Darkness had long fallen when he left Bookhalla as the last student. Getting a shy farewell hug from Stitch did make up for two hours of grueling writing. The book Dullmere had given him was actually quite easy to understand. It was written in a clear, step-by-step format. You just had to follow the report's structure. And since he could skip many of the steps. Because he used the shape of a known rune, only with a different mana affinity, he had made quick progress. They would need a few more hours for a series of practical tests, and then they'd be done.

He looked up as a silent shape flew from a nearby rooftop.

Selvara had stayed outside to patrol the campus for anything suspicious the overeager students might do. When he stepped away from the library building, she swooped down toward him.

"Something's going on!" she said the instant she landed on Weylan's shoulder. Her voice was a quick rustle. "A guest just arrived. Big, about seven feet tall and massive. Broad shoulders, wild mane of hair. Looks like he was raised by bears or something. His clothes resemble a priest's robe, but everything's made of fur. Never seen someone like him. And guess who let him in through the lightning moat? Professor Kaelthorne herself. There's a secret meeting in her study, but I can't get in. She updated her security spells."

Weylan pondered the description. Two meters tall and massive. The picture Selvara painted didn't fit any of the priests he had met. Perhaps a kind of druid? "How long ago?"

Selvara's feathers brushed his cheek. "Mere minutes. If we hurry, they'll barely have entered her study."

Weylan nodded. He had no intention of walking up to Kaelthorne's door. The woman could see three steps into a student's future if she wanted. Weylan had another way.

He climbed a tree.

An old oak leaned above the path leading to Kaelthorne's wing. From its crown, the campus looked like a chessboard of roofs, hedges, and distantly flickering lights. He tucked himself into shadow under the thick branches. Kaelthorne's windows glowed through the serrated panes. He could just make out pockets of movement and the impression of tall figures.

He concentrated. Shadow Portals weren't showy things. They were dark seams within darkness. He cast the spell without trouble. His side of the portal appeared as a thin slit on the tree trunk. He focused it to transmit only sound and found a connection through the shadows to one on her window shutters.

The voice that came through was Professor Kaelthorne's.

"…at this hour? Sure, I'll make you some coffee. But you really don't need to leave right away; we have guest rooms." Kaelthorne's voice was light.

The answer that rasped back was low and edged. "I prefer a nocturnal lifestyle. I will accept your hospitality. The ritual you requested will take some preparation. After I've finished, your rangers will need to carry carved stakes to the edges of the target area. Six will suffice."

"I've studied the ritual, so I've already arranged teams ready to place the boundary markers."

There was a brief silence. "You are awfully sure I would agree."

Kaelthorne's chuckle was careful. "Golgoroth loves all great games. A Great Hunt most of all. What I don't understand, and could not find out, is why all the stories assume the target is caught in the end. The area you'll trap it in is still huge. It could hide longer than our contestants' patience lasts."

The voice was grim. "While Golgoroth accepts that monsters and beasts hide until they've gained or recovered their full strength, it is their fate to provide a challenge for heroes. Thus, the Ritual of Containment's area will shrink each day until the hunters meet the beast. If it defeats the hunters in the final confrontation, the ritual dissolves and it is free to go. Usually with a substantial boon from my god."

Weylan's throat made a dry sound in his mind. Letting their target escape was no longer an option. Depending on what it was. If the beast won, Golgoroth might grant it a boon, and the wrong creature receiving such a gift could be catastrophic. He suddenly hoped it would be a unicorn. If a Ganderhydra or a similar monster were empowered by the god of monsters, it could become a true calamity. There were legends about such things. None ended well for the people living nearby. Some ended with revenants coming to the rescue and others with debates over who had destroyed more of the land: the supposed heroes or the monster.

The priest's voice ground like millstones. "You must understand: the god prefers difficulty. Remove all ease from the hunt, and you remove his favor. There must be a challenge. There must be fear. There must be possible doom. The hunt cannot be tamed into a classroom exercise."

Kaelthorne's fingers flexed. "I'm not attempting to tame your god. I'm attempting to keep a student body intact. We owe our students a certain measure of safety."

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"And we owe the god a spectacle," the priest said. "Your duty and my god's appetite are both served if the ritual functions as it should. Keep the hunters in small groups, not a single united army scouring the woods. And don't forget to instruct the goblins not to pluck the markers out of place."

Weylan dropped the spell before his mana ran dry.

Selvara's feathers fluttered against his cheek. Her sharp ears had heard what he heard. She whispered, "If they do this, they'll turn the Wildewood into a fighting ring. Students may die for sport."

Weylan nodded. "There will probably be fewer safety measures than we expected. We need to prepare. I'm not yet sure how."

"Any luck with the secret room?"

"Not really. There are a lot of interesting books, but I can't read them."

The raven blinked. "They're written in code? Devious."

"No. Just in Old Cathurian. Which I don't speak."

