Heilbrunner raised a hand to his forehead, sighing theatrically. “Have you ever known combat, Mr. Errol?”

Errol inclined his head respectfully. “I was once involved in a theft.”

Heilbrunner’s scoff was nearly a snarl. “You compare a petty street crime to the horrors of war?” He shook his head with impatience. “Oh, why do I even waste my time with you."

Errol bore Heilbrunner’s withering stare with quiet composure. He was used to the treatment of Radiant authorities and religious officials; it washed over him like bad breath.

But then the priest's put a hand over his face, genuine lines of worry creasing his brow.

"Every year more of our heroes’ souls fail to return. Our so-called allies in the Arcane Order can’t seem to give us an explanation while our lines of initiates grow thinner every year. Needless to say The Lion is… displeased."

"We will make sure the ritual will be performed flawlessly," Errol said, bowing his head.

Heilbrunner’s gaze hardened. “I don’t like you folk from the Veil. I have to admit you're decent workers, but sometimes I think you are too subservient."

"There is no fault in knowing one's place."

"True. But something about you is just…”

Errol’s smile was almost genuine. He faintly nodded to a small bag of gold coins on the priest’s enormous gold-cornered desk. “I’m sure we have some likeable qualities.”

Heilbrunner’s scowl deepened, and he snatched the bag, tucking it out of sight. “Careful, Errol. Do precisely as you’re told. Nothing more, nothing less. Now go.”

As soon as the heavy door closed behind him, Errol’s expression changed, a brief, sardonic smile flitting across his face.

There was much to be done.