Elsa killed the Créoth at sunset. They didn’t need him anymore. As Elsa had predicted, the Créoth had talked. And what he had told them had confirmed what Hellrien had learned already and suspected in her mind. Shipments of weapons, steel and iron came from the west – Bree-Land or the North Downs – and a group of wanted outlaws from Bree who resided in a fugitive camp north of the Forsaken Inn were responsible for looking after them until half-orcs from the ruined fortress of Naerost came to pick them up. From Naerost some of the shipments were picked by a masked woman – the Créoth didn’t know her name – and delivered further to Temair and her Devoted.
”Have you seen this masked woman?” Elsa asked.
”No. Nobody has seen her. She has no face.”
Hellrien figured this to mean that the hillmen considered her to be somehow supernatural.
”How many of the Créoth are considered Temair’s Devoted?”
”Eight times the number of my fingers.”
”Eighty?”
”Yes.”
Elsa grasped the Créoth then. Needle-sharp snake-teeth approached the warrior’s eye.
”What do you give as a payment for the iron?”
”Speak up!”
”I do not know!”
”Who handles the transactions?”
”Temair and the masked…”
”They alone?”
”Yes… yes…”
”What happens to the weapons and iron then?”
”I do not know. I have not been part of that. I am with the Disciples.”
”Are they the ones who torture and murder?”
The Créoth’s eyes flashed. He didn’t say anything.
Hellrien leaned forward. ”Who attacked the Eglain couple up on the hill?”
”The Disciples.”
”There was a masked woman with them. Who was she?”
”I… I do not know.”
”You said you’re with the Disciples.”
”Not there. I was in Garth Agarwen. Where we killed the straw-haired infidel intruders.”
Hellrien thought about it. ”What does Temair do with their heads?”
”I do not know.”
Elsa clenched her teeth. ”Let me handle this!”
But the Créoth didn’t know anything more. He was young. He wasn’t yet trusted with all the secrets of the cult. The Elders had a great power over the young ones.
They buried the Créoth into the swamp.
”What now?” mumbled Hellrien.
”Let’s go into Garth Agarwen tonight. I know my way around there.” She glanced at Hellrien. ”What do you make of it?”
”I think the key to everything is Joan Darkhand – the mysterious ’Faceless One’.”
”But why?”
Hellrien shook her head. ”I do not know that… yet.”
They left Hellrien’s horse in Barad Dhorn and were in Garth Agarwen by the small hours of the night.