Selvara looked around for eavesdroppers, but they were alone in the tree. "How about taking the hare with you? Malvorik can probably read any old language you can think of."

"There are traps and enchantments. I don't think I've found all of them. I don't want to risk our only connection. There's an entry designed for a single person. One chair, one desk. That tells me it's designed for…"

He broke off as something slapped against his leg, coiling around it with horrifying speed. Fangs sank into his boot, and before he could react, he was yanked from the branch.

Selvara shrieked and scattered into a storm of feathers, vanishing into the night sky.

With reflexes honed by a year of constant peril, he managed to lessen the impact of the fall. He tried to roll to his feet, but his leg was still bound, and he was violently pulled backward. Dazed, he looked up into a weather-beaten face high above the ground. A massive man with wild, unkempt hair and a beard that looked like it ate combs and brushes for breakfast glared down at him. Weylan recognized the voice he'd just overheard.

"Spying on the servants of Golgoroth is not the mark of wisdom. It is the mark of a fool begging for judgment. I don't know how you managed to listen in, but you should learn to breathe more quietly if you want to sneak up on me."

Weylan glanced down. A long green bundle had coiled around his leg. Tiny eyes glimmered up in the faint moonlight. The man's hand held a grip connected to them. As a cloud slid aside and let the moonlight through, Weylan saw it clearly. A long whip made of snakes.

"Well? Do you have anything to say before I drag you back to the professor to deal with you?"

Weylan was still dazed from the drop. "How did you find me?"

The beard shifted, probably into a smile. "I heard someone listening in. When I went outside, I checked the surroundings. No one ever looks up, so that's the first place I search. You smell of dust, ink, and old paper. Not wood and leaves. Easy to spot."

"Well, I'm terribly sorry for intruding on your privacy. I'll be on my way then…" Weylan tried to stand and back away, but the whip tightened.

The priest slowly drew a long dagger from his belt. "For transgressing on the affairs of the Merciless God, I offer you to Golgoroth! Your blood shall feed the ground. Your entrails shall feed my horse…"

Weylan drew his shortsword and extended the handle. Even on the ground, he could still fight. He would fight.

The priest grinned and uttered a word in a dark, foreign tongue. The whip crackled with black lightning, and Weylan convulsed as the current grounded through him. He didn't drop his weapon. Instead, he gripped it tighter, clenched his teeth, and forced himself to endure.

He almost expected the Resist Pain skill to cross into Journeyman tier, but it didn't.

The priest of Golgoroth nodded approvingly, then pulled him closer with the whip and stepped on the sword-staff, pressing the air from Weylan's lungs. Before the priest could strike, a bundle of feathers hurled at his face. He parried with his knife, nearly taking out his own eye. He stumbled back, defending himself against Selvara's furious attack. Then he froze and dropped his arms, grinning broadly while twisting his head so the raven's claws only scratched his face instead of gouging his eyes. Selvara fluttered backward, startled by the reaction.

Weylan gasped as the priest accidentally stepped harder on him.

"Well! A…" He broke off and looked around. Then he stepped away from Weylan and, with a twist of his hand, recalled the whip-snakes. They hissed irritably while coiling into a neat bundle.

The priest sniffed the air, checked the surroundings, and bowed to the confused Selvara. His deep voice was meant as a whisper but carried like a stage line. "A dungeon-fairy in disguise. I greet you, favored servant of the Many-Headed God."

Selvara checked the area herself, then dropped to the ground and transformed back into her normal form. She stretched, already unused to arms. "Well, that wasn't nice, trying to sacrifice my friend!"

The priest bowed again. "No offense meant to the fair folk. If he's with you, he may live. I only meant to frighten him. The professor would chastise me greatly were I to kill one of her students."

"How could you recognize me?" Selvara asked, intrigued.

He only shrugged. "I'd be a poor priest of my god if I couldn't recognize his fellow servants. Also, you still smell of honey and pollen from the fairy realm. Something not found in autumn here."

Weylan crossed his arms. "That's probably from our visit to the were-bee hive."

The priest's beard shook. "Oh, I can smell that too. But the honey from the Everdark Canyon has a much different fragrance than the sun-bathed flowers of the fairy realm. Though you seem not to have visited it recently."

Weylan smirked. "So, you're basically saying Selvara should bathe more often?"

Selvara shot him an affronted glare, but the priest laughed. Then grew serious again. "You should watch whom you spy upon. It can become a bad habit. A dangerous habit. Deadly, even." His voice grew more menacing with every word.

Weylan prepared to dodge, but no attack came.

"I will not inform the professor of your conduct. But keep what you heard to yourself. Or else…" He didn't specify the consequences, but the threat was clear. Weylan swallowed and nodded.

The giant priest gave him one last glare, a good one at that, then left.

Selvara turned into a raven again, the spell second nature to her now, the form almost more natural than her own. The two shared a look, then faded into the night to return to the dorm.

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