one of the more impressive archives of the cathedral. Boxes of dried flowers, vials of mysterious liquids, and various sticks and rocks fill the shelves almost to overflowing. But after a few minutes of searching, we see a box made of rich redwood, clasped with copper, bearing the silver insignia of the Rising Sun of Prios. I pick it up and am surprised by how heavy it is.

“Ooh, dust prints,” Igni whispers, indicating the perfect clean rectangle of shelf where the box had obviously lain for years.

“Not a problem.” Aticus slips into the hallway and returns a moment later with a small handful of debris, which he sprinkles over the spot. “Now no one will be the wiser.”

“Perfect, let’s go.” Carrying the box, I lead our group up the stairs. We crouch at the top, waiting and watching anxiously for Coriol to return.

“There he is!” In his excitement, Aticus waves too broadly and knocks a precariously stacked rock off a nearby pile of rubble. It clatters down the steps, echoing with every bounce against the stone. Igni and I wince and hold our breath as it tock tock tocks down the staircase.

“Hey!”

“There’s something in the rubble!”

“Over here”

Just as the forms of too many guards start to run toward us through the night, I feel a sickening twist in my stomach and find myself looking up at massive piles of rubble on all sides. I hold my hands out in front of me and am strangely relieved to see the tiny paws of a rat.

“Just in time!” Igni squeaks as the three of us dart away from the approaching figures and towards the guard we hope is Coriol. To our immense relief, one corner of his lips quirks upward in the smallest hint of a smile as we leap onto his boot and scamper into familiar pockets.

Coriol plays along, helping the guards investigate the empty ruins of the cathedral, only slipping away once the patrols have returned to their normal rotations. We manage to find our way back to the inn without incident and begin packing our things for the next leg of our adventure.